27.7.24

Last time we spoke we were about to head by train to Almaty, the former Kazakh capital. We’d booked a 10am train that would roll us through the steppe and into Almaty by 10pm. However, as the train guard stepped off the train he firmly indicated his X-Factor fandom, hitting us with a big cross with both arms. We’re all Alexandra Burke fans here, so no need to argue (we’d booked the cheapest seats and were frankly taking the piss).

Our plan now was to wait until 5pm for the next train to Almaty, booking an entire cabin to take our bikes (4 beds, so the bikes could rest easy). Of course, we still had doubts if the train guard would be Jacob Rees Jobsworth or Laddicus when the train pulled up – but surely, surely an entire cabin would suffice?

After a 5 hours wait in a café, we got ready to embark the train. Sadly, I picked the wrong end of the platform so had to lug the 30kg bike box 500m along the platform (with no offer of help or warning of a lamppost I was about to walk into). As I edged closer to our carriage, I could see Max exasperated by Lord Jobsworth the 4th denying our entry aboard despite ample space in the cabin. We went about arguing our case, leading to the resident Shymkent terminator being deployed – the station master. She powered toward us with determination, I knew we were in for the old one-two. Indeed, she delivered the knock out no’s, leaving us flailing about the platform like Kevin and Perry.

We were sad. People looked at us like we’d evolved from those sticky aliens you throw on the ceiling. Zero sympathy or help, just anger and judgment. If the option was there, I think we’d of DHL’d ourselves home in our bike boxes. But just before I could seal myself in with my bike frame and pedals, Max pulled us out of the darkness by nipping over to the coach station.

Despite self-describing as a ‘lefty liberal snow-flake’, Max has fight in him. He’d pulled off a double bed sleeper bus order, half the price and no qualms about our bikes. We clambered aboard the carpet lined bus, found our double and hunkered down for the night.

28.7.24 – 2.8.24 Almaty

I won’t plough through every day we spent in Almaty. It’s a 3 day visit for most people, but for us it was 6. We wanted to feel grounded, to enjoy a city without putting pressure on every ticking second. So we did a lot of mundane things; going to the gym, eating supermarket lunches, playing basketball with the locals, watching Deadpool and Wolverine in the cinema. We loved it.

One reoccurring quirk worth mentioning was taxi drivers listing English things, either phrases or people. One driver knew ‘I love you’, ‘I pee’d my pants’ and ‘Princess Diana’, another knew ‘Robbie Williams’ and then played Snoop Dogg and Black Eyed Peas. Im unsure what to do with this information, but glad to offload it on you, the reader.

Other highlights included:

– Medeu/Shymbulak Cableway: If you don’t accidentally go to the Kok Tobe cable car and end up at a children’s amusement park, you’ll ascend 3000ft by a series of cable cars and land yourself at the base of several mountains. Here you can enjoy English summertime temperatures and even a polite hike if you fancy. Once we’d reached the summit of one mountain, we sat for about 40 minutes just enjoying 17°. God bless British summer time.

– 101 Dump Gallery: Gawk at the edge on that. This gaff made me feel as uncool as the time I went to a UAL end of year show with my Portsmouth City Council lanyard on. Great gallery with equally cool cafe space. The shop is stocked with fairly priced prints and great junky gubbins you can rummage through.

– Abilkhan Kasteev State Art Museum: If you like rugs, carpets, tapestries, or textiles, this is the place for you. It makes Carpetright look more like Carpet… It also has some interesting Kazakho-Futurist paintings that offer insight into the Soviet space programme amongst other great paintings.

– Botanical Garden: It isn’t really a botanical garden, but it is home to some very chubby red squirrels. A part of my being felt complete upon seeing the size of red squirrels feet. I implore you to bring along some nuts for these lot.

– Magic Masala : Authentic Indian Restaurant: whilst the far-right unashamedly riot and spout the same old ‘ain’t white, ain’t right’ rhetoric back in England, it was actually Magic Masala that plated up a taste of home. This was probably one of the best curries either of us had ever had, a tasting platter with each component as delicious as the next. It is a testament to Britain’s diverse food scene (and population) that Indian cuisine is what transported us home in that Ratatouille moment.

3.8.24

It was time to leave Kazakhstan and try our luck entering China. As our coach pulled out of Almaty I was a tad nervous for reasons that will remain undisclosed for now. Max I don’t think was too worried about anything, maybe getting his head across the border after being called Matt Damon by a friendly Kazakh on the bus (that’s Leonardo Dicaprio and Matt Damon for Max, and Kevin Keegan for me). But as we exited Kazakhstan and shunted our bike boxes across the Chinese border, all our worries vanished with the enforced seatbelt policy and GTA civilian driving. It felt like home.

With only one hiccup where the coach needed to be pushed by all the men on board to get it fired up (barring us two naturally), we made it to Yining only slightly starved and dehydrated.

That evening we staggered about like extras from 28 Days Later hankering for food. Only one viable option made itself apparent, a group of friends having hotpot that we’d mistaken for a restaurant. Silly, silly us. They welcomed us in with open arms and bowls of tripe, tofu, broth, beef, as well as cups of Chinese Strongbow Dark Fruits. With our inner zombies tamed, we attempted to excuse ourselves, only for the guy who provided the hotpot to show us his precious stone collection and give us 2 polished stones each. Despite being geographers, we are woeful geologists, so stones they will remain.

4.8.24

Feeling a bit Willy Wonkered by the 3 hour time zone change, we managed to get to the train station early to sort our bikes being transported to Beijing. The Chinese rail consignment service is shmepic, seriously, it’s priced well (£54 for two bikes and 21 days of storage at the other end) and arrives in good time. They also rewrap your boxes for you before taking them off your hands.

It’s liberating to not be burdened by the boxes anymore. No more arguing with train guards, bribing bus drivers, or bruising our arms whilst carrying them. Yes, we could’ve cycled them, but as the train crossed from Yining to Urumqi, the barren lands of North-West China assured us we’d made the right decision. Plus the trains are fun; countless guards busy themselves, food trolleys squeeze through the aisles, cleaners mop the floor mid journey – it’s an experience not to be missed.

Disembarking the train in Urumqi, which we assumed was going to be a city the size of Bristol maybe, we were losing our tiny minds at the sheer size of what the Chinese Gov calls a tier two city. Hugh Mungus called, said phwoar.

We dove into our taxi and quickly checked in at our hotel before grubbing down at the nearest restaurant possible. It was a fairly upmarket sushi restaurant. We ordered two bowls of eel, rice and vegetables and some colourful drinks that took our fancy. It was delicious and filling, but it wasn’t over.

Halfway through our meal the waitress showed us a picture of a 3 scoops of ice cream with goggly eyes placed atop what appeared to be a loaf of bread. ‘My boss wants you to have this’. Your boss is the Lisan al Gaib I thought. We mercilessly demolished the blob fish inspired ice-cream, revealing the softest mountain of sweet bread beneath it. Let me put it this way, it was the best thing to happen to bread since it was sliced.

Content with our second night of expert hospitality, we felt everything was on the up so watched an hour of far-right rioting footage. Nout better before bed bed…

5.8.24

Breakfast is something we haven’t figured out in China. We perused the streets looking for something resembling breakfast, which ended up with us eating potato noodles, two bowls of rice, and oily hotpot vegetables. Not what our stomachs ordered, this meant a quick retreat to our hotel and an hour and a half nap.

Awakening for the second time in one day, we decided to explore Urumqi’s parks. The parks are wonderful, especially Peoples Park. Retirees play board games under the rounded tree shade, people dance, sing, and laugh under verandas.

One man I spotted was eating an entire watermelon with his legs akimbo, carefully watching a patch of bog. I was quickly distracted by a chipmunk jumping about around the bog. That’s when Mr Watermelon man signalled to me to follow him, he took me to a fallen over safe beneath a tree where he reached in and pulled out a bag of peanuts. He then started whistling whilst laying them along the rocks before him. Soon enough, more chipmunks arrived. Max believes he was training them to come to his whistle. Magical moment.

The park itself is a harmonious mismatch of planting, rockery, and trees, commanding respect through the thought behind every inch of its parameters. Makes you wonder why the English are so obsessed with uniformity and vast grass commons with little to no variation in biodiversity. Dare I say we’ve got it wrong.

With two parks circumnavigated and one mall escalated, we ate more delicious food and headed back to our hotel to get an early night before our 14 hour train to Xining, where we hope to see Marmots (groundhogs) roaming next to China’s biggest lake…