Bishkek
Month: June 2012
April 26 2012, Osh to Bishkek (Final)
The day before I had had a nasty headwind along with some rain and it was getting cold.
I remember hanging out at one of the gas stations and the attendants were very curious of me. One could speak a bit of English and he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to ride their bike all the way to Bishkek. I was offered vodka as I was leaving, but politely declined explaining I can’t ride my bike if I am drunk.
Across the street from the gas station I had eaten an early dinner, making the record skip a couple of beats as I walked in. I purchased 5 “comcas” on the way out, thinking how the pastry looked so delicious. In my mind it was a nice sweet treat but it’s just a lamb filled pocket.
On the evening of the 25th I camped at the base of the last pass. It was a pleasant and quite place over the hill. I remember looking out my tent after dark and I could see dozens of lights coming up and down…it reminded me of a twinkling Christmas tree.
I wake up a bit later than I had anticipated yet I’m packed and on the road by 10…and when I say late, I mean about 3 hours.
Refreshments for sale.
What we have here are bottles of fermented horse milk, perhaps some yogurts, and these hard balls of sour cheese.
With 2 short breaks I make it up the pass in about 4 hours. A very big surprise to me.
I received a lot of support and encouragement from all the truck drivers up the pass. Even a few waving me to truck surf…which I have still yet to do.
There is a tunnel at the pass, which I was aware of.
I have to wait about 10 minutes as there are 3 herdsmen and 3 dozen horses coming through the tunnel. As I follow the last truck in, a man begins screaming, “Gas Gas Gas”.
Assuming that he is referencing the fumes, I kind of give him a look and expression of having no choice. Then I disappear into the tunnel.
Going slow, as it’s barely enough room for two lanes of traffic…it may be one of the worst pot holed roads I’ve cycled. It’s wet, dark, and dank…and a couple kilometers long. Tunnels are not my favorite but I’m always able to come through. (What about this “Tunnel of Death” into Tajikistan?!)
When I finally exit I have another man wave me over and comes over to me and expresses that I can’t cycle on because of my head condition.
So I do my tunnel test…I shake my head left and right a few times.
Whooooooooooooo, yep, I’m high!
It’s beginning to sprinkle on the other side so after a 15 minute rest I bundle up and begin descending.
The headwind is pretty bad which keeps me from going at top speeds.
At one point I pass an adorable Russian truck driver. He must of been in his early twenties, blonde hair and blue eyes…dressed like a my punk rock friends from Richmond. He’s so adorable…and maybe it’s been too long in Asia…I can’t bare to look at him and can feel myself blushing as I rush by him…with him giving me a big smile and waving at me.
Most of the descent is through the mountains and with the rain trying to arrive…I make an attempt to arrive in Bishkek.
I do 140+km to arrive in Bishkek in the early evening.
So, dear readers, I have now gotten you to Bishkek where my next entries will be Kazakhstan. As I’m currently in Uzbekistan headed for Tajikistan.
Bukhara Night Riding
Night riding through Bukhara with Chris of:
http://www.allschoolproject.ch
and Medina, a local painter here in Uzbekistan.
Look at this Old Maid
It’s been awhile since I’ve treated you with one of my rants…so here we go.
So, I usually lie about my age. Especially in Central Asia where people marry younger and begin having their dozen children at a much younger age than in China.
I’m 26. Sometimes I’m honest, it really depends on who I’m speaking with. I’m a 26 year old English teacher.
But, when the passport is exposed…well…that’s when shit breaks loose.
I’ve been warned of the police in Uzbekistan but haven’t had anything more than friendliness, pats on the back, and “are you married”/”where’s your friend?”/etc…but the first question usually is…”Do you have a baby?”
I always laugh and make body language that I can’t ride a bike being pregnant. And where am I going to put my baby? Or, in Central Asia, my BABIES?!
Having a friend and having a baby are both very sensitive topics for me right now…and well, it’s ALWAYS DISCUSSED.
NO! I HAVE NO FRIENDS!!! I’m alone…what’s the big effin deal?! Get over it.
Why is it a sensitive topic?
Well, shit…maybe I would enjoy company but I don’t have it. At nearly 22,000km…I’m growing weary of my thoughts and entertainment. I wonder what I was thinking about 2 years ago at 2000km. Hmmmm, I’ll have to go figure that one out. I was probably trying to figure out what the hell I was doing on a bike in the middle of China with no idea what the hell I was doing.
NO! I HAVE NO BABIES!!! I don’t want babies, I don’t need babies…I’m an old maid. Get over it.
Why is this a sensitive topic?
Because I’m GAWD DAMN TIRED OF IT!!! Get off my 33 year old, free livin’, life lovin’, shit stirrin’ ass, already! I’m tired of it. Society everywhere wants women to settle down and birth. Little girls are given dolls to play with so we can be good mommies. Social conditioning?
Maybe this is a reason for all the mental health issues, such as depression. People have let society convince them that have to have kids, but somewhere in their soul, it wasn’t right for them. But they didn’t realize they had a choice to choose.
I love kids, don’t get me wrong. But I’m allowed to choose what kind of life I want and I choose to be a selfish old maid. You chose to have kids, I’ve chosen not to.
Yeah, times a tickin’ and if I don’t get on it (um, literally speaking I suppose) I guess everything will shrivel up and die.
People give me weird looks when I respond with, “There is always adoption.”
Before I get a shit storm of emails about how I offend you or whatever you want to say. Let me first state, very frankly…that I have medical issues dealing with my reproductive organs. I don’t even know if I can have kids. So why set myself up for disappointment?
Also, I just don’t have the money to support another life. I live on $2/day…a kid is going to cost a lot more than that.
Who’s going to take care of me when I’m old? Well, thanks for asking…Japan’s robot technology is just for this reason. They have a growing problem of not enough people to take care of the elderly. So, instead of paying for a college tuition, I’ll buy my own personal robot.
So at the Bridge games my friends can say, “I have 10 grandchildren.”
“I have a robot.”
Back to the story at hand…
So, the last police checkpoint as I’m headed into Bukhara.
I’m waved over and asked to see my Passport.
“Excuse me madame, passport? Where are you from?”
“America.”
“Ohhhh USA?!” (Not a lot of Americans visit this part of the world…tons of Europeans though)
As he examines my passport he shouts to the other guard at the booth about how I am American. He walks over.
“Friend?” Number 2 hand sign.
“No.” Number 1 hand sign.
Body language of shrugging shoulders with a “why” expression?
“No friends” – spoken in Russian.
Then I watch the first one point to my birth year on my passport, the others eyes follow his finger. They both look up at me.
“Baby?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Tourist, no baby.” – spoken in Russian
Then they all take turns giving me hand signals of how many children they each have. It’s a whole production. Well, congratu-fuckin-lations. Can I go now?
“Husband?”
“Yes, in America.”
Body language and a few word of why he isn’t here.
“No time.”
Okay, enough with the interview Coppers, let me get on with this already. Why…oh why…do you spend my time asking me these questions?
—-
Uzbekistan, near Aydar Lake, close to 43 degrees Celsius, and just hitting 21,000km. Where would I put my baby?
Maybe in here?
April 25 2012 Osh to Bishkek (part vii)
I hadn’t eaten any breakfast this day…and after pushing my bike up this steep pass, the last 3 km…I had to stop and cook something. A little macaroni and TVP.
View from where I came from, at the top of the pass.
Ahead.
The descent…
…how was your ride to work?
April 24 2012 Osh to Bishkek (part vi)
Another awesome camp…great sleep, feeling awesome.
I take a half day, with doing laundry and washing myself next to the river. The water is ice cold so I would boil some water or let it sit in the sun for awhile.
Then I begin the ascent to the first pass.
Honey.
I distinctly remember this route of Honey too. About a kilometer up, there were two dogs neck deep in a thawing horse. I figured they were too occupied to bother me…but of course within a few meters of passing they’ve given up their taste for frosty horse for a much better looking meal.
I’ve had enough. I get off my bike, throw it down and starting running at them barking. Top of my lungs, screaming and barking. It got rid of them.
77% of an incline?! I must be a complete beast!
View looking South before setting up camp. It has gotten a bit chilly at this point.
April 23 2012 Osh to Bishkek (part v)
Enough procrastinating. I’m in Uzbekistan and it’s time to catch you up with me. Poo poo on the K’stans…Uzbek is AMAZING.
April 23 from Osh to Bishkek
Somedays, not a lot happens.
Uzbeki beki Awsome
Arrived.
I’m still just lil’ ol’ me.
65km East of Almaty, Kazakhstan
I was talking to one of my penpals today, Eddie. No, not the infamous Ed who used to leave comments here, by the way, where the hell did he go?
Anyways. Eddie and I have become pals via the interwebs. We both have been expats and cycled our lunatic selves around Asia, including Tibet.
So, yes, back to the story.
We are talking about something, I believe dealing with the opposite sex, and a fear of talking to guys. Eddie insinuates like I don’t have any problems and my ego is beyond healthy.
Brakes!
No, let me state it’s far from the truth.
Example. I went to a dinner party here in Almaty with my host. I had a half dozen people surrounding me, asking me questions, telling me how impressed they were. I could feel my face turning red, hot, and you should of seen my arm pit stains from sweating. Christ, I was so scared of dropping my wine glass from the wet hands.
So, as you can see…I still get terribly nervous when there is a lot of attention on me. Especially focused attention.
Example. I get bummed when people don’t return my emails. It’s my only contact with the real world. If you are one of people I write to…well, there is a reason I write to you. Maybe I admire you, or think you are cute, or just an all around awesome dude, or think you are fun to shoot the shit with.
I never started this tour to prove or show anything to anyone. It was strictly for me. For my career. For photography. To have people say some of the things they do, and the fan mail. Well, it’s amazing…it feels good…but at the end of the day…I am still just a small town American girl.
Insecurities. Hell, of course. And I get to face them head on everyday and think about them until I knock out in my sleep.
Wondering if my male counterpart exists. If anyone can love me, all my flaws and imperfections included. If I am love’able…maybe I’m too much of a risk for anyone to want to involve themselves with. Am I too difficult, as I was nicknamed “Princess Impossible” nearly 10 years ago. If I’m a good daughter, a good friend. Questioning my intelligence or things I should say or do instead. If I’m sane…or emotionally stable. Will I ever be financially stable? How my photographs compare to those I admire…will I ever be where I want to be in my career. Damn it, am I good enough?
Example. I get lonely.
Example. All I want right now is a hug. Not too much to ask for, right? And a hug NOT from some random Kazakh sex pest.
Example. I fall asleep at night worrying over my future.
My ego has gotten bigger in the sense that I know I can take care of myself. That I can get myself out of life threatening situations. I can solve problems quickly and efficiently. But, I do have the same issues, personally, as every single one of you.
Going to give a ride over the Assey Plateau…one more try. Goodnight.