Day 59 (Kyrgyz border to Osh)
Re-reading my notes from twelve days ago, I see I’ve written: “Next to no sleep last night – Feel like crap – Want to go home.” I’m smiling now, in the comfort of our 4-star hotel, feeling perfectly well, thank you very much, but at the time, I think I probably meant every word of it. The entry for the next day ends with the single word “Sick,” and the day after that I see I’ve written “V. Sick.” It also records how on the following day all but three of us were then or had been unwell and how Martin (Engineer from Leicester) had to be taken (supported, as I recall) to a small hospital for treatment. (He made a full recovery, by the way.) I think it’s fair to say that, though I will admit to being among the world’s worst patients, this was not simply a case of ‘Man Flu’.On that third day, having not eaten since crossing the border, I was finally persuaded by Juli to take some of the Ciprofloxacin we bought from the Nomad Travel Health Clinic in Victoria, London – where we got all our travel jabs and who are excellent, by the way (Hello and thanks, Beverley, if you’re reading this) – and by the next day I was feeling a bit better, though still not eating much. However, on the next day (day 63) I see I’ve taken the trouble to record the fact that I had my first solid poo since this bout of sickness and diarrhoea began. Too much information? Okay; I’ll get back to our story.
Having crossed the border the day before, we headed for Osh, where the Pamir Highway ends. In fact, the road we took to avoid the Pamir region, ends at a ‘T’ junction with the last part of the Pamir Highway, so we can say that we’ve driven a bit of it, and yes: the scenery was great. As we drove on to Osh (second city of Kyrgyzstan) we saw yurts, herds of horses, and some very different looking faces. (Much more east-Asian.)
The plan was to stay at a Hotel or Hostel in Osh, but Karen hadn’t been able to book anything in advance, not knowing when we might be arriving due to the uncertainty of our route. Consequently, we had to drive around a bit and stop every once in while, while Karen went to inspect another hotel. Eventually she gave up, as it seems the only places with spaces had vacancies for the simple reason that no one (including Karen) wanted to stay there. Instead, we stopped off for an hour our two to take a look around and to try and change all the spare Tajik money we had into Kyrgyz Som. Unfortunately, none of the money exchange booths nor banks we tried would take the Tajik money and suggested that we would have to take it to a bank in the capital, Bishkek. To be honest, apart from trying to exchange currency, the hour or two to walk around was more than enough, having already driven around looking for accommodation. When our time was up, we were glad to be leaving the city for open country and on to our eventual home for the night, a bush-camp at a lovely hill-top location with some great views all around us.
Days 60-62 (Osh to lake Song Kol)
The next morning, our departure was delayed by the need to effect a few running repairs to the truck. Although I wasn’t feeling great, I pitched in with what I thought would be the relatively simple and straight forward task of changing one of the front wheels. In fact, possibly due to my hindrance, the job ended up taking all morning and required several new wheel nuts. It’s a good job Will keeps a ready supply of spares, as Johnny (Accountant from Windsor) and I were going through them like a dose of salts.
Having exhausted myself, Johnny’s patients and Will’s inventory, I sat out the changing of the rear tyres (probably to Will’s relief) which, curiously, seemed to go much smoother and quicker without my assistance. Will did get me to take a look at the trucks auxiliary battery charging system, which had been playing up, and together we worked out that it was broken. Always happy to help.
Continuing along first through lots of agricultural land – the only crop of the many we saw that I could identify being maize – then more mountainous scenery. We were struck by the variety of colour in the stone and the awesome forces which must have come to bear on them to fold, twist and distort the various strata of the mostly sedimentary rocks into all manner of curious shapes and patterns.
Along the way we saw several large dams with hydro-electric generating plant attached and wondered from where the money for these projects had come. I now know from the English language paper delivered to our room here in Bishkek that Kyrgyzstan has many such plants (and more to come) which have been built with Russian money and may yet come under full control (if not ownership) by Russia.
That night – our cook group, though I was about as much use as a chocolate fire guard – we slept under the stars by another lake (not the one we where heading for) the name of which I seem not to have noted, though I now know was in fact Toktogul Reservoir. Interestingly (you might think) Toktogul Street is one of the main east-west thoroughfares here in Bishkek (Bishkek is arranged on a grid system) and they are both named for a famous Manaschi, who were travelling performers of an epic poem cycle about a hero from Kyrgyz history and culture called Manas, of whom there are many statues in the city. Amazing what you can learn from hotel magazines.
I slept for most of the next day and consequently saw very little, which is a pity as, according to Juli, the scenery was spectacular. (See her Flickr page for proof.)
On the third full day after leaving Osh, we finally arrived at Lake Song Kol, via a stop to collect wood from the side of some road works and another scary mountain pass (3,000 metres) for which Juli sat next to Will in the cab and felt much safer. What can I say: I’m just not Will.
Day 63 & 64 (lake Song Kol)
We had two nights at Song Kol (second largest of Kyrgyzstans many lakes after lake Issyk Kol) an alpine lake set in almost endless and dramatic summer pasture for the many semi-wild horses and other live stock (mostly sheep) driven there by local herders, who also have a nice little side-line in letting out Yurts to foreign tourists like us.
While we were there, I watched a goat slaughtered and butchered (very professionally) for Eid, the Muslim festival that marks the end of Ramadan. While that was going on, Juli wandered off somewhere on her own, returning some hours later in the passenger seat of a large 4x4 having been invited to join an English man and his Kyrgyz wife plus her family (one of whom was the driver) in something of a picnic, apparently comprised mostly of vodka. It seems she was only allowed to leave after promising to call her hosts when we get to Bishkek, where they live, a promise we’ve yet to honour.
Before we could leave the lake, we had a couple of chores to complete: one was to chop-up and/or split all the firewood we’d gather at the road works, and the other was to fill our now empty water tanks, which had to be done by fetching the water in buckets (and anything else that would hold water) some distance from a hand pump to where the truck was parked. I suggested moving the truck a little closer to the pump, but apparently the ground in between was not firm enough to support its weight. With only three buckets plus some kitchen pots and pans, as you might imagine, the process took some time to complete.
Finally we headed away from the lake. However, before we got very far, we met up with another overland truck driven by two friends of Will and Karen they’d not seen for years (and weren’t likely to again anytime soon) so when Will asked if we’d mind stopping early so they could catch up, we couldn’t really refuse. The combined massed kitchens and cook groups of the two trucks whipped up a feast. Cue much merry making and the telling of travellers tales.
Day 65 & 66 (Jeti Orguz near lake Issyk Kol)
Waving good bye to the other truck, we retraced our tracks a bit before heading for and around lake Issyk Kol, which is huge (only second to the Caspian Sea in term of size) and is lined by small ‘sea-side’ towns selling inflatable animals and everything else necessary for a day at the beach.Our destination (for two nights) however was Jeti Orguz, a one-time spa resort, but now somewhat diminished in these post soviet times. In fact, many of us wished we stopped off at one of the sea-side towns instead. Our camp was a small clearing up from the town and right beside a racing mountain stream: far too fast even to paddle in let alone swim. Even so, we watched with disbelief as a herdsman drove his horses into and across it. We felt sure they (including the herdsman on horseback) would be swept away and perish, but somehow, they defied the current and made it safely to the other bank.
Our full day there was largely taken up with more truck chores. In particular, a full Truck Clean. This is a (roughly) monthly event during which everything not bolted down is removed from the truck and cleaned, plus every part of the truck itself is cleaned. The process normally takes about three hours, though somehow we managed to complete it in two.
However, that wasn’t the end of it, because in addition to the Truck Clean, there were more running repairs required and, when I finished my cleaning detail, I was asked to helped with one of these, specifically, assisting with a spring change. (You’d think Will would have learnt from last time he asked me to ‘help’.) As a result, replacing two or three broken leafs of one spring, funnily enough supporting the very same wheel I’d ‘helped’ to change the other day, turned into an epic drama with four actors: Will, Johnny, Martin and myself (in a walk-on part) during which every toy in box was brought out to play.
When the job was finally done, we were (well, certainly I was) utterly exhausted and thoroughly filthy. It took another hour just to get all the grease and grim off our bodies, and my play clothes, as we call them – bought to cook in but equally necessary for truck clean days – will never be the same again.
Day 67 (Jeti Orguz to Bishkek)
With 500 kilometres to cover, today was always going to be a hard drive, and so it was. I’ve written very little in my diary about the journey, but I do remember the faces of some of our truckmates when we stopped for lunch and all we could see were road-side stalls selling dried fish (although, apparently, they were delicious) and I also remember Juli’s pained expression as she tried to find a position to sit in which wasn’t too detrimental to her spine. Unfortunately the road wasn’t the best and Will had to go at a speed that was going to get us to Bishkek in reasonable time.There had been a problem here too with booking accommodation. Karen had been coordinating with Corinne, who had arrived, with Adam, a few days earlier. (You will remember that they chose to leave the truck and fly from Dushanbe to Bishkek.) Corinne had been asked to find accommodation for the group, but was having difficulty getting any suitable hostel to accept an advanced booking. In the end, Karen booked us into a large homestay / hostel who would take the reservation, but when we got there, we discovered there was just one toilet between all the guest (not just us) and one shower, which, at the time we arrived, was not working. Obviously it was far from ideal, but sometimes you just have to take what you can get. I don’t think we were the only ones disappointed by the accommodation, but for us it was a disappointment too far, and we left almost immediately to find an alternative, leaving our baggage behind.
In fact, we’d half made up our minds earlier in the week that we’d like as not break away from the group when the truck moved on after Bishkek for the mammoth 20-day bush-camp-a-thon to Ulan-Bator, so had already done some research into mid-priced accommodation. Unfortunately, our taxi driver couldn’t find any of the address we’d copied out of the Lonely Planet guide to Central Asia, so, in desperation, we told him to take us to the Hyatt Hotel, which somehow we knew existed in the centre of town. He knew where that was alright, but (perhaps fortunately so far as our wallets were concerned) they had no vacancies. They were, however, most helpful and gave us a map on which the receptionist marked a number of suitable alternatives. Eventually, after walking from one hotel to another, both of us now flagging to the point of exhaustion, we settled appropriately enough on the Silk Road Lodge. Rather more expensive than we were hoping for, but, by then, at the end of that very long and hard drive-day, we would have said yes to almost anything.
I left Juli nursing her back in our lovely new room and got the hotel to arrange a taxi to take me back to the homestay, wait while I collected all our luggage and bring me back to the hotel. A Little later, we went down to their lovely restaurant and had a lovely meal, in my case, a very lovely steak. Bliss.
Next time I’ll tell you all about our adventures in Bishkek trying to change money, post a parcel and buy a ticket to Russia.
TTFN - N
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