Kellen Smetana
Almaty, capital of Kazakhstan until 1998 when the Kazakh president decided to build Astana, and Bishkek, capital of Kyrgyzstan, are separated by a mere 250 kilometers.  They have also already taken over spots 1 and 2 in my list of favorite cities of the trip.  I did not think the (few) Chinese cities we visited had much organic character (with the exception of parts of Urumqi and some of the smaller towns); for the most part, it felt like the Chinese government bulldozed all the old and made way for the modern, clean, bland new.  Almaty and Bishkek have character.  (Think Boston versus Phoenix – no offense to anyone living in Arizona).

Almaty
A very green, tree-strewn city at the base of the towering Zailiysky Alatau Mountains in Kazakhstan: my favorite city of the trip so far.  It is also the final destination for much of the oil money from Kazakhstan’s Caspian reserves and it wasn’t difficult to spot this in the nice homes and cars.

Our sejour started rather annoyingly when we discovered we had to burn a day visiting the Migration Office to collect a stamp that proves we were in the country (in addition to the one they give you at the border…) or risk paying a huge fine upon departure.  Say it with me: “bureaucracy is fun!”  Fortunately we were able to put our elite queuing skills acquired in China into practice, elbowing shouting teenagers and boxing out old babushkas all clawing for the ultimate goal, a mouth directly in front of the clerk’s small window opening.  Eventually it proved less of a hassle than we feared and we were on our way by midday.  Ben returned to the hostel and I decided to spend the afternoon visiting David, owner of Stantours, an agency that helps with Central Asian visas, to ask him some questions about my upcoming visa deluge.

To get there, I took a “taxi.”  In Almaty, there are official taxis with proper signs, but the cool thing is that any car on the street is a potential taxi.  Just walk on the correct side of the road, stick out your thumb, and someone will pull over; you can quickly discuss the location and price, and if they are headed your way, it’s a win-win for everyone.  So I figured I had to test the waters.

I stuck out my hand and was picked up by an old red Soviet car within seconds.  We agreed on a price and sped off.  Three minutes later he cut across two lanes of traffic to pick up another two riders.  At first I was annoyed that he was continuing to operate before dropping me off, then I saw he was picking up a model-looking woman dressed to the nines and her young son.  Fair enough.  Parked by the curb, I could hear others passing on the street hooting and whistling as the two climbed in.  I just looked up and quietly said hello.  Very soon, at the driver’s persistent smiling emphasis, I found out she was one of Kazakhstan’s most famous musicians, a violinist, and she had just finished filming a television program, which explained the elaborate make-up and dress at 3pm.  We had a nice chat about my bike trip and her performances in New York City before dropping the two of them off at some huge home.  Afterwards, I got a good laugh out of the driver, who was grinning from ear to ear and decided to express this vocally by rocking out to Ace of Base for the remainder of my ride.

The next day was my birthday, and we celebrated with a trip to the Kyrgyz consulate.  This again proved easier than expected, mostly because I pleaded with the clerk to pick up the visas same day.  He inhaled about 10 cubic meters of air and proceeded to exhale slowly (while I glanced from him to the non-existent line behind me, and back to him several times) before agreeing.  We also pieced together a city walking tour and fun night out with Henrik, the same Danish cyclist we had met in Urumqi, to cap the day.

Bishkek
Two days later we were in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan, another leafy green city at the foot of towering peaks.  The stay started out well when the stout Russian neighbor to the hostel brought over homemade barley rum (mmm… just kidding) for everyone our first night there.  I was nearly crying in laughter when he could not understand one of the British guy’s jokes and continually threw his arms up in fits of drunken anger.  The next day an unsuccessful visit to the Uzbek embassy meant we had to stay the weekend (I wasn’t too opposed).

Saturday evening, nobody else was up for the local football (soccer) match, but I decided to go anyway.  It was awesome.  Bishkek’s second-tier team was playing a home game in the city’s large 30,000 capacity stadium.  I arrived to find open gates and only about 900 fans; I think more people used to come to my high-school track meets.  800 of those fans were polishing off their sixth refilled plastic bottle of beer and the atmosphere was rowdie!  This was only amplified during the thirty minute rain delay caused by another one of those wicked storms from the west.  In the end, Bishkek came out victorious 3-0.  An altogether fun evening; it’s always great to see how universally loved sports are.

Sunday, the three girls working at the hostel offered to show Ben, me, and our new Parisian friend Joel around the city.  We spent the afternoon hopping between parks and landmarks, enjoying the beauty of the city and its local drinks – I’m finally starting to get used to kumys (fermented mare’s milk).

The hostel here has been excellent; it’s a crossroads of trekkers and fellow cyclists from around the world.  I may even partner up with a really cool British guy, Theo, heading west from Tashkent, Uzbekistan.  As we wait for the embassy to reopen, I have also fit in some time to rest and work on the bike to prepare it for the massive Kyrgyz mountain ranges to come.

We’ll be back on the road soon and from stories circulating at the guesthouse, it should prove to be some more excellent riding (did you really expect anything less?).

Kellen Smetana
Kazakhstan verrry niiice! – Borat Sagdiyev

In case you weren’t sure, I can confirm that Kazakhstan is not accurately depicted in the movie Borat.  The quote, however, is spot on; Kazakhstan is a very nice country.  It was another place I thought I would simply breeze across en route to Kyrgyzstan, but I have been blown away by the beautiful riding here.  And fortunately, that was only the first round.  Kazakhstan is the only country I will visit a second time as I head west out of Uzbekistan.

At the border we could immediately tell we were in quite a different place.  It’s even evident in everyone’s faces; Kazakhstan is populated primarily by Kazakhs and Russians.  This means that without the bikes or our passports, we no longer stand out of the crowd as everyone simply assumes we are Russian ("Ia nye gavariou pa rouski” – I don’t speak Russian, picked that one up pretty quickly…).

With our passports and bikes crossing the border though, we were still a novelty and three of the guards approached me to ask, “Amerika?  California?  California!?!”  “No, no,” I responded, “Michigan!!  Amerika, Michigan!”  And my enthusiasm was so contagious that the guard from the fifth checkpoint even marched ahead to the guard from the sixth checkpoint to prepare him, “Amerika!  Michigan!!”  I just smiled, pointed out the location names on my passport, and secretly hoped the next American crossing the border here gets a “Michigan?... Michigan!?!” interrogation.

The guards also had a good chuckle at my last name.  Throughout Central Asia, people, especially those educated in Soviet times, speak Russian as well as the country’s titular language (e.g. Kazakh, Kyrgyz, Turkmen); so this means that, as at the Kazakh consulate in Urumqi, people always get a hearty laugh whenever I tell them my last name (see Team page).  It seems to be a good icebreaker and I’m loving it so far.

Finally through our first border in over two months, we noticed a second difference on the road.  Every vehicle is either a pastel-colored Lada or a late 80s German car.  To our complete delight, traffic was light, nobody honked, and people actually respect traffic laws!

And the final difference was most appreciated in the evening: no people.  There was hardly anyone living near the road and our horizon was a sheet of beautiful open, unused fields as far as the eye can see: a far cry from China, where every non-desert region had land utilization that was beyond astonishing.

In our ride across the corner of Kazakhstan, we crossed one of only two mountain ranges in the country.  The vast majority of Kazakhstan, the world’s ninth largest country, is open grassland steppe.  This meant that the country was the site of the last great nomadic empire before falling to the Soviet sphere of influence in the late 19th century.  Even today we saw wild horses roaming the empty fields.  And it also means that this area is prone to churning weather patterns as winds whip pressure fronts across the open steppe.  For the first time in a while, we’ve had rain every day, but only in intense one-hour sideways downpours that clear as quickly as they arrive.

On our route to Kyrgyzstan we climbed two passes, picked up two flats (both me), stopped for a swim in Lake Qapshaghay, and ate our first doner kebabs of the trip.  It was a “verrry niiiice” week in the most well-known country of Central Asia and I’m looking forward to returning a second time.

Kellen Smetana
China threw everything it had at us except the kitchen sink on our final day of cycling through the country: an extremely welcoming homestay; an epically long climb; a breathtaking glacial lake; ridiculously beautiful (and ridiculously unnecessary) feats of infrastructure engineering; artificially induced rainstorms; and, of course, more tasty kebabs.  The next day the border guard even enthusiastically reminded me that I possess a one-year multiple entry visa; so I can come back as many times as I want.  But it was time to move on and only reminisce on these amazing experiences.

Our first day west of Urumqi we put up with a couple breaks in the road to enjoy the absolute solitude of a highway under construction.  We had the road all to ourselves for about 50km.  Setting up camp near a town later that day, we were passed by an evening group-ride from the local bike club who invited us to sleep in their headquarters in the back of the town’s local bike shop.  It was another wonderful gesture of hospitality and we had a hearty sleep – complete with free water and beer – after posing for the requisite monthly newsletter photos.

The next few days were filled with rather hot, bland desert riding until we started the long climb out of China.  Near the end of the climb, as the sun was fading and exhaustion catching on, we came upon a tiny town and the only man anywhere in sight came running out motioning the universal signs for eat, drink, and sleep.  It didn’t take much more convincing than that.  We ended up spending the night in a part truck-stop, part homestay.  It was excellent; we refueled on Xinjiang noodle dishes, laid out provincial maps for our host, and even compared muscles with passing truckers.

The next morning we finished the climb and found ourselves skirting Sayram Hu, an absolutely breathtaking glacial lake.  I was loving every second of it.  It was one of those places that switches on some neuron in your brain to say, “it’s good-mood-time, it’s going to be a GOOD DAY!”

We were so smitten that we even elected to brave the freezing waters for a quick swim on our snack break.

Back on the road, we realized we actually hadn’t finished the climb.  A short jaunt upwards and we were at the top, looking down on an explosion of lush green mountains.  On the descent we passed yet more examples of aesthetically mind-boggling Chinese infrastructure development, built seemingly with the sole purpose of showing off to their Kazakh neighbors.  The next few hours of weaving through green slopes, beautiful new bridges, and bubbling streams were awesome.  Finally we opened into a large plain and got a bit wet again passing through several small thunderstorms induced by dynamite-sounding charges.  Oh, China, I’ll certainly miss those aspects… (eyes-rolling).  That evening, we slept in the border town and only rode two kilometers the following day before dismounting for our passage to Kazakhstan.

One country down, twenty-one to go.

But none will be as daunting, eye-opening, varied, wondrous, or tiring as China.  The US is probably the only country I can think of that can compete in terms of landscape diversity.  And it is certain that China holds gold medals in all categories of hectic, frantic, aggressive, and obnoxious driving.  It was incredible to see a country in such flux.  Development abounds in the dozens and dozens of new highways and urban construction projects, but inefficiencies are everywhere.  Most rural homes are heated by central coal stove, and double-pane windows are nowhere to be found.  The military state is evident in Tibetan and Uyghur areas, but rows and rows of teenagers are getting around the internet censors in wangbas (internet cafes) in affluent cities like Leshan, Guilin, and Dujiangyan.

Anyone out there looking to see some of the most beautiful places on earth, engorge on marvelously spicy and tasty food, break down serious language barriers, and generally feel like “you’re not in Kansas anymore,” come to China.  The bicycle traverse was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Those who know me well know how much I love my Top 5 Lists.  Of 68 days cycling through China, I have picked my favorite five and listed them chronologically below.  You can probably spot these pretty easily in my previous posts.

Yangshuo to Guilin – Li River limestone karst scenery
Guiyang to Huangnitang – northern Guizhou province rapeseed fields
Zhenping to Songpan – Tibetan mountain villages
Qingshizui to Ebao – snow-capped bowl of Qinghai peaks (day after the brutal blizzard)
Santay to Korgas – Sayram Hu and lush green valleys

Simply amazing bicycle riding.

Last but not least, another month has passed and that entails another victor in the fundraising contest.  May’s winner is Alex Baker, expect an email (or Skype chat if you’re lucky) from me soon.  And to all, expect videos of these meals to be posted when able (soon).

Kellen Smetana
I’ve never been more pleased to hold a US passport.  Our first morning in Urumqi we took a bus to the Kazakh Consulate to start the visa process.  Exiting at a nearby stop, we walked towards the house-like building and I saw what I had read and heard about, but not truly expected to see: hoards and hoards of people – probably around 75 – all pressed against a barred entranceway pleading with the guards to take their application.

“Here we go,” I said to Ben, and acting on the advice of Garrent, a really cool Australian we had met at the hostel the previous night, we held our passports high in the air and shoved our way to the gate.  A three-second examination is all it took for the guards to open the gate and let us pass.  I couldn’t even bring myself to look back at the crowd; I just hustled up the steps inside.  Inside looked like a small Secretary of State office with four counters and only about four people waiting in a quiet room.  The English-speaker was ready to see us.  My jaw dropped, and at that point I realized I had unknowingly started humming a childhood song in my head, “I’ve got a golden ticket… I’ve got a golden ticket in my hand…”  I really did feel like Charlie at the Chocolate Factory with my “golden ticket” US passport, though admittedly filling out visa forms is not as fun as eating snosberries.  We were in and out in a jiff, and the consulate clerk even got a good chuckle out of the word “smetana” in Russian (see Team page).

Picking it up three days later was a different story.  I felt a lot less like Charlie in the Chocolate Factory and a lot more like K from Franz Kafka’s The Trial.  We returned in the morning but were allowed only to pay at a nearby bank and were told the visas would be ready at 4pm.  Back at 4, we were greeted by dim lights, empty desks, and dozens of people in the waiting room; every once in a while we caught glimpses of people scurrying about through cracks in the doors.  Occasionally they came to help some of the people waiting, mostly Kazakhs or Chinese who had somehow caught pity from the guards.  From time to time I would also see the guards bring in an application and the clerks dismiss them without much more effort than a wave of the hand (I felt so bad for the people outside).

Finally at 6pm they had our passports… oh wait, only Ben’s and the Danish cyclist we had just met who was biking home to Denmark.  A couple more hours passed.  Ben went out to get some food, I alternated between leg stretches in the waiting room (the clerks found this very entertaining), studying my passport copies, and dozing on the metal bench.  At one point the Kazakh man sitting next to me tapped me on the shoulder and made a sign to show me everything would be ok, and he was right.  At 8pm my passport was ready and all was well with the world.  It seemed odd that after three days of approval it would take that long to print a sticker, but I was all smiles because I was definitely luckier than the Taiwanese cyclist at our hostel whose application was denied.  Ouch!  And this is supposed to be the simplest of all the Central Asian visas…

In Urumqi we also got to spend some time moving about on the buses we’ve spent the last two months dodging on our bikes.  Now, I don’t know how the typical bus driver shift works back home, but I imagine each driver works for a certain number of routes and completes his/her route in a fixed, pre-determined amount of time.  Here, I could swear they are incentivized to hit as many stops as possible on their shift.  Literally, one driver did not even hold the brakes at the stops, keeping the bus in neutral so it rolled as people boarded.  As soon as the last person’s foot was in the air, she was on the gas like a drag racer.  I spent most of my time on the buses laughing because they manage to achieve this driving prowess while lighting cigarette after cigarette and screaming into their cell phones.

And as with most rest stops, we passed much of our time in Urumqi fattening up again on pretty much anything sold by street vendors, especially the fresh bread straight out of the fire – mmmm.

The waiting period allowed us to complete many menial tasks: everything from cleaning bikes and clothes to sewing my sleeping bag and requesting Letters of Invitation for future countries.

The hostel was also an excellent place for us to meet a ton of really awesome people: a German starting work in Pakistan took us to the largest bazaar in the world to introduce us to some of his friends; we played new games with Israelis and Swiss on holiday; and we went out to dinner a few times with a South Korean doctorate student.

I even had dinner with an Israeli whose plan is to buy a camel in Kashgar and ride it across Xinjiang province – and you guys thought I was crazy.  Just a friendly reminder that there are a lot of people out there doing some incredible stuff.

Finally, I have seen a few comments alluding to this and I’m here to confirm the rumors.  I have decided to grow out my facial hair.  Because that’s what you do when you bike across continents (Ben is doing the same).  Those of you who know me understand why I feared my beard would look much like Sidney Crosby’s wispy whiskers by Europe, but I’ve been pleased with the progress so far and am starting to think I may look more like ZZ Top (ok, slight exaggeration).

Beard and all, we’re on the last lap of this incredible country.  In seven days we’ll be at the Kazakh border, and given the pace of events thus far through China, I expect the final week to be no less exciting.

Kellen Smetana
We are storming across Xinjiang province and have made it to the capital city of Urumqi (“woo-ru-moo-chi” in Chinese.  Say it with your best Italian accent and, funny enough, you’re right on).  We’re certainly cruising and have picked up the pace from our time in the east, though it’s still no easy task as the province is larger than the state of Alaska and chock full of arid desert closed in by high mountains to the south.

As you saw from the last two posts, we seem to consume ourselves every day thinking about one thing: wind.  I never thought I would care so much about the wind, but out here in the open desert, it greatly affects our daily ride.  One morning Ben, before bothering to eat breakfast or even put on clothes, went up to the side of the road to, in his words, “throw sand into the air.”  I can’t even imagine how many times the early morning truckers must have had to rub their eyes at the sight of a British kid standing all alone by the side of the road in just his boxer shorts watching dirt blow away above his head.

They could not see our tents as we have been sleeping in drainage tunnels under the road.  These tunnels offer great protection from wind, sun, and any nosy motorcyclists; the only problem is that we usually have to kick aside all the dried poo cakes because the tunnels are often used as a bathroom for passing motorists and construction workers.  It’s pretty unbelievable for such a developed country.  The other day I saw a man pass in his brand new Audi and pull over about a half-mile ahead.  By the time I caught him, he was ten feet off the shoulder, book in hand, dropping a deuce in plain sight.  In all my travels, nowhere else have I seen the same openness to public urination and defecation as I have in China.  For the kids it’s rather funny.  In the rural areas most don’t wear diapers; the solution is a simple slit front to back in the inseam of their pants.  I just view them all as walking grenades waiting to explode and steer clear.

Before Urumqi we passed through the town of Turpan and the surrounding Turpan Basin.  You may know that China shares the highest point in the world, Mount Everest, with Nepal.  You may not know that it is also home to the second lowest depression in the world (after the Dead Sea): the Turpan Basin.  The lowest point is 154 meters below sea level, though we did not need the GPS to confirm this as our sweat glands seemed to be shouting it the entire time we rode through.  We spent a day in the oasis city of Turpan (a pretty cool town) and as a city with a strong tourist infrastructure, it was the first time I can remember that we were double-priced.  One of the most appreciated aspects of China has been that even as foreigners with little language ability, we have been given fair prices throughout our trip.  Some countries like those in Southeast Asia have English menus and prices double what the locals pay, and vendors will not allow ordering from the local menu.  China has been great for this; so in Turpan when some vendors were clearly charging us double local prices, we told them to go “pile sand” (insert other words) until we found one who was fair.

And now we have arrived in Urumqi, a major destination for us because it is here we will get our visas to Kazakhstan.  (Fun fact courtesy of Lonely Planet: Urumqi is the furthest place in the world from an ocean – 2250km.  I guess it’s rather fitting to pass through here on my journey between Pacific and Atlantic.  Box checked).

As we moved west across the province, we noticed a big change in the culture of the people with whom we interacted.  Xinjiang province is 45% Uyghur (wee-gur), an ethnicity of Turkish descent whose people are today primarily Muslim.  This has meant not only a change in appearance but also in food: LOTS of incredibly tasty fresh bread and LOTS of lamb (I may even start keeping kebab stats we’ve consumed so many already in Urumqi).

Like Tibetans, Uyghurs are subject to harsh scrutiny by the Chinese government.  They have twice declared independence and many Chinese I have spoken with consider the situation in Xinjiang a much larger problem than the one in Tibet, but not many in the West know about it because there is not a strong, amicable figurehead for the movement like the Dalai Lama.  I read an excellent article about Xinjiang in National Geographic about a year ago that anyone interested should check out: http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2009/12/uygurs/teague-text/1

For us, we’ll just have to avoid the cliques of shotgun-ready riot police patrolling the streets (no joke) and not eat too many kebabs until we’ve paid a visit to the Kazakh consulate and secured our tickets onward.

New journal entry coming soon.  In the meantime, check out the updated Photos and Stats pages.  LOADS of new pics posted (Sichuan, Qinghai, and Gansu)