Of Donkeys, Horse Milk and Goat Heads

Rest day again in Khorog which is a nice town in Tajikistan. Nicer than the other towns that we have seen.We are in a lovely hotel on the banks of a nameless river. The hotel only has a few rooms so we are camping on the green grass on the shores of the river. The most interesting fact of this river is that Afghanistan is on the other side. Just a stone throw away but probably advisable not to throw any stones.

We have clocked 6900km now and are officially more than half way to Istanbul.The last couple of days we have been riding the Pamir highway and we are six days from the end. It has been a lot of suffering but suffering in a party dress so to speak. Mountains, rivers and valleys to die for. We have crossed several mountain passes over 4000m and camped at 4300m one night. The temperature in my Hilleberg tent was -2 C. Not too bad so I didn't have to look for a male muscle package to heat me up.

Erwin thought he had died and gone to heaven because one night we camped in a meadow of Edelweisses. Now he had his share of Edelweisses for more than one lifetime. And his heart rate doesn't go up anymore. Only once when I picked one for my lapel.

A girl and a donkey walking on Edelweisses. Zoom for detail. There are no horses at this altitude because they die of heart attacks but the donkeys seem to thrive.

At the start of the Pamir Highway was this impressive fence that the Soviet Union built between Tajikistan and China. I don't know whether it was to keep the Chinese out of The Soviet or the Soviets out of China. I will have to ask my former husband who has read more than 900 books on the Second World War. He might know.

Closer view of the fence and me standing with one foot in China

We have seen the most spectacular Moslem grave sites. Often much more glamorous than the houses where the live people live. These dead people have a wonderful view from their graves. That is if they are not too busy playing with the 77 virgins.

We are woken each morning with an ode to Mecca and will probably be exposed to that until we have our final dinner in Istanbul. The weird thing is that the dogs seems to be converted as well because they regularly join the crescendo. Even at the 4300m camp we were not spared. There were only 3 nomad huts but somehow they managed to make the hills alive with the sound of Mecca.

Nomadic girls, hopefully all virgins.

Cows with a view

These girls were selling  sour horse milk. I was thirsty but I declined. I was reluctantly exposed to that specific delicacy the day before. I was running out of water and  a young man in a car stopped and offered me a drink. I had to accept because for the last hour I could see the shadow of a vulture flying above me. The drink tasted like the vomit of someone who had had porridge and sour milk. It had bits in it. But the vulture disappeared soon after. He didn't like horse milk either.

White and green

Early morning camp in the meadow of Edelweisses 

The road to nowhere 

Riders meeting in a yurt because it's raining like hell

The moon and the moon landscape

Don't drop your iPhone in this toilet, 4200m

Climbing towards Tajikistan 

And suddenly we are in a desert again

Lakes deep and mountains high

Lawrence of Arabia and Dr Livingston I presume.

Tajikistan's version of a Shell Petrol Station

A goat head barbeque. 

Washed down with some nice bread.

Not recommend for your last supper. Or any supper for that matter.

Of Manure, Nude Bathing and Afghanistan

Finally the end of seven grueling days. God rested on the seventh day but we didn't. The name of the section was Mountains and Meadows but it could have been Mosquitoes and Manure, but that wouldn't attract so many tourists.

Most of the cycling was on dirt roads and lots of climbing in soaring temperatures. In the distance the snow capped mountains teased us while we were sweating it out in 35 degrees Celsius.

We travelled from Karakol to Osh which is the 3000 year old capital of Southern Kyrgyzstan. Some of the days we followed a lake called Issyk-Kul which is the second largest saline lake after The Caspian Sea. The water is quite hot and never freezes and the name translates to Hot Sea. Just when I wanted to jump in to wash my hair I saw a snake swimming. But I jumped in anyway a few meters away because my fear of dirty hair is bigger as my fear of snakes. The camping place was wonderful except for the locals having a dusk to dawn party on the beach.

After two days we left the shores of the lake to tackle three mountain passes over 3000m. This was rather challenging to say the least especially the fact that two of them was on gravel roads. But the views were stunning if you had the energy to wipe the sweat from your eyes.

The atmosphere is getting more and more Islamic so no more nude bathing in rivers. We camped near a stream almost every night so I could wash my hair daily so that it can look stunning underneath my helmet. In the one river we saw the leg of a dead cow but luckily my shampoo clouded the water so I couldn't see it properly.

I didn't roll anything in my tent this time except mosquitoes, ants and flies. Also cow, goat, sheep and horse manure. My father would use another word to describe it. After all these months I have collected enough to fertilize a small African country.

The last night we stayed in Jalal-Abad in private people's homes. I ended up with four guys who had to share rooms but I was pushed into my own room because I wasn't married to one of them. In the morning a cacophony broke loose from all the nearby mosques. From now on we won't need alarm clocks anymore.

We are starting The Pamir Highway in the next few days.It is one of the most dangerous roads in the world and is not for the faint hearted. At times It will take us to almost 5000m. It follows the Pamir Mountains and the road is bad from erosion, landslides, earthquakes and avalanches. I hope to live to tell the tale.

I have another minor problem The president of Turkmenistan doesn't like South Africans so my visa has been denied. This means that I will have to fly over the country and miss out on 9 days of cycling. An alternative is to ride through Afghanistan if I can find a bodyguard. Vacancy available.

Of Gramadoelas, Take Away Snakes and Swearing

After Almaty, which was a very welcome oasis of Western comfort we were centrifuged into the gramadoelas again. That is the word we use in Afrikaans for vast areas of absolutely nothing. We cycled for three days to end up in the town of Karakol which brings us to Kyrgyzstan. The cycling distance is slowly creeping up to 6000km and we have entered the fifth country of the Silk route.

The gramadoelas 

The Gramadoelas with a road.

Gramadoelas with a canyon.

The gramadoelas is not completely empty but contains some aspects of nature like low flowing rivers. This is the paradise for the cousin of the Siberian mosquito, the Kazakstan mosquito. They are quite alike  and it would be difficult to point out the difference between them. The Kazakstan mosquito is very good at performing Brahms third racket around your ears whenever you are forced to leave your tent. Leaving your tent would be for urget activities like powdering your nose and maybe cycling. During these activities the places where the sun doesn't shine is very attractive to these mosquitoes.

It looks very idyllic but don't zoom in to see the mosquitoes.

In hindsight the mosquito was the least of irritants that the Kazakstan gramadoelas had to offer. One morning when I woke up and packed up my tent I included an unwelcome guest.  This was a snake that spent the night under my ground sheet seeking the warmth of my body. Luckily I was completely oblivious of this otherwise I would have woken the entire camp and the adjacent village with my screams. Not that I have anything against a snake in my tent but only the type with two legs. 

The snake did not travel well and died over the day in my bag. 

The border crossing to Kyrgyzstan went surprisingly well and the only thing of note was that Erwin's heart beat went up when he saw an Edelweiss on the road near where the border guards were patrolling. He was probably scared that they would march on it.

The Edelweisses through Erwin's bike.

In Karakol we went to a restaurant and in the menu was a price list for paying when you do things wrong in the restaurant like breaking the plates, destroying the furniture or swearing.

The price list on the menu. It didn't state how much it will cost to say "Jou ma se #%*+".

Stronger things on the menu.

A Georgian pancake 

The nice hotel where we spent the rest day.

A sad thing on the rest day was that Steve, one of the favourites on the trip announced that it was too hard and that he was leaving. Now we will not learn anything more about ice. Maybe I should hold lessons on the art of flirting. Maybe that would  make us survive the seven days of bush camps, mountain passes over 3000m, gravel and other nice luxuries.

Of Former Husbands, All Inclusive's and Visas

Now I'm in a place which is definitely honeymoon material.We're spending the luxury of two rest days in Almaty the old capital of Kazakstan.The city is the success story of the Russians in Central Asia. Which unfortunately makes it the 30th most expensive city in the world. It is situated on the foot of the snow capped Zailiysky mountains.There are glitzy shopping malls, western-style coffee shops and lots of exciting restaurants. Georgian and Korean to name a few. Nice for vegetarians. The type with two legs and no wings.

Convoy into Almaty

The golden helmet that Erwin really wants to wear

Almaty is heaven compared to the hell of Usharal where the last rest day was. My former husband and his circle of friends who likes to travel to counties like North Korea, Transnistria will probably differ from me...

Talk about hell...

Unfortunately the delicacies of Almaty is not available for me today because I'm in a taxi on a border run to Kyrgyzstan. My visa for Kazakstan will expire in a few days so I must exit the country and enter again to get 15 more days. I have been spending the day with a 50 year old Kazakstanian who is taking me to the border. We can not speak to each other. When he realized that I want to sleep in the back of the car he drove to his house and got me a pillow.

The black car driving me to the border. Don't know the type.

Otherwise we had five days of cycling and bush camping. 141km, 148km, 112km, 95km and 102km which took us into Almaty. The roads went from nightmarish to silky smooth.

Erwin in his brand new T-Shirt with a map of Russia and the quote "I never give up". His other one saying "I take sweets from strangers" is now being used for cleaning his chain.

An impending thunderstorm breaking loose over my tent which I pitched up on a high point.

Nothing of note happened except the usual headwinds, rain, heat and mosquitos. The scenery changed to the more spectacular with mountain ranges in the distance and meadows of wild flowers. Luckily the mountains were only in the distance and we didn't have to cross them. Not yet in any case.

Pink wild flowers. No Edelweiss.

In the evenings Steve gives us lectures on geology. He is a retired professor in the United States. His speciality is ice. The only thing I know about ice is how it tastes in my Gin and Tonic. I weigh more than Steve.

The last bush camp was next to an all inclusive hotel on the shores of a lake. When I got five mosquito bites on arrival, before I even pouring the milk into my coffee I decided to fall for the temptation to rent a room. It was interesting to experience a all inclusive where nothing was included. 

 When the sun came out from behind a cloud for a few seconds I decided to order a drink next to the pool. It took three phone calls and one hour before a woman finally arrived with a beer in a bottle without a glass. The hotel was otherwise empty with some weird looking staff in uniforms strolling around the desolate buildings.

I was also strolling around.

Some riders enjoying a Kazhak bear in the prisitine empty pool. 

A few overweight Kazakstanians enjoying the beach in front of the hotel. Note the snowy mountains.

I'm now on my way back to Almaty in the taxi. The excursion went surprisingly well and I don't have to spend 3 weeks in a Kazakstan jail for a visa crime anymore. Although sometimes it seems the better alternative to a bush camp.

Bush camp or prison? That is the question.