17.07.24

We last left you in Tbilisi after watching Southgate-ball finally getting taken out back to be shown the alfalfa. Spain the George to our Lenny.

Thankfully, we had a lot of exciting things ahead to distract us from the jeers of some rowdy Spanish fans.

Before that excitement could begin however, we had to tackle a 1am flight to Aktau.

1am flights are never fun. And they’re made even less so after being made to pay £80 each to get our bikes on board. Ludo said this was standard fare, I was probably being naive.

At Tbilisi airport we met two other bike tourists on the way to Kazakhstan. They were hardcore. Heading every mile to Asia by bike, barren 40 degree deserts included.

Ludo and I promptly explained how we’d decided to only cycle bits that we felt would be enjoyable.

Whenever these conversations happen, I can’t help but feel like there is a weird air of semi-judgemental competition. That when we explain our choice, we go down in some people’s estimations. It’s sort of a macho thing, which is weird because cyclists usually project minimum machismo when adorned in Lycra on London’s cycle lanes.

It might just be me reading into nothing but there feels like a divide between bike touring purists and everyone else.

Is it just in my head Ludo?

Oh, 100%. It’s the Reddit dad culture. If you aren’t recycling your bodily fluids on the roadside whilst eating 4 day-old stale bread, you’re not doing it right. If you even look at a hotel you are labelled a credit card tour-ist, a negative term suggesting you might as well be riding a hop-on hop-off tour bus that circles Trafalgar Square repeatedly.

The flight went smoothly. An hour in the air which I slept through all the way.

There was no respite for us yet though.

We then had to get our boxed up bikes to our hotel in Aktau. That eventually translated into being ripped off by two taxi drivers at 4am.

We were shattered beyond compare, so the extortionate price soon left our minds as we flopped onto our beds at the Silk Road hotel.

Remember those other bike tourists? Well they decided to unpack their bikes, reassemble them, head into the airport-adjacent desert in the dark and pitch their tents for the remainder of the night. Insanity.

Why? Why I ask you? Am I just a big softy luvy liberal wokey?

18.07.24 – 19.07.24

We slept in until midday to try and recover, waking up to our first sight of Kazakhstan outside of our window.

It looked dry. And hot. Very, very hot.

We ventured out a few steps to get into our Yandex Go (the ridiculously cheap Uber alternative in Central Asia) and that was enough for us. Straight into the air conditioned Starbucks clone thank you very much!

Aktau is, let’s say, an intriguing place. Situated on the Caspian Sea it is a relatively new town built to service natural resource exploitation. As such, it has an odd blend of industrial areas and vast housing blocks, from Soviet to modern eras, that sprawl out into the desert.

Wide boulevards are lined with some shops and a few places for refreshments but not much else.

When we told locals that we were tourists they looked at us as if we were mad, then told us we were mad and asked why the hell we chose to come to Aktau.

And for the most part, they’re right. There ain’t much going for it. It’s somewhere you’d expect to see Clint Eastwood sneering at through the scope of a rifle from a distance before riding into town to lay down the law.

But it has its charms, mainly the people wouldn’t you say Ludo?

Oh yes. Max is right, nout much to write home about on paper, but as with every non-touristy town, you rely on the people to enchant it.

When we ate a local pub on the first night, we were joined by a very characterful and inquisitive pair. Iskander, who was a former poker player, and Nurzhan, who Iskander referred to as a sort of Godfather figure. They met us with great hospitality and warmth, speaking candidly about politics, family life, the USSR, and English accents (Iskander could say ‘fuck you’ in a perfect Middlesbrough accent). They worried about the British people, asking us ‘where is Churchill?’, which I think meant we are a bit of a joke nowadays – backed up by the following YouTube sketch they showed us.

Despite our nations hilarity, they kindly shared drinks with us, paid for our meal and insisted we contacted them if anything came up whilst in Kazakhstan. Beyond our drinking pals, people across Aktau, including the guy working in a Kazakh version of Curry’s (sometimes you just need to go and play on new phones), were very friendly, curious, and lived seemingly happy lives in what most people would brush off as, well, a ‘bit of a shit hole’. Perhaps it’s the spin doctor I’ve got living in my mind, but as they say, things are what you make of them.

What lay ahead of us from Aktau was a mega train endurance extravaganza that even Michael Palin would look at and think ‘I’d rather sit on the 11.40 South Western Railway service from Cosham to Havant all day and get harassed by the local youths’.

But we were excited.

The train journey across Central Asia was one of our highlights during planning. We loves a sleeper train.

First up was a nine hour train to Beyneu, a town close to the border of Uzbekistan. Thanks to the not great (read: utterly shite) online booking system, we had been forced to detour to Tashkent before getting to Almaty. That meant changing at Beyneu.

We were nervous at Aktau station. We had no idea if we’d be allowed on with our bikes.

As we were standing on the platform, we saw the train guards (about 15 of them) gathering in a mafioso-style meeting. They were almost certainly discussing how best to fleece and humiliate the silly foreigners.

And so they came, surrounding us like a group of Year 11 boys trying to intimidate Year 7s on their first day of school.

First they told us we couldn’t take them on. Then they said we should take the bikes out of the box and disassemble them into their smallest form. Then one of them said $100. Then they started laughing and sending pictures to a WhatsApp group chat. We were at their mercy.

Eventually, the small-in-stature-but-mighty-in-reputation ringleader said we could buy the other bunks in our berth for our bikes. So about another £8 each.

A big sigh of relief and some bike wrangling later, we got to see our cabin.

And it was glorious!

Harry Potter all over the gaff. Ron Weasley was probably stuffing his face with everything from the trolley in the cabin next door.

We were too excited to sleep although I did eventually drift off to the remarkably gentle rocking of the train. Marvellous.

Of course Mr Roboto the anti-sleep magnet was up all night, somehow fending off the effects of two sleeping tablets to remain wide-eyed. Someone study this man. No seriously, he needs help.

20.06.24

By the time we’d arrived in Beyneu the next morning, the train guards had taken a liking to us. Loveable idiots.

After finding a hotel (Nur for anyone wondering) we had to carry our bike boxes all the way in the morning heat which is only slightly less withering than that of midday.

We picked up freshly baked Samsa for breakfast on the way which went down well. Like a Kazakh Cornish Pasty.

Beyneu is a barren place. A Kazakh man on the train said to us semi-mournfully as we pulled in that people in Beyneu have tough lives.

Anybody would if you lived in a town literally in the middle of a desert hours away from any other major settlement.

It’s true. Beyneu is a bleak place in many ways, much more so than Aktau. But the people were again the highlight (except the lady on the front desk of our hotel). Friendly and happy to playfully chuckle at us as we lugged two huge boxes through town.

We must be the first and last people to have done this in Beyneu. A proud legacy.

21.07.24

A day later and it was time to board the train of doom. If this was Raven, we were about to face The Way Of The Warrior.

31 hours. Third class. No aircon. On the top bunk.

The overwhelming emotions were still giddy excitement. Something about sleeping on a train is just epic.

This time the Uzbek train guards were much more open to getting our bikes on board. They just put them in the walkway between two carriages.

Stepping into our carriage we were met immediately with a wall of heat. The sweat taps turned on instantly. And this was at midnight…what would it be like in the blazing sun?!

We found our beds and were welcomed by very friendly and helpful bunkmates who were eager to chat.

Then came a near 3 hour ordeal at the border. At 1am, border guards entered the train, checked every single passport on board, questioned foreigners and made us open our boxes to see inside.

They also took Ludo off the train for further questioning. The locals found this all hilarious of course.

Did you think this was the moment you’d be locked up in an Uzbek prison Ludo?

I was, for the first time, a bit worried. When they plucked me off the train I was flattered, locals smiled as if the camera had panned over to me for my Oscar Nomination. But when Mr Man with a rifle over his shoulder pointed me down the platform littered with crickets, dogs, and dust, I was thinking of only one thing, Midnight Express. Luckily after sitting alone on the platform for 30 minutes, the only other tourists, a pair of German tourists (who’d given up on cycling in Georgia) joined me and we had a laugh about it all. They didn’t ask me any questions, just examined my ear ring from a distance before sending me on my way.

We finally hit the hay at 3.30am.

22.07.24

The following day was spent in various states of discomfort in the searing heat of the train. 24/7 sweatville.

We managed to eat in the dining car for dinner which was unique as an experience but the food was sad. Undercooked rice and mystery meat. The cold Pepsi went down a treat though.

22.07.24

After another night in the Soviet Sauna, we mercifully pulled into Tashkent. Even though it was grim, I’m glad we did it and I enjoyed it mostly.

Any final thoughts on the train Ludo?

Honestly, I’d just avoid getting the train in summer. If you want epic Soviet sleeper train energy, do it in winter, when you can hunker down with a book and a cup of tea as the snow thickens across the steppe. 3rd class sleepers in summer are less Brat, more rat.

Greasy, stinky and tired we called a Yandex Delivery to take our boxes to our hotel. We were delighted to see a Daewoo Damas van turn up.

I’ll let Ludo comment here…

If there ever was a time for Jesus to have a second coming, it was when the Daewoo Damas left the production line. Some of you might know that despite not being able to drive, I have a fascination with smaller cars, namely the Citroen Ami. But when my eyes met the Damas’ bonnet, my life changed. It cannot be wider than my wingspan, or longer than my mums Kia, but it has ridiculous potential to be the everything car. 6 seats, camper conversion, or nifty cargo truck – the choice is yours. It’s tiny. I love it. Say no more.

As with Aktau and Beyneu, we bundled into the hotel room, slapped the AC on, showered and slept.

22.07.24 – 25.07.24

Throughout these last few days, temperatures were pushing 44 degrees.

The heat meant exploring Tashkent was difficult. Being outside for more than 10 minutes becomes genuinely unbearable.

Still, we made the most of it and saw the sights. It wasn’t our favourite city and isn’t somewhere you need to be for any longer than a day or two. Even the famous brutalist Hotel Uzbekistan was a bit of a let down.

The Polytechnic Museum, which showcases the automobile history of the region, was a highlight though. You can learn why the pretty terrible White Chevrolet Lacetti is ubiquitous across Uzbekistan.

25.07.24 – 27.07.24

We were ready to get going after two days in Tashkent which meant heading back into Kazakhstan via Shymkent.

Rather than a 4am train, which would have meant another 3 hours at the border, we thankfully opted to get a taxi for the two hour drive.

This journey went off without a hitch which was a nice change, crossing the border in about an hour with the help of a man and his trolley (who we gladly paid £15).

After two days in Shymkent, we’re ready to get back on a final Kazakh train to Almaty, the capital.

Shymkent is a day jobby, with one hidden gem we wished we’d found earlier. Just away from the central train station is a lovely little stream where you’ll find the locals cooling off. It’s clear as anything and has nice places to sit and read.

That means China is coming into sight on the horizon, something which we are both getting quite giddy about.