The 'Stans - Bishkek to Almaty (20 August 2019)

I found the Almaty marshrutka far quicker than the Karakol marshrutka ordeal and prepared myself for the long journey ahead. 

Another morning, another journey to Bishkek bus station. This time with a couple of Dutch backpacker in tow. They jumped in my cab and we discussed our plans for the day. They were heading to Karakol, I was heading to Kazakshtan. I gave as many times as I could from my very brief, short spell in Karakol.

Not my image, but I had to include it. These are the marshrutkas in Central Asia. All white Mercedes vans with the locations written in Cyrillic. Two reasons why it can be hard to locate the van you need. 

After not too long we arrive at the Kyrgyz - Kazakh border. The van stops and everyone starts lumbering out of the van. We walk along the narrow pavement into the Kygyz side of the border. There are a number of rows to queue in, but before the guard rails its a bundle of Central Asian vying for space. 

A woman tried to walk through the crowds and a large shouting match begins in front of me. I wouldn't want to mess with the lady that called her out. This is all reminiscent of the Uzbek - Tajik border.

After I get my passport stamped on the Kyrgyz side, I walk to the Kazakh side and everything is much calmer and spacious. There are no issues and groups congregate outside in the petrol station, all waiting for their vans to clear customs.

Kazakhstan already feels different. Much more European and clearly far more affluent. Though I am judging this from only the petrol station forecourt I am currently standing in. The van arrives and we jump on heading to Almaty. The journey to Almaty is uneventful, travelling across motorways and vast open steppes. 

We finally arrive in Almaty, and unbeknown to me, where everything would start to go wrong. At this point I am starving and Maps.Me shows a burger king a one kilometer walk from the bus station. This is ideal. I can have my first western food for nearly four weeks and I can order a Yandex for the 7km journey to my hostel.

I make the walk to Burger King in the 40 degree afternoon heat, with my heavy rucksack on for good measure. I make it to Burger King, get fed and attempt to use the Wi-Fi - without Wi-Fi I have no Yandex to get me home. Alas, you need a Kazakh number to log into the Wi-Fi. Maps.Me (offline map remember), tells me that there is a shopping mall another 700 metres from the Burger King. Perfect. Every mall has Wi-Fi or at least a computer to use.

Once in the mall I spot a Gloria Jeans coffee shop. I check the open networks and there it is, Gloria Jeans Wi-Fi. I make my order and ask for the code, I'm sweating buckets now and probably bright pink too, the Kazakh barrister tole me that it was for employees only. I can't charm her into letting me use it, but she does suggest a couple of other places to try.

At this point, I turn my phone off and back on again. Something that I hadn't done for months probably. Disaster. The phone doesn't turn back on. It's totally and utterly dead. I take out my iPad, prior to leaving the UK I also downloaded Maps.Me onto it. Disaster again. I hadn't downloaded the Kazakh map so it was useless.

My situation was as follows: no phone, no wi-fi, no address for my hostel, no way of contacting the hostel and no idea of even the rough location of the hostel.

After trying various shops for Wi-Fi and having no luck. I head back to the bus station. I remembered someone offering a taxi when I disembarked the bus. So I walk the nearly 2km back to the bus station in the 40 degree heat and ask around for a taxi as the bus station. I'm almost totally ignored and someones just points to the road.

In Kazakhstan there are no official taxis. If you want a ride you stand by the side of the road, wait for a local to pull over and negotiate a ride if you happen to be going the same way. I stood at the road and stopped a couple of cars and uttered 'Almaty Backpackers'. Of course no one had a clue what I was saying or where this hostel was. It would be like someone stopping a random car in London and saying 'London backpackers'. I gave up on this idea and walked.

I just walked away from the bus station and into what looked like more of a city centre. Almaty is a huge city. Along the way I stop at every bar, restaurant and everything in between asking for Wi-Fi. There is a real lack of Wi-Fi in Almaty. What should have been the easiest and most European city to navigate was fast turning into a nightmate.

I walked alongside a park for a while and saw a bench. I looked around and thought to myself, 'I could sleep here'. That was plan B, but luckily it was still only 3 or 4pm which meant I still had a good few hours before desperation kicked in. My next plan was just to find any hotel and stay there. But there were no hotels at all.

I was on double figures of cafes and restaurants that I had entered. I saw another called 'Cappuccino'. I enjoy a cappuccino, so why not give it a try. I walked in, dumped my bag and asked for Wi-Fi. 'Da', or 'yes' in Russian. I didn't get my hopes up. The waiter logged me in, bought me a 2 litre bottle of water and a coffee. Success. Possibly the fastest Wi-Fi I've had throughout the 'Stans.

I log onto Yandex and try to order a cab. Disaster yet again. You need a phone number, any phone number, to order a taxi. At this point the waiter was helping me to translate the Russian Yandex site and gallantly offered to order me a Yandex using his app. What a hero.

The taxi arrived and off we went. The Yandex driver happened to be a lecturer at Almaty University. It was closed for the summer break so he was making a bit of extra money on the side. He spoke great English. We drove for 20 minutes, chatting about Kazakhstan, until he told me we were at the destination. We weren't.

At this point, close to giving up. My luck finally turned. The driver cancelled the trip and promised to get me to my location. He googled the hostel, found the actual address and off we set. The driver gave me lots of tips on Almaty and even gave me his number if I needed anything during my stay. This was the famous Central Asian hospitality that I had heard about.

I had finally made it to the hostel. I was delighted, yet also majorly annoyed, tired, dehydrated and hungry. 

To make matter worse the hostel was pretty sub-standard. It was a house, divided up into rooms. They had tried to run with the homely feel, but it felt more dumpy and just a little bit weird. In my room were two Kazakh kids (probably early 20's) who had been living in the hostel for a year whilst working in Almaty. They were nice enough, but not the vibe I had been looking for. And there was only one shower for over 10 people.

Not in the mood to venture too far away from the hostel after the ordeal of getting here, I managed to find a food market and took down two shwarmas. Finally I was in Almaty.

The 'Stans - Karakol to Bishkek (19 August 2019)

Today was a day of travel. I set out to Karakol bus station and found a seat in a Marshrutka to Bishkek. This bus seemed to take forever, around 6 hours in total.

Arriving back into Bishkek I had that warm feeling of returning somewhere that you know. No nasty surprises, no caution of being ripped off. Just stepping out into the fine city of Bishkek, walking like a local. Something you take for granted when you've been on the road for many weeks.

I walked back up to the Freelander Hostel, checked in for my final night in Bishkek in preparation for tomorrow's journey to Almaty, Kazakhstan.

The 'Stans - Bishkek to Karakol (17 August 2019)

Today was a day filled with travel, venturing from Bishkek to Karakol, a town near Issyk-Kul offering all manner of outdoor pursuits.

I took a cab to the Bishkek bus station and attempted to locate the marshrutka going to Karakol. I went to the ticket office and was motioned to the outside of the building, where there were dozens of marshrutkas. I walked around shouting Karakol, and would be pointed in one direction and then back in the other direction. After about 20 minutes, I found the bus.

I had timed this perfectly, only 3 seats remained. With marshrutkas, the bus will always wait until it is full. If you're the first person on board, you're guaranteed a long wait. I found a seat with ample leg room and made camp for the six hour journey to Karakol. The bus was full of local Kyrgyz people, I was the only traveller.

It was only a matter of minutes until the kid next to me had fallen asleep and started using my shoulder as a pillow. I gave him a gentle shoulder in the skull to wake him up, he looked annoyed. We repeated this game for a few cycles until he turned the other way.

Important contextual point for later; I had left my big bag in Bishkek as I would be travelling back the same way. Therefore, I had just the shorts i was wearing and a couple of t shirts - in the 40 degree Bishkek weather, you need little else.

After many hours driving along side Issyk-Kul, the second highest lake in the world behind Lake Titicaca (I've also been there!), passing settlement after settlement of abandoned Soviet holidays camps, we finally pulled into Karakol. Some six hours later. The weather had been getting greyer and wetter the closer we got.

I jumped out of the bus and instantly realised that I had made a grave mistake. It was freezing.

But that didn't matter too much, I would just head to the hostel and consider my options. Oh. The hostel was less of a hostel and was in fact scattered yurts in the open. The common area was akin to a garage, with no protection from the elements. I was cold and wet and had no way of heating up.

In urgent need to heating up, I head to a cafe called Lighthouse Coffee and Tea, and it was sublime. Warm and Dry. The food was limited so I ordered an extra hot Ramen. I'm not a huge fan of Ramen, but this was a game changer.

After warming up, I found out that the Karakol market was open until 17:00. It was currently 16:45, so I made a mad dash in the hope of finding warmer clothing. Nearly every store was closed apart from one Kyrgyz men's fashion stall. I was in no position to barter and must have looked desperate. I ended up buying a grey, plastic feel, tracksuit which was apparently an Adidas x Supreme special.

It was probably the best £20 I had ever spent. I was now warm and water proof. As it has been such an ordeal, I head to the nearest pub and have a well deserved pint on a table with a German couple. We didn't speak much, but they could tellI earned that beer.

I headed back the garage at the hostel to survey my yurt for the night. As a night cap, I met up with the Belgian chap whom I shared a five day car journey with. We discussed our different routes post-Tajik and agreed to meet up in Almaty, Kazakshtan.

The 'Stans - Bishkek (16 August 2019)

The Freelander Hostel was super modern and comfortable. Very highly recommended if you spend some time in Bishkek. For today the plan was to explore Bishkek and see what the city had to offer and what Soviet gems I could unearth.

The first stop on my walking tour of Bishkek was Ala-Too Square, a square built in 1984 to celebrate the 60th anniversary of the Kyrgyz Soviet Socialist Republic.

I waited in the square for probably a bit too long, all to see the changing of the guard and their goose stepping:

Pretty cool site for any history nerds out there.

Bishkek felt like the most Soviet/Russian city that I had been to so far. Dushanbe and Ashgabat felt more Asian and grand, Bishkek felt like it was once grand...about 30 years ago. But it retained a quaint charm. Where else can you see a MIG fighter propped up between a row shops?

I managed to find an amazing shawarma take out in the middle of Bishkek and made a note to come back in the evening for dinner too. It was that good.

As I walked around the city, I came across more and more interesting Soviet architecture.

Later that evening, I went to the nearby park and worked out on the bars. It seemed to be the thing to do, many young Kyrgyz men also had the same idea. Work out complete, I walked back to the shawarma place but managed to miss it by a large proximity, but I was determined to get shawarma and the walk took well over an hour. As a result I bought two kebabs and took a taxi home.

Even though the country may feel like a million miles away what I would call home, people are generally similar wherever you go:

And an even bigger shock was the prevalence of Morrison's carrier bags. In Bishkek they were the go-to carrier bag for all tiny shacks and markets. Bizarre.

The 'Stans - Osh to Bishkek (15 August 2019)

I only have one thing to do today. Get the plane to Bishkek at 20:35, which left me with the whole day to chill, eat and do some planning for Bishkek and beyond.

The only photo I have from the entire day is a cup of coffee. Which goes to show how lazy today was.

It reached late afternoon so I packed up and asked the hostel to call me a taxi. The pregnant receptionist warned me to not pay a Som over than the price she was quoted. Even after I jumped into the taxi, the receptionist reminded/shouted at the taxi driver to not overcharge me.

I assumed the worst and was ready for a fight at the other end, but the taxi driver was docile and didn't attempt to overcharge.

I landed in Bishkek Airport at around 10pm and again, it was my least favourite travelling chore - dodge the taxi drivers. I'd read about Bishkek airport being notorious for aggressive taxi touts. As soon as I walked through arrivals I was greeted by a short Kyrgyz taxi driver who refused to leave me alone and even followed me as I walked as far away from arrivals as possible, he got bored after an extended period of time and scuttled back to his prime touting position.

At this point I decided to head out of the airport at the departures entrance, now totally deserted. One cab had started pulling a way but stopped. The driver jumped out, started shouting and motioning me in. There was already another chap in the front seat of this taxi - it screamed kidnapping and extortion attempt, but it seems preferable to giving the other taxi tout my money, so i jumped in.

I showed the address on my phone of where I needed to go and hoped for the best. The two Kyrgyz men chatted in the front (hopefully not about how they were going to rob me), but eventually we reached the hostel, or nearby the hostel, and I jumped out as the road ahead was pedestrianised.

The walk to this hostel is probably the most discomforting I have ever done. A pitch black country road, strewn with trash, steam coming out of pipes attached to the building on the right and a railway line to the left for good measure. I could see phone screen lights in the pitch black distance and hurriedly walked up this path in the hope it would lead me to my hostel.

To my shock, this was actually the correct road and I was in front of my hostel. I rang the bell and waited. And waited. Rang the bell some more and then waited some more. As I was contemplating jumping the 8ft gate, someone kindly buzzed me in.

On first impressions this hostel looked legit, the first 'hostel' hostel that I had stayed in, as opposed to a home-stay or a cheap hotel. I checked in and hit the hay.