Vanishing into the depths of Tibet

Having an unexpected stay in another town on the way to Tibet, I decided to slip in another blog entry. So I've shifted this one forward and inserted another, just to confuse the issue!

So folks, don't despair and above all, "DO NOT PANIC!" As I really am about to drop down into Tibet itself the chances of finding an Internet connection sound pretty slim. I can recall at least one occasion when a lack of contact has caused concern, well this time it could be the best part of a month before I'm back on line. If you submit your email address you'll be notified of when this actually happens, and it won't cost you a penny, despite the ominous term, 'subscribe'.

(Photo: A bird in the hand - Tian Shan Mountains, Kyrgyzstan)

Bear that in mind, and don't get out the habit of following my journey, I will be back! No doubt when I finally get to regale my epic adventures of Chinese occupied Tibet there will be plenty to tell. Most of all there will be countless breath taking photos. And for general information, I hope you realise that by clicking on any of the photos featured on my blog you can admire them full screen, and even zoom in for more graphic detail.

Kashin' in my chips

I had great fun at the Sunday Market, mercilessly hassling the traders over the price of jade jewellery, and stocking up on supplies to camp out in Tibet. Which is the immediate benefit of having a 4WD vehicle, you can fit loads in without worrying about overloading. The price difference for the Jade was staggering, some pieces were four times the price of almost identical pieces. I did realise that slightly lighter green fetched higher prices, whether or not they actually looked as attractive. With the help of my guide I could carry out three different tests to ascertain whether or not it was actually jade and to check for flaws in the stone. It was actually much more fun shopping for food though, not allowing the stall holders to fob me off with second rate vegetables. Whenever they filled my bag I'd check it over, taking out any with soft or rotten patches and replacing it with my own choice. Generally I insisted on picking my own anyway, slowly sifting through a pile to get to the best. I spent a fortune on dried fruit and nuts, a kilo of dates cost me £6, the priciest was a kilo of Pistachios at £9. Each stall I bought stuff at a small crowd would gather round, watching me taste the different foodstuffs before committing to buy. I'm not going to go hungry in the near future anyway. (Photo: Uigyr gentleman - Sunday market, Kashgar)

(Photo: I bet he doesn't get a parking ticket - People's Square, Kashgar, China)

Kashgar is indeed in the grip of ethnic tension, as is so much of Xinjiang. The journey to down to Tibet takes me through constant areas of Uigyr majority, despite them being termed as a minority ethnic group, this is their heartland. The statistics are only when seen in China as a whole, here it is the Han Chinese who are the minority. When seeing any Han, they are generally in a uniform and body armour, armed to the teeth with lethal firearms. LIttle wonder my Han guide feels a tad insecure! I think it makes him relieved now I've let my hair down. With the dreads in their full glory a million eyes stare in amazement as I walk down the street, it certainly takes the attention away from him. There is a complete absence of hostility, their warmth and happiness is exceptional. As we travelled further east the situation didn't change, bright smiles and curious locals closely followed my progress. No matter how small the town or village the sight of my caught everyone's attention. (Photo: They may not be too clean, but boy are they friendly - Zepu, Xinjiang Province, China)

As for the guide himself, he's trying hard but not quite measuring up to the job. For him I'm an enigma. I moan at staying in hotels, and he can only think it's because of the price.Slowly, by persisting, I'm getting the point across. I must keep stressing the nature of my travels, my joy at total isolation in nature. Though he thinks this is crazy he is starting to get the idea, the trouble is his headset is so deeply ingrained it's like banging my head against a brick wall. I do think I'm starting to make an impression, though the resulting headache is inevitable. Explaining that his boss has become a personal friend helps massively, also that she has told him to forget being a tour guide and he's here to assist me. My tactics are to remain calm, and put things in a way that will cause him to lose face if he doesn't comply with my wishes. He isn't a bad guy really just very sheltered from the ways of the world, though if he spoke to me the way he does to hotel and catering staff I'd punch his lights out. The withering looks I've given at his racist remarks have had a positive effect, so he isn't totally ignorant. (Photo: Hells Grandad - Road to Yechang, rural Xinjiang, China)

Goodbye Stan!

Kyrgyzstan has for me been the highlight of the trip so far, the landscape is truly wondrous, the people generally a pleasure to be amongst. It never proved an easy country to travel through, transport is difficult and fraught with delays. That was largely due to the route I decided to take, but that route was superb for the terrain and experience it presented. In many ways the final few days were the least impressionable, but that was only due to a small number of people. Osh and Jalalabad are different than other areas of the country, but I like to think it isn't due to the heavy Uzbek influence. As a people I had no problems with them, I can only put the negative aspects down to the existing tensions in the south of the country. With a population that's 40% Uzbek there are too many of them for the authorities to ignore, yet they still try to nullify their presence. (Photo: The correct size for riding a donkey - Outskirts of Osh, Kyrgyzstan)

Common opinion is that the Kyrgyzstan Uzbeks wish to escape the harsh regime of the clerical control exerted within their own country. From my understanding not many of them have recently migrated at all, so if there has been any move away from Uzbekistan it's a historic one. One thing is for certain, they are more devoutly Muslim than the Kyrgs, which is easily seen in the different dress codes. Uzbek women wear head coverings, trousers and loose fitting chemise. It's a far cry from a Burkha, they're made of light material and colourful patterns are favoured. They may well cover all the body but do nothing to mask the figure beneath. Many are so thin the outline of their curves are plain to see when silhouetted by the light, and it doesn't need a particularly bright light either. Their features are not as Asiatic and most Kyrgs, and their skin is of a fairer complexion. For the guys, skull caps are the norm, as opposed to the embroidered felt caps the Kyrgs are often adorned in. Again their features belong more the the middle east regions than Central Asia, transport them to any of the Arab nations and you couldn't tell them apart. Personally I don't care how people dress or what religion they practice, I'm only concerned with the manner in which they treat me and their fellow human beings. (Photo: Dropping into fertile lands - Ferghana valley, Kyrgyzstan)

Once leaving the hinterland of this gorgeous mountainous heaven the world seems to open up into a fertile green wonderland. If there is one thing Kyrgyzstan is not short of it's water. They don't need to invest in expensive systems to deliver it where it's most needed, it courses everywhere through the entire country. In fact they don't tend to have much at all in the way of pipework, the majority of households do not have running water, unless it's in a channel running past their property. Nor do they have indoor toilets, not even in most houses in the city. An outhouse stands in the yard, or a pit exists within one room of the courtyard. Obviously in the rural areas tiny huts are set aside from every abode. For the nomads this is as simple as a windbreak, their yurts may be filthy and threadbare compared to those of the Mongolians, but at least they don't just squat in the open. In all honesty the stench takes a bit of getting used to, but that's the same for a great portion of countries in the world. It saves effluent escaping into the waterways and causing environmental problems. Each household's responsible for it's own sewage, it never amasses to the extent of being a problem like in the western world. (Photo: Riding rough through the valley - Ferghana valley, Kyrgyzstan)

However much I've appreciated the natural world contained within Kyrgyzstan's borders I was looking forward to crossing back into China. Not only would the food be better but the Chinese tend to display less animosity, they may stare at weird foreigners with dreads and tattoos, but they don't point them out and break into uncontrollable laughter. This was all to frequent in Osh, it got to the point I was ready to explode, and that's the point at which it's time to move on. I was on a schedule anyway, my Tibetan trip was due to begin in Kashgar on 26th August. Going to Osh was simply to enable me to do the overland crossing into China with the minimum of fuss. I even booked a more expensive form of transport to save traipsing all over the city in search of the best deal, the place was recommended by Lonely Planet as a professionally run agent.So I paid top dollar for a 4wd to take me to the border, which included an overnight stay for me and the driver at Sary Tash. The Agency has a yurt camp at this village, a last stop in comfort before the rigours of a month's camping.Except it wasn't like that at all. Munduz Travel turned out to be unreliable and deceitful, which made my final experience in Kyrgyzstan an unpleasant one, one I will try and resist allowing to taint my view of the place. Actually I felt sorry for the driver, who I believe footed the bill for our stay at the non-existent yurt camp. It in fact two yurts in a back yard, one to eat in and another which was taken by another group. I couldn't believe how dilapidated it appeared when we arrived, and was even more perplexed when asked to pay for food and accommodation. I refuse, explaining this had been include in the price. The trouble was, when phoning the agent, they claimed I'd misunderstood; how I could have possibly thought an extra $50 for the overnight stay was only for the driver's food and bed is beyond me. It caused a very difficult situation, which I was about to buy my way out of. So beware, even when ensuring of what you're getting for your money, it isn't always enough. (Photos: Mountain border with Tajikistan - Kyrgyzstan)

But once more the scenery to Sary Tash and beyond was staggeringly beautiful. It still amazes how a country of intense heat and severe weather can be so fertile, no wonder the nomadic way of life still thrives. Whichever way you care to look there are bare and barren hills, suggesting a bleak, inhospitable land. But the grazing is rich and profuse, the animals healthy and plentiful. Vast areas are inaccessible, whole mountain chains cut off arid wastelands as well as green velveteen hills. A lot of grain is grown further south, alongside a flourishing trade in Sunflowers. From my observation though it is animal husbandry that keeps the majority of the country from starving. Unfortunately it also makes for a diet largely restricted various forms of mutton, those fat-tailed sheep have a lot to answer for. (Photos: Mountain border with Tajikistan - Kyrgyzstan)

And so over the high plains I went, in my personal 4x4, like a high roller in his flash cruiser, lording it over the peasants perched atop their poor petite donkeys. A tiny animal, with full grown human astride, can be seen pulling a heavily loaded cart. For some reason in the south it's donkeys they ride more commonly, maybe they see the horses as too valuable. It breaks my heart to see these cute little beasts of burden hauling around so much, they're the poor cousin of the horse, they get little regard in any way but as an unprotesting object of toil. Not only here I've seen it wherever I go, loaded to the gunwales they are goaded and prodded as they struggle with immense loads. I think that in proportion they carry heavier loads than any other beast of burden, surely they're the hardiest of such animals. No wonder they never seem to run, they must be too knackered to break into a trot, even for the pure pleasure of doing so. (Photos: A rare sighting of a camel - Ferghana valley, Kyrgyzstan)

A continuous line of snowy peaks delineates the border between Kygyzstan and Tajikistan, a broad grassy plain stretches towards them. The chain is unbroken for many miles, the passes through are limited. Now and again a waterlogged valley cuts through the foothills, only to end at the base of another soaring giant. It proved a splendid backdrop to my departure, I'd love to say I promised to return, to more fully explore the wonderland. The thought is there, and maybe some day I will, but never without my independence. I've sorely missed the bike, meeting other bikers has not been easy, I always feel a copout for having left my bike in Mongolia. It was the right choice though, however many times I pine to be straddled my machine instead of negotiating mountain trails in some clapped out soviet machine, or even a super cruiser, it just isn't the same. I have realised my limitations though, both physical and psychological. For every time I regret not riding particular routes, I come to places I'm glad I don't have to cope with on two wheels. I've realised how vulnerable I feel, how deeply my injuries effect me; it isn't only the physical limitations. I'm not discounting travel by bike, but a fully laden bike for touring isn't what I can cope with, what the alternatives are must be considered. (Photos: Sedimentary layers shaped by erosion - Kyrgyz Autonomous region, China)

Crossing the border was quick and easy, even as a pedestrian. The border guards allocate trucks to carry the foot bound across the 7 km of no man's land. The Chinese are abnormally efficient, the ony delay being completely emptying my pack for inspection. As luck would have it a van had been procured for another couple of tourists, their guide used it to there form Kashgar. Having their own 4x4 meant it was empty for the return trip, of course for a small fee it was mine for the asking. The guy was a gem, a Uigyr from Kashgar with little regard for the occupation of his home by the Han Chinese. The city is teeming with police, special forces and military. People's square has become military square, honest citizens are exempt from walking across it; I tried and was hustled off unceremoniously. Though i didn't notice any Uigyr police I was told they do exist, but they are not issued with side arms; so much for equality eh? (Photos: Uptilted by tectonic pressure - Kyrgyz Autonomous region, China

Kyrgyz heartland.

I only wish I'd had more time to rest and recuperate from the horse riding trip, I may well have done eighteen days of riding through Rajastan last year, but it wasn't as strenuous as the arduous nature of riding in the Tian Shan foothills. Faced with an early breakfast and a long way through the heart of Kyrgyzstan I had to force myself to pack my bags and set off again. The route chosen was to head south from Balykchy, to Naryn, then in two stages reach Jalalabad. The halfway mark was Kazerman, a small town in the middle of nowhere, it's only claim to fame was the local gold mine and processing plant. It's notoriously a bitch to get there, though reported to be a touch easier to reach Jalalabad than get there from Naryn. But as I loaded my pack into Ishenbek's car such concerns were a long way away, I had to find transport to Balykchy first. The south side of lake Issyk-Kul is less frequented, there are no buses as such, only minibuses, which have no schedule at all. They turn up randomly and fit you on if there is room, on the other hand there are always shared taxis. If there are others to share with they can be as little as twice the price of a minibus ride. It's a gamble whether to wait for one or the other, in my position it's better to take what you can, when you can. I'm not on that much of a budget, I can afford to dig a bit deeper. (Photo: Ochre desert bluffs - Nr Naryn, Kyrgyzstan)

The variety of habitat types is beyond belief, and I'm not only talking about travelling through the country, at any given point there is a wealth of varied habitats. It's staggering, rich green vegetation can line the roadside while arid desert hems in the fertile corridor. Beyond the desert are towering peaks covered in snow, their snowy caps dazzling white in the blistering sun. It doesn't matter where I've been since crossing the border with Kazakhstan, all the rural areas have impressed me. Cities are what they are, I'll not discount them though. It isn't that often you look up in the middle of a capital city and are graced with looming, rocky crags heavy with snow, especially not in the middle of summer. Snowy crags seem a permanent backdrop, only once I pierced the central interior did the beautiful white peaks give way to bare rock. Though even there, dirty grey slithers of glacier thread their way down gullies to the valley far below. No matter where I've travelled there has been at least a ribbon of water running through the landscape. The obvious effect of the ever present snow melt is constant water for sustenance, aisles of lush green land run through the most inhospitable terrain.Sometimes the road took me through the middle of a fertile green belt, often there is verdant growth to one side and searing desert on the other. Diversity is never far away, and always in view. It gives the impression of a kind environment, one easy to subsist naturally in. But I don’t kid myself that life is easy here, the threadbare yurts and ever present rusty wagons are home to a large number of nomads.They are to be found in the most remote places, in tatty tents, often on patches of bare soil, they eke a living from the sparsest corners of the land. Unlike the relative wealth of Mongolian nomads these families do not have decent modern vehicles, they have to make do with beaten up old Ladas. Let’s get things straight here though, look at the animals, few show signs of being under nourished. Of the people themselves they don’t look as though they starve, but I assume most of their food must come from trade, few have any form of domestic food production. Nomad by name and truly nomadic by nature I assume they survive by trading, from money raised through animal husbandry; they must do, they’ve nothing else as far as I can see. (Photos: 1] Crank starting the Russian jalopy - Kazerman; 2 & 3] Breathtaking views from close to 4,000 metres - Halfway point to Jalalabad, Kyrgyzstan)

Desert bluffs of orange ochre, weather worn into multi ribbed spines, run along the south west side of lake Issyk-Kul. As they swing close to the lake desertification rules the roost, little can survive the harsh arid conditions. A fringe of course scrub is the only sign of life. Though this is always short-lived, as the spiny formations move away from the lakeside the land provides lush grasslands. It's a land of plenty then, every patch of land offers a plentiful supply of winter feed for livestock.Combine harvesters are not the giants of modern agricultural design, but they suit their purpose, to harvest a few acres at a time. It would appear that much of the grain is still cut by hand, and hay is mainly a manually prepared crop.Wide valleys stretch between soaring mountain ranges, where land can be put to use it generally is. Villages form small rectangles in the middle of huge grassy plains, protected from fierce winter winds by stands of tall evergreens. I should imagine the villages are cut off every winter, though without treacherous passes to overcome they probably manage to maintain contact with the outside world.From Balykchy to Naryn high mountain passes are unlikely to be passable once snow bound. Winter seems a long way off though. Throughout summer a broad, shallow river flows swiftly through a fertile valley, cutting deep into the hills. Dense outcrops of trees almost block access to it's banks, tall thick clumps of reeds heighten the problem of access. Mounds of shale sit like upturned jelly moulds, covered with a patina of green vegetation, they fill the landscape for many miles. The illusion of fertility is misleading, the grass is thin and insubstantial, unable to support large numbers of livestock. For days the majority of hillocks or grassy mounds consisted of barely consolidated shale.Landslides would be a problem during deluges or heavy snow melt, deep runnels cut through the slopes, washing out the loose aggregate. The mixture of mud, stones and rounded cobbles suggest ancient river beds. How else would the multitude of cobbles have been ground smooth, surely it was by the action of flowing water? Where rock pokes it's head through this muddy substrate it is of a friable nature, loose and likely to exacerbate the problem of landslides.For days my route followed similar rock and shale formations, interspersed with occasional sandstone cliffs. No way could the land be considered low lying though, we topped out at about 4,000 metres and still the landscape was formed by muddy substrate and fractured rock. There were some amazing formations too, really wicked shapes hewn by erosion. With the severe extremes of weather they face annually nature must carve a new design every year. To the casual eye the whole route from Naryn to Kazerman and on to Jalalabad looked vulnerable to rapid changes by the forces of nature. Broken rubble lines the route, bulldozers stand idle, waiting for next spring, when once more they must reopen the road, once more allow passage along the aged trade route. How old are the mountains there? I considered most mountains as ancient, but we must remember that our human perception of ancient is nothing in comparison with the geological calendar. Those days, crossing the hinterland of Kyrgyzstan, have been the most powerful and inspiring of the trip so far. Cresting the summit of each pass unveiled a new wonderland of rock, valley and winding river, a canvas painted to perfection, a world of awe. Dotted throughout were the various shelters of the tenacious Kyrgyz nomads, it didn't matter how inaccessible it seemed, they were there, utilising every resource they possibly could. (Photos: 1] Nomad encampment; 2] Velveteen mounds; 3] Taking an alternative route - Mountain road to Jalalabad, Kyrgyzstan)

My chosen route was far from being the most straight forward, it was more direct in many ways, but more difficult in every conceivable way. Balykchy onwards was largely without tarmac, the twisty nature of the route failed to slow down the suicide merchant who drove our shared taxi. There were no Marshrutkas (minibuses) and definitely no public transport, that is almost a thing of the past in post soviet Kyrgyzstan. Once leaving Naryn only a short stretch of tarmac lay before us. In no time we bumped and ground along to rough track, winding up and down through precipitous switchbacks, skirting between mountainside and mountain pass; we barely touched the valleys below. Unfortunately I couldn't fully appreciate the wonderful views, couldn't even begin to take in the fantastic sights around me. For hours I remained a-slumber, feeling too delicate to risk exposure to possible motion sickness. After a night of feeling queasy I hadn't even made the bus station before puking, it didn't bode well. Liquid shit started my day, but I wasn't going to be put off, no way would I consider remaining in the hovel they called a hotel. They had no running water and no other facilities but a bed to lay my head, and they wanted five quid for that. Believe me, even when clamping my lips shut to avoid the nausea as I tightened my waist belt, I wasn't going to delay my departure from Naryn. And I only got 100 metres before puking my guts up, narrowly missing my daypack, which holds my laptop and camera. So determined was I that I barely broke my stride, and though it felt much better I had to sooth away the sickness by sleeping through some of the most gorgeous landscape I've passed through since leaving Wales. Bummer eh? (Photos: 1] Eagles soaring above the filthy glacier - Halfway point to Jalalabad; 2] Farming close to the edge - Nr Jalalabad, Kyrgyzstan)

Kazerman, a dusty nowhere land whose only point of interest is the local gold mine and processing plant, played host to the next staging point. Despite being dropped at totally the wrong part of town I finally managed to sort out accommodation and onward transport. Call it fluke, or fate, it's irrelevant, I got out the place without taking out a second mortgageIt's a bit of a dump really, but there were some pleasant people, made merrier by procuring bottles of vodka and sharing them around. In Russian water is voda, generally asking for voda is as likely to get you vodka, as you must take what’s on offer the days can easily degrade into an alcoholic stupour. Most towns here have a Community Based Tourism office, they can put you in touch with local Homestays and arrange tours or transport. I can’t quite make out how they do this as all the offices I came across were closed. Kazerman was no exception, walking aimlessly through the streets I was first directed one way then another as I tried to discover options for the next leg of my journey to Osh. . Purely by chance some guys questioned what I was looking for, it turned out their rickety old Russian truck could make the trip to Jalalabad the following day. All they needed was where to pick me up, as I had no guesthouse so far they also took care of that. One led me away to his own house, where I was put up for the night, seemingly free of charge. But as the economists say, “there is no such thing as a free lunch”. So I paid for the transport they utilised for their own business in Jalalabad, and a couple of bottles of Vodka to boot. But I enjoyed amusing their kids, the family were kind and considerate, taking pleasure in my company. (Photos: 1] Fertile lands, a time of plenty; 2] Sandstone cliffs - Nr Jalalabad, Kyrgyzstan)

Without exception the folk I've been able to communicate with are relieved that Kyrgyzstan is no longer under soviet control, but it comes at a price. A higher price for most goods is most pronounced effect, there is also less money around, so poverty has increased. In recent years the system of public transport has gradually collapsed, buses have slowly disappeared on quieter routes, private transport has also become much expensive. There isn't the money to replace vehicles, and as I delved deeper into the heartland private forms of transport were the only option. But mixing it with local people is often the result of taking their transport. this last photo is with the guys I met by utilising Essen's (2nd from right) offer of a 4x4. (Photo: Vodka pals - Nr Jalalabad, Kyrgyzstan)

A hunting we will go!

Let me make one thing perfectly clear, I don't agree with hunting as a sport, bloodsports make my blood curdle. So why is it I found myself enchanted by the idea of going out, on horseback, to go hunting with an eagle? It beats me! I need to put this into perspective, for my own peace of mind. I've nothing against hunting to feed yourself, nothing against an animal hunting for it's own food; whether that animal is domesticated or not. So I'm hovering over a very fine line here, the commercial use of an eagle to bring in tourist dollars raises enough questions on its own, my concern rests entirely on the subject of killing for fun rather than necessity. I can't speak for the eagle hunter himself, but for me the hunt wasn't to see an eagle kill, it was to see it hunt. The fact is I'm not squeamish, I think natural hunters should be able to follow their instincts to procure their food. But apart from all this philosophical claptrap, have you ever been close to a natural predator. Make no mistake about it, an eagle is awesome, the feeling of power immense, they demand total respect. (Photo: Heading toward the Tian Shan - Issyk-Kul lake, Kyrgyzstan)

Checking up on what to expect on the southern shore of Issyk-Kul, I came across the information of a guy at Kadhji-Sai would would take out parties into the mountains to watch him hunt with his eagle. It had always been my intention to get at least a short horse ride in while travelling through Kyrgyzstan, to do it in the company of an eagle really captured my imagination. It gave me good reason to stagger my journey around the lake, an excuse to actually circumnavigate the lake rather than take the quick and easy way back. I couldn't be arsed with the quick and easy way, I wanted to experience more of what this country had to offer. Ishenbek's home and hunting foray took me off the busier tourist trail, it got me in the mood for delving into the less frequented parts of Kyrgyzstan. (Photo: Off the beaten track, the Tian Shan mountains - Issyk-Kul lake, Kyrgyzstan)

My headspace is fine, I don't need the presence of others to feel content, but a bit of company can be appreciated; it is nice to communicate after all. But when it really boiled down to it, I fancied going out with just the eagle, Ishenbek and me, I was prepared to pay for the privilege too. A young lass from HongKong joined me in the minibus from Karakol, she too was enthusiastic about seeing the eagle. Being short of time it was only her intention to hit and run, see a quick demonstration before leaving again for Bishkek. I was relieved, as I said, I didn't necessarily want to share the experience. It was bad enough that she slid into my window seat when we climbed into the van, but hell it was her birthday, a touch of generosity is good for the soul. It did bring home my reasons for travelling so much on my own though. Arriving at Kadhji-Sai I parted company with her (shame I don't recall her name), simply because I didn't want to hurry up to Ishenbek's, I wasn't keen about jumping on someone else's bandwagon. As it happened we met again at the guesthouse, she appreciated a quick demonstration in the hills behind while I relaxed, then she buggered off as I settled in. And so late that night, as I dozed with my headphones on, a persistent knocking on the door brought me back to reality. Another couple of guests had arrived, I wasn't to have a dorm to myself after all. (Photo: Looking for prey - Tian Shan mountain range, Kyrgyzstan)

Nor was I to have my own personal eagle hunt, damn!! For once though it wasn't too intrusive sharing a special experience, the two guys were a pleasure to be with. Their appreciation of the quiet life was equal to my own, their delight in keeping nature natural comparable too. I wasn't the only one running to pick up plastic bags blowing in the wind, in fact with someone else, younger and fitter, I allowed him the moral pleasure of catching the offending items. It was strange, I was the more experienced horseman, I was the one able to pass on tidbits of advice on handling the horses. Nothing essential, but how to use reins and legs to reinforce commands, direction. It also gave me an advantage when first meeting the horses, I avoided the sorriest looking horse, who did indeed prove to be constantly lagging behind whilst climbing into the mountains. It was a long day and by the end of it both horses and riders were drained. Way before we actually descended I'd considered making my own way back, my horse was stumbling, his choice of path verged on the suicidal at times, I was having to be more forceful every minute. I could see the farm where we'd started from, my right knee and ankle were giving me grief, I'd had enough. When I realised I wasn't the only one I was relieved, funnily enough it was the bag of bones who proved to have the greatest stamina at the end. (Photo: Looking for prey - Tian Shan mountain range, Kyrgyzstan)

The ride was long and arduous, but worth every minute. Looping round through the mountains provided us with stupendous views, the experience was exceptional. Even the drive to our starting point was gobsmacking, heading ever closer to the ragged line of snowcapped peaks. Our route lead us across ever narrower, rougher tracks, until finally following barely discernible tyre tracks to a tiny farmyard with a host of Salukis racing around, excited at our arrival. These weren't the glossy, groomed breed of Saluki we see at home, they were true hunting dogs, keen to get into the hills and root out prey. As it happened only one rabbit broke cover all day, the eagle got to fly free only once. But that failed to detract from our pleasure, just being in the company of such a beast was special, and what a beast! Ishenbek obviously got desperate towards the end, wanting to give us our moneys worth. Time and again we waited from high vantage points while the dog scoured the broken hillside for prey. But it was all to no avail, nothing broke cover, no matter how hard our noble eagle hunter tried. None of us were complaining though, we enjoyed ever minute of it. From our cups of fermented mare's milk at the beginning, to the bottle of vodka we shared for lunch we enjoyed our host's hospitality. (Photo: One man and his eagle - Tian Shan mountain range, Kyrgyzstan)

Finally our weary mounts carried us back to the homestead, where we interrupted a lively celebration. What the occasion was we never quite understood, it was clearly more of a celebration for some though. An aggressive drunk confronted us as we dismounted, I took an instant dislike to him. Rather than dispel any tension I displayed my displeasure with the fool, he failed to enamour me with his actions suggesting I looked like a woman, that I resembled an object for male sexual gratification. I guess the hard stares I directed his way didn't help, he threatened to slit my throat, which was foolish of him. More foolish was my blatant challenge to his threats, my adverse reaction when he laid his hands on me. It got close, but I wasn't about to back down. His hostility went as far as pushing his fist up to the face of one of the Israeli guys, I wouldn't have stood for that. I can only admire their refusal to be antagonised, trying their best to calm him down. I think the situation was only dispelled by an invite for us to join the celebrants inside. I'm not sure if the comment made there was based on what happened outside. One of the older local men told my two fellow tourists they were small men, and that I was a big man. I don't fully understand this, I can only think it was due to my refusal to tolerate the threats and actions of the drunken fool. (Photo: My moment of glory - Tian Shan, Kyrgyzstan)

In many ways I was ashamed of my behaviour, I should exhibit more self control. But I maintain that no-one should be able to act with such hostility without being shown it is undesirable. Why should I put up with such idiots? It may be a better man who doesn't allow himself to be provoked, but not everyone sees it that way. If a person doesn't understand the power of inaction, it's wasted on them. Live by the sword, die by the sword!

Issyk-Kol? Only at night!

Bishkek is a lot nicer to spend time in than Almaty seemed, it's still wise not to wander around at dark on your own, and it can be hard to elicit a pleasant response from staring locals. I didn't feel any overture of hostility as I wandered around the city during the day though. In fact a number of times I shared a few moments chatting to curious locals. One had me thinking he was trying to pick me up, until it became clear he was only using me to practice his English. Going to a bar/disco was more of an ordeal, though a funny one. At one point a friendly Kazak, there for a wedding celebration, literally picked me up bodily and carried me onto the dance floor. Bless him, he was made up that a few westerners were there to join in the celebrations. His sister was marrying a Kyrg, so the party was very mixed. when we left they were all still very spirited but amiable; after all there isn't any history of enmity between the two nationalities. (Photo: Grubby railway yard scene - Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan)

I probably spent a while longer than necessary, or desired, in Bishkek. I'd planned on three nights and spent an extra one, I couldn't face getting up at 5 am for a train to Balykchy, so I put off my departure for anther day. Reading somewhere that the train ride from Bishkek to Balykchy was spectacular, it became a bit of an obsession. At first no locals could even tell me where the train station was, claiming there were not trains from Bishkek. After insisting there was, pointing out there was one to Balykchy, they'd instantly agree. Ah yes, there is the one to Balykchy, but it much slower than the bus, so why use it? The answer to that was simple, it's the quality of life that is important. Which is probably why my time spent in the Kyrgyz capital has been appreciated; the people I met were a pleasure to be with. They were other travellers, others who made some effort to heighten their experiences while on their jaunts. The majority were going to greater lengths by travelling overland, by a great variety of methods. Central Asia isn't a place for the casual tourist, few people come for only a few weeks, and even fewer expect life to be served on a plate to them. (Photo: One man and his dog, pretending to ignore his harem - Nr. Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan)

The rewards can be colossal though, especially if you like your landscape on the large side. Huge open plains, magnificent mountains and oh, such beautiful blue skies. Personally I don't give a damn what the people are like when faced with such wondrous natural phenomenon. As long as they aren't trying to slit my throat, I can ignore it all. I live for those moments when facing the unadulterated delights of nature, to be at one with the elements, to savour the flavour of the world without the interference of human beings. God I miss my bike though, the freedom to go where I want, when I choose. How wonderful it is to stop at my own whim, snap to my heart's content, have a pee, a cigarette, travel at my own pace, reliant on no-one else. I crave for that style of transport, that freedom. And every time I run into a fellow motorcyclist it hurts, I pine for the freedom of the road. As I travel by bus or train every scene is judged from a biker's eye view. What joy it would induce riding through this valley, how marvellously twisty this mountain pass is, how amazing it would be to crank it round those bends. In all honesty you can stuff backpacking, give me a two wheels, give me the open road, give me freedom. (Photo: Folding hills and snowy peaks- Nr. Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan)

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the lands I've passed through, I adore the people I've met. And let's be honest, I'm forced to meet so many more when backpacking; but I only truly interact with a few of them. On a bike, when I do interact, it's up close, more personal, or so it seems. Even back packing though I have an advantage, I'm a freak, at least in this part of the world. It attracts attention; with dreads and tattoos I can't pass unnoticed, wherever I go. Putting it into perspective it's similar to being on my bike, which also draws attention, in fact it cries, "LOOK AT ME". If ever I wanted to travel anonymously I'd be doomed from the very start, but that isn't the way I lead my life, especially not when abroad. Anti-social I am not, my life has revolved around others, meeting people and sharing our differences. I love wowing the natives (how patronising that expression is), I thrive on making an impression. If asked what effect I want to have on the lives of those I meet on my travels, I'd have to say I want to open their minds. I'd like for others to recognise the world as a huge place, that it's there for us all, a playground to explore and have fun in. (Photo: Woah cowboy! - Towards Balykchy, Kyrgyzstan)

And how quick this new land has captured my heart, once escaping the less hospitable city, the people and countryside have people have touched my soul. A country tucked into the depths of the mountains, where natural beauty abounds, it's drawn me in, begged for a deeper appreciation. How glad I am to have gone beyond the city environs. For now, in Karakol, I stay on the outskirts of town, beyond the bustle of city life. I yearn to explore further what the country has to offer, yet must keep moving, must push on for a pre-arranged appointment. I must reach Kashgar within ten days, to travel through Tibet. I've started to drag my feet, reluctant to leave the promise of Kyrgyzstan behind. Maybe my time will come, I imagine I could easily return. Could this be the land where I am destined to lose myself? Ignore the city, shake loose the urban confines, there is something special about the people here. They are warm and welcoming, cheered by my presence, in only a couple of days I've found myself enchanted. (Photo: Traditional headgear on a far from traditional guy - Balykchy, Kyrgyzstan)

I can ignore the capital, the impersonal attitude of city folk, of rip-off taxi drivers. There is so much more the place has to offer, and I'm so sorry my time here is so limited. The outskirts of town feels like a different world altogether, it's more like a quiet village environment. Though holed up most the day, my limited excursions from the guesthouse have been filled with happy smiling faces. Hands crossing hearts shows the welcome extended, the depth of feeling. I've muddled through without conversing, but how I wish I could. Mongolia failed to wrench me away into the wilderness on horseback, now I feel distraught I haven't the time to indulge that dream here. Before leaving home I vowed to explore where I might return for a horse bound adventure, now I've found the place. By the time I finish Tibet it will be too late before winter, I don't intend tackling temperatures of up to -25 degrees C. But I don't think I can ignore this place, I hope this feeling remains, I hope I do return. (Photo: Where's my bike, this road should be ridden - Nr. Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan)

Don't ask me what has suddenly happened, I've no idea. Until this evening Kyrgyzstan didn't beckon so strongly, I hope it isn't just a drunken reverie. Now I'm in danger of hanging around too long, pushing the time restrictions to their limits. But I'm not stupid, at last I've escaped the tourist trail, finally I've tasted the country beyond the transit points of cities. Maybe the pull to do so wasn't as strong before, maybe it is simply the land I now find myself in. It's magical, with mountains streaked with snow, glistening lakes and a delightfully simple lifestyle. I want more of it, whereas before, in all the areas I've been through in the last month, they've failed to enthral me. Have I been blinkered to the beauty in front my own eyes? I don't think so, it's just that nowhere has had this effect until now. The scenery has forced me to seek more solitude, the people have captivated me. This is an awesome place, please stay away from it, it's my dream, I don't want foreign tourism to spoil it. (Photo: Lakeside delight - Balykchy to Karakol, Kyrgyzstan)

In reality I don't even know what will happen tomorrow, let alone in a few months time. But so far, if there is a place to come back to, this is it. If I'm to return somewhere for an adventure on horseback, I think I've found it. Don't hold me to this, it isn't a plan, because plans change. But nestled amongst soaring peaks, laying tranquil in alpine pastures, Kyrgyzstan is captivating. It's small enough for in depth discovery, personal enough for untold hospitality, and so beautiful it can't fail to take the breath away. Take my word for it, you won't like it; anyone would have to be insane to spend time here. Fly in, take a tour and bugger off again; leave the loonies to lose their minds in the wilderness. The country could do with a bit more tourism, so don't avoid it, just don't delve too deep! It's mine, all mine! (Photo: Outrageous statuary - Karakol, Kyrgyzstan)

The land the Soviets forgot.

I’m still floundering to some extent, but I’m not in a bad headstate. I’m not fully on the ball, but I’m coping. To me it’s obvious I’m fairly withdrawn compared to what I consider my old self. Who that person was I no longer know, I don’t recognize myself now. I’m tending to clam up and let things happen around me, rather than taking the bull by the horns. it could be called going with the flow, maybe I'm actually becoming more Zen, but I don't want to be passive about my life. Language difficulties exaggerate this withdrawal even more, I often shun those offering help, or even worse let them lead me on to whatever they're suggesting. Great in some ways though, many locals have helped me due to my muddled appearance. It's happened time and again, complete strangers coming to my aid, with no view of profit. If that's the response to appearing befuddled I think I'll keep on with it. There isn't any distress over this, as I said I'm content with where I am in life; considering the circumstances anyway. (Photo: Swollen river in the centre of a desert plain - East of Almaty, Kazakhstan)

Not relishing the thought of wandering lost in Almaty, alone with a full pack strapped to my back, it was a relief to have the company of Yoshi and his girlfriend. We'd met and spent some time at Gana's guesthouse in Ulaan Baatar, and as I climbed aboard the bus at Urumqi There they were. Of course at that stage I had no clue as to what Almaty would be like. What an easy target I would have been in Kazakhstan's capital city though; a lone stranger late at night, in quiet darkened streets, with no map and no idea where any hotels were. I haven’t felt so vulnerable for a long time, I'm normally quite blase about such things. It isn’t the same on a bike, but even then I avoid arriving in a city at night and trying to find accommodation. It quite unsettled me, and I couldn't work out why, it had a dodgy feel to it. After getting such a negative vibe from a place it can take a while to settle down. I wasn’t prepared to give that time to Almaty, preferring to wallow in the beauty of the Kyrgyz mountains. I have to strike out for Kashgar from Osh, so I’ve two weeks to wind my way through Kyrgyzstan. I feel close to the front line, once I leave the tranquility of the mountains the route is pretty much through areas of ethnic tension, with a lot of recent violence and plenty of deaths. This is in the south of Kyrgyzstan and in Kashgar, though it’s with different ethnic groups, with different targets. First it will be the trouble between Kyrgs and Uzbeks around Osh and Jalalabad, then it’ll be Uigyrs against the Han Chinese dominion of their homeland. I can only hope that trouble will not flare up again, if it does my trip through Tibet will be seriously in jeopardy. (Photo: A slight blip on the horizon - East of Almaty, Kazakhstan)

I’ve had to put in more effort in dealing with the staring. Neither the Kazaks nor the Kyrgs are as amiable to a smile as the Chinese. It’s more like in Mongolia, open staring and complete indifference to whatever I do, a smile or nod does nothing to break this impenetrable barrier. The Russians are no better, they tend to be the arrogant type of Russians. White Russians are common in Central Asia, I guess it’s to be expected. As with any empire, when it collapses in on itself the remnants of power slip away from the invaders, but those that remain don’t seem to adjust very well to this. It makes me wonder why they even bother to stay put. My impression is that they consider themselves a station above the locals. There seems little interaction between the two groups, I’ve not seen any mixed couples together. It seems to be a long way from integration. (Photo: Hot desert crags - East of Almaty, Kazakhstan)

The east of Kazakhstan I can only liken to Mongolia, in all aspects. First of all it was scrubby desert, with sparse grass and low-lying scrub in a bed of fine gravel. It was flat and unbroken, continuing for as far as the eye could see. On the far horizon there was the merest suggestion of hazy hills. Nothing interrupted the emptiness, no buildings, yurts or animals. As the scrub grew thinner, the hills drew closer, other features dotted the scene. An occasional mound rose from the sandy plain, a line of trees lacing across the vista, tracing the course of a riverbed. Maybe these rare waterways spend most the year devoid of water, being the only source of water for many miles there remains enough to sustain the lives of the trees. They don’t look stunted, and at this wettest season of the year they are thick with foliage. The river was bloated with churning, muddy water, while across the plain and over the distant hills the clouds continued to disgorge their abundant load of, bringing fertility to the barren land . (Photo: Lovely layered bluffs - East of Almaty, Kazakhstan)

Changes came thick and fast as the bus trundled on towards Almaty, the coverage of grass and scrub thinned out quickly once the watercourse was left behind. Once more a barren wasteland became dominant. A gritty landscape of sand, broken by successive layered escarpments, first of sand, then behind of ruffled sandstone. It looks unbearably hot and inhospitable, yet a pale green veneer lies over the distant sand; however harsh it looks, life actually exists. The desert areas here are weird, I don’t expect deserts to be totally devoid of life, though neither did I expect the amount of rain that falls in summer here. Like crossing the Gobi, it seems lifeless, incapable of supporting life, and then the heavens open and the deluge begins. Once it stops it goes back to the arid wasteland again, except for the deep rutted quagmires created by man’s machines. Luckily I no longer had to contend with those. (Photo: Heading on to Kyrgyzstan - West of Almaty, Kazakhstan)

(Photo: Plains of plenty - West of Almaty, Kazakhstan)

Many miles of desert passes by, sandy slopes creep up rocky crags, under a bright blue sky. Gradually a more forgiving environment develops! Lush grass stretches to the hills, a broad empty expanse, a sea of green. Even the hills seemed to be rich with vegetation, verdant green encroaching up the slopes. Unlike Mongolia there was a distinct lack of herds or nomads, it appears that a free lifestyle is a thing of the past in Kazakhstan. Giving it a bit of thought it doesn’t come as a surprise, I can’t imagine the Russian regime encouraging nomads to maintain their traditional lifestyle. Numbers haven’t just diminished, I saw no yurts or sign of nomadic life at all, there was also a marked absence of animals grazing. But some form of cultivation was going on, and not just an patch of vegetables for personal use. Combines and tractors could be seen frequently, it was hard to tell what the crop was. The land wasn’t prepared for rice, the use of combines meant it had to be a grain. None was close enough to even have a wild guess, but a harvested field didn’t have the look of wheat stubble. (Photo: Soviet legacy of agriculture rather than a nomadic lifestyle - West of Almaty, Kazakhstan)

Urumqi and surrounding area.

I'm getting out of sync between my writing and the photos. It's nice to look at the images of what I'm describing, at least for me to write, so I assume doubly for people to read. These are all of the days spent with Steve, Leane and friends while in Urumqi. It's a rare occurrence for me to link up again with people I meet travelling, a much appreciated occurrence it was too.

I'll not waste too many words here, it's a waste of everyone's time for me to pour out some boring diatribe simply to fill in the gaps to the photos. So enjoy, I certainly did in their making!

(Photo: Being wowed by the big city skyline - Urumqi, Xinjiang province, China)

(Photo: Dancing in the Peoples park, these were the ballroom posse, things were a bit more exciting over in the jazz corner. - Urumqi, Xinjiang province, China)

(Photo: Kiddies climbing wall, a freebie in The Peoples Park. Many of the kids were hauled up more than climbing under their own steam, but they all enjoyed it and showed no fear - Urumqi, Xinjiang province, China)

(Photo: Traditional drama performed free in the Peoples Park. There was a packed audience, everyone was mesmerised. - Urumqi, Xinjiang province, China)

(Photo: Just outside the city limits, beautiful countryside is not far at all, I can't claim it to be unspoilt, rubbish isn't hard to see; it isn't abundant though - Urumqi, Xinjiang province, China)

(Photo: While the city slickers dig pits for blazing fires and discard their empties, the locals quietly get on with their daily lives, seemingly unperturbed. - Urumqi, Xinjiang province, China)

(Photo: There ain't nothing like a real fire, or two. At least our camp was cleared completely of litter. - Urumqi, Xinjiang province, China)