Category Asia by Land

Nissa

Yesterday we got in the 4×4 and took an off road expeditionary tour of Nissa,which was once a Parthian capital in the 3rd century BC. At one point over forty towers surrounded the small adobe fortress on the hilltop, but today there is little remaining of the once bustling capital. Atop a sloping, man-made hill rests one remaining tower which we discovered is used by several variety of bee as a giant nesting ground. A desert hedgehog had apparently gotten too close to the tower, for it lay crinkled in a ball at the base of one giant nest.

Inside the fortress itself, which is little more than a hill where the top is shaped like a bowel with a large depression on top where former royalty once roamed. Today the interior is filled with a strange crawling plant that albino lizards seem to enjoy. The locals who occupy the region directly to the north of old Nissa have erected a small adobe structure in the center where a guard lives to ensure everyone has paid the hefty 16M entry fee. We did not pay this fee because the guards at the gateway tried to extort more money out of us, so we took the off-road approach and hiked into the fortress on foot. Not an easy task in 105 degree weather in a desert without shade.

Along the western wall of the fortress was an irrigation canal where dozens of boys were swimming and washing their hair. Down the road several other children sat at small booth selling soap or sponges. There are no child labor laws here.

Nissa itself is an amazing story, set up by the Parthians, captured by local dynasties and finally razed in the 13th century by the Mongols. It was one of the more heroic last stands in Central Asia, and the more skilled and equipped Mongols took 15 days to captured the walled city, destroying everything within. Once the Mongols left, however, the site was used as a Zoroastrian temple grounds before being abandoned as the land around the fortress became arid and bleak.

Uzbek CYM

One of the strangest, and most frustrating things about traveling in Central Asia has been the double standards related to costs. As Americans we take for granted the amazing equality we have inside the country. True, we have problems, but one would never walk into a museum and be charged a different fee because of the color of his skin. That is not so in Central Asia.

In Uzbekistan, for a local to get into the Registan it cost 200 CYM, for a foreigner it costs 7000 CYM. Similarly, to get into any sight in Khiva, a foreigner must buy a city-wide pass that costs roughly $7 USD while locals can pay to enter whatever exhibit they want for free or for pennies on the dollar. Can you imagine the same practice in the US?

For a local in Turkmenistan to get into the underground lake it costs 3 Minat, but 30 Minat for a foreigner. (Thats the difference of $14 USD). We drove over an hour to reach the underground lake only to be rudely shoved aside by a guard who demanded fistfulls of cash. In this stubborn instance we turned on our heels and left the park, a $14 USD difference is not only unethical, its downright discriminatory.

And cash is not only demanded at ridiculous sums, its sometimes simply taken. In Kazakhstan we  were hassled by police, guards and railway attendants who demanded money, and when it wasn’t give they patted us down and took it anyway. A strange way to treat a visitor.

On your customs forms in Central Asia you have to list how much you are bringing into the country. We’ve heard of other travelers who didn’t report all the cash they were carrying, and as a result corrupt guards simply took the extra cash and laughed away all complaints. On the other hand, if you do list how much money you have you will get shaken down by one of the custom’s officials pals. Catch 22. We stick to withdrawing small sums out of ATMs, though even that is tricky.

Don’t get me wrong, I love traveling here, but the money issues are a bit annoying, and it really makes me appreciate the countries we’ve visited that don’t discriminate based on country of origin.

Gates of Hell

Dante readers beware, the “Gates of Hell” are very real. They are located in the middle of a vast, uninhabitable desert (not unlike the Biblical desert where Satan tempted Jesus) outside Darvaza, Turkmenistan.

Locals say that someone was drilling for natural gas in the desert when the drill hit an air pocket and the friction of the metal piping exploding at massive speed out of a rock hole caused a spark to ignite the reserve of natural gas, setting it eternally alite.

Today the crater is 60 meters across and easily 50 meters deep at its furthest point. The flames burst out of the crater fueled by the natural gas, but to the casual eye it looks as if the rock and sand are simply emitting an enormous amount of heat and flame. At one point there was a thick cable circling the crater to keep curious travelers at a safe distance, but the heat of the eternal flame managed to snap the cable, melting sections of it into piles of ruble, while other sections have become fused into the landscape.

For roughly a kilometer in every direction the earth is grey and lifeless, inhabited only by beetles, spiders and perhaps a wandering lizard. A strange coral reef looking rock sticks up from the grey sand in stalactite-like formations. All attempts to identify the rock online proved futile, though I’m no geologist. The remnants of a now unidentifiable machine rest all around the perimeter, and as I circled the area I found lizards and other creatures warming themselves on the hot metallic surfaces of various engine parts presumably belonging to the unfortunate drilling device that started the whole saga.

Oh…My….God!

The wildlife around the dead ring of sand becomes more intense and is reminiscent of the creatures in Storm Troopers. Walking out to the crater at night with nothing but a flashlight and, naturally, a giant flaming crater to indicate the way, I managed to hit an angle with the flashlight just right so that in the distance I saw two tiny green gem-like lights glistening in the distance in the sand. I walked over to investigate and leaned in really close. The two gems turned out to be the curious blinking eyes of a spider the size of a golf ball, with his eight hairy legs extending out from there like so many reasons to run and hide. I slowly backed away and shined the light at the same angle across the landscape. All around me pairs of little green lights blinked like lightening bugs and panic rose in my whole body as my arms, thinking on their own, attempted to fly me out of there. I ended up with two flashlights, one scanning the distance for green gems to avoid, the other aimed at my toes so that if one came near my I could scream my farewells as my heart stopped.

50m deep crater

We decided to camp out at the crater, obviously this decision was made before I knew an army of giant spiders inhabited the warm sands around the crater. We set up our tent, started a fire of our own, and cooked a simple meal while drinking beer from the cooler. (We are Americans, after all, why not tail-gate the gates of hell?) In the distance, the crater raged seemingly out of control, the flames licking the sky as if to snap the stars right out and gobble them up. We danced around our own little fire to the tuns from the portable iPod, and listened to Mike play the guitar with the fire from the crater cracking the percussion in the distance.

Morning came slowly as the sounds of the desert kept me wondering and imaging what was happening outside the tent. We boiled water in the morning for coffee and were on the road again by 9am. Twelve kilometers from the natural gas crater lies a crater of greater depth but lesser width that is filled with water. The water emits bubbles, indicating heat, but there is little information on the spring, or why the crater is so deep (at least 70 meters). All attempts to find a boiling miniature mud crater in the vicinity were in vain.

Despite the giant man-eating spiders (that get bigger each time I tell this story, naturally) and the bubbling water that could cook you alive, or the crater of fire that form the gates of hell, I still find Darvaza one of the nicest and most interesting natural wonder I’ve ever had the pleasure of enjoying.

For more information on Darvaza and Turkmenistan please see read about our Second Trip to the Gates of Hell and our Turkmenistan Destination Guide.

The small and relatively untouched village of Nohur rests in an unmarked valley of the Kopet Dag Mountains, which make up the border of Iran and southern Turkmenistan. The people of Nohur dress and act conservatively, and their traditions have been able to survive Turkmenistan’s modernization because of the remoteness of their village.
Descendent from Alexander the Great, the Nohurli are surprisingly hospitable. We arrived at 6pm via 4X4; the only way to reach the town is down a long pebble road flanked by shale mountains covered in lizards. As we rounded a desolate corner, we were amazed to find a small village awaiting our arrival. Damat jumped in the back seat and smiled as he pointed up a narrow alley. The engine was gunned and we bumped along on our nearly vertical assent up the northern face of a hill in the middle of Nohur.

The roads were little more than compact dirt and rocks where water had once drained from the hills, yet a village had found this method of road making suitable to their needs. Large adobe houses sat firmly on their wooden beams (though where the wood came from was a mystery is this desert landscape). Children and elders dashed in front of the 4X4 to look at our pale faces as we pushed them to the glass to return their eager stares. Finally, with Damat pointing out the window and whispering the village’s secrets in Russian, we stopped at his hill-side home.

Damat introduced us to his wife and granddaughter. His wife, an elderly woman with all gold teeth and sun-damaged skin, grasped my shoulders firmly and planted three or four wet kisses on my neck before running her calloused hands across my chest and smiling at me. I stood shocked for a moment before I could smile back—chest rubbing was not a normal Turkmen greeting, this must be native to Nohur. Damat, thankfully, just shook my hand, and his granddaughter simply hid behind his leg and peeked out from time to time to look at my reddish hair or my white fingernails. She was a beautifully, frail child of about eight, dressed in bright colored western clothes that contrasted sharply with her grandmother’s traditional dress and headscarf.

They settled us into a small, empty room and set up a tarp on the floor. They piled bread, butter, home-made cheese and other treats on the tarp and poured us each a hefty cup of tea. Damat sat cross-legged on the floor and began to talk adamantly, using gestures as much as any homesick Italian. We ascertained that he wanted to show us around town in the morning. Since we already had onward travel plans he agreed to take us on tour of the area tonight. He jumped up and yelled for his granddaughter, and we were off.

We bumped along a dirt road that looked little used and likely to peter-out into a rock drop off, but Damat continued to point out the window and insist we crawl forward, no matter how much the Jeep leaned to one side. Though we were threatening to topple over, Damat insisted we continue to the city’s graveyard. The graves cannot be explained as we did not understand Damat’s gesturing, but suffice to say that each headstone had a ram or gazelle’s hors firmly tied to the peak, giving the cemetery a warrior-like feel.

We bumped along the road at a 40 degree tilt to the right until we reached a lone house on the hill, we got out and walked up the steep steps to find one of the oldest surviving trees in Central Asia, which is covered in bits of cloth representing villager’s wishes (mostly for a male child). The steep steps led further up the hillside so we traversed them to find a small cave claiming to be the resting place of Kyz Bibi. Legend has it that when an invading force was nearing this unfortunate woman prayed that the mountain would swallow her up rather than allow her honor to be challenged. The mountain obliged and the tiny cave that remains is testament to Kyz Bibi’s bravery.

We continued on our Nohur journey deep into the ravine and then urged the Jeep forward and onto a flat plateau. After 12k we disembarked in a small ravine filled with cows, toads and lizards and marched down the hill following Damat and his granddaughter. They led us through the brush to a clearing made entirely of rock. Damat grinned as he led us right to the edge of the rock plateau and pointed over the edge. “This is easily a 100 foot drop-off” I thought as Damat held his granddaughter’s hand so she could lean way over the edge to catch a glimpse of the waterfall. I snuck a peek as well, the water was pouring out of mountain seemingly conjured from out of nowhere. A small trickle of water ran across the top of the plateau, but this was hardly enough to feed the waterfall. Damat, though easily in his seventies, quickly scaled down the side of the rock face for a better view, with all of us skeptically in his wake. The view was dangerously beautiful, for as you looked around you started to waver from awe and could easily “ooh” and “awe” your way off the edge. We sat for a while, the lizards scurrying in the background, and listened to the falls.

Back at the house Damat’s wife had prepared plov and tomato salad for dinner. Damat waved her away good naturedly and steered us to a house nearby that was his son’s. Inside a frail but beautiful girl, his daughter-in-law, was weaving silk. The loom stretched from one wall to the other, and required amazing dexterity as she pumped the loom with her feet and passed the shuttle with her able hands. The silk takes several days to make, but they wanted only $20 per piece, which is about 6 feet long. We watched her work for several minutes and then easily coughed up the money for a fine piece of blue silk.

Back at Damat’s house, his wife had set the tarp out on the roof of the house so we could watch the sun finish setting. We all took our places on the floor around the tarp and began to eat. “What is that thing?” I yelped before I could control the urgency in my voice. Mike looked over and caught a quick glimpse, “it’s a scorpion!” We sat silently looking around, our heads rotating like an owls. I grabbed my notepad and quickly sketched a scorpion and showed it to Damat, who leaped up with an agility that shocked me, and ran to the spot. The critter was long gone, but Damat informed us that they were very bad, and we should be careful. We sat on the roof into the late evening as the sun gave way to the moon and a blanket of stars filled the sky. Nohur’s lights came on one by one as we watched, and soon the whole valley was specked with soft yellow bulbs. Late into the evening a chanting rose from the valley, the last call to prayer. We watched the stars circle the mosque as the moon dipped behind a hill, and listened to the chanting prayers of a devout village, a hidden village, as it prayed its way to sleep.

Arrival in Ashgabat

Originally, the trip was planned as a Shanghai to Ashgabat adventure. Well, we have an announcement to make—we have decided to keep on going. Since this was our original destination, here are some updates on the stats so far.

Total miles by land: 13,136 miles by land
Number of countries visited: 4
Total amount spent: $882 per person
Number of days on the road: 43
Amount spend per day based on total amount and days on the road: $20.50
Total number of currencies used/traded: 6 (RMB, KZT, USD, UZS, TMM, AZM)
Number of lost items: 3 (Mike’s sandals, Mike USB, Lauren cell phone (later recovered!)
Number of mosquito bites: Lauren 14 and two bee stings, Mike 6
Number of bouts of food poisoning: Lauren two, Mike one
Bribes paid: Two (Kazakhstan)
Number of trains taken: 7
Number of border checks: 6
Number of crappy batteries gone through: 6
Number of cities seen: 10
Number of buses taken: 5
Number of pictures taken: 3,800 (14.3 GB), 95 in Shanghai, 56 + 77 + 43 on the rail, 259 in Urumqi, 422 in Kashgar, 96 in Yarkand, 307 at Lake Karakul and Tashkurgan, 100 in Almaty, 394 in Tashkent, 142 Chorsu Lake, 661 in Samarkand, 647 in Bukhara, 523 in Khiva, 378 at Urgench Fortresses
Number of cars taken: 29 (cabs, mostly)
Number of guesthouses/hostels: 10
Number of hotels: 1
Number of other American travelers we’ve met: 3 (two traveling male friends starting law school soon and one very interesting woman traveling solo for over a year

Soviet Chair Lift

We left mid morning for the lake, in Tashkent province, about an hour and a half north-east of the capital. The drive was peaceful and from the SUV we watched women sell their morning’s fruit harvest as old men and boys continued harvesting behind them in the fields. We passed through several small towns with large cathedrals, mosques and an abundance of butcher shops (comically called a ‘go-shit’ in Russian).

The protected area includes a lake at the center surrounded by rolling green hills with mountains in the distance. The lake was created when the river, which originates in Kyrgyzstan, was dammed. Thousands of people live in the area selling their harvests or living off the small tourism industry.

On the winding roads through the park we were occasionally surprised as children (average age of about eight) would jump out of the tall grass surrounding the road to wave purple and yellow bouquets of wild flowers at the car. At several large bends in the road women had congregated to sell their goods, and it was at once such bend that we found a young businesswomen selling burnt-sugar peanuts. These were easily the best snack I’ve ever had and she was the best bargainer I’ve ever encountered.

We stopped the car often to jump out and admire the view, which changed so drastically with ever turn in the road that it was almost like a new drive began every few minutes. Finally, after my eyes were so overloaded with beauty and newness that they felt strained, we pulled off the road to an old Soviet-era chairlift that went up the side of a large hill and into the snowy mountains. It was ill maintained but functional, and as we watched for several minutes not one car detached itself and fell to the jagged rocks below.

We went through the cattle wire to the ticket booth and bought a ticket each for about 2USD round trip. The chair lift was set up as a two-seater deal where it was obvious that each seat on the contraption had been replaced or reattached at some point or another. My chair set, for example, had one blue chair with no arm rest and one yellow one with rust discoloration. Under the chair, before one did a quick prayer and sat in the lift, there was painted two sets of footprints, the one on the inside larger than that of the outside. I sat on the outside, as I’m smaller, and when I sat down the chair swung in towards oncoming traffic- aka, those who had made it up and were now death-gripping their chairs on the way down. As the chair lifted off (not so gracefully, I might add) the chair attendant gave a surprised but jolly wave and cheer. The lift took around ten minutes from bottom to top, and as I am writing this I obviously lived through the adventure. At the top a large burley man who smelled of beer and lamb pulled me from the chair so forcefully my feet didn’t touch the ground until he let go well out of striking range of the pendulum-like chair. The attendant and his friend/co-worker/man drinking in the corner laughed at each other when they saw our petrified smiles.

The summit was beautiful and well worth the harrowing ride. Within seconds of summiting it began to snow and I donned my fleece and scarf. Previous pilgrims who had survived the Soviet chair lift had ripped pieces of fabric from their shirts and, with a prayer of thanks, tied the fabric to the fence at the summit. I felt compelled to do likewise but decided not to tempt fate- I’d tie on a thank-you at the base once I’d made it safely back down. Mama didn’t raise no fool!

After a tour of the summit we descended (much less terrifying) and drove down the hill a ways. From the summit we had seen a plane which, from our vantage point, looked to have crashed nearby. We drove down a bumpy dirt road to find the plane, which turned out to be an Aeroflot (I’ve always felt they were an unsafe fleet) plane surrounded by weeds and trees but guarded by a house and warehouse nearby. I still have no idea what the plane was there for, or, more puzzlingly, how it arrived in that position. It sure did not land there, and it could not have driven down the bumpy road.

We then drove to the lake where we walked down and stuck a toe or finger each into the icy water. We discovered a floating rock, which I stabbed with my knife to discover was actually a floating piece of filthy bread. We drove around the lake and stopped again at a high point before the dam, overlooking the entire lake and beyond. We climbed up into the rocks and gazed out at the truly beautiful green hills, jagged mountains and herds of goats, cheep, donkey and cows.

Driving now above the dam we stopped at a small café called the Golden Deer in Russian. We parked and sat in a local-style booth. No sooner had we sat down than every man, woman and child in the restaurant and outdoor café ran into the street to watch two young men drag race their cars up and down the strip of curved road where everyone had parked their cars. The boys peeled out, gained speed then slammed on the brake and e-braked as they threw the wheel into a firm 180. The crowd cheered them on while we sat in our outdoor booth wondering if they would smash into our car. This went on for half an hour. Meanwhile, we had ordered two Big Macs, which were on the menu in Cyrillic. How they heard of a Big Mac out there is beyond me. It was a double-decker hamburger with mayo. Copyright laws need not apply. This was also the site of several scenes which caused me to utter sentences that should not be said aloud, including, “That man is combing his stomach hair” and “Now he is playing with his mullet.”

Back in the car we drove around the dam (surrounded by guards) before heading back to the capital. It had been an adventurous, harrowing, peaceful and puzzling trip into the Tashkent countryside.

Naturally, some of you are wondering how we can afford to be unemployed and yet pay for train tickets all over the continent. Here is how I afford my share of the travel expenses. Mike has saved for over a year to pay for his half while I saved less and am working from the road.

I have one writing contract, which I acquired in the summer of 2008, which pays around $500USD a month. I have a good working relationship for the company, and because of my tenure with them, and because I turn in assignments on time and with additional features, I am confident the relationship will continue indefinitely. However, I have a contract which stipulates a one month notice should they terminate, giving me one month to find another contract should this one expire.

I also do a bit of travel writing for an online travel and trip planning company. I work on an assignment basis which produces an average of $150USD an assignment (roughly every other month). More importantly, this is a link for me to build new contacts and a gateway to future contracts.

I have also been writing, on a by-article basis for an online magazine, which pays a confidential amount per article and is based in Thailand. My relationship with this company is great, and they love that some of their writers are also on-the-road travelers.

In addition to this, I am a frequent visitor to various online writer’s boards where companies pay by the article or by the word for content on various topics. Because of competition and constant undercutting, many writers do not get paid as well as I do. I work to cultivate working relationships with people at each company to ensure my stability with them, but also because a writer is more than the content they produce.

In addition to the above, between March – April of this year I earned a 100 hour TOFEL certificate which will enable me to teach in any country in the world for profit. Should we run into financial troubles or decide to settle in a place for a while, this will be an additional source of income.

Thus, while I am not making a fortune right now, I am breaking even and traveling the world, which is more than I could have asked for. I do have some University loans that cost me about $200 USD per month to maintain, but I put away savings expressly for this purpose beginning in early 2008 so that I would not have to worry about my loans until the summer of 2010.

After sleeping in the Almaty-1 train station we boarded our first Kazakh train at 5:12am bound for Tashkent, Uzbekistan. The train arrived a bit early and no one knew which car or cabin we were meant to be in, and in our limited (ok, non-existent) Russian we had a bit of trouble finding our births. Once situated in car number 9 we discovered we were meant to be in bunks 13 and 16. A very old, very sickly man who was thinner than a pencil and paler than paper was sleeping fitfully in my bunk while a giant, fecal-covered bag was resting on Mike’s bunk. The train attendant/scariest looking man on the planet approached us and heaved the heavy bag up over his head and threw it atop the birth above ours and ordered us up into two bunks. He came back five minutes later and demanded 700T from us to buy sheets for the bunks. I doubt anyone else paid but seeing as he was the largest shirtless Russian we’d ever seen we forked over the money (we later learned everyone did indeed pay for their sheets).

I’ll pause here to describe the train. Once in car 9 we were met with the most pungent aroma of vomit, human sweat, excrement and burnt hair. The smell was so string it made the skin around my eyes itch. The interior was paneled in fake wooden siding with bunks 2 high with a third bunk for baggage. Nowhere were there safety rails or hand grips. The tiny isle held additional bunks which doubled as benches. The bathroom was a tiny room with a stainless steel western toilet that was so stained and textured from years of use that it looked like a rusty old ship port hole.

Somehow, and probably because we had not really slept in the train station the night before, we fell asleep in our tiny bunks (so thin in width that you had to lay on your side or you’d roll onto the floor and get hepatitis. Throughout the night we made long stops in the middle of nowhere, literally the train would stop in a field and then, at random, take off again. By 8am the lights were flicked on and we rolled into a station for a brief stop only to discover that we had only gone about 20 miles down the tracks. Amazed, Mike set off to ask someone when we arrived in Tashkent. We had heard that it was a 12 hour ride, but that turned out only to have been true several years ago. Instead of arriving 12 hours later at 5pm we found out we would arrive 24 hours later at 4am the next day. We had no food, only a little bit of money in Tenge and the smell of vomit was making us nauseous.

Around late morning we made a stop and watched as everyone looking out the window panicked and dashed into their bunks. Even the sick old man pretended to be asleep. Several guards in elaborate uniforms got on board and talked briefly with the giant train attendant/giant before marching straight up to us. “Passport! Declaration.” We showed him our passports and he forcibly took mine out of my death grip on it and rushed down the isle. We could not both chase after him and leave all our bags, so Mike followed him. What ensued turns out to be a common occurrence on Kazakh trains. The man took Mike into the giant’s cabin and closed the door. He then patted Mike down and took all the money in his pockets, which turned out to be about $2 USD. Luckily the bribe-seeking Kazakh did not find the money belt containing hundreds of RMB. Mike took the event in stride and laughed about what a crappy bribe the guy got away with as he snatched my passport back from the cop and quickly returned to our cabin. From there after, at every stop we would watch for guards and, if we spotted any, we jumped into our bunks like everyone else and pretended to be asleep.

Around 10pm the giant (he had acquired a shirt now, but had it unbuttoned) gave us declaration forms. He found a translator who asked us if we had any money, any at all. Obviously after the bribe incident we lied and said no. This turned out to be a brilliant idea. They said we had to write something so we listed the guitar and computer (after he asked several times if we had one). We later found out the “translator” was a guard who was trying to get close to us to find out how much money we had left, as well as what other valuables.

When we approached the border of Uzbekistan, Kazakh officials border the train and again asked if we had money. Again we said we didn’t. Having not slept or eaten in almost 24 hours our sense of humor was weaning. They made us open our bags (but did not notice three of our 5 bags so did not search them and only ended up looking in the most boring bag full of clothing). They did a swine flu check and inquired again if we had any money or valuables. We kept saying no, insisting that we were planning on using our credit card (I had a deactivated card to show them just in case they stole the card). After a ridiculously long search of everyone’s bags on the train minus those of ours hidden on the top bunk, we saw a young Russian boy of about 17 taken into the back room and frisked. He lost several hundred T. We saw another man walk right up to the Kazakh guard and put a wad of bills into his hand and then point at his bag and walk away. The guards did not search his bag. We saw the old man from our bunk hide a box under his bunk and a boy of about 20 kick a black bag out of site while being searched. As we rolled away from the Kazakh border I had the feeling that everyone was transporting something illegal except us.

Fifteen minutes later it was 4am and we were rolling into the Uzbek guard station. The people on the train seemed less stressed and said the Uzbeks were not as hard to get through. Everyone stashed their secret packages and the old man revealed, mid-stretch, that he had stuff taped across his entire midriff. The Uzbeks had a nurse come take our temperatures and check our passports while a drug dog went around and terrified everyone. This was the first drug dog of the trip. The Uzbeks were friendly and efficient but again only searched one of our bags. They took no bribes and did not intimidate anyone. After we rolled away from the border we arrived in Tashkent thirty minutes later.

Zoom!

The Statistics Are In
7 Cities
4 Trains
3 Countries
2 Buses
2 broken backpacks
1 Car
$ 464 USD Per person (3,175 RMB)*
11,896 miles
Shanghai to Tashkent
Twenty days

*20 Days of normal living in Shanghai = 3,573 RMB ($523 USD)

Cathederal

We arrived in Almaty, the former capital of Kazakhstan, at 6:00am after 36 hours on the train. We immediately realized how screwed we were when we tried to buy train tickets to Tashkent for the next day using charades, smiles and Pictionary-like drawings. We both studied Russian for the month before we left, and discovered that knowing how to ask someone’s name and where they are from is useless and unpractical, albeit friendly. Finally, I figured out that there was a train, from another nearby station, leaving at 5:12am the next day. I promptly bought two tickets for 12,000Tenge after speedily changing my RMB into Tenge at a nearby counter using a similar method of charades and Pictionary.
From the train station, we hopped in the back of someone’s car for 400T to So Young’s Youth Hostel. It was hardly 8:30am, but So Young was awake and set about making a nice breakfast of fresh peppers, bread, popcorn and tea. A New Zealander woke up and joined us, and a bit later a boy from Holland joined in. We discussed everyone’s travel plans and how So Young, a S. Korean native, had ended up in Almaty (logistics expert for rail transport).
While we have many legitimate gripes with The Lonely Planet guidebooks, the section on Almaty was decent and set up an 8k ‘walking tour’ through the key spots in the city. We decided to add ‘buy Russian phrase book’ to our to-do list for the day. We walked all around the city in honest awe of the cleanliness, greenery, modernity and friendliness of the city and debated settling here for 6 months or so to learn Russian in a comfortable and interesting metropolis. This is still a possibility, although we would also like to see what Uzbekistan has to offer.
We had a fine 6USD lunch at a bier garten and then walked to the city bazaar and mosque, as well as an old cathedral in the middle of Pavlov park. We walked to the cable car, but decided not to take it to the top because of impending rain clouds. An hour later it poured so ferociously that the streets soon filled with water. We ducked, quickly, into the town’s biggest expat bar in an attempt to meet a few locals to hear what they think of living in the city- but the bar was deserted. Dashing through the rain, we reached So Young’s and settled in for some quality time with the other travelers and So Young, and a nice evening prepping for our border crossing tomorrow and uploading pictures.
More from Uzbekistan soon to follow.

Top Five Things I Wish We’d Brought

Almaty

• More carabineers. So far, carabineers and rope have been two of the most useful items in my pack. On the 48 hour train we needed the rope to secure the guitar to my travel pack, I locked it in place with two of the carabineers. I used a third carabineer to lock the food bag to my pack. All of the carabineers are also lockable, so everything is secure and safe. If we had another rope and a few more carabineers I would have used the rope on the top bunk to construct a mini table to preserve space and to set the laptop on. Laugh all you want, but when you are confined to a bed that is only one foot wide adding a tiny rope table to put your bag on would make you smile from ear to ear!
• Face-soap. One of the most irritating things about getting ready for bed on a moving train is that it is hard to get out soap and wash your face because there is no where to put the soap down without losing it via slippage or getting it filthy. I wish I had brought some of those individually wrapped, pre-moistened face washing cloths that you can toss afterwards.
• Video-recorder. While this is bulky and we are already traveling with an excess of electronics, it would be nice to capture the absolute silence of Lake Karakul, or the breathtaking majesty of the Tian Shan Mountains.
• Lens-cleaner. Dust storms, sand storms, rain, hail, smoke and smog have all induced my camera lens into looking like a streaky, splotchy mess. The same goes for my glasses and sunglasses, and for Mike’s laptop screen.
• Less stuff. Our bags are too heavy and there are items in our bags we don’t actually need. We’ll be leaving a large portion of our stuff in Turkmenistan once we arrive.
Top five most useful things we brought
• Pillow. I am so happy I brought my pillow. I store it, when moving, in a compression bag so that it takes up very little space. Its made me so much more comfortable.
• Head scarf. Every woman on the train who isn’t Chinese is wearing one. I put mine on and it feels amazing, it holds my hair out of my face and keeps it untangled. Its also nice because it has stopped some of the staring.
• Laptop. While it adds extra weight, it is a real luxury to have a laptop along to get work done and also keep blogging and journaling. I discovered that I write very slowly by hand.
• Compression bags. While it makes for more space (and hence more weight in the bag) its great to be able to break down one weeks of clothing into a bag the size of a shoe box.
• Vitamins. We packed at least 1/8th of our bags with vitamins and medicine and already I’m glad we have the vitamins as the only food on the train is unhealthy and oily.

A Hospital

Having decided months ago to avoid going through Kyrgyzstan because of reported troubles foreigners were having at the Chinese-Kyrgyz border, we found ourselves last week in Kashgar. We took a two day trip out to Tashkurgan on the Tajik-China border which was apparently equidistance from Kashgar as the Kyrgz-China pass. We met two travelers from Australia (“Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oui, Oiu, Oui!”) who had already attempted the crossing once only to find the pass closed without explanation from either side. They tried again the next day and we never saw or heard from them again, which probably means they are in Kyrgyzstan. We have heard rumors across the traveling community that it is a difficult move to make, with a pick-up required at the border by a certified Bishkek or Osh agency. We decided while still in Shanghai to avoid the headache and simply backtrack. It was not until we got to Xinjiang that we realized the backtrack was over 24 hours in length and requiring a great deal more money that was amusing, as well as a bit more irony and, once again, we would find ourselves waiting in Urumqi (as we did for a week in 2006).

Having spent our last day in Kashgar walking around Old Town and then enjoying a fine dining experience at Fubar, our favorite home-away-from home in Kashgar, we hopped the daily 3:20 to Urumqi, an overnighter that lands in Urumqi at 3:30 exactly. Our train was running two hours early so they pulled off the tracks for two hours to arrive on time. Very efficient!

Back in Urumqi, we easily acquired tickets for the train on the evening of the 16^th. We were incredibly lucky. We bought a 3 day transit visa through Kazakhstan from the 17^th to the 20^th. Our midnight train put us at the Kazakh border at exactly 9am on the 17^th, we could not have planned it better if we had actually, ya know- bothered to plan.

In Urumqi between the 14^th and the 16^th we spent a peaceful and quiet few days in one of our favorite cities walking around the parks, eating local cuisine and relaxing at the hostel. On the 14^th we went, with a friend from the hostel, to the Uyghur Wuyi Night Market. We arrived a bit early and watched as everyone set up their mini stalls. A sudden and severe flash storm swept through the market, causing customers to hide in nearby stores (as we did) and vendors to pack up their raw meat and head home. The next evening, the 15^th, we went back to see what the market was like without lightening and terror and had a lovely meal of lamb, nan (bread), and kabab veggies. The 16^th rolled around quickly, and we packed and headed for our train eagerly awaiting our trip to Kazakhstan and our border crossing.

The Best and the Worst – so far.
Here are a list of the best places along the route and their contact information, we highly recommend these establishments and, unfortunately, received no knock-backs for passing on the good word.

Fubar, Kashgar branch.
This place is amazing! It is the only foreigner-run eatery in Kashgar, and their attention to detail meant that nothing was left undone. Here we dined on Pizza, Gin&Tonics and played board games. Conveniently located in central Kashgar, all the cab drivers know the spot. After multiple days in the desert, this oasis is worth the visit.

Kashgar Old Town Hostel.
This hostel was once a mosque, now converted into a multi-room dorm house with 6 or 8 beds per room. The Chinese youth who runs the place is a wealth of information and has great local contacts if you are looking for travel information. We definitely recommend staying here over the Semen Hotel, as rooms are 35RMB a night rather than 150. Meanwhile, the location is primo- a 5 minute walk from Edgar Mosque in central Old Town.

MaiTian Youth Hostel.
Located near Renmin Park in Urumqi, the Maitian youth hostel is a bit more rugged than others but for 40RMB a night it is passable. A bit pricey for what you get (6,8 bed gender-divided dorm rooms) the place has a decent location and is a wealth of information. The Chinese running the place seem hesitant to be helpful and are dismissive of any problems, but if you are a survivalist, this is a good spot to sojourn a few nights. Just be aware that the staff run this place like their personal club house and will be on the internet at all hours (rendering it useless) and screaming up and down the halls when they get on duty (promptly at 8).

Windows Scoreboard, Shanghai, China.
I am hesitant to write about this gem because I do not want it flooded with tourists. However, if you want a taste of home check out this hard-to-find windows location on HuaiHai lu (Near Sinan Lu). The lowest prices of any bar in China and a great atmosphere with a mixed crowd of Chinese, Thai, Western and African. A beer will set you back 10RMB.

The Worst:

And, sadly, here are a list of establishments to be avoided, and explanations as to why they definitely do not rock.

Fubar, Urumqi branch.

Old Mosque Youth Hostel

While the Kashgar branch rocks, this one is located on a bar street and competes with other, better equipped bars. Meanwhile, their serve a lousy pour, the staff are rude, loud and negligent, and the published address all over the internet is not correct. Meanwhile, they were without power when we arrived and had a noisy generated sitting, chained, to the front door as a back-up plan.

Silver (White) Birches Youth Hostel, Urumqi, China.
This shoddy establishment was hard to find and quite a jaunt from the train and bus stations, and from the airport. Once you finally arrive you will be disappointed by the piles of trash and dirt that occupy every corner, and the scurrying cock-roaches that act as permanent residents of the bathrooms and dorm rooms. The beds are hard and sheets and blankets are not guaranteed. Meanwhile, you will be close to a park, but nothing else in the city and will spend money on buses or cabs for transportation. Better to stay somewhere closer to downtown that is not infested with insects. Also, this hostel is in the running for ‘worst bathroom in China.’

Captain Hostel on the Bund, Shanghai, China.
This hostel, while nice enough, was massively overpriced. Located on the famous ‘bund’ are of Shanghai, we could not contest the price based on the better-than-expected location, but the service was horrible, there were few additional benefits like laundry, and the location meant a very noisy night. For one night, it was okay but we would not recommend multiple evenings here.

U-Cool Hostel, Shanghai, China.
While the lovely woman who runs the establishment is friendly and sweet, the hostel itself leaves much to be desired. The 6-8 bed dorm rooms are 40RMB a night and there is nothing in the way of additional services like a laundry facility, internet or a bar. We stayed here two weeks (out of necessity and because the owner, Anna, was very friendly, but we missed out on meeting new people and having entertainment. On the up side the location near the Bund was fantastic. Be prepared to spend your time in this hostel with Anna and her two sons as a partial baby-sitter.

Kazakh visa example

We applied for Kazakh transit visas and found the process amazingly easy (perhaps because we are comparing it to the process of getting an Uzbek visa from Shanghai). Last Friday we dropped off our applications feeling a bit worried. We marked “transit” throughout the forms instead of “place of residence in Kazakhstan” or “transit area.” However, despite being very vague we arrived at the Kazakh consulate in Shanghai today and picked up our transit visas without issue. For a three day transit visa we paid 125RMB each (about 20 bucks).

While they have no expedite service (and it takes one full week to get a visa) they did us a favor and got ours back to us on Wednesday, having dropped it off the previous Friday. They were very friendly and helpful.

The hours of operation for the Kazakh consulate in Shanghai are a bit strange. They only accept applications between 9:30am – 12:30pm on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. They will only issue your visas (for pick up) between 3:30 – 5:00pm on those same days. Come early as there is always about an hour wait. A guard will escort you to a small waiting area and then usher you, one at a time, into the main consulate room. Expect to spend about two hours each visit so bring a book.

As per most visa applications, you’ll need passport photos. Have these cut and ready to go as they were a bit anal about the sloppy cut job we did on our pictures and spent quite a bit of time ‘properlly’ trimming the pictures and gluing them lovingly to the application. In addition, bring copies of your passport – simple black and white is fine- and the names of the port of entry and exit for a transit visa (for normal vaisa, have the name of a hotel in a major city for the application).

The address for the Kazakh consulate in Shanghai is: Room 1005, 1006 Orient International Plaza 85 Loushanguan Road Shanghai 200336, P.R.C. You can call +86 (21) 6275 -3878 or  email: office@kzconsulshanghai.org, or visit their website: http://www.kazembchina.org

As every good adventurer knows, a good companion makes all the difference. At AbandonTheCube we revere those who have gone before us and applaud fellow cube abandoners. Below are a few other free-spirited blogs you might enjoy where the traveler has chosen to cycle away from modernity and into serenity.

Adventure biking

Bike travel:

For the avid travel biker, this site offers around-the-world adventure complete with tips for biking the road less traveled. The TravellingTwo site is dedicated to providing an online guide from people who have actually cycled through the area. Of special interest to us is their Central Asia page which details visa information. While some of that data has changed (for instance, all former soviet republics now charge the flat $130 rate for a multi-entry visa) it has other highly relevant information and well worth a read!

Similarly, two of our friends cycled from Lhasa to Nepal (by no means a minor feat) having encountered a plethora of adventures of their own, including one of the most hilarious and horrible international visa stories we’ve ever heard. We’ve learned from their experiences and are now rightly paranoid about Lhasa visas and permits.

Our trip:

Central Asia

We leave in less than two weeks on our pan-Asian train tour. While we are jealous of those who are self propelled, we’re more of the “read a book along the way” traveling type. We’ll be taking trains and buses from Shanghai to Ashgabat, where we will stay for several days. After a quick stop off at the gates of hell we will continue our voyage from Ashgabat north to Russia and hop the trans-Siberian through Mongolia and down through China and into South Asia to tour Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos, and more. This is just the beginning.

Samarkand

Having completed all the necessary paperwork, acquired mini photos of myself and located my passport I set off to the Uzbek consulate in Shanghai.

No one seemed to know where Huangpu Road was. After several attempts I finally located number 99 and went to the 15th floor, which is where the Embassy site said the consulate offices were. I found a glass door with neon green construction paper glued to the door and a tiny white sign in Chinese with a phone number. I called the number and asked where the consulate was. He replied with a question, “rent or buy?”

I went to a nearby office and asked how long the room with the green door had been empty. “Almost two years,” came the cringe-worthy reply. I called Mike, who looked online and located another phone number. No answer and then a dial tone. Bummer.

After returning from the boondocks to my Shanghai apartment I confirmed online that I had gone to the right address. I called the Uzbek Embassy in Beijing. No one spoke English and the Chinese intern who answered the phone hung up when I asked if it was the Uzbek Embassy. Frustrated, I asked a friend who is fluent if she could follow up and find any information. Meanwhile a friend of Mike’s who speaks Russian is looking online for more information.

Meanwhile, if I can’t find information on the consulate I’ll have to take the overnight train to Beijing to find the Uzbek Embassy and try to deal with acquiring the visa in person in Beijing.

Through the whole semi-frustrating ordeal I was reminded that this is simply how things are in Asia- impermanent. It is a great start to the trip!

-Posted by Lauren.

In the morning we set off again to find the complete opposite of the previous day’s hike. The paths were congested with people and there was screaming, yelling, pushing and more screaming. It was like being back on the Shanghai subways. We forged ahead and eventually broke into a relatively quiet space between two rather large groups about 100m to the front and rear of us. We hiked all morning after watching the sunrise and eventually came to Lotus Flower Peak, the highest point of the mountain range at over 2000m. After climbing stairs that were carved into a sheer rock cliff, with both hands and feet on the steps, we eventually summited the peak where we found an old old woman selling noodles. How she got up there is a mystery, as there are only the stairs. Throughout the hike we had been passed by several elderly folks who giggled as they marched past us while we huffed and puffed up the mountain.

Climbing

After summiting the highest point we followed the steps around to the back of the mountain and down to Celestial Capital peak, the second highest peak. Due to ice, the mountain was closed. We had been planning on spending the night at a hostel that was built into the side of the cliff wall on the opposite face of Celestial Capital, but with the mountain closed we were faced with two options. 1) climb down the entire mountain and spend the second night at the base, or 2) explore the summit and then take the cable car down in the morning. Amid a wave of screaming and pushing from locals and tourists we decided, quite quickly, to leave the crowd and set off down the Western steps of the mountain.

The steps down were steeper than the steps up, and further apart. With one bad knee it wasn’t long before I felt my poor knee screaming at me to rest. With no where to go except back up or all the way down, we pushed forward with the sun rapidly setting behind us. A cane salesman half way down the hill was only too happy to part with a wooden stick which he sold for 5Rmb to me as I hobbled up to his lonley booth. With the aid of the cane I was hobbling along at a speedy rate of a snail. However, throughout the descent we played the tortoise and the hare, as groups rushed past us only to stop exhausted and covered in sweat at each resting point where we slowly hobbeled past without pause. It was a trial, but one with amazing scenery and it was a beautiful and throughout the trip there were subtle surprises like a tiny waterfall or a neon bird that kept my eyes glued to the bamboo forest.

Once at the base I looked at the pedometer I had been wearing since 6 that morning. 13, 561 steps from the hostel to the temple at the bottom of the hill. That’s over 6.2 miles of sheer steps going straight down. The day before we walked 3.8miles going straight up (and then took the cable car when dusk approached). We stepped off our final stair, with the aid of the cane, at 4pm and caught a bus to the closest town. At the town we were lucky enough to find a Best Western. Ironically, we were looking for the hot springs and decided to check into the hotel to shower and change and rest for a bit before setting out to find the springs. During our check in we were informed that the hot springs were not part of the hotel. How fortunate for us, because we would have wandered all over the mountain side looking for a natural spring. We checked in, ate dinner, cleaned up and promptly passed out.

In the morning we were in for a real treat.

-Posted by Lauren.

We returned today from a four day trip to HuangShan, Yellow Mountain, in Anhui province, China.

On Friday the 13th we boarded the nightly slow train to Anhui at 10:00pm. We were in a crowded sleeper car with about seventy other adventurers on their way to the mountain. Everyone was wearing hiking boots and had Canon cameras around their necks. Since it had been raining the past few weeks, everyone had a rain jacket strapped to their bags. We settled in and fell promptly asleep after a few games of cribbage, and listened to the sounds of our fellow cabin mates playing poker until the early morning.

At 5:00am I woke to the sounds of laughter- our cabin mates were gambling again already. I pulled out my book and read for a while before descending from the top bunk (they are three high in mini rooms of 6 beds) and found a seat along the hall where I watched the scenery change from the flat, coastal farmland around Shanghai to the rolling, rocky hills of Anhui province. We arrived at the HuangShan train station at 10:00am.

After buying our return tickets to Shanghai for the following Monday evening, we were accosted by dozens of men and women eager to sell us anything we might desire. One such promiser was a middle-aged woman who offered a ride to the base of the mountain for 15Rmb. We agreed, as this is how things are generally done around China, and hopped in the back of her 6 person mini-van. Ten minutes later the van had 10 people in it and we were bumping along at 70 miles an hour. An elderly woman with purple hair tapped Mike on the shoulder every few minutes asking his age, or my occupation, or his dental plans, or if I wanted a boy or girl child. The van stopped in a town at the base of the mountain, but several hours hike from the start of the mountain trails. We got in another mini van, the driver of which was quite possibly drunk, and took off down a winding road of switchbacks until we finally arrived, mid vomit, at the entrance to the Nine Dragon Falls. Though this was not the gate we had asked to be taken to, the falls looked beautiful so we went in after the ticket lady (all of 14) assured us we could connect with a seldom used trail to the main route.

The falls defied beauty and went into the realm of nirvana. We were alone on the trails, which were often little more than a few granite stones pointing the way, and we stopped often to feel the water, take pictures or explore areas off the path. By 2pm we were hardly half way to the halfway point, and sped up our pace a bit as we hiked through endless bamboo forests. Around 3pm we stepped off the granite path and onto a black-top road, shocked to discover that there was an auto-route up the mountain. Also at this intersection was a cable car that would deliver people and cargo to the base of the summit. As the sun was going to set soon, we hopped a ride on the cable car for 10USD.

The cable car ride was, in a word, magical. From the bamboo and palm tree waterfalls and turquoise ponds the lift heaved us up into a frozen paradise, where trees looked like crystal and sidewalks looked like glass. When we stepped off the lift a surreal feeling fell over us, and there was a long silence as we walked around touching the ice and rubbing our hands together.

We explored the various peaks around the summit until well into the evening, and then discovered that the hotels on the summit cost more than I make in a month. We walked out of each hotel a little more worried until a plump little man approached us and said “100 Rmb hostel?” to which we replied, “YES!”

The room was a cement square with a cement roof and cement floor. Four wooden beds lined the walls. In all, it was smaller than the compartment on our overnight train and had no bathroom, running water or heat. It was negative 3. We bought the whole room, which was 300Rmb, and then put all the blankets on one bed to try to keep warm. A party of hikers bought out the rest of the building and stayed up all night gambling and screaming, singing and drinking. We lay awake all night shivering, cursing and then laughing. It was easy to get out of that bed and that cement coffin of a hostel to go see the sunrise at 5:30am.

The sun peaked out over the hills and light flooded the valley in waves of orange, red and then blue. It was beautiful, except for the hundreds of other spectators who were screaming, waving bells and trying to hear their own echoes in the early morning valleys.

After a nice breakfast at the spendy hotel we packed our bags, big adieu to the stout cement square owner and set off for a day of summiting the various peaks of HuangShan.

-Posted by Lauren.

Yellow Mountain

Today we’re heading to HuangShan, yellow mountain, in Anhui province. This is the most famous of the five sacred mountains of China, and the filming location of endless Chinese epics (including some scenes in Flying Dragon, Sleeping Tiger, or whatever its called). With some advise from friends (Thanks T&L!) we’re planning on hiking up the four trillion steps on one side, and then descending on the other side, having spent the night in a hostel on the top of the mountain. There are hot springs at the base of the mountain and endless hiking paths along the many ridges.

The train takes between 9 and eleven hours to get from Shanghai to HuangShan, so we’re leaving tonight, Friday the 13th, at 10:00pm and arriving in the morning at the base of the mountain. We’re only bringing a few changes of clothes, a cribbage board, my camera and notebooks. It will be very nice to get away from the noise, smog and hustle of the city in exchange for the bird chirping and rain falling sounds of the mountain.

When we get back we’ll have less than a month before we depart on the ‘Shanghai to the Caspian’ trip. This is a good warm up.

-Posted by Lauren.

As the trip planning progresses I find myself at the stage of applying for international visas, a process wrought with vagueness and inconsistencies. For example, you can get a transit visa for several Central Asian countries but the duration of stay is not long enough to get across the country by land. Or, visa laws will stipulate that you need A, B and C and then when you get to the consulate they will have a list that goes from A to Z of random documents and health testing you need. That aside, the trip planning is going well. We are set to go from Urumqi to Almaty by train or bus through the Tien Shan mountains, and then spend a day in Almaty seeing the world’s second largest canyon and the accompanying hot springs. From there you grab a train to Tashkent, Uzbekistan, where we’ll spend a day in the capital before heading to Samarkand and Bokarah, where I’d like to spend a few weeks, if time permitted.

Maps of the region are hard to come by, so planning a more accurate by land traverse is difficult. Where trains become obsolete we’ll take buses. In Central Asia and China a bus is anything from an SUV with all the seats removed to a long hallow tube with stacked cots and a pin for animals in the back. Hopefully the buses in and around Bukarah are an improvement upon earlier experiences, but either way its an adventure.

Trains are apparently the best way to travel…. until you reach Bokarah, whereupon the train becomes a projectile of T.B. From Bokarah we’ll need to take buses or rent an SUV or comission a pack of horses or camels to take us to Ashgabat. With visa laws somewhat obscure for Turkmenistan, I’m having difficulty believing I can just nab permisssion to cross at the border.

I’m growing more excited about the trip. Reading up on the bazars,

minnerets, whirling-dervishes, single-eyebrowed ladies and massive lakes of fire have inspired me to salavate when looking at the map of my overland route. It is a shame humans invented airplanes because I feel little good has come of it. We use them for war and for making travel easier. Unfortunetly its made travel less interesting. This trip is really going to feel like a trek from shore to shore. From Shanghai to Ashgabat, and then west to Turkmenbashy on the Caspian Sea. Visas are being acquired and train tickets sought out. The countdown begins!

-Posted by Lauren.

In planning the trip from Shanghai to Ashgabat, I’m encountering some chatter online about difficulties previous travelers have faced trying to cross the Irkeshtam pass from China into Kyrgyzstan. I contacted a Central Asian expert to inquire about the safety of traveling in this region, as well as the probability of attempting a border crossing at Irkeshtam. I was told it would be a waste of time to attempt to get from Kashgar to Osh. However, there is some hope in arranging for a Chinese travel company to escort me to the border and then deliver me to a Bishkek travel company, which would then drop me off safely in the capital of Kyrgyzstan.  As for safety, there was no one who would recommend a woman travel alone, naturally.

I’m determined to travel from the Coast of China to the Caspian Sea. If there were some way to make it from Turkmenistan to the Mediterranean I could have gone from coast to coast without touching an airfield, truly a feat in this day and age, where travel is about arriving, not departing.Alas, there are a few countries between the Caspian and the Med that are not intelligent to visit at present. It is all in the planning stages, and perhaps there is a way, but I will be more than happy to have gone from Shanghai to Ashgabat.

I invited a travel partner recently, and am excite to hear if she can make the trip. This woman has traveled all over the world, and has a travel resume that would make even the most adventurous traveler blush in envy. I’ll let you know what she says. She speaks some Russian and a bit of Kyrgyz, which would be helpful on the trip, not to mention she has an intimate knowledge of the Stans. I’ll not ruin the surprise until I get confirmation.

All else is going well, investigating visa options, researching train schedules and studying maps. I’m also following the news from the countries we’ll travel through and alternate routes should anything go south mid-trip.

-Posted by Lauren.

As many of you know, I was laid off from my financial job on New Year’s Eve (classy timing). But this upsetting twist has been an amazing thing. I’ve been busy writing full time now, and making a fairly decent income to boot. I’ve been painting and touring around Shanghai as well, and will upload pictures of the paintings soon.

Alas, this time should not go wasted. It is rare that I have money saved up, free time, and the perfect location from which to launch a trip like this one. I’m planing a journey across land from Shanghai to Ashgabat, beginning late April. So far, I have the first half of the trip, some 8,200 miles, planned.  I’ll take the train from Shanghai to Urumqi, which is a 48 hour trip through a varied and diverse terrain. I’ll be writting on the train, as well as photographing the changes as we chug through flatlands, mountains and then desert.  From Urumqi I’ll take an overnight bus to Kashgar, the bus takes 24 hours and skirts along the Taklamakan desert, one of the harshest in the world.The bus leaves mid day so that we will be traveling by night through the deepest parts of the desert.

Kashgar is one of the few places on the planet that inspires instant envy. I’m enveious of the folks I know who have been there who claim it is truly an oasis of culture and color- the fading with the influx of new residents. I want to get there before it compleately dissapears.

From Kashgar to Ashgabat, the roads are a bit hazy and the trip a bit more dangerous. Careful planning is needed, at least to secure visas, permits and find a map with existing roads on it. This second phase of the journey will be planned at a later stage. For now, I’m busy finding out what there is to see along the route I have mapped so far. I’ve been to Turpan and toured around Urumqi, so this trip I’d like to check out some outlying villages to the North of the city before heading through the desert to Kashgar. At some point, I’m determined to use a camel as a mode of transportation.

I just hope my laptop doesnt melt. April/May is a rough time to be out in the desert, but alas there is no time like the present. It will take about a month to finish planning, packing and acquiring visas, hence, the adventure begins now!

-Posted by Lauren.

Travel

How much would it cost to travel in Asia for a year?  This thought crossed my mind today as I was sitting in my office.  Like being back in grade school, my teachers refused to let me sit by the window because I would just stare outside all day and they would have to say my name multiple times before my head would turn.  Not much has changed since then as I am sitting in my office looking out the window.  Just ask Lauren, she will tell you how many times she has to say my name before I hear or acknowledged her – partially because I didn’t hear, more because I was thinking about something else, and probably because my hearing has gotten selectively more selective over the years.

Pondering bamboo scaffolding, how suspension bridges work, and what plant I would masticate as an antidote for…oh I don’t know, being shot by a poisonous frog dart like in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom; I fixated on travel for a long time this morning.  Now, all the previous thoughts being completely rational and normal for most people to have on a Tuesday morning in the office, how much would it cost to travel in Asia for a year?

This is really quite simple to answer, especially if you are already living in Asia and would not need to purchase a plane ticket.  Any Lonely Planet, not that I would recommend using them, will tell you that it is quite possible to get by on $20.00 USD a day in most Asian countries.  Even this is an inflated figure, as in many Southeast Asian countries you can easily get by for under $10 USD each day.  Including train travel expenses and the occasional treat, I think $20 USD is very fair.

I estimate that if I were to save up about 7,500 USD, I could travel for exactly 375 days, non-stop, for a year.  This was a really exciting thing to become fixated upon.  Lauren and I have no departure plans set yet, but these numbers are really fun to throw around in our heads for when we plan the Exodus and will probably affect how we go about doing it.  So much more to see and do!

“Do not tell me how educated you are, tell me how much you traveled.”

–  Muhammad

We recently moved into a new apartment because there were “health issues” with our last place. Walking around the Shanghai alleys around our new building we discovered a quaint little restaurant called “The Public Chicken.” Curious, and starving from the unpacking we’d been doing all afternoon, we took a seat in the middle of the oblong shaped room and waited. A friendly elderly woman approached with a list of ingredients and we quickly realized it was a hot pot place with tiny burners brought out to your table and a small, water-based stew put atop wherein you dunked various foods to cook. We ordered a pot and some mutton and veggies to dunk and then sat back and watched the people around us eat.

Dinner

After several minutes the elderly woman with the friendly features returned with a pot full of spices, herbs and pre-cooked veggies boiling wildly in the stew. I stuck my chopsticks into the pot and pulled out a small white flap with black spots. I turned it over in my chopsticks and smelled the mystery substance. Thinking it was a type of colorful seaweed I placed it back in the pot and poked around a bit more.We put in the fresh veggies and mutton and then waited while it boiled. The tomatoes and potatoes were especially tasty, and we wolfed them down soon after they were finished cooking.

Digging around the pot with my chopsticks I found another flap of white with black spots, I examined it more closely, bringing it up to my eyes for a clearer view. I heard a gasp and looked up. From the other side of the table Mike held up a small white hand that was grasped firmly around his chopstick, the nails digging into the wood. My whole body began to shake and Mike yelled, “is that a damn hand?” as he tossed it back into the pot. By now I was shaking and laughing out of wild fear. He regained his composure while I sat shaking and then went trolling for other body parts. Atop the boiling veggies Mike assembled the puzzle pieces of a large white and black frog, complete with head, tail and four precious little hands boiled into a gripping position. I watched silently out as he assembled his grotesque puzzle, wondering how many frog parts I’d already eaten.

Despite being one of the more disgusting things to boil to the surface of a pot I’d been eating out of, the meal itself was quite tasty. Apparently frog is a nice seasoning for fresh vegetables. I doubt I’ll eagerly reenter the Public Chicken (especially since it was devoid of Chicken and my imagination has already run rampant on what a kitchen full of frogs looks like) it was an experience to remember. Right up there with eating dog in Mongolia and seahorse in Beijing.

Castle

The next morning we awoke early (late for my brother, who is in the military) and caught the early bus south to the Okinawa tram. The tram was much nicer than subways in China, with padded clean seats, polite rows for boarding and exiting and a very detailed map for navigation. I was impressed. We took the tram east to Shurii Castle, where Okinawan kings had once ruled. The place was large, stone and breathtakingly preserved (read: rebuilt after three massive fires). Signs surrounding the castle read “Beware of Snake!” so we trod softly and snapped pictures with one eye on the ground, the other in the viewfinder.

Inside, we were instructed to take off our shoes and march through a tour of the history of the castle in Japanese- a very impossible task, but the images were telling and we came away with a pictorial story of Okinawan history that was vivid, compelling and all together not Japanese, but an island of it own culture, people, rulers and traditions.

It began to rain so brother bought an umbrella in the gift shop and we began the trek back to the tram. On the way we realized how hungry we were and stopped in an Okinawan shop to eat noodles, sushi and drink tea. After a savory meal, we resumed the adventure and caught the tram to Kokousai Street.

Kokousai Street is littered with statues of famous items like Santa, dinosaurs, power rangers, pineapples and flaming skulls. We wandered around taking pictures with giant anime statues and pepper shaped benches before going down a back alley that blossomed into a giant hidden shoppers paradise. My brother bought me a suit vest (always wanted one!) and we ate sesame seed rolls and strolled about looking at dried snake, dried frog-skin purses and other oddities on sale for gaping tourists.

After several hours of wandering about we returned to the cabin exhausted and with memory cards out of space. We ate chicken noodle soup and went to bed content and quite early, the following morning my sister and I were set to leave Okinawa and return together to Shanghai.  It was sure to be a very sad farewell. I wont write about it, but will say that we managed to find a Taco Bell before the flight took off, and I was as happy as a clam, but sad to be leaving my brother on the tropical paradise all alone.

-posted by Lauren.