Osh gosh and potentially oh my gosh
Trip Start
Jul 19, 2009
1
6
19
Trip End
Ongoing
Osh, Osh, Kyrgyzstan
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
True to the rumours I had heard, there was a paved road between Bishkek in the north and Osh in the south. However, the definition of 'paved' was, at times, somewhat sketchy. The past 9 days or so have been quite a mix of highs and lows, not just in altitude. It has mostly been the weather that has been the cause behind such swings, either the heat, the rain, or the cold (or, at times, a mix of more than one).
Surveying the map, and then looking up at the horizon, my worst fears were confirmed: there was a massive moutain pass to go over. I had read in one blog by someone who had done the reverse route to me, that the downhill was 'a downhill like no other'. Great. That means an uphill that would totally suck. And totally suck it did. The scenery was spectacular from up at the top of the pass, but I felt far from spectacular going up. After an initial 40 miles or so of flat from Bishkek, the road turned and just headed straight up. For the first 40, it was at a somewhat manageable 7% or so, but then it kicked up a gear and went at 12% for the final 20. Fantastic. Just fantastic. There was no way that I would be able to do all of this in one day, and as night approached on my first day out of Bishkek, the options of where to sleep in a canyon with not much apart from vertical sides and a river were somewhat limited. I passed scary house number 1 and scary house number 2, and thought they had too much of an air of 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre' about then, so progressed on. I ended up spending the night hidden in a dugout area, about 100 yards back from the road, my tent and bike hidden by the landscape. I covered the bike in a grey groundsheet, just so the bright red did not stand out, and all was well when I surfaced in the morning. Still trundling up the 7% part, around one corner I looked up at the mountain and, almost straight up and to my horror, I saw switchbacks progressing all the way up the mountain. There was only the peak that was not covered. For reference, Bishkek is at a height of about 800m or so, and this pass, Too-Ashuu, was 3586 metres. The heat soon blazed on the unexposed hill, and after about 10 miles I had truly had enough. As I was having one of my regular breathers beside the road, up pulled a nice fast car, carrying someone I had met at the guesthouse in Bishkek earlier on. I made clear my intention then to get a lift up to the top but, typically, as soon as I had made such an intention known, no suitable vehicles came past. So up I plodded. It was truly a horrible experience. Yes, yes, it was character building or something similar. I did not/still do not care. in the final few kilometres, I had to stop every few hundred metres and just rest. I was not having any of the major symptoms of altitude sickness, but I could tell the air was thinner, and the heat was draining. Reaching a tunnel which led to the summit, my next challenge was how to survive this one. The tunnel was meant to be no better than the uphill, apart from poorly lit, 3kms long, with no ventilation and no room for overtaking. No way was I going to attempt that and probably die. Chatting to some guys at the top, who seemed rather amused by my endeavour, they suggested that the policeman there pull over a truck and demand that I be put on. Poor Sergey. He probably thought he was going to have to pay a bribe when he was flagged down. Instead, he was simply ordered to take me along with him through the tunnel of doom. Safely delivered to the other side, what a downhill - although, being a studious sort of chap, I had noticed an equally horriffic pass coming up before too long: Ala-Bel, at 3184 metres. Hmmmm. That night, exhausted, I pitched my tent in a most beautiful location, overlooking mountains, woods, a river etc behind a nomad's yurt. A crash and a bang, and in the middle of the night the heavens opened. Oh amazing. The rain stopped, briefly, first thing - enough time for me to progress 20 miles, before coming down again. Despite the amount of food and water I had consumed, I still felt absolutely drained from the pass, and when it started pissing it down I was truly fed up. So much so, that I spent a good chunk of the morning attempting to get a lift to somewhere I could recuperate. Anything that stopped had no room, and anything suitable did not stop. Feeling utterly dejected, and wondering what to do, I just plodded on until finally, at about 2pm, the rain came down like a power shower, the cold set in, and the sweat from my exertions going up the new mountain made me just freeze. Oh, and to top it all the wind and rain was pushing me backwards almost as fast as I pedalled up, so that I was going about 3mph. That was it. I had to find somewhere to stop. Remembering what I had been told by some other cyclists I had met in Bishkek, if you need to find somewhere to stay, look for a place that does not look too run down, and with women and children. Almost immediately to my right was such a place, and so, venturing towards the nomad's yurt with smoke pouring out of the chimney, I wondered whether they'd give me sanctuary from the storm. Well, I could not have hoped for a nicer bunch of nomads to bump into. There was only the old man and a woman there initially, but by the end of the day a whole family had appeared - another woman, small child, and a bunch of guys about my age. Using the little Russian I have got the hang of, I asked whether I could come in, and the old man beckoned me to sit by the stove and to dry off. Before too long, the water was steaming off me, and I was covered in blankets to help me warm up. I ended up staying in the yurt for the next day as well, as the weather was still atrocious. That experience has been possibly one of my best in Kyrgyzstan so far. They were just a regular family, who had this random Englishman drop by, and they were incredibly hospitable. The yurt, where most of the family live (some lived in a couple of tents outisde, and another yurt next door), is just a round building, constructed of a lattice of wood, with supporting beams and a round cartwheel contraption at the top, to hold it all together - this is the symbol on the Kyrgyz flag. The inside serves for pretty much everything. The initial few feet just has a covering on the dirt, and that's where the stove and kymys making contraption is. The rest is a slightly raised platform, covered in carpets, where you socialise, have chai (seemingly any time is chai time), and, eventually, sleep in the evening. A big pile of rugs, blankets and duvets is stacked at the back, and in the evening they are taken out and laid down on the floor. The order of the day for meals was mutton, chased by mutton and more mutton. Although there were variations on a theme of mutton. Mutton with pasta and onions, mutton with potato and onions, and stewed mutton with noodles and onions. Yum yum. Being the guest, I was given the fattiest bits - sort of the reverse of home, where the leaner bits would probably be offered. The fattier the meat, the better, so consquently leaner cuts cost much less. There was, however, no escaping the kymys (fermented mare's milk). To make it, once the milk has been collected from the mares (sort of similar to milking a cow, although it looks a bit surreal), it's put into churns. Then, in the evening, poured into a massive leather sack, constructed so that it reaches a pinnacle at the top, which is tied to the side of the yurt. It is then pummelled for an hour or so with a massive stick (inside - so it is just thrust up and down), and left overnight. Come the morning, it is ready. I prefected the way of drinking this rather interesting tasting liquid without having to really taste it - just drink the whole thing down in one, and don't stop. This will mean you don't necessarily have to taste it, or offend anyone. So, after a full day and a half of rest, the sky cleared, and the old man make the gesture for me to pedal off into the distance and over the hill. To power me along, I was given more Kymys, and I was off. We were only a few kilometres from the summit, and as I approached the final whisps of cloud covering it cleared, and there was a most amazing view. Followed by an amazing downhill, which lasted for the best part of 40 miles. I would have truly hated to have to go up that one, but then the side I did was no picnic. As I sped down the valley, the freezing temperature warmed up, trees started to appear again, and the whole valley buzzed with bees. You could not go a few hundred yards for a good 10 miles stretch without some stall selling honey. The story for the remaining few days has not been as adventurous as those of the first few. The landscape has been hills, with occasional mini tunnels-of-doom, and some amazing views. Something that I have found, though, is that some of the places I aimed to stop at would not have been worth the bother (found out the next day, when I failed to get there in time the day before), whilst the places I have had to stay otherwise, have been much better. These have included a couple of restaurants - both times sleeping on the tea platforms that are everywhere here - and gostinitas. These have surprised me, as they have ranged between 100 som (about $2 US) to 300 som for a room all to myself. Amazing still, as for the last two I have had a sit down loo. Pit toilets are invariably smelly and foul, and I do not like them. I was quite ecstatic when I had a sit down contraption at one place. However, the definition of running water at times does vary. At one, the only running water there appeared to be was from a bucket, with a little contraption below that allowed the water to flow out. Something that has amazed me in this trip has been how friendly tha majority of people are. An example of this is, wandering around in Jalalabad, I was wondering what to do next, when suddenly I hear this English voice. Wow. It turned out to be from an American girl, Martha, who was there for a couple of years as part of Peace Corps. She was incredibly helpful, taking me to various places in the town and where to get some pretty tasty food. With another Peace Corps friend of hers, Fritz, we walked up to the sanitorium at the top of the hill over the city first thing the next morning, and had quite a cool view. Well, there is so much more I could write, but I think I have done quite enough for now. I am now in Osh, though for how much longer I do not know. I bumped into some cyclists yesterday that I had met in Jalalabad (a couple of French guys, Jean Philippe and Denis) who said that the pass I intend to take (and which they do too) into China - Irkeshtam pass - will be shutting from the Kyrgyz side on Friday lunch, and that will be it for the year. My Kyrgyz visa expires on the 1st, and so I imagine the next week is going to be eventful. I had been dreading having to cycle up some of the worst roads in Kyrgyzstan, up to a pass of over 3600 metres, and it looks like I may now not have to - it could be a truck that I take up. That is not to say there are not big passes on the Chinese side. However, I need to get there first. I intend to find out whether this rumour of closure is true, but think I will probably use it as a good excuse to take a lift over the crappy bits. If the 'decent' Kyrgyz roads are anything to go by, I do not look forward to finding out what the bad ones do to you. This is probably going to be my last post for some time, as, last time I checked, the internet in Xinjiang is not really 'on' at the moment. Oh well.
Comments
Well done so far
Good to hear it is going well so far - despite the weather. Seems an age since we met at Issyk-Kul. Hope China is ok and the weather not too cold....Mark