Back to Kazakhstan

I am not an invisible man. But, sometimes I wish I was. Man's best friend is, to the cyclist, anything but, and as I crossed over the border from a wet, mud-logged, Uzbek dirt-road onto a brand new pristine Kazakh one, I was welcomed with a familiar sound. Yes, a huge, hairy monster barking with the familiar blood-lust look in its eyes, salivating at the prospect of well-toned cyclist hams.

It was the usual story (though strangely in Uzbekistan, it had been an extremely rare occurrence) - dog gives chase, I pick up the pace whilst reaching into my handlebar bag for my dog-stone, flailing it around in the air in a threatening enough manner to make the beast keep it's distance, and eventually taking it far enough away from its home territory, that it gives up the chase. Not soon enough to stop me from cursing both dog and owner, who would have received said dog-stone with interest, had they been directly in front of me. Welcome (back) to Kazakhstan!

The intense desert travel I had left behind me in Uzbekistan continued onwards for many more miles, but the four-legged company was thankfully mostly not dogs, but horses and camels. Way more camels than I'd seen in Uzbekistan, and the camels here seem to have a much better disposition than the camels I've seen anywhere else - they appear to smile rather than snort in disgust, and seem pretty chilled and happy with life in the Kazakh desert.

Eighty kilometres of new road leading out from the border, ended abruptly in a seriously bad 20km section that, with much effort, brought me to Beyneu, a large dusty town (with a few rogue camels wandering the streets - these ones with the demeanour of teenage delinquents). It was a kind of return to civilisation, and I was able to take a rest day and better research the stretch of desert between here and the Caspian Sea. Mangystau province is a little visited, and little known area, and so I'd assumed there was nothing here, but as you will see, I was quite wrong - there are a lot of interesting things.

However, before reaching the interesting stuff there is more flat desert. Leaving Beyneu there is one day of total unchanging flatness, and then another, then suddenly the plateau gave way, firstly to a single canyon off to my right - almost like the scratch wound left by an unearthly giant-sized eagle - the flat, flat earth is suddenly scarred with a single deep talon scratch, large rocks and cliffs exposed in a narrow chasm piercing far beneath the otherwise flat sand and shingle desert floor; then a couple of kms later, the flatness of the past weeks completely fell away before me, and the road raced down into a huge, deep, bowl-shaped salt-flat surrounded by cliffs, mountains and rock formations.

Some terrible weather was on the way (-11C "real feel", with strong winds - it should be in the +20's here right now), so I was keen to reach the next town (Shetpe) and hunker down there to let it blow over, but I had a 200km day ahead of me to be able to do that, and as the flat desert was giving way to more interesting but also more hilly terrain, that was not going to happen.

I managed 175kms before darkness and so left myself just a hilly 25kms short of Shetpe, but did find a Chaikana (teahouse) that let me stay. So, the next morning I wrapped up well and pedalled hard into the icy, icy wind and sleet for a couple of hours and made it to Shetpe, where German cyclists, and 2 of the youngest grandparents I've ever met (in actual years and in life outlook) - Georg and Katy were also, by chance, staying.

We sat the rest of the day out in the guesthouse - they sensibly had spent the whole day there, and the following day - still cold and windy, but not quite as horrible, we shared the cost of a local driver, to take us on a bracing walk around Otpan Ata - a mountain-top mosque; and "The Valley of Balls".

The Valley of Balls is a must-see in the area - giant stone "dinosaur eggs" ranging in size from tiny marbles to 3-metre high globes, geologists differ on their explanations, but they are most likely "concretions" formed by material gradually gathering around a hard core, possibly a fossil, eventually forming a much larger stone ball (but I prefer the idea that they're dino-eggs).

The following day we kept our warm beds in Shetpe for another night, but cycled out on a day trip to the other local must-see sight, the mighty Sherkala mountain, a huge monolithic mountain defended on every sides with steep cliffs, which also appears on Kazakh banknotes. Said to look like a giant yurt or a sleeping lion, Sherkala is the scene of many legends, the best involving the fort (whose ruins can be found on the top), being besieged. The impregnable vertical walls made attack impossible, but when the attackers discovered the secret that a well was dug deep from the top of the mountain, right down through the centre of the mountain and on into the water table below, they dug their own massive tunnel sideways through the mountain till they reached the well shaft and blocked it off, so forcing surrender.

Although my endpoint in Kazakhstan was now just 175kms away, I wanted to hang around just a little longer, as I had one final side-trip in mind - to visit the Muslim pilgrimage sites of Shopan Ata, and Beket Ata, a long side trip, for which I would take a shared taxi, leaving my bike and gear in Shetpe.

The main form of Islam practiced here is Sufism, the mystical form of the religion, often persecuted by some of the more extremist branches of Islam. Shopan Ata and Beket Ata are 2 of the most important teachers from the Mangystau region of Kazakhstan, and they are buried in underground mausoleums. In particular, Beket Ata's resting place is set in a breath-taking location - you need to walk down the steep wall of an oceanic canyon (much of the land around here is former ocean), and then squeeze through a small entrance-way into the burial chamber and another carved out room.

There is a lot of tieing of rags to branches and poles, and marching around sites multiple times. Not many photo's from here though - it's not really allowed in the holy sites.

It's very interesting to watch what is going on, but the most interesting period is in the evening - the pilgrimage is usually done as a 2day-1night trip, and everybody stays in a purpose built hall. The older generation speak little-to-no English, so I have to make do with my very limited Russian, so conversations are pretty basic. The younger generation all learn English now, so I'm able to have in depth discussions with a final year school group (who are there praying for their upcoming exams!), and a large university group. They are very open, many speak good English, and we are able to talk about a lot of different things - from religion to politics to hopes/fears for the future. It's clear that they don't have quite the same hang-ups that many Malays have about the world - it is a much more moderate form of Islam practiced here.

For me it's interesting to hear about the freedoms they do/don't have in Kazakhstan. It seems that talking in private about politics is largely tolerated, but as soon as anyone goes public with views other than loyal support of the regime - whether in the media, or at a protest or anything like that - the line of tolerance is crossed. This has become clear in just the past week with the barely covered in western media arrest of democracy protesters. The consensus amongst the younger generation was definitely one of hope for a brighter, more democratic future, and they looked with interest towards the reforms in Uzbekistan, with hope that the political transition created by Nursultan stepping down as president of Kazakhstan might lead to reforms in their own land.

Not all the young people felt so at ease talking with a foreign visitor. One student was very annoyed with me for not speaking Kazakh. I explained in Russian, as he either didn't speak, or didn't want to speak English, that I was just a tourist (not living there), and was only there for a week, so did not speak the language, but if I was going to live or work there, then of course I would learn. He was not happy and seemed quite aggressive. He was in a minority of 1 and his classmates were all very critical of what they described as "stupid Nationalism". One older lady also seemed a bit agitated that I was a Christian and not a Muslim, but most people were quite happy for me to be there, and again everyone around who spoke English was very critical/dismissive of the woman, and welcoming towards me (a visit to these mausoleums is an accepted part of the small tourist trade in Mangestau and what I was doing was by no means unexpected or frowned upon in general).

My journey through Central Asia, and my journey by land (for now) are both due to end at the port of Kuryk. I would dearly love to cycle nonstop - around the south coast of the Caspian and onwards through Iran, but this is not allowed. US, UK and Canadian passport holders are not allowed to travel independently through the country. Travelling north through endless Russian Steppe doesn't really appeal, and following the northern coastline all the way around to Azerbaijan involves passing through one of the most troubled regions of Russia - Chechnya or Dagestan - the latter of which is getting better, but is still probably not the wisest idea on a bike. So I'm sailing over the Sea to Azerbaijan  onboard one of the freight ferries that reserve a few spaces for passengers.

I get back to Shetpe around lunchtime, so there is little to no chance of making the 175kms to the port that day, and I set off after some lunch, to see how far I can get, and message the contact I've been given, who deals with ferry passengers, to find out when the next ferry is.

Ferry's here are irregular - there is no timetable and ferries arrive when they arrive and leave a few hours later. If you are really unlucky you might have to wait up to 2 weeks between ferries, but usually it's just a couple of days or so.

Once I've covered about half the distance to the port, girded by a bowl full of fermented camels milk(!), I get a message from the ferry contact that I've been in touch with, to be told that a ferry will be leaving tonight! It arrives at midnight, and leaves a few hours after that. I've made very good pace so far and it might just be do-able. The wind is blowing across me from the East, and the final 40kms (still some way off) will be East to West, so I should have a good tailwind at the close of the day.

As I get close to the coast, the wind picks up and changes direction, so that the final 40kms will now be into a strong headwind. I reach the town of Kuryk (25kms East of the port), long after dark and come to a tired halt for some dinner. My body is telling me to stay at the small guesthouse here, but the brain is telling me that it's stupid to miss an unreliably irregular ferry for the sake of 25 late, dark, windy kms.

The brain wins out and I gather myself for a final push. It's hard work, but with dinner in my belly I find the energy to knock out the last bit, and arrive just before midnight. My last bit of cycling in Kazakhstan, just like my first is marked by a small battle with some large, vicious dogs, and then I'm there, inside the port building, where I meet the first cyclists going the same direction as me since restarting my journey in March - French cyclists Florian and Hugo.

And so at 3am, we board the ferry along with a couple of other foot passengers a few truck drivers, a train, and a team led by a Swiss engineer who are pioneering a return train route through Western Asia and onwards across the Caspian and back, for the Azerbaijan government.

It's farewell to Central Asia, as another major chapter of my journey comes to a close. I will be soon in that geopolitical grey zone that is maybe Western Asia, maybe Europe, depending what definition you use, but still a part of the great Silk Road. For my part I'm counting everything as far as Istanbul as the next major chapter - Western Asia? Caucasus and Black Sea? Whatever you want to call it, bring it on!