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[thereandbactrian]

It's finally here. The full video of our 2013 adventure.

Watch it now and find out why a tarp strapped to the outside of our car became a lifesaver, how quickly you can get from Dover to Istanbul, what happens when you upgrade vodkas at a Georgian corner store, how long you might be stuck with truck drivers on the Caspian Sea when the Turkmenistan president comes to town, what the difference is between Chinese-made and locally-made tunnels in Tajikistan, why camping on the Afghan border might not be a good idea, how hot the hot springs of Kyrgyzstan are, what happens when you take the shorter route in Kazakhstan, and why it's a bad idea to have more than one town called Altai in Mongolia.

[thereandbactrian]

Now that we made it home safe and sound, here’s a little glimpse at the story of our 2013 Mongol Rally. (via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FsyLCgXi9ok)

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London based South Africans Jeremy Bortz (cricket writer for TheSouthAfrican.com) and Dylan Burt and fellow adventurous friends Mark Moloney from England and Adam Corcoran of Australia drove from the British capital to Ulaanbaatar as part of the Mongol Rally.

Jazza has documented his account of our adventure on TheSouthAfrican.com

[thereandbactrian]

Mongolia - we made it!

As we drove through no-man’s land headed for the border proper, we recalled hearing stories about teams that spent upwards of three days at the border waiting for their cars to get stamped in. Thankfully, we would not join that statistic and after paying our $1 disinfection tax, a few other charges and waiting a little over five hours, we were allowed in just before the border closed at 9pm. The convoy had grown to include Team Detour from Sweden together with Chase and Charla (and Bertha, their panda and team mascot) and we enjoyed a great night’s camping albeit in freezing weather.

Mongolia is the most sparsely populated country in the world and the first word I'd chose to describe the country is 'empty'. While Gers, the traditional Mongolian house, are generally visible at any point on the horizon, towns only exist hundreds of kms apart. It is very easy to drive an entire day without any change in scenery whatsoever while the emptiness seems to exaggerate features. Clouds, for example, look far grander, more beautiful and more intense when there is nothing in their way and they stretch until out of sight.

Over the course of the week, the terrain varied from largely sparse mountain steppe (mountains and rolling plateaus) to the occasional forest steppe (trees were a rare sight). Heading west to east, we traversed across parts of the Altai Mountains, the country’s highest mountain range. We also headed past a number of beautiful lakes and crossed parts of the Gobi desert, the fifth largest in the world. 

Roads too were very varied and while some half of the distance was paved, the remainder was a mis-match of loose gravel, large holes, flattened and packed dirt, potholes and grassy plains! Where unpaved, there was no single road but a number of tracks available and it was clear that the road was simply a path made over many years of travel. There is only one ‘route’ west to east across the country and it was entertaining seeing half a dozen cars each on their own parallel path. Over the course of the week, we would also cross a number of water ‘hazards’ and on each occasion, driver and car performed admirably!

Pick a road, any road will do!

Throughout the country, there are very few signs. Having signs though aren't particularly helpful when there are multiple cities with the same name. Heading for Altai, we slowed to read a sign and after seeing the word ‘Altai’ with a straight arrow, assumed we were on the right road. That assumption would prove to be incorrect when we learnt that there are three Altai’s! As a result, we ended up seeing more of the Gobi than intended as we headed some 400 km off track and skirted the Chinese border.

This detour happened on day three, by which point we’d covered only 300 kms. Between our tyre issues and the Norwegians having engine trouble, our first two days of driving had seen us cover less mileage than we needed to in one day. As we sat at the local petrol station in the wrong Altai, we were really worried that we wouldn’t make our flight let alone the finish line. It was tough and slow going and with our car issues, and now being some 400 km off track, confidence hit an all-time low. We still had over 1,300 km to cover and Ulaanbaatar seemed a long, long way away.

(We subsequently learnt that we were one of a handful of teams that took the scenic Gobi route!).

Thankfully we met a local while filling up who was headed to the capital and was able to lead us to the path of salvation. That path was a 200 km stretch of beautifully paved road built by the Chinese - the road was built to provide access to the mine and some 100 m after the mine, the road completely disintegrated!. We were able to make good distance on this superb road and after driving through the night, we arrived in the correct Altai early the next morning to be back on track. Thankfully both the roads and our sense of navigation improved and we would remain on track and reach the capital in time for the party.

Car wise, Julie was an absolute champion and aside from a broken exhaust for the last few days which meant we sounded like a F1 car as we crossed the finish line, we had no engine issues. Tyres, though, were a different story and we ended up with at least one puncture for every day we were in Mongolia to total 10 by the time we hit the finish line! At each town en route we would stop to repair tyres and while at times frustrating, it gave us the opportunity to interact with the locals and play football with the kids while we waited around.

As I said in one of our earlier blogs, teams could take any route they wanted. A few teams like us crossed the Caspian Sea and headed through the Stans, others kept north through Kazakhstan and Russia and a large number went via Iran. The Swiss team we met on day two in Bulgaria were taking a unique road as they headed through Iran, Pakistan and China. 

Regardless of one’s route, everyone obviously converged in Mongolia and with there being only one ‘road’; we were all ‘channelled’ to the same spots as we headed for the capital. Thus throughout our time in Mongolia, we would bump into teams and in addition to the awesome Norwegians who we convoyed with throughout, we would convoy with a few of these other teams for part of the week We also randomly bumped into the above-mentioned Swiss team and would camp with them and a few other teams in a beautiful national park. 

Meeting up with other teams made the rally in many respects. Although we barely knew each other, the spirit and sense of camaraderie was amazing as we’d all been on this once-in-a-lifetime adventure together. An incredible bond was very quickly formed and we shared many laughs on the road and then enjoyed a super-fun weekend in Ulaanbaatar celebrating.

Celebrating together at the finish line 

I’ve never had to work so hard on a trip before. Not only was there the six months of planning but the six weeks on the road were both mentally and physically draining. Given how hard we’d had to work, the sense of accomplishment as we crossed the finish line was immense and the elation uncontrollable. With some incredible support from so many people, we’d worked our socks off to make this dream a reality and a real sense of pride enveloped us as we drove across the finish line.  

Notwithstanding our smell after 12 days without a shower, there were bear hugs and high-fives all round. Many pictures were taken and a delicious cold beer was enjoyed whilst chatting to the many teams who had crossed earlier that day. We made it!

Celebrating with the awesome Norwegians, who we convoyed with for the final two weeks 

Although we’ve been back in London a week now, the trip is still sinking in and thinking back makes me smile. We covered some 10,600 miles (or 17,000 kms) and traveled 1/3rd of the way around the world over some the planet’s toughest terrain. We experienced 50 C heat as well as torrential rain that turned roads into mud baths. We hiked in the mountains of Kyrgyzstan, drove along the roof of the world on the Pamir Highway in Tajikistan, experienced beautiful ancient cities in Uzbekistan and dodged far too many car-swallowing, rally-ending potholes in Turkmenistan. We ate what must have totaled hundreds of somsas, sampled many assorted horse platters in Kazakhstan and drank too much vodka. We avoided arrest in half-a-dozen of countries and spent a good fair number of incredibly uncomfortable nights in the car. We enjoyed a fine cruise across the Caspian Sea and large nights out in Tbilisi, Almaty and Ulaanbaatar ... the memories continue.

To end off, I just wanted to say a huge thank-you to everyone out there who supported us in so many ways. Without you, this adventure would never have been possible and we can never thank you enough. We’re busy sorting through all our pictures and we look forward to sharing these over the course of the next few weeks.

Cheers for now,

Jazza

ps - here's the link to my personal blog if you'd like to check it out - Jazza's Travel Website

[thereandbactrian]

With nearly 3,500 photos and over 600 videos, sorting through our Mongol Rally media hard-drive is taking some time. We can't wait to share the best of it with you.

To keep you eager with anticipation, here is one of Adam's favourites, a sunset he shot over Song Kol in Kyrgyzstan.

Stay tuned for Jazza's blog on our final stage, news on our charities and the results of our photo and video sorting.

Have a great weekend!

- the Bactrians.

[thereandbactrian]

A shout-out to Endeavour Living

When we first told the boys at Endeavour Living about the Mongol Rally, virtually their first question was, "how do we support you?". Soon after, they became our vehicle sponsor; financially assisting us in the purchase of the car and earning their place on the vehicle and our team t-shirts. Without them, none of our Mongol Rally would have been possible.

And what a car we got! Here's Julie atop the "roof of the world" in the Pamir Mountains, Tajikistan.

Endeavour Living is a specialist room rental and management company focused on the rapidly-emerging shared accommodation sector in the Northwest London area. If you or anyone you know are in the market for great rental accommodation in Northwest London, get in touch with them!

http://endeavourliving.co.uk/

[thereandbactrian]

Through Kazakhstan and Russia

We always knew that Kazakhstan and Russia would be a long, hard slog and that’s exactly how it turned out with some 2,700 km covered in five consecutive days of driving.

Kazakhstan is the ninth largest country in the world and it certainly seems that way with vast and flat expanses of nothing surrounding you as you drive. Towns occasionally dot this landscape but they’re a collection of buildings amongst this sea of nothing. Given the country’s size, there was simply no time to veer off route but thankfully we were able to see a few things that were en route.

Just across the border is the stunning 80km Charyn Canyon, which you’re able to descend into and walk though. We were planning to camp but just as we started ‘setting up shop’, a massive storm erupted and we were treated to a ferocious thunder and lightning display while we sought refuge in the car. Thankfully, the storm cleared as morning broke and we were able to walk through the canyon.

We’d seen another rally car when we pulled up and would bump into the Norwegian team ‘Geographically Misplaced’ whilst walking. What started as a ‘Shall we convoy together until Almaty’ turned into a convoy that lasted two weeks and saw us cross the finish line together. Magnus, Reuben and Kore – it was an absolute pleasure and a real highlight travelling with you lads. Bringing the golf club was an inspired decision and I look forward to having you boys here in London. And to skiing in Norway!

After a night out in Almaty that included a large number of beers and an assorted horse meat platter or two, we would spend three long days driving north to Russia along some of the words roads we would encounter on the trip. Added to the car-swallowing potholes, the unpaved roads and the crazy drivers was days of torrential rain that turned roads in mud baths. The icy weather was also a complete surprise as we headed north.

Mud bath in Kazakhstan!

Up until Kazakhstan, we had had one slow puncture in Georgia. Things would change quickly, though, with the number of punctures jumping to four within 24 hours. A double puncture in one stretch would mean we limped 20 km to the nearest town on a barely inflated tyre before we were able to fix for both $2!

We’d also heard that you had to register your visa if  planning to stay longer than 5 days. We thought the drive would take two and thus we would be out no problem but as I said, two became three and we would exit the country with some 15 minutes to spare!

It was much the same as we crossed into Russia and headed for the Mongolian border. Although the roads were VASTLY improved and the scenery far more beautiful as we drove through the mountainous and lush green Siberia, the weather remained the same – icy, cold and wet. Thankfully that would clear and the last two hours of driving along a windy road heading for the border town of Barnaul was fantastic.  

It was whilst driving through Russia that a truck kicked up a stone and shattered our back passenger window. Thankfully there is not much duct tape cannot fix and Mark's efforts worked a treat as the duct tape held all the way to Ulanbataar. 

As we crossed from the paved no-man’s land on the Russian side into the unpaved no-man’s land on the Mongolian side, excitement was fever pitch. We’d planned for almost six months and had been driving for five weeks and this was the moment – we had reached Mongolia! It was a long 1,600km to the capital but we had seven days to make it and were confident we'd be driving Julie across the finish line. That confidence would be tested at times but I’ll explain more in the next blog.

- Jazza

ps - here’s the link to my personal blog if you’d like to check it out - Jazza’s Travel Website

[thereandbactrian]

We're soon to begin sorting through the thousands of photos we shot on the rally. We can't wait to share them with you! For now, why don't you check out the absolutely amazing shots from our convoy-mates and world-class photographers in Team Detour. They snapped this one of Dyl and Jazza killing time with a frisbee after Adam sped-off on the back of a local's motorbike to fix a busted tyre.

[thereandbactrian]

After a long haul Beijing-to-London flight with free beers, all-night laughs and chats with more new friends and some lost baggage scares, the boys are safely back in London. Stay tuned for our final blog posts, all of our best rally pics and our final reflections on this crazy adventure.

[thereandbactrian]

Goodbye Mongolia, it's been huge.

[thereandbactrian]

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10,600 miles, over 1000 litres of fuel, 10 flat tires, 7 avoided arrests, 1 attempted robbery, 1 blown ABS, 1 smashed window, 1 bent bash plate and 3 crazy Norwegians to share the last 2 weeks with, we've finally made it to Ulaanbaatar! Thank you all for your incredible support, we couldn't have done it without you. Time for a beer!

[thereandbactrian]

An interlude in Karakol

The hike to the waterfall in Arselanbob had really exposed the cracks in my health; weeks of stomach troubles, struggles with the fundamental shift in my diet, rapid changes of climate and countless nights of poor sleep had all caught up with me. I would not be joining the boys on their next big hike near Karakol in Kyrgyzstan, deciding instead to drop them at their designated starting point in the Karakol valley and pick them up three days later in Ak Suu. I would, instead, spend some time in solo travel mode. After all, there's a lot of fun to be had that way.

I would wave the boys off with all their gear and notes of their plan while some friendly local guys watched on, chiming in at one point with the now familiar "acuda?" (where are you from?). It has never once gotten tiring to see the thumbs up, smiles and enthusiastic "kangaroo!" once my answer has been heard.

One of the guys spoke surprisingly good English, and I found myself chatting to him for some time. His name was Sergey, a Karakol valley local, 28 years old and working in his family trade of semi-nomadic agriculture. As it was the ending of Ramadan, he promptly invited me inside his family home for tea and food with his family members and local children from their neighbourhood. It's a shame that in the west it seems we've long ago left behind the days of such outward gestures of hospitality and generosity to perfect strangers. The tea was lovely and aromatic and, although conscious of eating more than my fill, I enjoyed the various noodles, salads, vegetables and bread as an early lunch. The whole time we were dining and conversing, more than a dozen local children came in and out at Sergey's sister's invitation. I got the sense that I was spending time with a fundamentally important family. After our food, Sergey would be kind enough to show me pictures of where the boys were hiking to on his laptop; I could immediately tell they were in for a challenge. I would also learn of the struggling homestay Sergey's family were trying to set-up around the crippling government regulations, finishing with a tentative arrangement to have me stay in two nights' time and the exchanging of email addresses in order to confirm.I headed back into Karakol in our still-damaged car, energised and excited about having some time to do my own thing, and with two missions: get the car's bash plate repaired and get our laundry done.

Earlier that day we'd met the slightly peculiar Michel, an opinionated and colourful ex-pat Belgian now spending the majority of his time around Karakol conducting bird and wildlife tours. Michel had in-turn introduced us to his friend, Vadim, a quiet and shy man from Kyrgyzstan who could potentially help repair our car. We'd hesitantly made plans to try and get the car to Vadim once I'd dropped the boys off on their trek, but we were suspicious of the flighty Michel and had agreed amongst ourselves to try and find another option.

Arriving back at the hostel, I would soon be bundled-up by the chiding Michel, telling me that Vadim had been waiting and that he was upset with our lateness. Knowing that Ramadan would likely mean most other options were closed, and keen to keep the peace, I followed Michel in our car to Vadim's humble workshop in the northeast part of town. I would sit there for two and a half hours, watching Vadim at work under our car whilst his four year old played with toy cars nearby, all the while worrying about our end bill that had been impossible to negotiate through the obvious language barrier. All that Vadim would say was "no problem". At 5pm, with me late for a Skype date with my girlfriend, Vadim appeared from under the car with an "ok". He'd done a brilliant job, reinforcing the parts of the bash plate that had failed and reattaching it expertly to the car. I nervously gestured the international "how much?" gesture of the thumb rubbed over the fingertips and waited. Refreshingly, this man seemed to not be out to take advantage of tourists, suggesting a very reasonable price for the stellar work he'd accomplished. As I was about to leave, Vadim insisted I come to dinner that night and I hastily agreed without too much thought so as to not extend my tardiness for my Skype session. Vadim suggested he would pick me up from the hostel at nine.

As nine came and went, I settled into the idea that perhaps there was no dinner after all, almost relieved that I would not need to throw myself into a completely unfamiliar and somewhat risky situation with someone I'd only just met. Part of me was also disappointed though, I'd be missing a potentially rich cultural experience and was starving from my day of having no access to funds due to the whole town being closed. I needn't have worried, Vadim would appear at ten, simply saying "ready?" and before I knew it I was in his 4WD and winding through the pitch-black streets of this ex-Soviet outpost with a stranger making multiple phone calls in Russian and with no idea of where I was going or what I was heading towards. At one point I even became panicked, realising that I'd potentially put myself in a lot of danger and coming very close to mustering-up the courage to ask to be taken back to my hostel. I never got to the point of acting on these fears, and soon we would arrive at the base of some old Soviet apartment buildings. I was led up the completely dark stairwell by Vadim, holding a torchlight behind me. I remember thinking that I'd seen violent movies begin this way, and I felt my heartbeat begin thumping out of my chest. We stopped on the fourth floor outside a door, and I nervously bent down to begin removing my shoes. Vadim began opening the door and I looked up to see the bright, warm apartment filled with women and children and smiling faces. It would seem the ghosts of our Afghan border scare would be taking a while to leave me yet.

I was treated to Vadim's wife's lovely home made borsch, accompanied by breads, fruits and sweets. And of course, tea. Michel even arrived to feast with us. My fears and suspicions of these men had been unfounded, and I breathed out with a great sigh of relief. We laughed over my obscure English usage, Australian references and talked four-wheel driving, Kyrgyzstan and wildlife before it was time for Vadim to take me back to the hostel. Whilst bidding me good night, he invited me to join him and two of his friends the next day for a complimentary four-wheel drive trek up to the local hot springs. I eagerly accepted.

Waking early to tick the box on retrieving our much-needed clean clothes from probably the only functioning laundry within 100 miles, I was excited for the day ahead. On form, Vadim arrived in his immense Nissan Patrol an hour after our allotted meeting time, with the simple greeting of "ok?". I would also meet Ravid and Kula, a couple from Kyrgyzstan and Russia respectfully, friends of Vadim's who would be joining us on the excursion. I soon learnt that involved conversation would probably not feature too heavily in the day due to my complete lack of Kyrgyz or Russian comprehension. This was going to be an interesting day.

The drive to Altyn Arashan certainly wasn't an easy, quick blast uphill. The road would reveal all of Vadim's driving skills and the capabilities of his well-kitted Patrol. As we clambered over rocks, I peered out the window at the awe-inspiring scenery; a free-flowing river cutting a swathe through a valley of grassy, pine-covered slopes with soaring white peaks emerging in the background. We stopped halfway to pick-up some Russian hitch-hikers struggling with the ascent. This small gesture gave me a heart-warming insight into my new friend Vadim, who simply said, "Today, my car, they walk.Tomorrow, maybe their car, me walk. Is mountain tradition."

We soon arrived at our first hot-spring, a hidden local pool built into a cliffside overhanging the river. We sat in the warm water watching the freezing river speed past. Vadim again had the right words, "I live today; maybe hot springs, maybe billiards, maybe shashlik. Tomorrow? I might be dead." We embraced Vadim's sense of carpe diem for the rest of the day, jumping between the steaming springs and the freezing river and feasting on the complimentary borsch served-up by Vadim's friends in the river-side restaurant. On the way back down, we picked-up a Finnish/German couple who perhaps had the most incredibly interesting professions of any couple I've met; she is a cognitive neuro-scientist and he works as an artificial intelligence specialist. Clever kids.

Following my somewhat bittersweet goodbye with Vadim, I joined my new brain scientist friends for some traditional Russian fare and beers. While their company was grand, sadly, the state of all three of our stomachs didn't allow us much of a long night. I retreated to my hostel through the dark streets of Karakol with an overbearing feeling of satisfaction for my Karakol interlude.

In the morning, our team again reunited and I couldn't help but laugh at some of the misfortunes of the hapless Mark, Dyl and Jazza whilst they were away trekking. That day's drive was full of stories adventure and misadventure and a full share of laughs.

And that's how it should always be.

- Ad

[thereandbactrian]

Stunning driving and hiking round Kyrgyzstan

As we crossed from Tajikistan into Kyrgyzstan, the change in country gave way to brilliant roads that were tarred and pothole-free and vastly different scenery: snow-capped mountain ranges were replaced with lush rolling hills that were dotted with red mountains and brimming with livestock. Passing through a number of villages, it was clear that this was a vastly more populated country too.

For the first two days, we drove west to east across the country along unpaved roads through spectacular scenery.  Initially, we drove through rolling hills and farmland before that gave way to a scene of mountains I can best describe as a smattering of islands with a sea long departed. We headed over a pass whilst chasing the sun and it was both the toughest and most exhilarating piece of driving I’ve ever done – a steep and windy mountain pass with super-sharp hairpin bends, shadows hiding potholes and at times a glare that necessitated I drive by looking out the window!

On day two, it felt like we were heading through the Wild Wild West with a barren and vacant land that was dotted with sandy mountains. Those mountains were almost scarred as pieces had been ripped away. Crossing over another pass, that scene was replaced once more by lush rolling hills and yet more livestock.

We also visited Songkul Lake in the center of the country and while the lake was not all that spectacular, the setting and scene around the lake was something I’ve never experienced – vast tracts of pasture dotted with yurts and huge herds of cattle and surrounded by mountains. Farmers move here over the summer to herd their livestock and take advantage of the acres of land and it felt so remote sleeping under the awning of the car.

Whilst leaving Songkul, our beloved bash-plate Morris decided enough was enough! As we lay in the mud trying to keep him breathing with bungee-cords, we could only smile – this after all is what the Mongol Rally is all about . I’ll be writing a specific blog on our car issues once back in London so I won’t go into further detail here. Suffice to say, we were able to save Morris and he continues to keep Julie protected to this day.

Hiking is one of my favorite things to do and we ended off our week in the country with some great walking/trekking: we headed to Arslanbob for a super morning’s hike up to a waterfall and a view of the world’s largest walnut forest before making our way to Karakol for a spectacular three-day, two-night hike. Adam unfortunately wasn’t able to join Dyl, Mark and me but he had an awesome time round Karakol which he’ll be writing about separately so keep an eye out for that.

Day one of our hike took us for five hours along a raging and overflowing river before we left the Arashan valley and headed into the forest. The sky had slowly been gathering clouds all afternoon and we started bashing our way through the dense forest, the heavens opened and within minutes we were soaked. Thankfully after seeking shelter under a fir tree, the rain lessened to a drizzle and we dripped-dry as we continued walking. As we exited the forest into a clearing, the sun decided to join the wild horses we’d stumbled on and provide some much needed warmth as we set up camp.

View from our camping spot on the 1st night

On day two, we headed up quite steeply along the river to the base of the pass before the real climbing began: a four-hour 1,000m incline on lose gravel and rock took us to the top of the pass (or so we thought) below which lay the stunning turquoise Ala-Kol Lake. The lake is hemmed in by a range of mountains with a glacier off to the one side. We thought our climbing was done for the day and we would be heading downhill to Altyn-Arashan and a soak in a hot spring but we were wrong! As we rounded the edge of the lake, we were greeted by a large incline which would end up taking a further two hours - the real summit of the pass! All the while climbing, the lake remained on our right as we headed higher, a second range came in to the view – the  snow-capped Tian-Shan range with it’s mostly 6,000m peaks.

Stunning view from the top of the pass

Descending the mountain was frankly quite scary and we initially had to get down on or backsides as it was simply too steep to risk walking down. After removing half the mountain from our socks and shoes at the base of the mountain, we continued through the flat and lush valley with the sun at our backs. Late in the day we would unfortunately take a wrong turn which would mean we were unable to cross the river and would need to back-track over an hour to where the raging river could be crossed. That error would mean we were still walking as light began to fade.

Our map indicated we needed to veer away from the river to get to camp but as darkness enveloped us, we realised this was not the case. With only our head-torches to guide us, we had no option but to continue and we descended through another forest to camp by the river. Both soles of my shoes had come off crossing the river so I was effectively walking barefoot while my knee decided now was a good time to lock up so it was more sliding down the forest for me! While the last two hours were certainly not fun, it didn’t detract from what had been a phenomenal day’s trekking through simply stunning scenery.

The view as we soaked in the hot-spring

It wasn’t the most comfortable night we’ve ever had camping but we were up at first light and an hour or so later, we finally saw the tiny village we thought at one point no longer existed! We soaked away all our aches and pains in a super hot hot-spring inside a wooden cabin before walking the five hours to the town of Ak-Suu where Adam was waiting to take us to the Kazakhstan border.

- Jazza

ps - here’s the link to my personal blog if you’d like to check it out - Jazza’s Travel Website

[thereandbactrian]

Our narrow escape on the Afghan border

It would be a long, but rewarding day's drive towards Khorog, Tajikistan along the winding, dilapidated road hugging the Panj River and the Afghan border. These were the roads I'd imagined for us in Tajikistan. The jaw-dropping scenery from this leg of our adventure has stuck with me. To our right, the roaring torrents and rapids of the swollen river; further in the distance, the rising, arid peaks of Afghanistan, interrupted occasionally by smatterings of green and ancient settlements; on our side, the winding, cliff-hugging road that would often visit a cool, shaded Tajiki town.

We ideally would have made Khorog that night; but with the state of the roads and Julie's* inability to climb quickly (if at all), we knew it would be a long shot. As we drove on we decided to simply get as close as we could, reserving our decision for how to best tackle the next chapter of our trip once we were finally safe in Khorog. It would be a fateful decision...

After reaching Roshan (still 61km north of Khorog) in the early evening to stock-up on camping supplies from the friendly locals, we realised we would soon need to find a camping spot. It was in this town that I would notice a particular white van repeatedly drive past us, the occupants standing out from the rest of the locals through their rather pronounced lack of friendliness towards our presence. At the time, I thought very little of it.

Resisting the urge to join some of the local junior soccer matches, we made our way to the south-east edge of town and found a flat patch of ground near the road just before the valley again gave way to steep hillsides and sheer cliff faces. Dylan had his reservations about our chosen resting place, and admittedly this was the most exposed, and discoverable, we'd made ourselves of any night yet.

As darkness approached, Mark got on with cooking our pasta dinner while the rest of us went about the usual bed and tent assembly. It became evident that a storm was approaching from the south, bringing with it persistent flashes of lightning and strong wind gusts. This became our most comprehensive campsite construction yet. Sadly, we would never get to test-out our camp's storm-proofness. With dinner eaten, campsite at the ready and the storm fast approaching, we all set about the usual routine of brushing teeth, sifting through bags and shoving excess gear back into every available corner of the car.

And that is when the white van arrived.

It was now dark and we were all wearing our head torches, but Dyl was the first to notice our visitors. I knew immediately from the tone of his voice that we might be in trouble. Two of the van's occupants approached as Dyl, Jaz and I regrouped at the back of our car. Cleverly, Mark thought best to focus on finishing the washing-up and car packing before joining us.

The driver, a large and suspiciously over-friendly man with noticeable gold fillings began, first in Russian, and then in very broken English, to engage us with the usual tourist-centred chit-chat. His teen passenger, remaining mysteriously disengaged from us at a distance, began rapidly trying to make calls from his mobile. I can't be sure, but in the dark he seemed strikingly similar to one of the stand-offish teens from the passing van I'd noticed earlier in the town.

It became apparent that the overly-talkative man was simply looking for ways to stall us whilst his accomplice tried desperately to get a call to connect. I took advantage of the poor English comprehension to subtly communicate my suspicions to the boys, masked as a response directly to the man's restaurant recommendation. It was at this moment that Jazza thought it wise to hand me the car keys. I'm not sure what came over me; perhaps it was a moment of adrenaline-fuelled clarity, or simply fight-or-flight taking hold, but I knew we needed an escape plan, and quickly. We realised that if this teen were to succeed in connecting a call, we would soon be drastically out-numbered (if we weren't already). I began drawing the man's attention to the Mongol Rally sticker on our car, bluffing in as simple language as possible that we would soon be joined by countless fellow-ralliers at the campsite. In the meantime, the teen had become rather animated and I realised he'd finally connected a call. Moments later, a black Mercedes arrived, parking directly across the track that led to our campsite, effectively blocking our escape. Things were now very serious,

I decided again to bullishly mention our "many, many" Mongol Rally friends who would be joining us imminently, whilst again taking liberties with the language barrier to gauge my team-mates' thoughts on leaving our tents and beds if it came to it. We were all agreed, our safety was our priority. Just at that moment, some headlights approached from the right and two cars innocently cruised past our predicament. I immediately began yelling and flashing my head torch to try and get their attention. And then I saw the stickers.

They were Mongol Rally cars.

And not just any Mongol Rally cars, it was Mark and Laura, the Germans we had previously convoyed with. The second car we later learnt belonged to a Swedish team that our German friends had teamed-up with. Even though they hadn't seen us, I knew this was our opportunity for escape. In the confusion, the black Mercedes had moved somewhat. It was now or never. I told the boys to get in the car; we were going.

I motioned to the man that we were about to take-off to chase-down our friends and return to camp with them. Surprisingly, he seemed to believe us. And so, without hesitation, we left our tents and beds by the side of the road and set course for Khorog, driving nervously through the storm with one eye on the rear vision mirror and the other on the fuel gauge. Of course, the fuel light came on far too close to the scene of our escape to be safe. With military precision, two of us filled the tank from our emergency jerry can, a third stood watch for approaching headlights twenty metres back, while the fourth sat in the driver's seat, hand at the ready to turn the key already primed in the ignition. It was a slow and eerie drive to Khorog for Jazza and I as Mark and Dyl slept - squashed between our hastily-packed camp chairs, cooking equipment and loose bags in the back seat.

It would be midnight before we would reach Khorog, and not until the next morning did we find our German and Swedish friends to thank them for inadvertently saving us.

Needless to say, it's been a cold and uncomfortable few nights since we said goodbye to our tents and beds. But we are safe.

And we'll keep buggering on.

_____

* "Julie" is our wonderful car's first name, and the only way we address her - in case she gets upset with us and refuses to go any further.

[thereandbactrian]

Stunning natural beauty driving through Tajikistan

I’m writing this blog by lantern sitting in a yurt on Lake Karakol in the Pamir Mountains in central Tajikistan. It’s spacious and warm inside and the bowl of water placed next to this lantern is an ingenious solution to the moth problem we were having. We’ve just finished a few games of cards after enjoying a fantastic dinner from our extremely hospitable hosts and bed looks rather inviting.

(The people have been incredibly friendly throughout the country - always happy to help with directions, curious about both us and the car and excited when they hear Anglia, Australia and South Africa. There is also often confusion and a wide grin when they hear Africa - Africa?? But you're white, Africa??!!)

Dinner as I said was divine - we had bread to start which we were shown to dip in local yoghurt and sugar. That was followed by a delicious beef and potato soup and then plov – the local rice and beef dish we first enjoyed in Uzbekistan. As is customary in central Asia, the meal was accompanied by many cups of tea and conversation by hand signals and gestures.

Our location is simply stunning: Lake Karakol is a large deep-blue lake that sits some 3,900m above sea level and is surrounded by snow-capped mountains. To add to the scene, the sun was setting over the lake as we approached and it capped off a fantastic two days of driving along the Pamir Highway.

 Heading past Lake Karakol

Tajikistan is a country blessed with an abundance of natural beauty and we were fortunate to enjoy some of the country’s finest scenery. On our first day, we drove into the Fan Mountains and traversed through a canyon to camp at the beautiful Lake Iskander-kul, which is wedged between mountains. Nature had ripped away parts of the canyon which left jagged edges, sharp cliffs and steep roads.

After another day's driving that took us via the capital and then through lush countryside to camp on a plain alongside a river, we continued east on day three with mountains on our one side and a river on the other, across which lay Afghanistan. It was a tough 14 hour day as we covered only 200 kms on terrible roads that were windy, unpaved and pothole ridden.

That evening brought with it one of those unfortunate incidents that happen occasionally on the travels. I won't go into detail here as we'll be blogging about it separately but it necessitated a change in plan that took us to the town of Khorog. Leaving the next morning after a much-needed shower, we headed off on the famous Pamir Highway – a 1,300km road from Khorag to Osh in Kyrgyzstan.

The highway was built by Soviet military engineers between 1931 and 1934 to facilitate troops, supplies and as a means of transport to one of the remotest parts of the Soviet empire.  As we headed off, it was surreal to think that Marco Polo traveled this way some 700 years ago in 1274.

The almost petulant weather only added to the scene - dark and stormy clouds hung over the brown, dusty mountains with intermittent patches of sun occasionally breaking through.  The roads were better than expected and we made steady progress as we kept climbing for most of the day before heading over the Koi-Tezel pass at over 4,000m.

Heading down the pass, we were greeted by a lunar-like landscape as dusty, desert mountains dotted the horizon amongst which lay two spectacular lakes. That night we enjoyed our first home-stay at reportedly the coldest place in the country – Bulunkul - after enjoying our first bit of exercise walking some 3 hours to enjoy sunset on the lake.

Heading through the Pamir Mountains

Another day’s driving through similar terrain of dusty, brown mountains brought us to Karakol, snow-capped peaks and the yurt I find myself in now.

Before our time here, we explored two fantastic ancient cities in Uzbekistan – Bukhara and Samarkand. We wandered around beautiful mosques, madrassas and stunning architecture on a whistle-stop visit through the country. The food was once again brilliant and I look forward to sharing our many experiences eating shashlyk (kebabs of marinated beef or mutton) and somsas (pastry filled with onions and meat) in my food blog once we're back in London.

For now, I'm off to bed!

- Jazza

ps - here’s the link to my personal blog if you’d like to check it out - Jazza’s Travel Website

[thereandbactrian]

Interesting times in Turkmenistan

I’m writing this sitting in the car at Farab on the Turkmenistan side of the border with Uzbekistan. We woke up on the side of the road this morning, having camped off the highway some 100km from the capital Ashgabat, and are sleeping on the side of the road as the border is frustratingly closed for the night. And although past 10pm, the temperature remains above 35°C and my body is screaming for an ice-cold shower!

It’s been a tough few days driving on horrific roads and in searing temperatures hovering around 40°C. The drive today from the capital to the ancient city of Merv that we had read would take four hours took close on nine as the roads were some of the worst I’ve ever seen: car-swallowing potholes, spine-rattling bumps, continuous road-works and detours that seemed placed deliberately for the purpose of destroying dear Julie.

The scene that greeted us as we docked in Turkmenbashi a few days ago was of a barren and vacant land devoid of any trees and under siege from scorching heat. That scene would persist as we travelled east towards the capital through the Karakum Desert, the hottest in central Asia, before the dry desert landscape gave way to lush vegetation as a result of the man-made canal created by damning the Aral Sea. Throughout the day’s drive, the road hugged the picturesque Kopet Dag mountains beyond which lay Iran and just outside the capital, we stopped off to swim in an awesome 65m underground lake.

Heading through the Karakum Desert

According to the Lonely Planet, “only the deeply unfortunate or insane find themselves in Ashgabat over July and August” and after enduring close on 50°C weather, I completely understand where they’re coming from. With its flower gardens, lush parks and perplexing sea of white marble palaces and buildings, you sense that Ashgabat is a city trying to impress. You sense it’s a city trying to show that everything is ‘hunky-dory’ in a country with the second worst media freedom in the world after Iran.

Walking around, the city was empty of people, no doubt due to the heat, whilst frustratingly we were not allowed to take any pictures.  Nor were we allowed to cast our eyes to the President’s palace without being told off.  People were also extremely hesitant to have their picture taken; no doubt scared of what might happen if they were ‘caught’.

I sense Turkmenistan is not a country you’re meant to like. They make it incredibly expensive to get a visa (we read over $1,000) while the affordable transit visa is 90% of the time only given for five days.  Added to the visa complications, it’s expensive and time consuming to enter the country while the seven hour border crossing suggests the country doesn’t really want or care for visitors.

Yet despite all this, the people are curious, friendly and so welcoming. They hooted and waved as they drove past and always wanted to chat asking where we're from and welcoming us to the country. I suspect people don't see many backpackers too often and the sight of Julie driving past is no doubt a story to tell the friends.

Aside from the awesome underground lake and the rather surreal capital, we spent an afternoon exploring the ruins of the ancient city of Merv. In its prime during the 11th and 12th century, Merv was one of the great Islamic cities of the world on par with Damascus and Baghdad before it was decimated by Timur, one of the sons of Genghis Khan, and it’s incredible that parts remain standing to this day.

We also enjoyed some delicious food but I’ll be writing about what we ate throughout the region in a separate blog once we're back in London in a few weeks.

Cheers for now,

Jazza

ps - here’s the link to my personal blog if you’d like to check it out - Jazza’s Travel Website

[thereandbactrian]

Caspian Sea Shenanigans

I’m writing this around midday on Tuesday as we sit anchored in the Caspian Sea amongst over 50 other vessels with Turkmenbashi in the distance waiting for word that we can enter the port. The trip appeared to be on course for a mid-Monday arrival when we heard that the President was in town and the port had been closed!

A line of cargo vessels waiting on the Caspian at sunset

Fast forward some 24 hours later and we wait.  When we were first told about this ridiculous situation, our earliest arrival was estimated to be Tuesday evening. Late last night we heard it could be 3-5 days (which would make sense given the number of vessels needing to dock and the time it would take to park and offload) while this morning, different people have heard we’ll be docking at 1, 2 and 5 pm.

Clearly, no-one really knows so to get your hopes up is futile. As ridiculous as it sounds, when we drive of, we drive off and to second guess and ask around is pointless. It’s just incredible to think that an international port has been closed for this. There must be over 5,000 people on board all the boats who have been hugely inconvenienced while people dock side are no doubt waiting for their supplies and the like.               

One goes through many emotions in a situation like this. There is obviously deep frustration and even anger. We’ve put so much effort, time and money into this trip and as each day passes, we have to change plans and compromise on what we wanted to do. You also second guess yourself - perhaps we could have made Iran work and did we make the correct decision to catch the ferry?

At the same time, you realise things could always be worse. Firstly, we’re still heading east and to date, we haven’t been sent back.  The weather’s great (if super hot during the day) while it’s not ridiculously crowded and we’re fairly comfortable. We have (limited) food and water as well as cards and books to keep us busy.

Most importantly, we’re with fantastic people who we met at the ticket office on Sunday. These guys are doing the Mongolian Charity Rally and are also heading to Mongolia via Central Asia. We’ve been pooling what we have to cook together at night, sharing food during the day and keeping ourselves entertained with cards and games.

Thankfully, we got a 10 day visa so that’s not a concern although for the guys we’re with, and many of the truck drivers, their 5 day visa may well expire on board with no clear indication of what will happen when we do (hopefully) dock.

We knew when we signed up for this rally that things would very likely go wrong. Some 30% of teams don’t even make it to Mongolia and this will no doubt go into next year’s handbook as an example of where things can go horribly wrong.

It’s been a long few days of waiting around. We had been unable to find any information whatsoever on the ferry to Turkmenbashi. We had heard that it was a cargo vessel that took cars and passengers where space permitted and that no time-table existed. We’d read it costs $50-$500 and could take 16 – 40 hours. Our initial decision to go via Iran was as a result of just this – too much was out of hands and the ferry could potentially mess up all our plans. But with the change in the Iranian visa situation, we felt that the ferry option was the better of two bad choices.

Driving into Baku late Saturday night, we were stunned by what we saw. The main street is lined with brightly lit-up buildings and fancy stores from Armani to Rolex while expensive cars weave in and out of traffic.Clearly this is a country with money and it wants the world to know that. 

One set of 3 adjacent towers has been designed to look like flames and displays an impressive rotating three-design light show. The first shows a combination of red and yellow to give the effects of flames, the second shows the colours of the flag and the third, and to my mind the most impressive, shows one person waving the flag on each tower. I think the best word to describe the city is ostentatious.

Downtown Baku at night

Given the scene we’d driven into, we had expected to see a well sign-posted “Porto Sign” directing us to a street leading to said port. Instead, we drove round town for at least 30 minutes until we found the ‘Porto’ road – a dimly-lit dirt track with no signage whatsoever. Perhaps this was a sign of things to come.

After sleeping in the car in the port parking lot with views of the Hilton, we were outside the ticket as instructed the night before at 9. Just after 10, the office opened but we were told this was the motorbike and bicycle office, ours was next door and would open at 11.  When it opened after 11, that office would direct us to a new port where, after waiting for 2 hours, we were issued with our tickets.

As for the price? $100/person and $50/m for the car plus some “official government taxes”. We had read to pay in dollars but in hindsight it would have been better to go draw the necessary Manat – the ticket is in local currency  and you get fleeced on the exchange rate by paying in dollars.

After a delicious picnic of bread and cheese in the shade of the electricity pylon and a few further hours of waiting, we were allowed to drive into the port where further waiting outside the ticket office ensued. The frisbee was very quickly out before a customs official arrived with a PC to check our passports and stamp us out of the country

The waiting wasn’t yet over, it had just changed place and this time we waited next to the ferry. After cooking a delicious pasta dinner together and enjoying a game of ferry-side cricket before the ball ended up in the Caspian Sea, we boarded at around 11pm and just after midnight, almost 24 hours after first arriving at the port, we were en route!

We’d stocked up on vodka and it was a fun night drinking with new friends, both the other teams we’d met and local truck drivers who were keen to get involved in the “super-drink”. We were invited for a delicious breakfast with the drivers in the morning before our worst fears were realised. With land just sighted, word came through that the President was in town and the port had been closed!

As I’m writing this, we have just started moving again. Immediately, spirits are raised and people are starting to pack up. I’ll finish this off when we’re on land, which I sincerely hope will be tonight.

I'm finishing this off a week later at the hostel in Samarkand in Uzbekistan as there was no internet access in Turkmenistan. We were in fact able to dock that afternoon but would only enter the country some seven hours later. That's without doubt the longest I've ever spent at a border and I'll write more in our next blog about Turkmenistan.

Jazza

ps - here’s the link to my personal blog if you’d like to check it out - Jazza’s Travel Website