Page 3 of 6
Page 1 2 3 4 5 6

Its been three months on the road, after crossing Europe and Russia, I was in Almaty for a break and then on into China. July was a month in the heart of Central Asia, on the braided roads that make up the Silk route and in some of the most challenging environments.

Pictures, discussions and thoughts whilst on the road are available at www.worldonwheels.info/

I had planned two weeks in and around Almaty, Clare flew out, complete with spare parts for the bike, British tea and a bottle of Scotch single malt. We had a very loose plan to visit the mountains and the Charyn Canyon. Almaty is very laid back and whist not the most beautful city, the abundance of trees and the snowcapped peaks in the background made it a pleasant place to relax and recharge the batteries. Sorting documents took a few days along with another fine for not being properly reistered. A visit to the British Embassy ascertained that the Kazak to China border was only just about to be reopened after the SARS outbreak, luckily I was unaware that it was closed in the firt place and relieved that I would be able to cross. After this beuracracy, we set off for the mountains on a baking hot local bus. A lack of permits and a military checkpoint prevened us getting more than a tantilisiing glimps of the snowcapped peaks. Extrodinary amouts of faffing and questioning by men bristling with wepons got us nowhere and we wer sent back towards Almaty by truck. Our truckie let us out at Charyn Canyon even though he was expessly told not to by th military. The canyon is a deep rivine in the steppe, full of strange an colourful rock formations, in the evening the light brought outthe red and pinkish tones of the weathered rock. We spent a pleasent few days camped in a secluded spot next to the river, just eating and drinking.

A hitched rid back to Almaty with a couple of venitian blind salesmen was so much more comfortable than the bus. And after a brief visit to Mad Murphys for pizza and stout, we headed up to Big Almaty lake in a battered, hired Lada. More lounging around and strolls in the snowcapped mountains, then it wa back to Almaty in time for another visit to Mad Murphys and Clares flght home

>From Almaty the plan was to head north then east around a lake and then through a small range of hills. Poor directions and a missd sign found me floundering on the southern edge of Lake Balkhash with no idea how to get around or across it, I was in the middle of nowhere ad it was getting dark, I camped. In the morning I was woken early by what souded like a jet plane taking off next to the tent, perplexed I got up to find that there was a fighter jet taking off over the top of the tenttent. I had camped at the end of an airforce base with salvos of jets lining up to skim the top of my tent. I didnt hang about over breakfast.

The directions I got tht day were very confusing,everyone pointed me north, however this road ran straight into the lake, those that didnt point north pointed west and here I found the most surreal beach, land locked Kazakstan, packed with people and pedelos, on a murky lake at the end of a fighterjet runway. It was not until the afternoon that I found myself on the right road heaing north round the lake.

A couple of days very plesant cycling and camping through the hills took me though suprisingly wild landscapes. Villages and food suppies were infrequant, leaving me to enjoy more of the Kazak wilderness and solitude. Downhills through the hills were real adreanalne rushes,steep, twisty, long and mostly gravel, the scenary rushed by in a blur. As the border approached, towns became more frequnt, and on the advice of locals I found a hotel in Garkent. I shared a room wih a computer engineer working on the immigation computers on the Kazak border, he too had got a lot of permit hassle from the military even though he worked for them. Rastam, Israel and Vania helped me find a hotel, curious teenagers who took me to a bar for dinner and went throgh my minidisc collection with the eyes of conisurs, eager to find something more conempoary than the cheap pop music the dj had in his record box.

Next day I headed for China, border crossing took 7 hours for no particular reason, I was not permitted to cycle across the 500m no-mans land, the Chinase wanted to put my bike throught the metal detector, the head honcho inisted that I be bused to Yinning for a full medical before I could enter the country. Luckily they didnt tell the guy at the gate to detain me and I cycled off before they could load me onto a bus.

So it was evening as I rode out into the densly populated lowlands of North West China. In the morning I had been in the rough towns and villages of Kazakstan, in contrast, China was bright, clean, developed and most importantly, had silky smoth tarmac roads. It seemed like paradise. I found a restaurant, owned by Ma Ha Jong, he spoke a little English, between him and his friends we spent the evening introducing me to a bit of chinese, perfecting chopstick technque and eating piles of delicious food. I had been really looking forward to China fo the food alone, mountains of vegetables and different meats all cooked differently in spices, garlic and chilli. After the fairly bland food of Kazakstan it was a real delight. I stayed the night. Breakfast was just as good.

China is a comparable size to Europe, its provinces divide the country much like the countries in Europe, each province has its own character, food traditions, their own dialect, many having different language altogether. For the traveller this givs rise to unique problems, Mandrin is the official state language, however in many parts of China it is similar to saying that English is the language of Europe, even if people do speak Mandarin, the pronunciation variances make it difficult to pick up more than a few basic words.

Han people are what most people would identify as Chinese and traditionally inhabit the lowlands of the East of the contry, China also encomapasses about fifty official ethnic minorities. I entered China into Xinjaing Province. This is the largest, most remote province in the country, it is inhabited by a mixture of Central Asian ethnic groups, mainly Urghur, with Kazak, Mongol and Tibetan hearders populating thehighlands.

After my first full day in China, I sat to have a drink of Future Kola, and was invited to stay with the stalls owner Hai-Li. Hai-Li is Urghur and spoke not a word of mandrin, however his niece, Ellenor spoke some English and I was dispatched to her house for evening meal and to entertain the huge posse of teenagers that gatered as news of my precances spread around the village.

The houses in this area are built in one style, built from baked mud, each plot had a high perimiter wall, forming a central courtyard, The kitchen was usually in the centre of the courtyard under a small roof. On (usually) the East and Northern sides of this square would be a set of single story rooms with a covred, elevated walkway or veranda between them. This would form the main living space, there was often lean to, or simple sheds on the other walls for animals and machinery. These units were butted up to each other, with narrow lanes and alleyways between them. Each had a large gatewy, usually closed with big solid, wooden doors. They are very introspective, hardly any windows out on to the street.

The lowlands were fantastic, packed with people, working in the fields, or in busy market towns and villages. It was diffiult to envisage being alone here. The abundance of cheap, delicious food continued and I eat well as I pedalled slowly east into yet more mountains.

I tavelled through diverse landscapes, packed lowlands, a small desert then on to open plains hemed in between soaring muntains. The information that I had was that camping in sight of habitationwould more than likely result in a visit from the PSB (Public Security Bureau), keen to avoid such a run in I took to finding alternatve accomodation in the vallies. One night I stayed in what can only be relly describe as a series of concrete cells, the experience was made really enjoyable by being invited to eat ith the other reidents, military folk undertakng building work in the village. Copious amountsof chinese vodka were devoured and as guest of honour I was invited to toast each round. The alcohol did at least numb the suprise of not only being offered the roosters feet to eat but also when presented with its head and invited to suck and chew various parts of it. I admit I didnt suck too hard.

I was following the 218 road throughthe mountains to Korla. Through the lowlands it was great, recently tarmaced and up to Swiss standards, a lovely strip to cycle on each side. When it hit the mountains proper, the surveyors were still working out the route and it turned into a gravel track. As the track climbed into the hills, the solid houses of the Urghur folk disapeared and Yurt dwellings of Kazak and Mongol folk started to appear. Yurs are semi permament tented structure, circular in form with a conical roof. The whole structure is held in tension by a strap around the gutter line and can be totally dismantled for transport on a horse or its modern replacement, a jeep. Entire extended families live in these single room structures, through the harsh winters and hot summers. High on the alpine plateau in the middle of the mountains I was the guest of a mongolian family in a Yurt. They had just slaughtered a sheep and I was invited to join them for boiled head soup and noodles, again I didnt suck to hard, although it was delicious. I can recomend the meat from the cheek of a sheep. The yurt was toasty warm and in the morning, it took a chilly trip outside to discover it had snowed, I copied the Mongolians and stayed in bed until it had melted.

The road don from the mountains was breathtaking, more than 120km of paved donhill, rocky gorges, tiny villages clinging to the hills and increasing oxygen and warmth. I was literally buzzing with adreanaine that evening as I found a bed in a village hostal, on the edge o the desert.

On to Korla, and a scheduled rest day. Expecting a town I came over the final ridge of the hills to find a sprawling modern city in the desert, high rise blocks springing from the sand. Korla is not a touristy city and I spent my days rest touring the shopping zone, eating and trying to find a phone that could call further than the next sand dune. Refreshed and restocked with food and water I headed South East into the mighty Taklamaken Desert, heading for Qanghai province. The heat was searing during the afternoon, so morning and evening shifts were instigated,at night I slept out n the desert,watching the stars, satilites and meteors dart cross the sky. One night as I was dozing off, specacular meteorite that lit the sky like a firework and disappeared over the horizon. In my dozey state I decided that there would be a new hole in the desert tommorrow

One lunchtime I stopped at what appeared to be a restaurnt in the middle of nowhere, food seemed in short supply but there were plenty of folk all curious and in a good mood. As I munched on the rice and vegetables it slowly became clear what as happening. The large old woman serving me was obviously in charge, the men were obviously customers although none were eating, and the final part of the puzzle were the barely dressed girls who came out to see the bike and the foreigner. The Lonely Planet does ot have the word for brothal, but it looks something like restaurant. The Madam was keen to offer me something for free, I paid for the food, and turned down the freebies.

I met a couple of other cycle tourists en route, they were from near Shanghai. Riding single speed chinese workhorse bikes they were planning to cycle to Golmud and Dunghung over the Tibetan plateau. Their gear was basic and they were swarthed in clothing to avoid sunburn. I wished them a lot of luck, it would be a lot harder work than my trip!

Marmots populat the desert, and on night the sucessfully raided my camp, the oversized guinea pigs making off with a days worth of bread. A trail of footprints were all the clues left in the morning.

My final night before making it into Rouqiong, I stayed with Chung Hi Chun and Ewan Li Sing, road construction workers, in their concrete hut. Overnight a sanstorm blew in and in the moring I was stranded, no hope of prceeding. The guys told me it would last about three days, my heartsank, as hospitble as they were, a bare concrete room in the middle of a sandstorm was not a fun place to be. We played chess, a chinese version, I inadvertantly won. They wouldnt let me play anymore. That afternoon there was a lull, sensing my opportunity and against their advice I set off, full pelt the 80km to Rouqiong. The wind was strong and there as sand eveywhere. As I headed into the town the skies cleared I had made it!

In an internet cfe n Rouqiong I met Alex, from Bejing he was travelling rond the desert, his English was good and it transpired that he was a journalist student. Keen to speak to me he asked if we could meet the following morning for a formal intrview which he hoped ould be published on his return to Bejing. We spent all morning cahtting, it had been a very long time since I had met anyone who could hold a conversation in English. It was late when I set off into yet more desert towards the hills that marked the border with Qanghai province.

The road from Rouqiong was diobolical, gravel on a loose sand bed. It soon became clear tht cycling was going to be a really tough option. The heat was intense, and to compoud the problems I had my worse dose of the squits so far. I was reduced to dragging the bike through the hot sand. It wasnt long before water ran low and in this sparsly populated desert I resorted to begging water of passing trucks. I made about 90 km in two days, the second night, news of a roadworkers compound close by spurred me on past nightfall. I arrived late and looked a wreck, very dehydrated and dishevelled they fed me and gave me a bed. I slept little. In the morning, after discussing the road ahead, I accepted their offer to find me a lift to the next town. 170km, just as grotty road over the mountans with only one tiny hamlet in between. Bike was loaded on a jeep and I squashed in the back with melons and a few chckens. It was a dog rough journey.

At the end of the journey I was deposited in a courtyard in the middle of a tiny mining communty. A concrete cell was again to me my home for the night. Attentive owners, insisting on standing and staring in the curtainless window. It felt like the edge of the world, the town was a mess, rubbish and animal carcasses everywhere, people just surviving in the wilderess. In my many trips to the bathroom, in the dark, I noticed that the sky glowed red. What they were mining, I never discovered.

The antibiotics kicked in, I was restord with cold tea infusd with honey, a great energy drink, big steaming bowls of noodles, and most importantly the promise of a tarmac road. I heaed off... the wrong way. I wound up at a Police station, lost. Sadly they were keener on interviewing me than on giving directions and it took a while to convince them that I was only in ths forlorn, edge of nowhere town by mistake. English teacher summoned, I was sent off in the direction of the highway.

Tarmac glistened on the hrizon, snowy peaks darted in and out of the clouds. The land was flat, the wind was little. I rode through an oilfield and out into the desert, until late at night. Again, I felt I was getting somewhere.

The Tibetaen plateau is vast, it covers two provinces, Tibet and Qanghai. The Plateau is all above 3000m high, ringed by massive mountains, its heart is a roughly flat desert, weathered into strange formations, extinct lakes and deserted villages. The sun is unrelenting, from early inthe morning til after 10 at night. The land and air are arid, water is trucked ino most of the habtitions.

My days across this vast wilderness were a constant search for water, the road was being widened and paved so there were many roadworkers compounds. An empty water bottle virtually always resulted in being invited in fo tea, Momos (steamed dumplings) and food from watever region of China the workers were from. At night I slept under the crystal clear sky.

My bike was beginging to show a few battle scars, and in the middle of a particularly hot day, a rear spoke twanged free. A quick look revealed that the rim was slowly splitting, a bodge repair was out of the question. I flagged down a pasing water tanker and hitched the 60km to the next town. That evening, a guy called Lee Dong, assisting me with locating a mechanic, sussing the restaurant menu and giving a giudd tour of another depressing, on survival instinct town. Ver early in the orning, the truck driver who had given me a lift, hammered on the hotel room door,virtually unable to stand, he seeed to want to take me out for drinking. I declined, there relly couldnt have been that much dinking time left in the night, even with the vile vodka.

No rim available, but a bike mechanic with precious few spares. With some washers and a bit of cunning he bodged a repair, suggesting I go to Delingha for a new rim. With absolutely no confidence in the wheel, I headed east.

My luck was breaking, poor directions added a 200km loop to the journey, the road was finished so no more road workers camps, villages marked on the map were eirily deserted and in a final insult the wind blew strongly into my face. The strain was beginning to show on me and the bile.

July faded into August as I headed across the mountain ridges and passes to Delingha. An evening ascent of a 4125m pass led to a spectacular and winding downhill and another night under the star studded sky. Waking from a chilly bivvi, the crystal clear sky revealed new snow on the surrounding hills. I had no water for breakfast, but the views made it the most spectacular morning on the plateau. I set off for the last few miles to Delingha.

Page 1 2 3 4 5 6