Cycle Blues

When you find yourself yelling at a child: "where's the bloody road?!", you know it's time for a break.


Thorny, run-down, and thirsty for a beer, I arrived to Aralsk.


Aralsk, 12 October 2009

The good news: the desolate west lies behind me. The bad news: the south doesn't seem to be any different. I thought the level of facilities would be higher once I would get to M32 that connects Aqtöbe in the northwest, with Shymkent in the southeast, but so far nothing's farther from the truth. The last 80 kilometre went without a single tea house, shop or filling station. Aralsk, where I am right now, was suppose to offer a B&B with running water, 'Aibek', and a hotel, but when I got here both were closed. Or, Aibek's closed, and Hotel Aralsk is not only a hotel that looks like a flat building, but a flat building that is a flat building, with long-term residents. No room for Koen.
Soon the turyst alarm was set in motion (whenever I arrive somewhere, there's this 'turyst'-buzz: "turyst, turyst, turyst!") and a lady, Katia, who's living opposite the hotel offered me a room. Or so I thought. What she actually sold me is a corner in the dining room. This lead to quite a few misunderstandings already. Like last night, when she asked me at what time I wanted to wake up. Nine-ish, I indicated. Since I was knackered and this was supposed to be my day of rest. "Nijetu, seven!", she replied, holding 7 fingers up in the air. "Chai!" So she wanted to have breakfast at 7.
Or the dazzling amount of flies that circle around comfortably 20 cm underneath the ceiling. "Do you have a fly-flap?" I indicated, by signing a hit at the wall where a whole family of flies was having a rest. Yes, she had one, but when I started the bloodshed, she soon switched off the electricity so that I couldn't continue. I guess she was trying to safe here "white" walls. "Let's see about that", I thought, and I switched on my head torch (great invention). "Kun, Kun, go to sleep", she then tried. "Listen, Katia, if you rent me bedroom, it should be possible to sleep there", I tried again, but at that point she didn't understand anything anymore ("nije ponjo", which is informal Russian for 'dunno'). So it had to be the hard way: "nijetu 4000 Tenge (Kazakh currency), ponjo?" Yes, that she 'ponjo-ed'. And the electricity came back on. And oh marvel, this morning the knock on the door only came at a quarter to nine.



Sorry to be such a crank, but my spirit reached that 'dog bite, wooed at, chased away'-level again. This is also because of the expectations I had about the last 300 odd kilometres. 'Cause after my last post I did cycle the long road to Irgiz in order to avoid the sand dunes. Better save than sorry, I thought, with the warnings of Zhandos, the guy of the internet café in Shalqar that offered me a couch to crash on, and Masa, the walker from Japan, echoing in my mind. "Kun, you will get to the 'republika', good asphalt way!" Zhandos had said. By the time I got there, this is what I found:



83K of work in progress. There will be an asphalt road at one point, that's for sure, but by then I will probably be somewhere halfway through China. Although, I have to give it to them, when I walked to the store this morning, I was surprised to see that overnight (probably this morning) Aralsk's central street has been renovated. So it is possible to do something fast and efficient. I guess it makes all the difference when people live close to the construction side. It also tells you something about the knowledge people have about their surroundings, or the lack thereof. It has struck me that the Kazakhs, once proud nomads, live very static lives nowadays. I mean, I might be the ultimate passer-by, but many people have no clue about what's a 100 kilometres away from them. Ofcourse there's also much lost in translation, and in my bad pronounciation.

No brights at all? Yes, there were also some good moments. Like the one below, where I was invited for chai and potatoes by a farmer/mechanic/musician and his wife. Although the quality of the accordion leaves room for improvement and the musician was actually at work on his tractor, there is a beautiful melody hidden in the flow of air:



/CB

OST:
A song that fits the mood of the moment, Hauschka's 'Blue Bicycle', one of the many sparks of musical inspiration that I received from my friend Jurre. (Dank voor alle tunes Jur, van Ostgut tot neo-klassiek!)