Homestays in the Stans - Zharkent to Taraz

23rd of November 2019, Day 101 - 4,560ish km

Day 99 - Snowed in

Day 101 sees me just over the one third mark of my planned trip. Through the last month, I've noticed the white carpet of snow slowly creeping down from the lofty mountain tops, like the fingers of Winter reaching down greedily into the grassy plains to swallow up the last bit of cycle-able weather. 3 days ago the snow made it's final push down into the villages and towns dotted through the open pastures. Now a soft fluffy blanket of white has come to rest over the steppes.

Winter

I am trapped in Taraz, Kazakhstan, in the strangest little hostel. Strange mainly because there is no social space. The older women that run the hostel are nice enough, but they very much live in the living room. I don't know if its my wild hair or out of control beard, but they sit there inquisitively gawking at me until I leave, as if an unpredictable baby grizzly bear had just sat down on their couch. The couch that they sleep on at night, and leave only to chide people video calling in the hallway for being too loud. It's not like I want to be out there, but the wifi is too weak to pass through doors. The router, held together by tape and string, has probably been there since the soviets left.

I have commandeered a small table in the kitchen to write, but in some ways it's even worse than the living room. The grandma keeps coming out of her room next door and talking at me, despite the fact I have no idea what she's saying. Even now as I type this, she is monologue-ing away in Kazak, accompanied by extremely vigorous hand gestures and pointing. Something about Berlin, or maybe it's about the cat. Whatever the case is, a few well placed "Hmm"s and "Ahh"s are enough to keep the convo going on my end.

Day 100 - Me and the cat are becoming good friends

It's not all bad though. Definitely better than being stuck outside in snow storms, and there's a young Kazak guy whose been teaching me the language in exchange for help with his homework. It's a fascinating language - imagine the lilting flowery sound of French, but spoken in a Russian accent. Everything is written in the Cyrillic alphabet, which makes me feel like I've come down with a bad case of dyslexia. Similar A's and B's and O's, then suddenly a backwards 3, an downside N, and fancy asterisk thing (Ж) that makes a J sound, but is englishised as Zh . Really should have taken some time to learn some Russian. I guess I've got plenty of time now.

Surveillance

Day 95 - Samsa, the most delicious of the Kazakh street food. Like a Samosa, except all the annoying potatoes and veggies have been taken out to be replaced by lamb.

All the way through China there are flashing cameras, even on small country roads, that take a picture of everyone who passes through. You feel constantly watched, like a paranoid convict stuck in a 1984 dystopia. Each village has a police station no matter how small. No one is particularly aggressive about it as long as you are well behaved. They merely like to be keeping tabs on everyone, just in case. I realised part of the way through that it's no different for the locals. They carry their ID cards everywhere with them, and are required to show it just as much as I do my passport.

Almost all payments are made electronically through WeChat and Alipay. You could be buying apples from an old grandma at a country fruit stand, but they'll still have a QR code ready, and will look at you weirdly when you get out cash.

Of course the Chinese government uses WeChat and Alipay as a data source for their overarching surveillance program. This means they know where you are, who you are talking to, and what you are buying at all times.

Day 86 - First snow in Almaty

I held off talking about all this while still in China because they are famously twitchy when it comes to Journalists. No need to make the journey harder than it needs to be. It was difficult enough getting around as a cycling tourist, without adding "Enemy of the State" to my file.

I say all of this now though, because being in Kazakhstan is such a comparative breath of fresh air. I have hardly seen a policeman outside of the big cities, and CCTV cameras are all for private security. It's a relief to finally feel like I'm allowed to be. I can go into any hotel, and stay there if I have the money, because oddly that's how businesses are supposed to work. No more police parties at 8pm. No more justifying why I there. No one asks for my passport because no one cares. Go. Live your life.

Day 88 - Sunset on the Steppes

I in no way want this to take away from the kindness shown to me by the actually Chinese people. Without their help I would never have made it through. They have a deep-rooted culture of hospitality towards outsiders, and an unwavering pride in their country, that combine to make them painfully generous. I have never received so much free stuff, from almost everyone I met on a daily basis, and it is all but impossible to stop a Chinese person from paying for your meal if you eat together. I tried. I failed.

They never want anything in return, not that I had anything I could give. Now I find myself stuck with an overwhelming feeling of debt, and no ability to pay it back. All I can say is, thank you. People are good. Humanity is tender and giving. Give peace a chance, and all that jazz.

Real-Life Cowboys

Day 82 - Some horses before they casually cross the road, causing a traffic jam

Before being being snowed in, I had a fantastic few weeks of ride-able weather on the other side of the Chinese border. Central Asia is the fulcrum point of three very different ways of life - China, Russia, and the Arabic world. Here though it has grown organically into something unique and independent. A vibrant culture of it's own.

If I had started my trip in Kazakhstan, I'm sure everything would be feeling foreign and alienating. Compared to China though, I practically feel like I'm back in Europe. Sure, I still can't read and I have no idea what's going on. But the supermarkets sell cheese, and the bread is proper bread. They drink lots of tea like in China (even use the same word - chai), but they drink black tea with milk and sugar. They have a bunch of noodle dishes, but everyone eats them with a fork.

Day 83 - Even the bus-stops are beautiful

I do miss the Chinese roads though. China really got into road-building right as they got into motorized trikes, bikes, and carts of every kind. There is a wide hard-shoulder for miscellaneous vehicles of all types, and my bike fit in there like a fish in water.

Kazakhstan is not like this, so now I'm flopping around gasping for air. The traffic has changed. With no cameras or police, ancient Audi's and beat up old white cars fly by at break neck speeds, all riding curiously high as if the body had been lifted. It wasn't until the new motorway from the border gave out that I realised why. These roads.  Beat up doesn't do them justice. And their repair method seems to be just to dollop new tarmac on top making a wavy sea of divets and peaks. Low-set cars just wouldn't survive out here. At one point it was so bad, all my stuff fell off the back of my bike, and I had to apologetically stop the traffic to pick it all up.

The hard-shoulder is gone, replaced by gravel. No more mopeds and scooters, instead horses and donkey-drawn carts. I'm forced to navigate the small space in-between, praying the cars do me the kindness of giving me a wide birth.

Day 97 - Plov and mystery meat soup

Compared to the deserts of China though, the pastures of Kazakhstan are teeming with life. Everywhere is packed with cows and sheep and birds. I even saw what I thought was a pack of wild horses, before realising that here they are just as much livestock as anything else. I have eaten horse without knowing it countless times. It's unavoidable. Oops.

With them, real life cowboys! I never got close enough for a photograph, but it turns out real cowboys wear woolly hats, workman boots, and trackies, sat playing on their phone as their herd grazes.

Homestays

The huge cities of China are gone too, to be replaced by small villages and towns made up of two story buildings at best. Finding hotels has been tough because they look little different than the houses around them. Thankfully the generosity of China extends to it's neighbors. I've discovered it's usually easier to find a family to stay with than it is to find paid accommodation. I'm pretty sure China would have been the same if people had felt able to let me stay.

It helps that I've been on the road for a while now, and have lost a whole bunch of my old social hangups about asking for help. The trick (which I feel fairly guilty to have learnt) is to say you "need a cheap place to sleep". No need to bring up hotels unless they do.

Day 84 - Beautiful old tree on the way from Shelek with scarves tied around it. 

It's Day 84, and it's been a struggle. I've been fighting the wind and cold all day, but now I'm into tree lined villages and on the search. Each village I stop and ask about a hotel, but each impromptu local guide shakes their head. Next village. 10km. 40km later and I'm just about ready to set up my tent and resign myself to an icy night.

I've been camping a little but the morning frost is a problem. Even if I wait to let it melt, I end up putting everything away wet, and then have to put up a soaked tent at the next camp site. Plus, security took my butane, so I have to go on coffee-less. This is no way to live.

As I pull into a slightly larger village I spot two older guys with bikes across the road at a corner store chatting. They wave me over, but I almost don't bother. I'm exhausted and hardly in the mood to explain myself with hand gestures for 30 minutes. Thankfully they are rather lovely, and we manage well enough with my phone translator. Eventually I ask about a place to sleep. It is unclear what's going on, but one of the guys, Sagndyk, does the universal sleep gesture and gets me to follow him.

Day 84 - By now school had just gotten out, and we have a gang of children floating around us trying to speak English.

We ride further and further from the main road into the village, stopping whenever we meet anyone so Sagndyk can show me off to his neighbors. The Kazakh have the most lovely handshake when they greet. The Chinese one is light and floppy, and they linger painfully long while talking to you, as if they are afraid you'll disappear if they let go. The Kazakh handshake is a quick, firm, and heartfelt grasp, often with the second hand clasping your forearm. Despite being quite far away from the middle east, even the non-religious say "Salaam alaikum" (peace be with you) as they greet. The whole thing makes you feel like you are somehow being accepted into the community.

Eventually we arrive at his house and I realise what is going on. Inside, 7 people, 3 generations all living under the same roof. My savior Sagndyk is the granddad, but his oldest son, Madyiar, is clearly the boss. No one speaks English, and Sagndyk doesn't even speak Russian, so the younger son, Toktan, downloads a voice to text translation app and plays interpreter. I feel completely unable to place them in a social class, but Madyiar owns a string of stalls in the market, and Toktan is an apple farmer. So wherever that leaves them.

Day 84 - All gathered at the dinner table mid feast

We all sit down at a big table for dinner. Kazakh home dinning is something completely different. The only cutlery is two spoons, one big for eating the main dishes of potatoes and meat and beetroot salad. Bread is scattered all over for you to pick up. You use the smaller second spoon to put honey into your tea, or jam and butter onto your bread from big communal jars. Then you lick your spoon clean and dip in for something else. Momma is in charge of the tea, a strong brew to which they added hot water, and fresh milk so you have curds still floating on the surface. They push me to eat and eat and eat, till I can't imagine squeezing in one more bite. The Kazakh are feeders for sure.

Then they pull out some Kazakh sleeping mats, which they kindly set up on the couch. Toktan, the youngest brother had to sleep on the floor.

Imagine Hostel

This is all before I got to Almaty, which is where I wrote the last blog post. From there I was planning to do the long ride up and over on the barely inhabited road along the border to Taraz.

For those of you who are as rusty on their Central Asian geography as me. This is the intended route, and you can see from the red dots in Kyrgyzstan the route I ended up taking instead.

That is until my father had the brilliant idea of cutting through Kyrgyzstan. Famously mountainous, but I could stay in the valley between mountains, hit the capital Bishkek, and come out the other side just East of Taraz. Perfect. I say famously, but to be completely honest I'd never even heard of Kyrgyzstan till my dad pointed it out.

Day 90 - Triumphantly crossing the Korday pass before dropping into Kyrgyzstan

Day 91. At the border crossing I run into my first international tour cyclists, a couple from Belgium and France. They've been going for almost two years and are just coming to the end of their trip. I smother them with questions for a good hour, before talking about Bishkek. I tell them I have a hostel booked, and they say "Let me guess, Imagine Hostel?" Clearly everyone sees the 9 star rating with a £2 price tag and look no further.

Day 91 - There are others!

(The border crossing by the way was polar opposite to getting out of China. It couldn't have been more relaxed. For a baggage check,
You have Narcotics
No..
Pistol?
No..
Ok! Go now

They had even ran out of official papers, so the guy at passport control tore off some scrap paper, and had me write my name on it before stamping it. I then passed that on to the guard who happily let me through. I was there no longer than 20 minutes, and got a 60 day visa no questions asked.)

I get to Imagine hostel and it's heaven. The staff is no where to be seen, but some of the more long term guests find me a bunk. It's that kind of place. No one intends to, but everyone seems to find themselves in this far outreach of humanity and call it home for a few weeks. Or months. Or years in some cases. It's obvious I have to leave fast before I get sucked in. Everyone jokes they are leaving tomorrow, and no one hardly ever does. There is no reason to be in Bishkek in November for the winter, but the hostel is full.

Day 93 - Pancakes for breakfast! I very lazily took almost no photos the whole time I was there. You'll just have to go see it for yourself

The people here are another caliber of travelers, who have spent years on the road. Most speak English, French, or Russian, so there's always someone for everyone to talk to. It almost feels like a bohemian french commune, perfectly set up to accommodate all needs, with space for anyone. In the evening, communal meals we all pitch in for. Then in the day, groups go out for excursions into the city. It's easy to latch onto one going your way, and spend the afternoon wandering the Bazaars.

It's so pleasant going out in a group. Alone you feel alienated. All the glances and whispers cut you off from it all. But in a group, you have a little submarine of understanding and acceptance, keeping you safe as you explore the depths of a foreign land.

Day 92 - Getting our shoes repaired at the Bazaar

Everyone were much more experienced travelers than me though. I felt like a child crawling up on his mother's lap to see the adult table for the first time, as they talk politics and tell stories of countries I know nothing about.

I filled 10 pages of my diary desperately trying to save the memories of all the amazing people staying at the hostel, but there's not room to put it all down here without starting another post. Maybe one day I'll have time to fill in the gaps. All the stories I can't quite squeeze into the blog.

I do wanna squeeze one in quick though. I met Hiroshi on the second day, a Japanese guy who had been travelling for months and months and months. Makes lovely YouTube videos, you can check them out here. I'm pretty sure he's added English subtitles to all of them, and there's one on Kyrgyzstan coming soon. On my third day in the hostel, he comes in with two tickets to the Kyrgyzstan vs Japan international qualifier but no one to go with. I was more than happy to go despite being 10 rows apart. The game had an amazing atmosphere, with the Kyrgis all in their odd traditional hats.

Day 93 - Cool hat, but he didn't sit down the whole bloody game.

They didn't expect to win, and never let their mood drop even as they succumbed to a 2-0 defeat from a penalty and free kick. Kyrgyzstan were far better, but couldn't finish. It was hilarious to see Hiroshi as the goals went in. He'd stand up to cheer, the only one in the whole sold out stadium, then turn, look at me and send me a thumbs up while grinning.

I stayed 4 days in the end, the longest I've stayed anywhere yet. It was so comfortable though, I count myself lucky not to have ended up spending the whole winter there.

More Homestays

Day 94. Finally back on the road, I head out of Bishkek to the border, but not before fitting in a Kyrgis homestay. I get to Kara-Balta, but can't spot a hotel, so use my new technique of "somewhere cheap to sleep". Luckily I went into Rustam's corner shop, who calls home and ask his 14 year old daughter, Sezim, if she minds translating all night.

Day 94 - Rustam's Shop. Note the 3 full rows of vodka

I had a particularly lovely time with the Duishenbiev's. Don't ask me how its pronounced, I've got no idea. They clearly value education, with Sezim going to a private Turkish boarding school in Bishkek, and their oldest, Iuusuf, completing his High school study in Canada. Sezim is incredibly bright and knows it too. She got into the school on a full scholarship, getting 100% on her entrance exam. I never thought I'd hear a 14 year old ask, Whats the antonym of kind?

 She learns Kyrgis, Russian, English, and Turkish at school, with all her sciences taught in English. Honestly I was astounded how well she managed to translate long conversations and statements, while simultaneously participating in the conversation. I was lucky it was a Saturday or she wouldn't have been there. The universe's reward for managing to escape the hostel.

Day 94 - Unfortunately no photos of Sezim, who also doubled as our camera man. Note the giant piece of lamb in front of me.

The whole family adores their oldest. You could feel them missing him a little, a small space in the home, waiting for him to slot back into any time he likes. Made me think of how hard it must have been for my family when they moved to Malaysia without me, and how thankful I am they made room for me in their lives every time I came to visit.

For food, Beshbarmak, which means "five fingers". They all ate with their hands, but it was far too hot so I opted for a spoon. Meat and onions on slices of square noodles, bubbling hot in a communal bowl, but they had no trouble picking it up. Plus a huge mutton leg, which I had no hope of eating all of. The wife said it's Kyrgis tradition that if you start eating it, the leg is yours. She wrapped it up so I could have it for lunch the next day. In the morning I have the chance to talk to Iuusuf on video call while warming up in the shop. He's as great as everyone let on.

Day 96 - #squad

Day 96. I've crossed the border back into Kazakhstan, as chill as before, with a brand new 30 day visa. In my search for a hotel I end up at a car repair place. Manat, the owner at first offers me a free night in the security room, but after hearing about the trip decides I should stay with him. Extremely interesting guy, an ex-army sniper, proud of the life he's built for himself.

The only English word he seemed to know was "Class" (English slang for very good). Everything was class. The repair shop may be his main job, but he seems to have his finger in every pie going. On the way home we stopped at his shoe shop to unload a delivery of new boots.  Then we pick up the wife and his 12 year old son Arnat, before arriving at his sprawling housing complex. Round the back, his beauty salon with people getting their nails done.

Day 96 - "Hold the bread. Class"

A required part of homestays is the tour. People are proud of their things, and it's something easy to get over the language barrier.

Moi Car. Class
Moi Mother. Class.
Moi second house. Class.
Moi Ashtray... Class.

On the way back to my bike in the morning we take a quick detour to the mountains to take some pictures. The view is stunning. Truly class. In the car, he insists I leave my seat belt off, signalling that police are his good friends. It's who you know I guess. Pulling all the clues together from the night before, it suddenly dawns on me that I may now have connections with the Kazakh mafia.

Day  97 - Mountains, also Class

-

p.s. As for the future: Now I'm in Taraz and it's cold, and it will continue to be cold. I'm hoping I can sneak south towards Shymkent tomorrow, then cycle a bit more through Uzbekistan where it's warmer. If not I may have to jump back on the train. There's no visa pressure pushing me forward, so I can take my time. Excitingly, I'll be meeting my parents in Azerbaijan on the 16th of December for a little pre-Christmas Christmas, so as long as I get there eventually I'm golden.

p.p.s This blog keeps getting harder and harder to write as I have to smush more and more in. This time 3,800 words, congrats for making it. I was thinking of maybe writing shorter posts, but more often. Let me know what you think.

p.p.p.s I keep forgetting the wives' names, which I know is terrible, but I'm mostly only able to speak to the men at length.

Running to the Border - Jia Yu Guan to Zharkent

2nd of November 2019, Day 81 - 3750ish km (+ 75km bus, 1000km train, and another 650km bus)

Day 79: Eating lunch with Tatsu and the fam

From the very beginning, the concern that always seemed to come up when I told people about the trip was the cold. What are you gonna do about winter? In typical Richard style, I just figured I would work it out when I got there. And if China got too cold, I could always jump on the train.

Bragging Rights

The days up to that point had mostly been sunny, so I hadn't been feeling it too much. Day 71, I leave Jia Yu Guan with high hopes of being able to push on. As soon as I get out of the city though the wind picks up, and clouds rush in to fill the desert sky. 20km in, I realise Autumn is all but over in Gansu, and winter is creeping in.

It starts to snow. A strange dry desert snow, grainy and light, billowing in wispy waves like sand in the wake of the trucks rushing by.

By late afternoon, the snow disappears and the sun comes back out. The wind though is not done torturing me. Wind is not like a hill. A hill is fair. Everyone who climbs it faces the same challenge. it's consistent. The wind though does not play by the rules. It is fickle and unpredictable. You spend five minutes with it relentlessly blasting into your side, leaning into it to keep from being blown into the traffic. Then it changes direction a little, or takes a breather, or a truck goes by. Suddenly your bike lurches to the side as if it has a mind of it's own, threatening to throw you off the road into the ditch.

Day 72: Defrosting the tent

The wind is so frustrating at times that I start screaming profanities into the gale - one of the more futile things I've done in my life. If given the choice, I would pick a 10 hour ride up a steep mountainside in lowest gear over even one hour in these high winds.

Somehow I manage to get to Qing Quan (Ching Chew Ann), a mere 60km although it feels like I've been through hell and back. Which is where I discover I can't get a hotel room. Not that I'm turned away or anything, just no hotels anywhere. I trundle on another 10 km down the road before finding a sneaky spot to camp out of the wind between two train tracks.

I then wake up in the morning to find all my water has frozen. Without the sun, the desert temperature rapidly plummets, this time dropping to -14°C. No wonder my toes had been cold during the night.

Day 72: Cooking noodles and coffee for breakfast. Note the frozen water and ill-fated butane canister

Thankfully I had a few warmer days after that, but it gave me a taste of how things can go in the desert when the weather turns bad. Even so, I was resistant to jumping on the train yet. It felt a little like giving up, especially after meeting Jian, the cyclist who had done it alone only a month before. And I'd be losing my bragging rights. There is something so satisfying when a Chinese person asks, You cycled here all the way from Shanghai... by bike? And I can smugly grin and reply, Yeah, all the way.

Day 73: The view from my swanky hotel in Yumen City

I made it another 200km to Guazhou (Goo Ah Joe), before being forced into a decision. From there to Hami, I would have to go about 360km, a big climb to start, wind against me the whole way, with absolutely nothing but road and sand in between. It just seemed too much of a challenge. After all, I should be enjoying this trip. I'm sort of on holiday and holidays are supposed to be fun. I didn't fancy 6 days alone freezing to death in the desert, so on Day 75 I gave up on my bragging rights and decided it was time.

The Train Saga

I got on the bus to a little town called Liuyuan where I could get the train. I say bus, but it was really more of a 10 seater van, my bike nestled in the aisle between the seats. That's when things got difficult.

Day 75: On the bus to Liuyuan

I arrive at 11 and go straight to the train station, but can't even get in to buy a ticket.You have to go through security first (yes, the train station has a proper security check at the entrance, far more comprehensive than any airport I've ever been to.)  I had heard shipping your bike by rail in China is quite easy. Obviously they were talking about much bigger stations than the backwater outpost I was currently stuck at. The security staff have very clearly never had to deal with a foreigner, much less one that wants to send his big ole bike along too. Instantly they say they can't do it, so I go round all the delivery places in town trying to find a way to get my bike to Urumqi (Woo rum-moo chi). No luck. Too big. I go back to the station, and spend the next hour convincing them to change their mind. At one point they suggest I go back to Jia Yu Guan and send the bike from there. No! All those kilometers fighting against the wind for nothing! I have no choice but to irritatingly hang around beg them to change their mind.

Eventually a young guy comes out from the ticket office. Thankfully he's the officious self-important type that takes his little bit of power very seriously. He makes a few phone calls as I nervously sit there, all out of options. In broken English, he tells me he's found a way. I can go ahead to Urumqi, and they'll send the bike on a slow cargo train the next morning. 

I have to take all my bags with me though, and that means putting them all through security. Of course, there is a problem. Something in one of my bags throws them all into a tiffy and suddenly 5 policeman appear out of a back room with handheld video cameras. I know instantly what it is. I should have realised. They open one of my bags and take out the two small butane canisters, which I'd picked up in Jia Yu Guan for cooking while camping. Suddenly I'm being treat like a terrorist suspect. What's this? What is it for? This is illegal. What else do you have? We are gonna have to open up all your bags. Then they go through each, my luggage slowly becoming a giant pile of clothes and camping gear on the inspection desk. Aha! What's this? My butter knife. They take that too. Clearly I'm gonna hold up the train with my dangerous weapon. I may just spread everyone to death.

The whole process takes about an hour, but I finally get through security. By now everyone has relaxed a little, and are waving me on from the security building, wishing me well. This is the first time I've had to move all my stuff any further than up to my hotel room. It isn't until you have to carry all 5 of your bags at once that you realise the strain you've been putting your bike under. I make my unsteady way half way up the steps to the station entrance, lose my footing, and in front of the 10 or so policeman and security staff gathered to see me off, fall down, bashing both my knees, coming to a stop in a crumpled pile at the bottom. I am nothing but graceful.

Day 75: I finally manage to get my ticket

Inside, I limp over to the ticket office. Next train to Urumqi, 8pm. So now I have 4 hours to sit in a half-deserted station, before 12 hours overnight in a hard-sleeper seat. Despite how empty it is, I still manage to gather a small crowd of curious onlookers. My Chinese is getting much better and can answer a lot of their questions. Quite proud the hard work paid off in the end, even if it only really came to fruition right before leaving China.

Day 75: The Cool Uyghur guy sleeping next to me on the train. I have no excuse for that painful smile, I really apologize.

Control

I arrive in Urumqi at 8 in the morning, then have to play the "Find a hotel game" on expert level. Turns out its much harder to keep your cool after being turned away from a place while carrying all your junk on your back. Eventually I find a cheap place and sleep for 14 hours straight. 

Urumqi is a very.. interesting place. I had heard before coming that the Uyghur (We gur) are a minority group in this area. Well they may be a minority in China, but it's easy to work out that they are firmly in the majority here. It only takes a quick google to see that things are not going so well. Rumors of "Re-Education Camps" float all over the western news. Have since 2014, but no country is brave enough to confront China about it. The men have all shaved their beards, and the mosques are silent during prayer time.

Day 79: A Mosque outside the Bazaar

Police are everywhere, all decked out in riot gear with large poles. Which would be intimidating, but a large majority of them are just teenagers, their shields and batons almost as big as they are, leaning against the railings, bored with nothing to do. Even my hotel had a security scanner, although the guard didn't even get up as you walked through. It's all for show. A daily reminder of who is really in charge here. There are a lot of police all over China these days, but here it has a sharper edge to it. Anywhere not patrolled by police is covered in CCTV cameras. There's no escaping the watchful eye of the big red party upstairs.

The food is excellent though. Lots of bread, lots of lamb.

Waiting

Next afternoon, I go to the baggage claim desk at the station (which happens to be a 50 minute bus ride from the city.) It isn't till the lady at the desk asks for my baggage number that I realise. I have absolutely nothing, not even a receipt. I sheepishly hand her my passport, and mumble, er.. yeah.. I don't know.. I'm looking for my bicycle.. It's blue. She stares at me like I've gone out of my mind.

In the end I convince her to call Liuyuan station, and unsurprisingly they know exactly what she's talking about. I was such a disturbance that I wouldn't be surprised if I had made the local news. 

"White guy comes to town armed with butter knife and explosives, refuses to leave station security alone." 

Turns out the bike hasn't even left yet, so the woman at the desk tells me to come back tomorrow. Which I do, only to be told to try again the next day. And then the next day. I shouldn't complain, I've been given 3 days to properly rest my bruised knees and explore the city. Or rather, I have the chance to explore the city, but instead spend each morning lazing about and each afternoon hanging around the station.

Day 79: Fresh bread!

My room has some English movies on the system, so each evening I watch a movie or two. Notting Hill, Sleepless in Seattle, Serendipity, Before Sunrise, Before Sunset. Romantic comedies have always been a guilty pleasure of mine. I've obviously not had much going on in that part of my life for a while now, gotta fill the void somehow.

On the last day I have the luck of running into a Japanese family. I go down to the front desk to yet again prolong my stay another night, when I hear some English from the guy in front of me. I help him out with my newfound Chinese skills and a little body language, explaining that the toilet in his room won't flush to the guy at the desk. Toilet. No. *Vigorous flushing motions* 

Day 79: Mei-Chan

The guy looks Asian though, so I ask where he's from. My name is Tatsu. I'm from Japan! Amazing. We quickly start chatting away in Japanese, and Tatsu invites me to go out sightseeing with his family. It's extremely refreshing to do touristy stuff and talk in a language I can actually make myself understood in. He has an adorably precocious 5 year old, ironically called Mei like my ex, who quickly latches onto me. Whenever her father and I spoke English, she kept complaining that we were talking Hello-go, which is just about the cutest thing ever.

Day 79: Fam and my finger

As I've been teaching littluns for a while now, it's real easy to hang out with her, giving her tired pregnant mother a rest. The family works for 9 months a year in Gunma then travels for 3. Definitely not your normal Japanese tourists. They met in Nepal and have been together ever since. So there is hope for me too, even on a trip like this! With a baby on the way and Mei starting Elementary school next year, this will be their last long trip for a while. It was a privilege to be part of that warm family, even if it was just for an afternoon. Made waiting around for 3 days feel all worthwhile.

Around 5, we say our goodbyes and I shoot off to the station where my bike has actually finally shown up. After a teary reunion, my baby and I head back to the hotel to prep for the next leg in the migration west.

Crossing the Border

Day 80, I go to the bus station at 11 only to find the bus to Khorgas doesn't leave till 8pm (Huorugas in Chinese.) That's OK, I'm used to waiting around by now. Now some might think that its all my fault for not finding out beforehand, but you have to remember, I'm constantly at an information disadvantage. The online information pages are in Chinese. The person at the help desk speaks Chinese. The signs are all in Chinese. I'm very used to having no idea whats going on by now. You just have to kind of feel it out and hope for the best.

Day 79: Reunited

When it's time to leave, I roll my bike down to the bus to be greeted by a disgruntled bus driver. It seems no one told him he'd have a bike to squeeze into the storage compartment under the bus. The buses round here double as a sort of cash in hand delivery service, and he couldn't fit everything anymore, so he makes me pay an extra 100 yuan to make up for his lost business. I'm more than happy to pay. Beats waiting 3 days for it to arrive on the other end. 

The sleeper bus was fascinating. Each person has a bed, shaped like one of those deck chairs at the beach, with the head-half slightly raised. The person behind's feet then slot in underneath your head. Reasonably comfy and roomy though, which is lucky as we had another 12 hour slog through the night to look forward to. The bus has two drivers that take turns, so that they can keep going right through til morning.

Day 81. Sleep deprived but high strung on nervous energy, I head out to the border crossing. Even though it's only 10, the place is heaving with huge lines snaking out onto the road. With no idea what's going on, I go up to a guard, who surprises me with perfect English. Foreigners can go to the New Border Gate. It's 3 km up the road. Feeling relieved not to have to wait amongst the jostling masses gathered outside, I jump back on my bike.

Day 81:  The New Border Gate complex. So new that no one knows about it

I get to the New Border gate and it is absolutely deserted. After searching around I find a random security guard who tells me to wait till 11:00. As I'm waiting a small van of Kazaks show up. The 10 or so of us finally go through. One day this place will be absolutely rammed with people, but for now it is even more deserted inside than it was outside. A single security and passport check lane is open, despite the place being the size of an international airport's check in hall.

I make it half way through baggage scans before something clicks that I am not their usual Kazak tourist over in China to see family for the weekend. Two officers come over, and the female officer in perfect English asks me to come with them. They bring me into an interview room  (plus the bike and bags), then close the door, which I really didn't like. The only place in China with no CCTV cameras.

The female officer wanted to practice her English, so we ended up in a fairly in-depth chat about learning languages. The inspection should have been an ordeal, but I was having such a nice time talking to a pretty girl fluent in English, that I completely forgot to feel downtrodden and persecuted at all. She did however keep casually throwing in curve-ball official questions without breaking stride.

"Oh wow, how did you study Japanese? I use flashcards too. Please open your bag and take out all electronics" 

Our conversation continued as the other officer looked through all of the pictures on my phone and laptop. 

"I read that Children who grow up with two languages think naturally in both. I'm so jealous. Who is this man? Have you ever been to Tibet? I want to go to America to practice English but I can't afford it. Why do you have pictures of police? I wish I could travel to as many countries as you."

The strangest of the official questions though was,

"Who are all these people? You only have a few pictures of attractions, but lots of pictures with people."

Clearly they were worried I'm journalist or something. Luckily managed to convince them otherwise. Little do they know I have a SELF PUBLISHED BLOG which at least 10 people read. I'm influential.

I suppose though the question reveals what's been more important to me on this trip. It's not the pagodas or sky-rises, the mountains or the temples that I want to remember the most. It's the lovely people I've met, who helped me along the way.

Then to the border! They let me cycle through on my bike which was a great feeling. Like stepping over some magical threshold to a new fantastical land. On the other side, people speaking Kazak or Russian. Signs, all in Cyrillic script. Uniforms changed from black or navy to Khaki and green. I'm pointed through by smiling guards that all say hello and shake my hand. Half are russian-y looking white guys, the first ones I've seen since Xia He. I figure from the warm reception that they don't get too many tourists through here.

Most of the staff speak English, so I chat while they do my paperwork. 30 day visa, and double stamped, so no need to register. Then I'm through, feeling like surely that can't be it. No police to watch me leave the gate. No more security checks. People hardly even give me a second glass. I've made it.

Day 81: Chinese metropolis on the right, the open plains of Kazakhstan on the left.

Goodbye China

So we did it gang. We've conquered the Middle Kingdom. From the eastern port of Shanghai, to the western mountain border crossing at Khorgas. 3280km cycled in China, 1800km on public transport. And still 9 more months to go. It's slowly dawning on me how big of an adventure I've taken on here. Now I'm in Kazakhstan and it's as if the trip is starting all over again. Honestly, it's so exciting. I'm all giddy like a kid with a new toy. A new culture, new language, new faces, new food. 

As you can probably tell, I've already written way too much for one post. I'm actually in Almaty right now, and have so much to tell you about Kazakhstan, but so much has happened that I couldn't possibly fit it all in. As long as everything goes alright with the Kyrgyzstan border crossing into Bishkek, I'll tell you all about it next time.

Day 82: Leaving Zharkent

The Tibetan Monks - Ping Liang to Jia Yu Guan

22nd of October 2019, Day 70 - 3430ish km

Day 54 - Got randomly invited into someone's home and was greeted by Marx and the boys

Since Ping Liang, the hotel situation has chilled out a bit. I haven't had a police party in my room for ages. Gansu is a long province, the last point of civilization before I dive out into the wild west. If a hotel can't work out what to do with my passport, they just pocket the cash,  and usher me quickly into a room without doing any pesky bookkeeping. I won't tell if you don't.

With the hotel weight lifted from my shoulders, I can relax and just enjoy the cycling, which has been brilliant. This section is the most mountainous part of the China journey. Every morning I climb up and up at a snails pace. The gaps in between inhabited places have been getting larger and larger too, so I'm often climbing 40+km late into the afternoon, before barreling down the hill on the other side, racing the sunset as I search for signs of humanity. My average daily kilometer-age is up to 75, and the other day I churned  out my first 100km ride. Quite frankly I feel like a cycling god. More on the 100km day later.

Day 61 - Tibetan prayer flags on the mountain ridge

On my way to Lanzhou (Lan Joe) I had my first repeat roadside rendezvous. I re-ran into a young guy on a motorbike, who I had met previously on the way to Ping Liang. He had joined the Chinese army at the age of 17, making him very polite and straight-laced. Insisted on calling me sir the whole time, made me feel very old. But at 24 he had hung up his uniform and was motorbiking around China. In the 3-day interim between our two chance encounters, he had already made it up to Qing Hai lake and was on his way back home. It made me extremely jealous of how fast you can go when you have a motor rather than two tired legs lugging you plus your own weight in bags up a mountain every day. When it was time to get back on our way, he very out of character gave me a bro-fist, before telling me, Don't swim in the lakes. They are sacred, and the locals have very big knives. Extremely specific advice, I wonder how he found that one out.

Day 53 - Soldier boy posing with his motorbike

The Monastery

Lanzhou is in a deep valley, which means a gargantuan climb on the other side. Wiser cyclists than me usually go round and skip it entirely when taking this route, but there was a very important thing I wanted to do there. Ever since arriving in China, people have been telling me I have to go to Tibet. I would tell them that I can't, its in the complete wrong direction unless I take the lower route through Pakistan and Iran. They'd laugh. Yeah... that doesn't sound easy. But you should, though. Tibet is so beautiful.

I still can't justify going to Tibet, but I've managed to fit the lite version in. The southern part of Gansu used to be the Tibetan province of Amdo. In Xia He (She a her) there is a Tibetan Buddhist monastery called Labrang. It is one of the few left open to the public in China proper. Still quite far out of my way, but you can get a 4-hour bus there from Lanzhou. I figured it was be worth the climbs on the other side, to put the cycling on hold for two days to go and do some spiritual-ing like a real tourist.

Now most of China is culturally dominated by the Han, with small spatterings of Muslim mixed in. Mostly at noodle shops. In the UK, you know you are at a good Italian restaurant if it's run by Italians. In China, the Muslims make the best noodles, usually fresh and by hand right there at the shop in front of you. You can tell them apart from Han noodle shops because the decor is green rather than red, and very occasionally there are some Arabic signs floating about.

Day 57 - Muslims and a Tibetan chillin on the sidewalk

Xia He is something else though, even before you get into the Monastery. The Han, Muslim, and Tibetan are all mixed in together, about as close to a cultural melting pot you are gonna get in China. After two months of cultural monochrome, I found it quite overwhelming. By far the most interesting place I've been to just sit and people watch.

The Tibetans are just out of this world. I've never seen anything like their style before. The guys wear double sized loose coats with sleeves that come down to their knees. They often wear them with one side down, held up by a red sash. Apparently it's so they can pull it up over their heads while herding the flocks in winter and still have their arms covered.

With the coat, cowboy boots and cowboy hats, especially the women. But not the big Texan ones, more like the hard leather ones you see in South America. They look like cowboys, but also completely different - a livestock culture that developed in a unique way due to the cold mountain winters. Almost all Tibetans carry prayer beads which they slowly finger through their hands as they walk, counting the daily mantras. They are darker and tanned, with beautiful round faces and rosy cheeks from the mountain wind. That is, when you can actually see their faces - everyone is wrapped up in scarves to keep out the cold.

Day 58 - Keeping warm while waiting for prayers

Then of course, there are the monks who come down into the town to do a little shopping, constantly pulling their red and purple robes up around them to protect their bald heads against the wind. The Monastery itself is much bigger than I expected, but I should have guessed. It has more than 2000 monks, and they all need somewhere to live. It's more of a town within a town. The outside of the grounds is lined with the longest path of prayer wheels in the world. The Tibetan Buddhists don't limit prayer to spoken words. The physical act of spinning the prayer wheel is enough to put the message out into the universe. It's why you often associate Tibetan Buddhism with prayers written on multi-colored flags, their fluttering mantras carried by the mountain winds up to whatever holy deity happens to be listening.

At 3 pm there is an English tour. Unsurprisingly I was the only one there, so I ended up having a one to one look round with a monk who spoke the best English of anyone I've met in China so far. There are six different schools in the monastery. Astrology, Medicine, Scripture, that sort of stuff. Luck would have it though that my guide was from the school of Philosophy. I knew my Masters wouldn't be a complete waste. We ended up strolling around the grounds, generally ignoring the ornate decorations and temples around us, instead debating various different topics. What is Happiness? When does a life start and end? What does it mean to be good? What is a person? What is the self? The last two got us going cause I just so happened to write my dissertation on the topic. It broke down, though, when we got down to the more fundamental dogmatic stuff. See for him reincarnation and karma are givens that need no proof, and when I questioned whether we really had a soul, he said No, we don't have one soul. We've got six. Definitely some leaps in logic going on there.

Day 57 - My man on the inside

Then we got talking about the Monk life. He seemed irritated by basically everything that took him away from studying. The Tibetan word for Monk is "Trapa", which literally means "student", and "Lama" means teacher. The Monastery has only been open to the public for a few years, and he said it's been very disruptive for the Monks. No one can concentrate in lessons. They take four vows when they become a Monk. Never kill. Never steal. Never lie. Never marry. I asked him if his vow to celibacy was difficult to keep. He said it's very hard. But who has time to study when you have to look after a wife and a family? Many of the PhD students I know appear to agree with him.

Then near the end of the tour, I had the absolute pleasure of seeing him play the foreigner card. A Chinese guy interrupted our conversation to ask a question, and in English my monk answered "Sorry, I don't speak Chinese." Which I know for a fact is not completely true because he told me he's very good at Mandarin. I guess the "Never lie" vow doesn't quite stretch to annoying tourists. Maybe it's less that he can't, and more that he doesn't particularly want to.

The next day I planned on going to morning prayers at 6 am, but my bed was too warm and cozy so I slept in. Thankfully the monks are extremely pious and have lunch prayers too, which I managed to catch. Magical stuff, it really felt like I was seeing something out of a fantasy film. From about 11:30 they slowly started to collect outside on the steps, swaying backwards and forwards to the beat, wearing their yellow hats that look like mohawk haircuts. Deep humming from inside the prayer hall, with a thousand voices joining in, rhythmically repeating the same mantra. Then two guys on the roof blew on horns to call them inside. I wasn't sure if I could go in to see, but the local Tibetans decked out in finery, carrying yak butter offering candles started to file inside. I, in my dirty rain gear and trackies, snuck in behind. You couldn't take photos, but you wouldn't really want to. It would have ruined the other-worldly sanctity of the moment. Didn't stop a few of the monks from pointing at me and grinning when our eyes met.

Day 58 - No photos from inside but I snook one in the doorway. The Tibetans give the monks names of people they want prayed for wrapped in money, then the names are read out during prayers.

After prayers, I headed to the highest point in the Monastery, where you can see the whole grounds nestled between the river and the mountains. As I stood there gazing down on the houses and temples, wrapped in the holiness of the divine experience I'd just had, a monk burst out a doorway into one of the yards, hiked up his robes, and took a shit in the garden. Happy to have seen the duality of man condensed into two striking moments, I let that be the full stop on my Tibetan experience and got back on the bus to Lanzhou.

Good Karma

From that point on it seemed like my luck had turned around. Cheaper hotels started letting me in again, the gray skies evaporated to be replaced by glorious sunshine, and luckiest of all, I met Jian. Maybe I'd gotten some good karma from the Monastery trip.

Day 59 - Adventurers swapping stories

Jian is another tour cyclist, a Chinese guy going the other way round, through Tibet and the desert, then back through Xin Jiang (Shin Jee Ang) where I will be spending my last few weeks in China. He had been cycling for 134 days, with a whopping 10,000km under his belt. Clearly he's much fitter than me. As he should be, he's only 21. It was lovely to find someone else on a similar journey. Made me feel less crazy, or at the very least less alone in being crazy. He pulled out a bag of pears and apples, I pulled out sunflower seeds and biscuits, and we had ourselves a little mini picnic on the side of the road. We must have sat there chatting for over an hour, talking about everything. The isolation, the feeling of being on the road, how impossible it is to have a girlfriend while traveling. He said he only ended up feeling really lonely recently, as the Chinese celebrate a big family festival in August. I imagine I will feel the same around Christmas.

Day 65 - A crazy guy walking to Chengdu lugging this giant solar panel cart all the way. He's live streaming the whole thing

My luck then did a 180 on me during Day 65. The 100km day. I read the blog of two guys who had done the Yongchang to Shandan run in a day and one of them was old, so I pigheadedly assumed I can do the same. The weather has turned cold, but the sun keeps you toasty. Being this far up in the mountains all day with the cold and sun and wind has turned my face dark with pink cheeks, just like the Tibetans. The morning starts well and by lunch I'm out on the grassy plains, moving up towards the mountains tipped with something suspiciously resembling snow. Hopefully it stays up there a bit longer. I can do many things, but I can't bike through snow. As the slope starts getting steeper the wind picks up. It blows directly into my face, threatening to throw me off down a hill on one side, or into the trucks flying by on the other. Quite possibly the toughest climb so far. I don't get to the peak until late, and it's a very round mountain so I don't particularly fly down the other side like usual.

Day 65 - The view from the top doesn't quite capture the wind

By now it's 6 and I'm still 30km from Shandan. That's when I make the slightly unwise decision to not camp and press on. The sun is going down, but I figure I can make it.

I get to a closed section of the G312, where some guys are stopped in a truck. I ask them if I can get through. Ke yi ma? Ke yi. Which vaguely means "You can", and I took to mean, "Yeah, go for it!", but later realised it in no way implies "You should". Language is a nuanced thing. By now it's pitch black and I can hardly see. Whole sections of the road are impassable, so I end up going into dirt tracks on the side multiple times. Eventually, I come up to some lights. It seems they are doing some late night repairs on the road. I pass a few vehicles and workers, but no one bats an eyelid, so I figure I'm fine. It feels hot all of a sudden, and there is steam coming off the road. All at once I realise the giant vehicles are rollers, and I'm slowly sinking into fresh tarmac, leaving a trail behind me through the newly pressed road. My luck has run out. A guy notices, his face slowly turning from surprise to disbelief and finally resting on disappointment. He wordlessly shooed me onto the dirt path on the side, before calling out for the rollers to stop. Of course now I have hot tarmac all over my tires, and I'm in gravel, so my wheels become completely covered in little rocks. I don't think this was what they intended when they said "become one with the road."

Day 65 - Right before the sun set on me

I limp through the final 10km, spraying gravel bits all over the road behind me, then stop at the first hotel I see. They clearly aren't allowed to have me, but it's 9 pm at night and they want the money, so they take 100 yuan and hide me away in a back room. So far no lasting damage to the wheels, but galvanizing your tires with tarmac won't be catching on any time soon. 100km in a day. Won't be doing that again in a hurry.

Day 66 - Riding alongside the ruins of the Great Wall

Day 66 - It's really Great

Camping

I did on one occasion decide to dust off the tent and camp for the night. As long as you can do without a hot shower, it's the perfect accommodation. No hassle finding a hotel, it's free, and I get to see the sunrise. The next leg really is out in the wilderness, so there will be a lot more camp days to come before the China chapter of my adventure comes to a close. As long as I don't get eaten by wolves out in the Chinese desert, I'll see you on the other side at Urumqi.

Zai jian.

Day 67 - First camp in China, hidden from the road by the bushes