Across Continents

Ken's Blog

Unexpected stop

July 30th, 2010

Bayseit was typical of many of the small linear settlements I’d passed through in eastern Kazakhstan. A wide, tree-lined boulevard, small, single storey houses set back a little along either side. Along the roadside watermelons stacked up on rush matting, the odd one cut open to reveal its succulent, tempting red flesh. Further down, fruit and vegetable stalls, packed closely together, almost indistinguishable. Midway along, a hotch-potch of cafes, some just a few tables in the shelter of the trees. The enticing aroma of meat being grilled over hot coals.

I’d ended up here the previous day, arriving in the last remnants of the evening light. The plan had been to stop earlier in a small hostel, largely frequented by itinerant workers. I’d spent a night there during my previous return to Almaty. Typical of those run by ethnic Russian women, it was basic but always clean and welcoming. Or it would have been, had it not been closed for major refurbishment.

There’d been no choice but to press on, assured by a few locals that there was a similar establishment in the next town. In any case, I couldn’t camp where I was. So I’d hastily departed, a little unsure as to exactly how far I’d have to ride. In practice, it hadn’t been that much further, perhaps six or seven miles, but locating the guest house hadn’t been easy. Eventually, stopping at a petrol station at the far end of town to ask if they knew where it might be, a car was summoned to guide me there, a few hundred metres back along the road.

A drive way led up to a house set back quite some way from the road, nothing to indicate that it might be a guest house. In what little remained of the light I could pick out some substantial log built cabins, and a large, immaculate white house. I was greeted, in perfect English, by Benny. The place was a Spa, he explained, owned by one of the large Almaty hotels. He looked after it for them, together with a few others from India and a small local staff. Sensing I feared a night here was quite beyond my budget, he added there were rooms in the house for just two thousand Tenge – about ten pounds. I accepted at once, relieved to be off the road at last.

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Heading east… again

July 29th, 2010

"When you’re chewing on life’s gristle
Don’t grumble, give a whistle" Eric Idle

Back on the road again, pushing east once more towards the Chinese border. Ten weeks to Hong Kong. Familiar sights, innocuous things like petrol stations, evoking memories of my unexpected return to Almaty a month or so earlier. A maelstrom of emotion. De facto no from the Chinese Consulate, the subsequent return to the UK, to a seemingly perfect world, time with family, then back to the fray. Jet-lagged.

Found myself suddenly feeling very lonely. Reminiscing about time spent with my parents in their small Cambridgeshire village. The gently flowing brook, well-signed, neatly kept Public Footpaths. Nearby churches that offered walkers afternoon tea on Sundays. A few miles away a small town, its Public School at the very heart of the community. I’d taken the bus there one Saturday. Neatly laid out market stalls in the Square. Smart bookshop. A few cafes. Quieter perhaps than during term time, but even what hustle and bustle there was seemed nicely ordered.

Told myself this was just a natural part of the process of re-adjusting to being back on the road, compounded by tiredness, an unavoidable consequence of the five hour time difference with the UK. For, however disciplined I’d been about treating the UK as a "Nation of Convenience", the transition back was probably never going to be that easy. Something I’d suspected when I’d got back to Almaty. A familiar Western influence amongst its wide streets and pleasant parks. China. The unknown. Uncertain.

The wandering mind. Jolted occasionally by the need to check the map, as much for progress as for direction. Then back into deeper thought, the path ahead. Push for Yining, the first substantive town, a leafy outpost a day’s ride from the border. A few nights there, adjusting to the unfamiliar, then on through the mountains towards the city of Urumqi.

A further eight weeks and I’d reach Hong Kong. Imagined it to be, in a sense, similar to Malta I’d visited earlier in the year. Very different to the UK, and yet pleasingly intuitive. The Colonial influence, eroded little, from what I could glean, by the Chinese in the years since the lowering of the flag. Then on to Australia, New Zealand and North America. Two more continents. No language barriers to frustrate things.

Frequent stops for water. Cooler than it had been, but still around thirty degrees with little shade, especially in the afternoon as the sun moved towards its zenith.

Back in thought. South America. I’d yet to resolve how exactly I’d get there, some parts of Mexico south to Colombia fraught with danger, or just plain difficult to traverse. Then the plunge south, the crossing to South Africa. The final Continent. Had to be the most challenging, risky part of the journey, but by then I’d have a great deal of experience to draw on. And I’d be heading home.

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First world visas

July 28th, 2010

It’d seemed prudent to look a little ahead, check the entry requirements for the Antipodean nations, and North America. First World. Didn’t think they’d be any issues. And, ordinarily, there wouldn’t be. And, with a bit of planning, there shouldn’t be. But it does reaffirm the need not to assume. And make sure you understand the often subtle distinction between having a visa, or a waiver in most cases, and actually satisfying the Immigration Officer on arrival that you’re not an economic migrant with aspirations to over-stay.

New Zealand’s fine, no visa required, just need to make sure I arrive with tickets for onward travel, and have evidence to show I am able to support myself whilst there. Similar story for Australia, but my online application for a six month visa faltered a bit when required to list countries I’d visited, and there’s a limit of ten. So – if you’re counting – got stuck at the Azerbaijan border.

I thought Canada a bit like New Zealand, with the addition of needing to show ties with the UK. Better find my driving licence. And have to show I’ll leave at the end of my visit. Hopeful a passport full of used visas will be convincing.

I’ve been to the US quite a few times on their Visa Waiver Programme, but that limits me to three months for all of North America, which isn’t enough, and I’d need to show a ticket for onward travel. Which I won’t have. Not until deepest South America. So proper visa required. And whilst all the rules and regulations, the application forms, are rather more extensive than those for Central Asia, shades of the UK’s own onerous requirements, they are at least very explicit about it. Which I like.

Might be making a few Consular calls in Hong Kong. Making sure I get a decent haircut first.

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Reflections on Kazakhstan

July 27th, 2010

Kazakhstan was the Stan the others secretly wanted to be. Probably. Relatively prosperous, stable, none of the endemic corruption and nepotism I’d encountered elsewhere. The generosity of the people I’d met, their kindness to strangers, quite humbling.

There’d been fresh challenges. The Kazakh Steppe, fearsome heat to contend with. Alone. Learning how best to adapt to such an unforgiving environment. More than physical, part mental, part intellectual. Border crossings in and out of Kyrgyzstan a test of robustness, self-confidence. And an element of brinkmanship.

My point of entry, the large oil town of Atyrau, had been a gentle introduction. An English pub, catering for the influx of Western petroleum workers. But most memorable had been my time in the smaller places, the night spent sleeping on the floor of a roadside cafe, inside a petrol station. Or wild camping in the rolling hills north of Bishkek, pitching my tent as the sun set. Splashing icy cold water on your face in the morning.

I’d also been fortunate to be able to spend a little time with a Kazakh family in the suburbs of Almaty, the former Capital but still the country’s cultural and financial centre. Sophisticated, vibrant, but not claustrophobic. Lots of well kept parks, and a splendid mountain backdrop.

If I’d one regret, it was that I’d not had enough time to be able to cycle the whole way across, entry constraints of my first Chinese visa precluding this. Ironic really, as I’d had ample time on my Kazakhstan visa, and I’d ended up having to return to my “Nation of Convenience” for a fresh Chinese one. Filling in the gaps really wasn’t a practical proposition, for now at least. Besides, it gives me an excuse to return one day and explore some more, not that I really need a pretext to visit. I’d loved my time here.

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A fresh look…

July 25th, 2010

"An expedition without reportage is called a holiday"

Using the last vestiges for broadband for a while, James the webmaster and I have made a few subtle changes to the site, and we’ve got quite a bit more planned to help keep things fresh and interesting. Some of our ideas may have to wait until my arrival in Hong Kong in early October, but I’d like to think it’ll be worth the wait!

Website press cuttings logo - post version

But, for now, we’ve added a "Press Cuttings" section, and a new map showing my intended route across China. I’m particularly fond of the dragon, and the scale at the top – visit the route section of the website to take a look.

chinamap - post version

Inspired by the very positive feedback to "Nation of Convenience", a further mini-documentary is beginning to take shape. And, particularly for those of you who find accessing the videos tricky, James and I are exploring the world of podcasts. Of course, all the usual blog posts, video clips – with the obligatory shades, interviews with the team at Somerset’s 10Radio, and photos will be popping up along the way. Internet access permitting.

In the dull but necessary department, we’ve added Terms & Conditions at the bottom of each page, a prelude to us adding a lot more downloadable content for both the avid expeditioner and armchair enthusiast alike.

We’ve already assembled lots of useful information on the Central Asian visa game, common scams, as well as more technical stuff like comprehensive equipment and medical kit lists, and Emma’s vital statistics. Hoping to upload all this shortly, the Great Chinese internet firewall permitting. Ok, here’s a couple of quick samples – "What you need to know – scams" and "Emma’s vital statistics" (shown with a more reputable title) – just click on the relevant links at the end of this post. And we’ve lots more ideas for further content than there are nights in the tent to write it….

If you’ve not already done so, you can sign up for automatic blog updates, delivered straight to your e-mail account – click on blog, enter your e-mail address and press ’Subscribe’ – simple. Or join me on Facebook – link on my home page – lots of fresh content there as well. And to find out more about the UK charity, The Outward Bound Trust, I’m raising funds for, either follow the links on my own site, or just click here.

Attached Files:

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Handy hints – earthquakes

July 24th, 2010

"Trembling dishes", "Shaking chandeliers", "Items… falling down from the shelves" and cats "mewing miserably". All indications, said the roughly translated leaflet I’d found, to help you recognise an earthquake. Just in case you haven’t guessed why the building’s collapsing around you. It also helpfully advises you pack some unbreakable dishes, just to be on the safe side. Probably best to stick to camping.

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Central Asia – a postscript

July 23rd, 2010

It’d been a brief foray into Central Asia, a region, for much of its history, closed to foreigners. Azerbaijan, endemic corruption, nepotism. Across the Caspian, relatively prosperous, stable Kazakhstan, the nation others aspired to be. Probably. Kyrgyzstan. A country still trying to find its feet. Enthralled by barren steppe, imposing mountain ranges. Intrigued by politics, the recent ousting of a President, forced to flee into exile. Fascinated as to how vast oil and gas revenues had influenced things. Humbled, always, by a warm and generous people.

I’d learnt a little along the way of nearby Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan. Time, and to some extent restrictive visa requirements, had precluded a visit, for now at least. Quite distinct from the other Central Asian countries I’d passed through. I’d met a few Uzbeks, garnered quite a bit about their homeland, shaped as much by the Silk Roads as arbitrary Soviet era borders. But no Turkmen.

In fact, my only insight into Turkmenistan came from their TV channels I’d picked up in Kazakhstan. North Korea meets Michael Jackson’s Neverland. Lots of young children entertaining their Leader. Something of a Presidential personality cult in evidence. Seems a journalist had actually made a documentary along these lines, but it was difficult to confirm this. She’d died in prison. And no ATMs. It’d have to be worth a visit. Assuming their Secret Police don’t get to me first.

[Author’s note: Some debate as to whether Azerbaijan is in Central Asia, geographically at least. But culturally, linguistically, and ethnically, I thought so. Besides, it ends in Stan. Sort of…]

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Loneliness of the long-distance cyclist

July 22nd, 2010

“Alone he rides, alone” Lionel Johnson 1867-1902

Language difficulties, punctures, the odd minor ailment, these are all problems you expect on the road. They’re solvable, sometimes with a bit of ingenuity, some lateral thinking. You just get on with them. But then there’s loneliness. Never far away, lurking, waiting for the moment to reappear, catching the solo traveller unaware.

You may be in the most beautiful of places, surrounded by the most kind, generous and hospitable people. And still be immensely lonely. But is it such a terrible thing? I find myself reflecting on what I’ve left behind to spend four years venturing on a bicycle around the world. Family. Friends. A green, lush land, cosy, comfortable, familiar. A reassuringly simple world. Truly beginning to appreciate what I have to return to.

But then the insidious self-doubt, sometimes destructive thoughts. Gnawing away at one’s self-confidence. The perils of an idle mind. You tell yourself this will pass, you know it will, just a squall. And yet it seems quickly entrenched, unwilling to budge, like a parasite growing stronger as it saps your own strength. Pedals seem harder to push. Colours ebb away. Sounds fade.

You learn to cope. Because you have to. Sometimes the very things you might think would exacerbate the situation help push it back into the shadows. News from home, the smallest of tidbits, mere morsels. An e-mail from friends, however brief. The anonymous ticking over of the website visiter counter, knowing that someone, somewhere is thinking about you, however fleetingly. Family photographs, of growing nieces, celebrations, simple gatherings.

And keep the grey matter occupied. On the road. In the tent. Every waking moment. Leave no room for loneliness to creep in, to gain a foothold. So hard to dislodge. Listening to music, composing the next blog post, plans for the next few days. Just doing stuff. Enough, but not excess or else you overwhelm yourself, making yourself vulnerable to another episode.

Writing about, talking about, discussing it is very cathartic. It’s not an affliction, an unspoken evil, simply a natural consequence of travelling alone through an environment where communication with others is difficult, either because there are few people or a language barrier. Not surprising. Humans are, after all, a social creature. Nothing to be embarrassed about.

Being amongst other people, even if conversation is limited to just a few words, can make a good deal of difference. The merest of social interaction, a simple smile, a warm handshake, just a nod. A little kindness towards strangers. It all helps.

But most of all, interaction with native English speakers, or those who understand the real nuances of the language, of Western culture, the unspoken subtleties. A real craving, seeking out Western style cafes in the cities, the odd ex-pat bar, or simply staying with those working overseas. Australians, Americans, Brits, it doesn’t really matter. No longer alone. Just for a moment.

[Originally written and recorded for 10Radio – Community Radio for the 10 Parishes in Somerset – www.10radio.org. You can drop Ken an e-mail via the ’Contact’ page on his website www.acrosscontinents.org – he’d love to hear from you]

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Hong Kong bound

July 21st, 2010

China map

Central Asia was almost over. Next China, the aim to reach Hong Kong and complete the crossing of another continent. Roughly six thousand kilometres – about four thousand miles. Up to ninety days to complete it on my new visa, planning on arriving late September. I’d my maps, the entire country on two sheets so not big on detail, but at least they showed place names in both Latin script and Mandarin characters.

And the plan? Cross the border from Kazakhstan at Khorgas, three days ride from Almaty and a thousand kilometres or so west of the Chinese city of Urumqi. There’s some formalities to attend to on arrival, registering with the Police, which probably means a small detour to the city of Yining. And a chance to investigate the rumour that the internet may have been restored. An ATM would also be good.

Then the push east along the Silk Roads, south of the Dzungarian Basin, Turfan Depression, across the lower reaches of the Gobi Desert, skirting around the Tibetan plateau towards Hong Kong. Hoping I’ll find an all-you-can-eat buffet or two.

[A larger version of Ken’s route across China will appear on the website shortly – just click on ’Route’ and follow the link. The author is indebted to professional illustrator Claudia Myatt – www.claudiamyatt.co.uk – for turning his incoherent scribblings into something meaningful. Again. And thanks also to fellow cyclist Steve Tallon at www.turnrightforjapan.com for lots of helpful routing information and inspiring photographs]

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Back in Almaty

July 20th, 2010

Back in Almaty from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.

Safely back in Almaty, Ken describes final preparations for the return to the road.

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