The Big Alma

M32-->M39, K28-->K29, T-shirt weather-->fleece sweater, small town Kazakhstan-->modern metropol.
I got to Almaty.


Almaty, 4-11-2009

I consider myself a lucky man. Not just because I like cycling and I get to do it everyday. No, I am lucky because I am enjoying the fourth consecutive harvest in a row. You would almost forget about harvest in the west, with our well-stocked 'hypermarchés' that are fed by air cargo distribution lines. Fruits, vegetables, from all continents all year 'round. The downside (apart from pollution) of that availability is that transport time has to be calculated into the lifecycle of the produce. Result: at the time the fruits are picked, the time isn't exactly right. The last bit of riping has to be done inside a refrigerator. Freezing stuff is good for preservation, but it generally doesn't add flavour. Sunlight does. And this trip, that I also like to call a 'lifecycle', has brought me and the things around me a lot of sunlight (unfortunately the turning point is near; in one or two days rain will come). In East-Germany and Poland farmers were busy getting their crops off the land. In the Ukraine there were the piles of arbuz (watermelon), sweet melons, honey, apples, tomatoes and many other fresh delights. In Russia it was somewhat similar and now that I have gotten to the southeast of Kazakhstan, it's harvest time again! The honey wagons are back with мёд (pronounced 'mjot') from the mountain pastures. There are many types of nuts and stands at the road side sell you buckets full of apples for a few nickles. The apple, or 'alma' is said to originate from Kazakhstan and the former capital, Almaty, used to be called Alma-Ata: Father of the Apple. All this to say that the apples here are phenomenal, which is why I stick to the old Kazakh saying: a kilo of alma's a day keeps the doctor away.

So eating with the season is good. Apart from the winter, when there's nothing but potatoes and onions, as Jamie, an American peace corps volunteer told me. And in that I have to agree with her. We should find something for this, globally I mean. A non-polluting exchange between the northern and southern hemisphere to give each other some vitamins and flavour during the winter months.



Now about the road to Almaty: ups and downs, literally as well as metaphorically. After the break in Taraz the bit of 'ibexing' I did in the Aksu Dzhabagly mountains took its toll. I walked around Taraz as if I came straight from 'Monty Phyton's Ministery of Silly Walks', with sudden, uncontrollable kicks that got me out of balance. Horrible muscle pains and strong cramps prevented me from making more than 30, 35 kilometres the day that I left. Especially the first kilometres to the border of the city were a travesty. Sluggishly I rotated my pedals, stopping every 500 metres to stretch, which went also in slow motion. When I got to a fly-over (the very first I have seen in Kazakhstan; it had to come when I really didn't need it), I met Victor Lozovik, a 'velocypedzvir' from the Ukraine, who had just arrived to Taraz. Typically, on top of this rare overpass our roads crossed. He told me he is cycling around what used to be the Soviet Union. His odometer measured more than 23000 kilometres (which made me feel like a rookie). On top of that, he was really fit. Light as a feather he come over to my side of the street, while I was trying not to fall in a sorry attempt to get off my cycle. We had a language barrier, but Viktor fixed this by showing me the total number of kilometres cycled, naming some of the countries crossed, and handing me a business card ('cycletourist/adventurer'; decorated with a cycle that had smileys for wheels). I've seen this on several occassions by now, what I think is a new trend in travelling: the business card. "Hello, my business is travelling, this is my mobile number and here you can find my photo's. Hope to meet you again in the future, byebye!" I still prefer sitting down for a drink and having a talk, even if this is hard without a language in common. At this specific time however, none of us felt like cycling up the fly-over a second time.


(Picture: "you see, helmet")

The road along the Kyrgyz border was beautiful. Mountains to the right, fields to the left. In the town of Merke I had another couch host and by then my legs were functioning as they should (reminds me of some Kazakh people I met before: "Kun, legs normal?", referring to my muscle pain). So legs normal, and I could do more than a 100K per day again.


(Pictures: chess faces 1, 2 and 3 @Family Park, Abaja, Almaty)

So things went relatively smoothly. In the hills between Bishkek and Almaty I met with my friend Urs, who was on his way to Tashkent after having waited 2 weeks in Almaty for his Uzbek visa. In the end his Kazakh visa expired and the Swiss ambassy had to arrange for a special meeting on Saturday morning at the Uzbek ambassy (could be the definition of flexible). So now Urs was on an Kazakh exit visa (valid for two weeks; more than regular travellers get to cross some other Central-Asian countries on a transit visa) so he had time enough for a chat. Great encounter, although I was also looking forward to spend some time together in the city. And I was in kind of a hurry because I wanted to get over the hills, to lower altitudes were it wouldn't be so cold at night. By the time I continued my ride. dusk was near, and I started to doubt whether or not I would make it. Slight panic, strong wind, daylight fading, and oh yeah, helloween (to be continued).


(Picture: children @Family Park, Abaja, Almaty)

OST:
With 'Creedence tapes' on my walkman, a couple of very friendly 'white Russians' hosting my stay, 'The Big Alma' comes with 'Up around the bend':

"You can ponder perpetual motion

Fix your mind on a crystal day

Always time for a good conversation

There's an ear for what you say"

As the rising wind, stirring.