Saturday 29th June 2013

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Down Day in Osh.

Basically, a down day means we had more time to lie down this morning, as we were staying for another night, and no travelling. Someone knocked on our door just before 8am. They had forgotten to give us our breakfast vouchers. They should not have bothered. Rice pudding with rancid butter, dry bread, cold pancakes with rancid cheese, and dry cake. The tea was nice. Oh, and we were sitting in first class, with no air con.

We spent the morning doing boy jobs and girl jobs. The men worked on the cars, and the women did the washing. Shock horror. My bargain fleecy from Cornwall, costing all of £4, has a perfectly round hole in the sleeve. Tried to phone Moira to wish her Happy Birthday, got one verse sung and lost the connection. Then off to the bazaar, the biggest in Central Asia. Dubious taxi ride, but arrived ok.

Really hot, bustling, noisy. Wandered around, taking it all in. People spoke to us, asking where from. Saw parts of animals which should have stayed on the inside. Traders pushing trolleys, nearly taking your feet off if you didn’t get out of the way in time. Stalls along muddy streets, under cover and in old containers, some with the climate control still working.

All felt well enough and hungry enough ( we will freeze the pizzas) to enjoy lunch. Sat on terrace by river, beer, bread and national lamb – lamb stew with vegetables and noodles. Beggar came along, men with national hats on, children with really round faces, one playing with a balloon and smelling the plastic flowers.

We bought a washing machine. Lidded barrel which will be strapped to the roof and clean out clothes as we drive. Hilde treated herself to a washing up bowl, Atle a pair of sunglasses. Tim still on the look out for an arial, bought a make do one. Began to run out of steam, got a good taxi back.

Still more work to do on cars. More dirty washing I suppose. I’ll put it in the washer tomorrow. I sort paperwork. Got hold of Moira. Motorbike and sidecar turn up, French driver. He is heading to Mongolia, but taking longer. Hilde and I running up and down from car park to room, fetching and carrying. We are now both sitting on camping chairs, outside in the car park, it is 10pm and we are catching up with the blogs. Hope the mechanics finish soon. We have not discussed dinner, and nor planned the route for tomorrow yet. You get lazy on down days.

Did I tell you KYR has the biggest walnut forest in the world? I think many of the floors in the hotel are made of it. The lifts are like Arkwright’s till, you have to run in, if you dawdle you get trapped in the doors, literally.

We get a taxi to Rich Man’s Restaurant. Remember that name. There is a private party in a large room, everyone is drunk. They all invite us in. We are shown to a private booth, low wrap around settees in pastel green and blue. We order a red wine, from Moldova, difficult because the waitress does not speak Norwegian or English, and we speak no Russian. So pointing and sign language avails. The wine is fizzy and unspeakably bad. Wonder what the wine we bought in Samarkand is like? We order beer. Then we look at the menu. A work of divine comedy. Herring in a fur coat, list of the cost of replacing broken crockery, including hookahs, ……..

A storm erupts, thunder and lightning. A car wash at last. We slump down the settees, exhausted. Finally the food arrives. Hilde has top trumps, griddled meat and veg. I have meatballs and the others have steak. We planned to finish the meal with a vodka, but the meal finished us. Remember the restaurant name – £29. Member of staff purloins our wine. Someone cooking huge piece of meat on hot coals in courtyard. Storm abated, we get a taxi and back to bed. 2am.

Leaving Osh. To Kazarman and beyond?

Sunday 30 June. 2013

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Don’t wake until 9. Didn’t order breakfast. Had tea in room. Tim and Atle work on cars, whilst I pack. Tim has solved one problem, but we now have a magic fuel tank. It is showing full all the time. Meet in lounge to plan next stage. We have no visa issues for KYR, the crossing at Karkura has just opened for the summer, and we are heading to Lake Ysyk – Kol.

As we work, one of the hotel receptionists comes over. Nazird would like to travel with us to England, she will pay her own way and organise her own visa. We swop email addresses, and I say she is very welcome to get in touch and stay with us if she gets to England. We can’t give her a lift as we have no spare seats in the car and we leave in 10 minutes. The French biker appears, and we wish each other a safe journey. The 100th Tour De France has just started. Hope you get to see a stage Jude and Hugh. Regards to Sarah and Martin. Haven’t forgotten the bubbly. Sort out finances. As we check out Nazird says ” See you in London”.

This feels like another holiday. The route we planned should take us on very tiny roads over mountains. In fact we ill have to stop and ask locals about suitability of roads we can see on maps. We are all very excited. Hopefully it will be suitable to camp. We stock up with fuel, oil and provisions. Can of beer bounces out of bag, punctures and turns into self propelled Catherine Wheel. Great hilarity as we try to drink. Breakfast for us is a Mars Bar and a Snicker.

The road is fast and smooth, the sun is shining and the scenery lush and green. KYR is truly beautiful. We have asked several times about road insurance, but everyone shakes their heads. Hope they are right. The worst mis- hap of the holiday so far. Tim’s Keen sandal breaks. Oh well, it will give him something to mend and he plans to sew it with dental floss. Minty.

Only half a day’s driving today. The border with Uzbek wriggles round, and we have to avoid it. Single carriageway means slow lorries hold us up, so plenty of overtaking. We keep to right, to let faster cars past. Lazy Sunday afternoon in the countryside, swimming, fishing, even sun bathing. Harvesting and fruit picking. Maps not detailed enough, don’t want to go to Jalal Abad if we don’t need to. Ask a local.

Long reply from Astrid and Olaf. They should be in Turkmenistan, and are catching up. Fantastic news. Myna birds flying into holes in sandy cliff. Two little boys riding very large horse. Farm with paddock marked with tyres. Ventilation flaps singing to us. Rolling, grassy uplands. You could literally stroll up that hillock into Uzbek, no guard posts, no fences.

There are a lot of pharmacies in KYR if you want a job in paradise, Nigel. Large brick new builds, some with two floors and bay windows like our house. Variety of roof colours, bright green, red or blue. Huge walnut trees line every road. Horses being herded, tiny foals. Sun flowers, not crispy yet. Thought those were clouds head, huge mountains. Some sort of checkpoint, barrier half up. Will we fit under. Man in no uniform jumps up from his slumber under a tree. Shouting. Have we done something wrong? He is overjoyed, shakes Tim’s hand, lifts barrier. You English? Hiel, Hiel.

People in this valley seen self sufficient. They all seem to grow grain, fruit and veg and keep livestock. Family and friends seem to be involved with building a new house. We bimble on, then the sat navs give up. We have lost tarmac, driving on stones. Stop at a junction. Where are we? Sat nav needs a reality check. Locals turn up. Man in local hat gets out and draws map in the dust, then motions for us to follow him. We do, back the way we just came. Realize the old road had collapsed. Finally hat man stops, points the way. Another car turns up and men jump out. They all want a picture, several. Shame we haven’t got a Polaroid. Can you still get them now the company has gone bust? Tim has to help push start the car. Thanks.

New route is the other side of the valley. Green and verdant. We are minding our own business when the others stop. Norwegian radio are interviewing Atle. Didn’t know we were travelling with royalty. Fresh bread and honey. Hilde is drying today’s washing in back of car. Send a way point report. Hilde and I try to make a break for it. We walk along the road nattering, Thelma and Louise. Either our husbands will turn around and leave us, or we will become kidnapped brides. Both prospects are tantalising. Oh, well, the dream was nice whilst it lasted.

Beautiful animals wandering free, horses and cows. Hildefender hangs back because of the dust. We climb. People more isolated. Single track. Many puddles from evening storms. Hope we can get down before tonight’s. Single family living down by river, their truck left parked on road. Rule of thumb, if mud comes in your window you are going too fast. Make shift volley ball pitch.

Transport coming towards us consists of pick ups, old cars, walking and horses. We start the ascent, getting cooler, clouds covering summits and road very wiggly. Startled calves. Snow in creases. Three levels of our road come into view. We are on Kaldamo Pass. Glad it is still light. Don’t look down. Sign says road narrows. How can it? Should have put the steps up, especially my newly repaired one.

Large flock of sheep block our way, but shepherd calls us on. Steep hairpins. Find I am clutching the door handle, just for balance of course. Photo opportunity. We are all exhilarated. This driving is better than the Pamir Highway. We will put a photo of map on blog, telling people of this hidden gem. 10 degrees. Looking down on mountains. Steps go in. Reach snow line. Hilde’s packet of crisps has self inflated, hope they pop! Rainbow. Sun in valley thousands of ms below.

Descending. Harsh living. Mother changing baby’s nappy in the boot of a car. Man stops us and asks for a lift to Kazarman. Would love to help out, but Nazird is taking up all available space! Next time we will come in a 130. Audi 90 parked up. Little lame lamb. Wiggles mostly over, but still long descent. Wish I hadn’t seen the supports of that bridge before we crossed it.

Take wrong turn just by settlement. Ask a local. Kazarman? Da. Donkey blocks the way, youth throws a stone at it. Back on track. Snowy peaks in distance. Shaft of sunlight. Deeply rutted road, keep thumbs out of steering wheel. Hilde asks us to stop, have to check a new sound. Ok, move on. Really need to buy a nail brush.

Sure we will be deafen when we have finished, the constant rattling and crashing. Try to find a camping spot. Play hide and seek in the trees by the river, they try to hide, we can still see you. Next second, the first rescue of the trip. We watch as their car starts tipping over the edge. Rush over to help. By the time we get there, three men had appeared from nowhere. They stood on the side of the car pointing up to the sky. Hilde jumps out. Tim gets strops out, hooks on to them and tries to move. He slips out of low range, they slip back. Wheel spin, then success. Hildefender suddenly rights herself. And moves forward. Cheers all round. We shake, then shake hands with the three men. Photos. Then they disappear.

Park by river, not too close to the edge. Spray against mossies. Set up camp, crack open beer, Tyrells crisps and overlap awnings as we think it may rain later. We were right. Put up wind break material, and snug as bugs in rugs. Hilde cooks noodles and some sort of dog food in a tin. Adds too many spices, and cooks enough for ten. I cook risotto, just enough for us. Remember the Samarkand wine we have nurtured all this way, with only one casualty? It’s sweet, but not too sweet to drink.

Are those birds warbling, or frogs? Only a few vehicles pass during the evening. We hear a plane. It goes dark. Sound of the river and the frogs ( any self respecting bird is long asleep ). We gradually begin to unwind. Can’t believe the drive today. The best day yet. Under the influence of alcohol, Atle admits that during the ” rescue “, he had his handbrake on and his car had slipped out of low range. Moral of the story – someone out of the vehicles needs to communicate between the two. Lesson learnt.

We gradually go quiet, the frogs less so. Rain lets up. River burbles. Wrapped in rugs. Eyelids close. Ready for bed. Can’t wait to get back into the rooftent. Atle finds report on his interview. It sounds as though it is being written about somebody else. We get a mention in the last paragraph. Fame at last.

Did we get to Kazarman? No. Have we used any fuel today? No. Frogs go to bed after us.

Monday 1st July

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Wake up smiling.
Morning frogs. Look out of rooftent, can’t believe where we are. Kyrgyzstan. Up early before it gets too hot. So looking forward to a cup of coffee, last one was in Tehran. I grind some beans. Kettle leaking from every joint. Muesli and yoghurt. Notice two moths have spent the night on my chair. Go into trees with shovel for morning ablutions. Frog watches Tim. Shower in a box, except Tim and Atle who know there is water on the awnings, but can’t get out of the way in time. Hilarious. Calves graze around us. I take neck scarves to river, so I can get a sneaky paddle. Freezing water trickles down back.

We take pizza pieces out of freezer. The plan is to stop for a proper picnic lunch, wrap the pizza in tinfoil, and put on manifold, as microwaves are not working. I also have said if we don’t start the water melon today, it is not going back in our car. So there. Two cyclists go past, shout hi. Awesome. Very few vehicles. Tractor towing a car. Every one waves.

Large eagle flaps down from pylon, soars overhead waiting for us to go, eat our scraps. There is only a piece of dried bread. When walking, you smell crushed herbs. Back on the road. Wonder if we can go over that tiny pass? Only 22km to Kazarman. Three bikers come down off a track. Wave and wobble. They spoke to Atle and Hilde. Dutch. Hired bikes in Biskek, and touring for three weeks. Going to try long lens on camera today, and take pics in sport mode. Worth a try.

Spot a Great Grey Shrike. Bird book falling apart, it has Claire Riley written in very young handwriting with a long tail on the y. Fly Catcher with its mouth full of insects. My handbag had a tear on the bottom. Statue wrapped in plastic. Spectral. A lot of old Audis.

Get to Kazarman, look for fresh bread. Woman in shop spoke good English, said they are getting more tourists. See a woman carrying eggs. None for sale. They all keep chickens. We will have to look in a bigger town, or at a market. Saw a discarded water melon skin. Fruit scooped out of two halves. May try it that way. Bread smells lovely in warm car. Must try not to wave like the Queen. Man flags us down for a lift. Sorry.

Scythes and stooks. Lorry with the biggest afro of grass, people sitting on top. Climbing again. Sunny, but cool air. Perfect driving weather. Ask a local about the tiny road. It is closed. What a shame. Head to Naryn. Discover three large mossie bites on shoulder. They must have snuck into tent. Esme, this road is like going over a cattle grid. What do I have to hold onto? Horse unperturbed by bird on its rump. I must say, the foam which Atle gave us to cushion the bonnet, really cuts down the noise.

Leaving the grasslands. Becoming drier. Fancy a cup of tea with my lunch. Het the pocket rocket out. Will have to use a pan, on account of leaking kettle. Eating our own dust now. Surprised Atle isn’t taking the short cuts, for those who want to go faster. Huge plateau, with dozens of gers and thousands of animals.
Come down and have a proper picnic. Blankets spread on lemon sage, boiling water for tea and pizza heated on bonnet. Could do with a nap in the sun. Biggest bee ever lands on my shoe. Shoo. One large orange condor lorry passes in the hour we are there. Nothing else. Tim and Atle try to sort out a few more rattles, and let air out of the tyres. Still 117km to Naryn. Striations on cliffs run at 45 degree angle. Large irrigation trough feeds into stream. There is nothing written about this drive on any blog we have read, except Hilde’s.

Level plain. Tim and I have two more days of anti malaria tablets. Hopefully then the unpleasant side effects will cease. Two geese fly up from a sheltered pond. Fleeces hung out to dry. Amazing edifices in cemetery, big mounds of earth. Wooden telegraph poles, wires dangling. Where will the birds sit? Haven’t seen another Landy since Iran. Black kites soaring. Hoopoe.

At Naryn we pass the University of Central Asia. Mini buses picking up students. Dad waiting in a car. Something happened here in 1996, a blue plaque said so. Trolley buses. Large shady picnic areas. A veritable metropolis.

Climb again, between red sand stone cliffs. Road sign declares ” you can hear 1,000 times more, but it’s always better to see you”. A huddle of shepherds’ huts. 5.30pm first large lorries of the day. Follow the course of a stream. Dozens of gers along the bank. Some seemed to be selling drinks and honey. Busy road. Oncoming cars flashing, police speed trap. Enter a Nature Reserve. Sign said Fourty Yurt Rest Area. Cooler in the valley. Men in high viz jackets throwing dirt into potholes.

So refreshing to be driving in a country without road check points. Looking back, Turkmenistan was so repressive. – silly slow speeds and police blocks every few kms. Things have gradually improved as we have travelled through the Stans. To be fair, KYR has no borders with Afghanistan or Pakistan. Early evening sun dazzles. We climb to 3,030 m. A sign wishes us “Good Away”. Mountains look as if they are covered in green velvet. Dust makes me sneeze.

Road all gouged up. Road signs all hand painted. So cute, little fat workmen. Do they paint over them when the job is finished? Hare stock still under a tree. Roadworks go on for ages. Little villages set up for them. All returning for evening meal, stoves smoking. Look for a bush toilet, find one behind a tree.

We are heading to Lake Ysyk – Kol. Thought we would take northern shore, but after reading up about it Tim suggested the southern route. The Russians took over the north, and built a lot of resorts. The lower shore is more wild, and there are campsites. They are probably upgrading this road as it is becoming more of a tourist attraction. Let’s hope we get to swim.

Stop in Bolsevik so Hilde and Atle can get crisps. Fantastic health food shop, stocked with whole grain rice, pasta, noodle, nuts. We bought fresh eggs and peanuts. Little cafes set up in old containers. Kid with the coolest cap on. Cow just walked across the garage forecourt. Broken down car with an actual warning triangle. New road continues to north shore, we bump along old road. No one else is here.

The lake looks like the sea, it’s. huge. It doesn’t freeze in winter because of its depth and slight salinity. Bus stop built in shape of yurt. Hildefender startles dozens of little birds out of a bush, thought they were leaves.The campsite comprises – the beach. There is a man in front of a yurt, a few kayaks for hire and a rubbish bin. We set up camp in the dark and are the only people here. How many flies and mossies have you ever seen in your whole life? Now multiply by a million, and then some. We cover up vulnerable body parts and apply lashings of eco – friendly spray. We eat fresh tomato sauce, pasta and pesto. They eat noodles. The night sky is full of stars. We recognise the Plough. Early night. Climb into tent in dark, keep the little beasties out. Night night frogs.