All Going Pear-Shaped

It was about time something went wrong and in China our extended run of good luck finally gave out. I should have read the omen better when England lost the first Test while we were still in Bishkek, forcing Graeme and I to stand up in front of the whole new group at breakfast to sing Waltzing Matilda. We even conspired to lose the match early enough for Ron, our Aussie friend who won the said bet, to still be around to enjoy the show. All the same, it was sad to wave him and others off after a lot of fun together over the past couple of months. Bishkek was also where I found out I can't go to Iran in the autumn due to visa problems, a genuine blow.

Our journey into China was a gruelling 13 hour drive across a largely desolate mountain landscape with nothing but marmots to keep us company. It's quite a squeeze on Tonka these days with 25 of us aboard plus guides, though thankfully it's shaping up to be a great new group. At the final stage of the Chinese border (it's about 100km across with five checkpoints) we had to abandon Tonka which was impounded awaiting higher authority to proceed. Three days later it's still there with no hope of seeing it until at least Thursday (today is Saturday). In China, we have discovered to our cost, nobody can take an independent decision without deferring to the boss, which isn't great news when he's on holiday. Leaving Riki at the border, the rest of us rocked into Kashgar gone 11pm to be greeted incongriously by a band of dancing girls on the steps of the hotel and a team of receptionists who clapped us into the building.

The hotel is at least splendid and as the former Russion consulate played a key role in 'The Great Game'. This was a sort of proto cold war played out in the late 19th century between Britain and Russia; Britain ever fearful that Russian expansionism in Central Asia would lead them to the borders of British India and perhaps beyond, and the Russians more or less fearing the British would beat them to bagging the few remaining bits they hadn't conquered yet. As the westernmost outpost of a moribund Chinese Empire, Kashgar became a key outpost and listening station for both countries and a veritable hotbed of spies. It was also a base for many of the great expeditions to uncover the lost cities of the ancient Silk Road overwhelmed by the encroaching sands of the Taklamakan Dessert - the archaeological plunderings of Sir Aurel Stein and others that fill the rooms of the British Museum all came by this way.

Just as soon as we'd arrived in Kashgar we were off again (now in a coach) southwards down the Karakorum Highway towards Pakistan. This must be one of the most spectacular roads on earth taking you through and over the Pamir Mountains at over 4000m at our highest pass, with immense snow and glacier encrusted mountains either side rising to over 7500m. It was astonishingly beautiful in perfect sunshine with the clouds clearing off the peaks as we passed beneath. Unfortunately, the road itself was in appalling condition with frequent washed out sections and detours, so with a puncture to boot, a seven hour journey to Taxkorgan turned into a 12 hour epic. The destination, the Tajik centre in China, was anticlimatic, and several people were suffering the next day through sickness that might have been related to altitude (though it has to be admitted that the local beer was also rather stong). The return journey was a nightmare which turned into a farce when our guide refused to countenance a return direct to Kasgar rather than a stop-over at a total rip-off yurt encampment beside a famous mountain lake. Again inability to be flexible without reference to superiors was to blame, together with a typical unwillingness in this part of the World for local men to be able to deal with the concept of a woman leading our trip. Needless to say, Claire won out in the end after some lengthy negotiation and we found ourselves back in Kashgar thank goodness.

Interestingly, the transition to China has been much less abrupt in terms of the look and feel of places, than it has been in terms of rules and regulations. The people here are predominantly Uighar, with some Uzbek and Tajik, though an economic upturn in Kashgar is drawing ever more Han Chinese westwards. The look of the city and dress of the people is very Central Asian, though of course you notice the presence of Chinese Characters on buildings everywhere, and there is a distinctly Chinese flavour to much of the cuisine. Ordering food can be problemmatic since invariably only about 70% of what was ordered ever turns up, and what does arrive tends to arrive all at once regardless of any structuring of the menu in terms of courses. All rather amusing really. One thing I do like is the traffic lights and pedestrian crossings here which count down in seconds until you are allowed to proceed or cross. Surprisingly, people don't seem to give into the temptation to sit on the clutch as the green light beckons, especially not the donkey drawn carts!

Tomorrow we visit the famous Sunday market reckoned to be the best in Central Asia, and then onwards by coach along the northern Silk Road skirting the Taklamakan towards Turpan, the second lowest place on Earth at -156m and the hottest in China. Interested to see what goes tits up next.

Kyrgyzstan

I've just got into Bishkek, capital of Kyrgyzstan, after a fortnight roaming beautiful and wild mountainscapes. My first destination on arrival was a camping shop (they're not easy to find) to upgrade my cold weather gear. Having been camping above 3000 metres in the past week, I've realised I'm not going to be warm enough with what I've currently got in the bag at 4000-5000 metres in the Himalaya.

Kyrgyzstan has been fabulous, the most beautiful country imaginable, and a welcome relief from the heat of Uzbekistan. We've really got into the sticks and I especially enjoyed our stay in yurt tents at Song-kul Lake which at 3100 metres is entirely ringed with mountains. It snowed overnight while we were there, so we woke to find snow on the mountains and peppering the camp, though it cleared sufficiently for a warming mountain walk in the morning. The locals also put on a game of headless goat polo for us which is popular pastime in these parts. It's a bit of a grizzly spectacle at first, though you soon get into it. However, I wasn't quite so keen to play tug of war with the carcass afterwards as one of our hosts suggested to me.

The Kyrgyz people are immensely friendly and believe strongly in the importance of hospitality to strangers. This can be problemmatic if you really don't feel in the mood for another glass of fermented horse's milk, though the opportunity to see inside yurts and eat with local families is a wonderful one to take. Fortunately, Russian beer is also a popular beverage in this neck of the woods, and indeed the group have grown so fond of 'Baltika 3' beer that the Icelandic girls got us to make a series of comedy video commercials for the beer one night. I've also been passing the time by writing a play of the trip, which is to be premiered this evening in our hotel car park as a farewell to good friends who leave us in Bishkek.

My Central Asian hat collection continues to grow. The material of choice in Kyrgyzstan is felt, and the national hat is a very odd looking thing which looks a little like a Robin Hood hat that has metaphorised into a pillar box. It's white in colour with a black trim and embroidery. Naturally I've bought one, along with a couple of slightly less ostentatious numbers which probably look equally as silly on me. I think I might celebrate my eventual return to England with a Central Asian hat party.

Something particularly appealing about Kyrgyzstan is the contrast between the snow-capped high mountains and the beach atmosphere of the massive Issyk-kul Lake. The day after walking in snow at Song-Kul I was sunbathing on the lakeside at Issyk-Kul with the mountains offering an eye-catching backdrop. Quite strange, though nothing compared to the strangeness of my latest clubbing experience at an ex-soviet beach chalet resort on the north side of the lake. Having gone through a military checkpoint to get into the place, we found ourselves dancing in the open air to dodgy Russian disco tunes with a bunch of 12 year olds ...until their parents turned up promply at midnight to take them all home. Hoping for better things in Bishkek tonight!

Strange Days in Tashkent

If you want to take a taxi in Tashkent you stand at the side of the road and count to 10. Seemingly, everyone is a part-time taxi driver and we've had a fair bit of fun speeding around the city in the back seat of all sorts of vehicles (provided they're Ladas or Daewoos) chattering away in broken English with the locals. There is also a pretty impressive Soviet era underground system complete with monolithic murals and back-up gas lamp lighting installed in readiness for the day the US nukes came raining down.

The city is a grid of wide leafy boulevards lined with grim concrete lowrise buildings. It all seems a little empty of people and traffic, and relatively untouched by Western commercial enterprises - you can get anything you want provided you want the Russian version. This can be quite entertaining at times - last night fellow Englishman Graeme ordered a plate of egg and chips as a bit of light relief from the kebabs and was served a plate of 9 fried eggs with nothing on the side. Handy for soaking up the vodka but not quite what he'd expected. The only thing you don't seem to be able to get easily is the local currency for some reason. On the odd occasions you can, it comes in such small domination notes that when you change a $20 note you walk away with a wodge too thick to stuff in your pocket.

Had quite an eye opener last night when after a few beers the group decided to head downtown to a Russian strip club recommended in the guidebook as 'to be seen to be believed'. It was fairly hilarious to say the least and I've now developed a whole new respect for the athleticism required in professional pole dancing. Definitely a safety in numbers sort of an evening.

About to head off into the mountain wilderness of Kyrgzstan for a welcome break from the heat and culture. It may be some time before I'll have the chance to post again.

Samarkand

Samarkand is one of those mysterious and fabled cities that encapsulates the pure romance of travel in its very name, let alone in its architectural treasures. For me it was perhaps the place I was most excited to visit at the outset, and part of the purpose of my going AWOL from the truck was to buy some extra time in the city.

These days Samarkand is a small and largely modern city, but throughout it are dotted the great buildings which have made it famous, centred on the astonishing Registan Square which must rate as one of the most beautiful public spaces in the World. In fact much of what you see is the result of intensive and at times rather dodgy soviet restoration work, which has brought many crumbling buildings back to life but has perhaps stolen some of the romance of the place at the same time. Nonetheless, when I bribed a guard to let me climb a minaret on one of the Registan medressahs at sunset to view the buildings in perfect evening light, the sight was really something to see.

My favourite visit was to a narrow street of tombs from the 14th and 15th centuries, all madly decorated in colbalt blue tiles and domes with intricate geometric patterns and Koranic script. The jumbled nature of the place and the relative lack of restoration gives it an especially appealing atmosphere which the showier sites perhaps lack.

This post finds me in Tashkent - something of a culture shock after what has come before. It's a big ugly Soviet era city with few sights of note, though I did manage to talk my way into a mosque that houses the Umar Koran, an enormous tome which is reputedly the original Koran written in his own hand in the mid-7th century by Umar, the third Caliph after the Prophet Mohammed. The librarian pointed out to me the blood of Umar stained on the book - a relic from when he was hacked to death while reading it. There don't seem to have been a lot of happy endings in Islamic history.

We heard last night about the bombings in London which came as a shock to one and all and brought a sombre atmosphere to the group - not a common occurance. It is strange to be heading into the Fergana Valley in the next couple of days, the area of Uzbekistan which has been the focus of religious unrest, and yet still feel safer here than at home.

Off Piste in Uzbekistan

Cabin fever or curiosity? Perhaps a little of both. Anyway, after an interesting night staying in a yurt tent emcampment near Lake Aydarkol close to the Kazakstan border, I shook off an Uzbek vodka hangover and signed off the trip for a day or so. The purpose was to to make a flying visit with a couple of others to the town of Shakrisabz (not on our itinerary), a small place nestling on a plain beneath the snowcapped Pamir Mountains of Tajikistan, which was the birthplace of Tamerlane.

Tamerlane was perhaps the most successful warrier king of the later middle ages and was a premier league player when it came to a bit of mass murder along the way. His calling card in the countless cities of Asia he conquered was building a pyramid of skulls of his defeated enemies, and his victims have been estimated by some to have been in the tens of millions. Yet every meglomaniac has a few good qualities, and in Tamerlane's case he and his immediate successors (particulary his cultured grandson Uleg Beg) used the vast wealth they accumulated to endow the cities of Uzbekistan with some of the most breathtaking architecture on Earth. If you like a bit of blue tile work you're pretty much in Heaven in this neck of the woods.

Shakrisabz was intended to be the jewel in the crown, though it was quickly surpassed by Samarkand as the Timurid capital. Still it has it's share of lovely buildings that are less restored than the spectacles that greet the tourists in Samarkand. Interestingly, Tamerlane has been reinvented as the great hero of modern Uzbekistan and his bithplace is now adorned with a giant statue of the great man which appears somewhat bizarrely to be a Mecca for Uzbek wedding parties getting their photos done. I'm not sure I've mentioned before that it is highly fashionable in this country and also in Turkmenistan for women to get their teeth fixed with gold fronts - a sort of Turkic bling if you like. So my memory of Shakrisabz will forever be the golden smiles of the newly-weds cosying up to the image of a genocidal meglomaniac in front of his beautiful ruined palace.

I rejoined the group in Samarkand which is such an astonishing sight to behold that it needs a whole new entry of its own...

Juicy Melons

I'm very excited to have made it to Bukhara, particularly as quite recenty it looked a little unlikely that we'd be able to visit Uzbekistan at all. This city along with Istanbul and Samarkand were the spurs that set me off thinking about my trip so many months ago. It's a place that English travellers have traditionally found it a little tricky to get to - and out of. Yesterday we saw the 'bug pit' in the local gaol where two Victorian adventurers were encarcerated by the Khan of Bukhara for four years before being publicly beheaded in the main square.

Bukhara was one of the great cities of the Silk Road and in the early medieval period a city famed for it's learning and religion - the home of Avicenna, whose work on medicine was the key text for European medical knowledge well into the early modern period. Then along came Genghis Khan in 1220 and obliterated the place, leaving only the Kaylon Minaret standing, reputedly because he was so awed by it's beauty and majesty. Having seen it I can understand his point of view, though these days it is the blue tiled portals and domes of the great mosques and madrassahs constructed in later era that first catch the eye. Ibn Battutah came here well over a century after Ghenghis and reported the city to be still largely ruinous and devoid of the intellectual vigour that had made it famous throughout the Moslem world. However, he thought the melons in Bukhara the finest he had encountered on all his travels, and went to great lengths when in India to procure dried melons from Bukhara that had been carried there by travellers along the Silk Road.

Like Khiva, Bukhara has a the feel of a city geared for tourism but lacking any tourists. I bought an Uzbek shirt from a lady who told me that this was her first sale in two weeks on account of a 'a little trouble we have had in Andijan'. Next week we pass through the Fergana Valley area and will see for ourselves, though so far in Uzbekistan there has been no sign of unrest and very little evidence of a police or army presence.

For a few days I have been afflicted by that great scourge of the traveller - the upset tummy. In a way it's a blessing as I was rapidly tiring of lamb kebabs in any case, though it would have been nice to road test the melons. Still, I seem to be over the worst which is good news as it's a long trudge with a trowel in the desert to find any privacy for decent crap in the sand. Once a day is definitely enough!