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