“What the hell are you two still doing in here?!” our tin-can bus-driver apparently exclaimed in Russian as he U-turned on the vast junction and chucked us out. Fresh out the airport, we were lost on Almaty’s broad, tree-lined boulevards flowing with high class cars, SUVs and stylish people.

We found the cheapest hotel next to a miniture Eiffel tower. Hotel Saulet had a musky foyer with a fat old Russian man fixed to a ragged chair opposite a bulbous TV. Our days were generally filled with wandering the streets and bazaars assaulting the locals with our little cameras. We also wanted to buy a motorbike, but in a city of brand new, gas-hungry SUVs this proved impossible.

The desire to see a camel (and if possible buy one) led Cuthbert and I to Almaty II train station, a huge Eastern-European style structure housing cavernous halls that serve very little purpose. I ordered two tickets to Turkestan (a town in the South) while Cuthbert’s bag exploded in the search for his passport.

We then moved to the station Cafe to chill with a coffee. Another huge hall, this had the appearance of a ball room with pastel-peach walls and white plaster decorations lit by tall windows at the far end. We sat there in silence, Cuthbert with his head bowed over his guidebook. I was studying the room: the group of eight Kazakh men to the left of the windows; three security women chatting at a table on the right; and the staff floating around the empty tables.

“Kazakhstan still has occurences of the Human Plague” Cuthbert punctured the silence without moving.

On the train, having spent the night before at a nameless hotel above the station, we met Almaz, a 23 year old oil worker for PetroKaz. Almaz spoke decent English and became welcome company for the 19 hour journey. The train was remarkably comfortable, built in China with air-con and plenty of room. An elderly Kazakh that resembled the Dalai Lhama sat pensively throughout the trip with a pot of tea while we both glued our cameras to the window and Almaz chatted beside us.

Within a few hours a gruff, mean-looking Russian policeman checked Cuthbert’s passport to which he issued a throttling motion to his own neck, complete with sound effect. Almaz explained that we should have registered within five days of arriving. The man looked at mine briefly then walked away shaking his head: “Americans!”.

On arrival in Turkestan Almaz introduced us to his brother who dragged us over to a marshoulka (dilapidated mini-bus) to the big attraction. Entering the Mausoleum we passed a man walking a lawnmower along the desert srub outside the fortress wall. The Mausoleum was remarkable: a giant sandy arch connected to a turquoise dome was all contained with half a defensive wall on one side and an expanse of desert on the other (where we saw our first camels). We stumbled upon a cafe for lunch and were served a dense chicken dish laced with ketchup. Western music filled the empty room from a huge sound system.

Back at the station we told a taxi driver to take us to Sauran for 3000 Tinge. The short bearded man obliged then drove us back to the Mausoleum: “Yes – Sauran”. Cuthbert wanted to cut our losses until an old Mercedes pulled up along side and he stepped into action. The driver spoke a bit of English and, after some confusion, solved our problem. His only stipulation for the help was that Cuthbert emailed his English friend, Mark Isles. On the journey to Sauran our driver sipped vodka as he drove in the wrong lane.

Parked under a train-line bridge, we grabbed all our luggage and ran through the desert towards the ruins of an ancient Silk Road city. The dry heat didn’t matter, the thrill of exploring a former Silk Road hub gave our imaginations a buzz as we ran around snapping away.

Back at the train station we walked onto an old Russian train to find a middle-aged Russian-Kazakh woman reclining in the bunk opposite ours fanning herself gracefully. She attempted conversation with us, but this regressed to showing a slideshow of our photographs to a small crowd. We introduced ourselves as Cuthbert and Archibald.

My good fellow, Cuthbert Breech-Thompson, and myself, Archibald Quentin Swift, are at present in Kazakhstan.  We’ve found it to be a colourful place with it’s own distinct flavour, far from the imaginings of Mr Baron-Cohen.  Luxury cars fill the streets, from sleek Mercedes and BMWs to gargantuan GMCs and Infinitis along with gorgeous people to match.  We have, of course, drunk both Kumys and Shubat, or Horse and Camel milk, though did not find it quite to our taste, but have enjoyed many of the foods we have tried.  All are very friendly and accommodating to our lack of linguistic ability (both Russian and Kazakh), but prices are high (relative to our travel budget) for the two young venturers.  It is with regret, therefore, that we will leave this place, though we are looking forward enormously to our proposed journey though Kyrgystan to the Irkestan Pass into China and on to the ancient Silk Road City of Kashgar.  We have both expressed a desire to return in the near future.  I will be adding a week by week account of our adventures, with the first due in the next few days for 18th to 25th June, so please stay tuned.

Archibald 25.06.08

http://www.nga.gov/exhibitions/2007/hopper/introduction/index.shtm

This has been a night of crazy phone-line experiences (on Skype)!

First I tried calling a few numbers from the web that purported to be the Chinese Embassy in Kazakhstan – only one picked up and it was some baffled Chinese guy answering back in a confused and slightly aggitated high pitch “Ni hui shuo Yingyu ma?” (‘Can you speak English?’) > “Bu hui shuo Yingyu!…Huh?!? shenqing zhongguo qianzheng??!??’ (‘No!…Huh?!? Apply for Chinese visa??!??’ – I was just struggling to speak Chinese to him)

I ended his irritation by asking “zhe dui bu dui” (this right or not?) with his predictable answer “bu dui!”

Later I found out from a blog that the Chinese Embassy had actually moved:

‘We woke up early this morning to apply for our Chinese visas only to find the Chinese embassy abandoned with broken windows (later we learned that the Chinese embassy changed locations 2 years ago).  After finding the real Chinese embassy, we discovered that we can only apply for visas on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.’  (http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/gangof5/western_china/1185442380/tpod.html)

On finding the real number to the embassy I received a different reaction.  We both answered with the customary ‘Wei’ (‘hi’ for phone conversation)

“wei wo shi Chris Berragan – ni hui shuo Yingyu ma??” (‘Hey I’m CB – you speak English?’)

“bu hui shuo Yingyu” (‘nope’)

“Duibuqi wo hui shuo yidianr Hanyu. Wo he wode pengyou yao shenqing Zhongguo qianzheng, women shi Yingguo xuesheng. (’sorry – I only speak a bit of Chinese.  My friend and I want to get a Chinese visa, we’re English students’)

“[crazy spiel I didn't understand] qing deng yixia” (‘…hang on a sec’) and he then began a questioning conversation with a group of Chinese men, scaps of which I made out: “ta shi Yinguo ren, keshi ta hui shuo Hanyu ma?” > … > “ta hui zai Lundun shenqing.” > … > “ta shi xuesheng??”  > … > “name ta yinggai zai Lundun shengqing”

> (‘he’s English, but he speaks Chinese?’ > ‘he can get his visa in London then’ > ‘he’s a student??’ > ‘then he should get it in London’ > )

“Wei”

“Wei”

…back to the phone the chap then let off another spiel leaving me to say “umm, wo ting bu dong” (‘don’t understand’)

“Huh, ting bu dong” – suddenly another chap appears on the line:

“Uh, uh, hello”

“Hello?”

… he blabbers for a bit in broken English – questioning my motives “why do you want to get visa in Kazakhstan?  You can get visa from London”

“But I want to travel around Kazakhstan and then travel to China on the Silk Roads”

“Um, but we don’t provide the visa for other countries”

“keshi women dou shi xuesheng, women xuexi Hanyu.  Women neng bu neng zai Hasakesitan shenqing Zhongguo de qianzheng???” I tried a last ditch effort in Chinese (‘but we’re students studying Chinese.  Can we get a Chinese visa in Kazakhstan or not?’)

…after a bit more mumbling he finally said “… uh bu neng” (‘uh, no’)

It’s a bizarre feeling trying to deal with someone in a language you barely grasp over something as sensitive as a visa.  Especially at 4.30 in the morning!

Very general plan is to start in Kazakhstan – travel around the Silk Roads into China (including the ancient Market City of Kashgar) then on to Inner Mongolia > North East > Eastern Coast > Central Areas > South > Ningbo (to start Uni)

We have no set route – we plan to ‘wing it’ and take whatever way we feel like (plus no guidebooks allowed!)

If anyone has any good tips for us we’re open to suggestions, or even if you happen to be around in China please get in touch if you’d like to meet.

Goodbye England, you strange old place!

One half of me idealizes you as a tourist might, the other derides you as Betjeman did Slough. I don’t care for dull memories of your tired streets and vulgar masses, but I won’t let my view of you slip idly into the romantic or, for that matter, the dystopian and so I’ve created two galleries on flickr: one of fondess and the other of loathing to counter each emotion.

For anyone reading my odd ramblings to my home country, please feel free to view these galleries by clicking on the links above. This was a last minute idea – so really just a spontaneous look at two sides of England with the photos I have available to me (I don’t have many).

Cio-Cio-san’s powerful aria ‘Un bel dì vedremo’ from the tragic tale of the hopeful oriental (sic) woman and the insensitive American.  Emotional performance by, I believe, Maria Callas. Admittedly Orientalist work and scathing of the US, but I love it for the music. I’m looking forward to observing some Occidentalism  from Asia soon though.

Hey everyone!  This is the first post on my travel blog.  Hopefully I’ll keep updating this with loads of crazy tales, pics and movies! Ciao