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 To me it’s obvious I’m fairly withdrawn compared to what I consider my old self.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)