Reverse Rotation

"Voyage, voyage,
Vole dans les hauteurs
Au dessus des capitales,
Des idées fatales,
Regarde l'océan..."
J-M Rivat








For a moment I thought it would be dull to go back the same way, but going west it was a different road all together. 10 meters up north: another point of view, another season. What was left, now is right. Where I went up, I now go down; where I had a slackening headwind, I now have a propelling tailwind. The two sides of the sloping road that characterises the last couple of weeks are like the yin & yang droplets. They fit meticulously, and yet they are exact opposites.

Not only did the road turn downs into ups, it also brought a remarkable amount of French people and good food (not a causality).



It took me 10 days to get to Tashkent; 7 days cycling, 3 days rest. On the morning of the second cycling day I met with Marilia and Christophe, two bêtes de velocipede, who just finished a two month ride in Kyrgystan. Now they are heading for the Altai region in Russia. "Doesn't the fact that it is winter up there bother you?", I asked them, but the answer was a resolute 'non'. Both the parents of my hosts in Almaty live in this part of Russia, and from them I heard that the thermometer in Altai drops to a solid -8 during the day at the moment. The Siberian winds will multiply this by a factor 3 or 4 over the course of the next months. But my fellow french cyclebeasts are on a mission. They aim to cover all the virgin forests in reportages that, when the quality suffice, will be broadcast in France. Great project that will take them to Mongolia and China after Russia, and after crossing the Bering Strait from Alaska and Canada all the way down to the Amazon rainforest. To learn more about this, check www.kernunos.org (or you can have a look at their blog via the link under 'stories from the crossing'.




To stick with the theme, cycling day 2 ended underneath a beautiful old tree. It was hard to get there (as the muck underneath my mudguard shows), but the phrase 'no pain, no gain' applied as always. A beautiful sunset and a quiet night. Quiet, and quite cold. The quicksilver indicated -5 when I woke up the next morning.

The third day ended in Merke. I'd asked Jamie, with whom I'd couched on my way to Almaty too, if I could stay over. Jamie volunteers at the local secondary school, where she teaches the children of Merke English. A real challenge. At first she was living with a host family that in her case consisted of one grumpy old lady. No wonder she looked for another place to live. Eventually she found what has become known as 'the farm' among Peace Corps volunteers in Kazakhstan: a free-standing house with a large garden where at one point crops were grown and animals roamed about. Due to a serious lack of family during the last couple of years, the garden is unfortunately overgrown and the animals long gone, but the house is inhabited again. And also the animals are coming back. Jamie saved a stray puppy from the kicks of some boys and got a kitten as a present from the neighbours. It's truly a Kazakh home as in that it has no running water and an outdoor 'tualet'. Water comes from a pump in the garden, which, if you don't disassemble it, will freeze at times of frost. This we found out on Saturday morning, when we wanted to make a cup of chai. Unaccustomed to these problems as we are, we had to call one of her colleagues to get instructions on how to proceed. "You have to warm the pump", was the answer. Setting the thing ablaze was fun. The farm also proved to be the perfect place to do some cycle maintenance. In the freezing cold I hurt my fingers on a chain and brake job (both had to be changed urgently). The farm has a scullery that I could have used for this, something I realised after my fingers had fallen off and the work was done... On Sunday morning however, the Black Diamond rolled like it did when the craftsmen at the Chemnitz Fahrradwerke were done with it.

The farm came with real farm food too. Jamie made me hash browns and quiche for breakie on Saturday and a nutritious porridge laced with brown sugar on Sunday. Delicious! She writes about her life in Kazakhstan on 'The real Kaz' (see crossings).

Then came the record breaking ride to Taraz: 150km in just under 7 hours. A combination of porridge and pushing winds. The ride was a real blast and reminded me of a specific tune: Over the ice/'The Field'. Crossing the frozen fields, the wind direction was mostly northwest. Chilly, but from time to time it felt as if it gave me wings. This feeling culminated in an endorphin rush, as I haven't felt it before. By the time I arrived at Madlen's in Taraz where I was to meet my friend Alessandro I bounced in steaming with positive energy. So some endorphin for the ears:



Alessandro, an Italian expat, is currently rounding up the ground-laying work for a new yard at the Caspian Sea. Here 'Eni', an Italian oil company, will start its operations with its Kazakh counterpart (western companies that want to do business in Kazakhstan need to have a Kazakh partner that's in it for at least 50 percent; a good measure to guarantee that Kazakhs benefit from the abundant natural resources that can be found in the soil and on the seabed, but a pain in the neck for the westerners that find that the contracts signed are worth just as much as the paper on which they are written). Apart from his work as a civil engineer, Alex is in the midst of making a photographic reportage of the life at the plant. Many of the workers are Russian women. A spin around the factory is a bit like a time travel. You enter the main hall and you're back in the USSR. Alex portraits the workers in their element, prints their pictures at night, and distributes them the next day. When he's done covering the whole production process he will make a final cut. I'm curious what it'll be like. For some of his previous works: http://www.alessandromarchi.net/ (and the Al Cafone link under crossings).

Also here my taste buds were treated to good meals. Alessandro made us a fresh tomato sauce pasta on the day that I arrived (his Italian colleague Ricardo complemented him with a loud: "Bravo Alessandro!") and treated me to an outstanding diner in the local Russian joint 'Medved' (meaning bear) the next evening.



From Taraz I made it in two days to Shymkent. On the second day's ride a fierce wind was pushing me. At one of the hill tops I saw a real curiosity. At the other side of the road there was man sitting on bicycle that had a chair for a saddle and pedals high up in the air. He looked somewhat down: sitting sideways on the bike, staring blankly into the fields. Xavier et son vélo couché. He had the same wind as I, but than working against him. Tough one. "Let's have a coffee?", I proposed. "Sure" was the answer, so we sat down. Xavier, a teacher of geography and history and currently on his way to South Korea ('d'un finistère à l'autre' under crossings) on his reclining bicycle. I gave him the contact details of Alessandro where I knew a relaxing break for my broken down colleague was guaranteed. As it turned out we swapped places, 'cause in Tashkent where I am at the moment, I met with Julien et Tristan, two Frenchmen that teach at the local French school, the same two people that hosted Xavier's stay. The cycle silk route also goes both ways.



In Shymkent Jamie hooked me up with Joseph, one of her colleagues. By now my ride to the west had turned into a true culinary tour de force, as Joe fixed us a great fresh vegetable quiche (with a thin layer of moutarde de Dijon at the bottom!). The day after we visited the local olympic-sized swimming pool for some lanes, and after that we had a treat at a Turkish coffee house. Goodtimes in Shymkent.


(For the Dutch: het kinderliedje "Heb mijn wagen volgeladen" klinkt vaak door mijn hoofd; Picture: flat tire (the spare one was somewhere underneath the four boxes to the left : ))

Then on to Tashkent. What I thought would be the proverbial walk in the park, turned out to be a weekend long effort. The Uzbeks don't let you pass the border north of Tashkent (three kilometres away from the city), where I got to at Saturday morning:
Crusty customs official: "You cannot enter, go to Chinaz."
Me: "But that's 60 kilometres away from here?! I want to go to Tashkent, which is right there (pointing over his shoulder)!"
Crusty customs official: "This border only for Uzbek and Kazakh. Gholandia, Amerikansky go to Chinaz."
Me: "..." (Too stupefied to say anything.)



So down 60K, and then up 45K, or actually 55, as I had to cross the city from south to northeast where Julien has his flat. All water under the bridge now: I am installed, got myself some sleep, 'сум' (Uzbek currency that comes in bundles), plov (the local pilaf or rice dish) and ADSL. The next days are exciting as this city holds the key to the south. The Turkmen and Iranian embassies. I'll keep you up to speed!

"À la prochaine!"



The cycle track:
A song that fits revisiting the M39/M32/Tashkent-Almaty. I know, the third Radiohead song... I just think they have it right.