International Roadtrip through the Kazakh Steppe and Car Glass Smashed with a Fist

The city of Aktau is basically in a desert. It means that between Aktau and the rest of civilization, there are several hundred kilometers of nothing. Our plan is to cross this nothing with the Land Rover crew we have met at the boat, and to separate in the next town of Beyneu. So we start discovering Kazakhstan together with the Dutch guys and the Swiss girls who also became hitchhikers for now. Also, we come across the first assholes since the beginning of our trip.

Hildi the dead camel

Jimmy and Roger need to do some car maintenance, so we stay a few days in Aktau. Vojta and I spend most of the time in a fastfood with wifi, finishing the Chinese visa paperwork. (Eventually, we send the documents to my boyfriend who will bring it to a Czech agency together with our spare passports. Then we can just pray gods of all possible religions.) Meanwhile, Kasha and Mira do acrobacy on a rooftop of the car on a wooden pallet we stole for fire but decided not to burn. At evenings, we meet up with Johannes the biker who lives in a hotel, and drink beer together on the beach. Our big old green military car with white zebra stripes attracts a lot of attention - people stare and honk at us, and some of them come to talk.

Aktau: a lot of free space

Everything looks large in this town: roads, squares, buildings... It reminds us of how big this country is. So far, Kazakhstan looks fancier than we expected. There are no 30 years old cars like anywhere in Azerbaijan except Baku - most of them are new offroads. Also people look fancy. Houses are totally Sovietic, though. 

And there is one notable thing: sand. It's everywhere. There also is constant wind, so soon the sand is on us and in all our stuff, and we can't get rid of it.

Having a car just for yourself is comfy and you get spoiled very easily (even though there are just two seats and the rest of the crew is squeezed in the sleeping part like sardines in a can). You can carry a lot of water, food and beer, and move fast through the city to find a camping spot on the outskirts. (Except that anywhere you go, there is a lot of sand and wind, and that's pretty much it.)  

At the sea coast

Our drivers take us to a meeting with their Couchsurfing friend. His name is Denis, he is originally American and he happened to come to Aktau with a TV crew - they are making a show about the countryside of Kazakhstan (countryside means pretty much everything except Almaty and Astana). So we end up on TV again, two days after what we thought was the last TV interview in our lives - except that this time, it's Roger who does the speaking. 

Denis lives in Almaty and knows Kazakh as well as Russian. He shares some of his insights about our new temporary home country: "People in Kazakhstan are very hospitable if they know you - that means they push a lot of food on you whether you want it or not - and very rude if you're a stranger. Especially if you look Russian. That's from the Soviet times." He also tells us that Aktau was built for uranium miners during the Cold War. Now, it is used mostly for oil drilling. And in most of the Mangystau region, there is no fresh water whatsoever, so Aktau has a power plant to desalinate sea water. 

Kitsch time on Aktau beach

Denis and his colleagues then take us to the steppe to see the deepest canyon in the country. We meet a German dude with another Land Rover - a new one - and a hitchhiker with a bicycle. So far, Kazakhstan seems to be a hub for travelers. The driver is planning to cross all the way to the Aral sea, something like six hundred kilometers, through the steppe with no roads whatsoever. Denis says he's mad, but the guy is pretty sure about his plan.

We also find a large animal carcass. 

How we met Hildi the camel skull

I know it might be hard to imagine, but a skeleton of a dead animal can be very much fun. ("You guys are sick," Denis says.) We especially like the huge skull, so we take it along and get a new team member: Hildi the dead camel. 

Another advantage of having a car.

A dude who thinks he is the Hulk

The German guys heading to the desert

We slowly start moving towards Beyneu. There is mostly sand. We are all pretty excited about the journey, though. We are listening to a long playlist of good roadtrip music, and the young guys make fun of Vojta's Slavic English and random use of articles. 

The couple of villages we cross are way less fancy than Aktau. And usually it's hard to get water. 

It's pretty easy to buy ice-cream, though. Vojta buys one in every shop we stop at, and the girls start calling him Ice-Cream, or "the Ice-Cream" since the only thing he consistently uses with the definite article are people's names.

The air is getting very hot despite the wind that never stops. It's not possible to open windows at the back of the car, so it feels like traveling in a greenhouse. It's not possible to sit in there much either, so I lie on a pile of backpacks and usually sleep. 

We stop at a small cave in a rock near the road. Some people are having a picnic nearby.

"It's something else than just desert, so we want to see it," the Dutch guys say. "And there are people, so it must be something important."

It actually is important because it seems to be the only place with some shade in the whole region. Some of the people are resting in the cave. They make some room for us and then invite us (in Russian) to join their picnic. It's quite admirable how much Russian the Dutch guys are able to use thanks to their audio guide. We learn that our hosts are an extended family, and most of them work in the oil industry in Aktau. 

Picnic with a Kazakh family

They give us some sashlik - roasted meat - and coke. All the family members smile, tell us their names and are curious to know where we come from and what we are up to. Some of the kids examine our offroad.

"Nice people - I finally feel more at home in this huge country," Roger says when we are leaving. He is right. Later, when we are making our way through the wasteland and see mostly grumpy faces, the memory of these people helps me to stay in a good mood.  

We go further - the military offroad is actually pretty slow - and in the afternoon we stop at yet another village to scrounge some water and get more food. Then we sit on top of the car and eat ice-cream. Here, the Land Rover is even more of an attraction than in the city. All drivers going past us honk and wave - except two.

When we are sitting back inside to move on, we notice two dudes waving their fists at us. They stop just in front of us; the bigger of them gets off the car and goes towards us with a totally blank expression, as if he weren't an intelligent creature at all. We haven't seen them before and we haven't even blocked their way, so it takes us a couple of seconds to realize that for some reason, the gorilla mistook our car for a punchbag. 

"Just go!" Kasha tells Jimmy who is now behind the wheel. He tries to drive away as quickly as possible, which is probably why the engine fails. 

Without a single word or any change in his empty face, the dude tries to open Jimmy's door, but he can't because Roger is holding it. So he starts beating at the window. 

"Go, Jimmy!" 
"Hold the door!" 
- bang -

(The confusion reminds me of the Game of Thrones scene, and I'm glad there just is one zombie boxing into our car.)

With the third blow, he breaks it and the pieces of glass scatter inside. Jimmy manages to start the engine and to drive away. 

"Are they after us?" 
"No, they went to the left, let's just get the hell out of here."

We only stop a few kilometers after the village. Jimmy's face is still green and the pieces of glass are everywhere. We wash shards out of his and Roger's arm. Kasha, who is sitting at the passenger seat, takes an ax and a plank from the back of the car and puts it under her feet, in case the dudes would appear from an unexpected direction and assault us again. (I don't know what exactly she wants to do with the ax, but since she is the biggest fighter among us, and since in zombie movies axes always work, I trust her.) 

Two other guys stop next to us to say hi and take some selfies with us. They look totally unsurprised by the fact we are sweeping smashed window glass out of the car and walking around with an ax. Then they go again.

The zombie dudes don't show up anymore.

The whole thing didn't start making any sense. We just suddenly have one window less than before.

The engineer thinks that the glass won't work well

At evening, we drive a bit into the steppe, put up our tents next to the car and cook a good meal with a lot of heavy ingredients that we would never bother to carry on our backs, and we open beers. It has now become a ritual.

 Jimmy loses his car keys in the middle of nowhere and then finds them again, and we stalk a dung beetle rolling a really big ball of shit. We play flutes, guitar, and Roger even takes out his violin. 

My first dung beetle

There is a special poetry to making noise in the middle of the steppe.

When the night falls, we make a campfire with wood we scavenged in the morning from some old fireplaces, and we drink.

Once again, we have found good company to travel in. It makes me remember the Iranian hitchhikers. Even though our new friends are about the same age as Atesh and they dared going so far, they are way more organized and way less punk. I'm wondering whether it's because they are Europeans. Probably not; they actually are less punk than us, even though we are old.

A concert in the steppe (pic from the Dutch guys' camera)

The next day, we go to see a famous rock formation, which actually is the last rock we see in days. Up to Beyneu, we drive through a completely empty, flat, windy steppe where you can see that the Earth is round. It is almost frightening. If there is a storm with lightnings, you will definitely be the highest point above the ground. And if you need to pee, you just tell your friends not to look in your direction unless you want to walk several dozen miles to hide behind the horizon.

We don't meet any more Hulks. We once almost crash into a truck that  decided to take over another truck exactly at the moment our car was approaching. Roger somehow manages to squeeze between the truck and the only road sign on the whole steppe, though, so we don't die.

To be, or not to be

Our vague hope that Beyneu would be a super civilized city with a lot of  shops that sell car glass proved too ambitious. There mostly are roads with asphalt (and sand and wind), there are grocery stores and we even find an ATM for Master card, but that is pretty much it. As for the window, I go with the Dutch guys to look for it whereas the others are buying train tickets to Uzbekistan. Two guys tell us they know a place where to repair it, which pretty much is a trap. At first, Jimmy has to discuss with someone over phone and bargain the price from something like 100 Dollars down to 30. Then the dudes try to stick a toothed, obviously too small glass shard into the frame with a duct tape. We tell them that we think that the glass won't work well because it is a bad glass, and that we want a good glass (the Russian sentence we learned on the ship is suddenly super handy). They eventually find a car glass pane and even discover screws in the window frame to detach the frame from the car (they didn't try to look for them before). Then they try to cut the pane, they break it and ask for the 30 Dollars.

Inzhenyor dumayet shto stakla bude rabotat kharasho

We tell them: "no glass - no money", and to their question where we are going I tell them Uzbekistan, because I am worried they will try to follow us. 
We get a plastic foil (for free) from a photo studio, and Kasha and Jimmy make an improvised window themselves. Also for free.

We stock up on food and beer again, and go to the desert to make one last campfire before we all separate. Also Bjorn joins us - he is living in a hotel in town. Cycling from Aktau in the never-ending strong wind has been one of the hardest parts of his journey.

The idea of going on across this giant country without our new friends is making me slightly nervous. And I'm not the only one.

"You can go with us to the next city, if you like..." Roger offers us uncertainly. It actually surprises me; he usually is the one who sticks to the plan - it's usually Jimmy who makes generous offers. It sounds nice and it would postpone our separation a bit. I realize how much we are getting spoiled in the car. 

"I think we'd rather hitchhike...", Vojta says.  

Eventually we decide to part as planned. At night, Jimmy drives Mira and Kasha to the train station, and they continue to Uzbekistan. The next morning, we say goodbye to Jimmy and Roger at the end of the town, and we watch their zebra car disappear in the desert.

We are on our own again. 

Hildi chilling

Hippie Camp at the Caspian Ferry Cargo Port

A sad thing is that there was a sea between us and Kazakhstan. A sea is pretty bad for hitchhiking. (Even though it is possible to hitchhike boats if you are insistent.) We decided to make an exception and pay for a boat, even though it cost as much money as we usually spend in a month. However, thanks to the people we met on the boat, it was actually worth it.

Three days late for the party

The only boats that go from Azerbaijan to Kazakhstan are cargo ships. They are surrounded by mystery. You never know when and from which place they leave. The only thing you know is that they leave every three to fourteen days. There is a website, though, that allows you to do some fortune-telling. And there is a magical booth hidden in Baku in which there is a lady who speaks English and who can tell you whether a ship is leaving that day, or not.

We are quite lucky - our gangsters' apartment is very near the booth, and we only need to show up twice before the lady tells us "yep, it's today". To make the quest less simple, you must buy the ticket in Baku on the very day the ship leaves, and then you must go to a different harbor 80 km far. To our question what time the ship is leaving, we get the answer: "probably at midnight or later but you should get there around ten".

At the booth, we meet a tall Norwegian cyclist called Bjorn and two young Dutch guys with a Landrover older than they are. I'm curious what they are up to, so I start actually looking forward to the ferry ride.

It is early, so we have plenty of time to do a TV interview, get lost in Baku, buy a lot of food (the Caravanistan web says most of the boats are crappy and it is hard to buy food there), say goodbye to Nina who is sorry she can't continue with us, notice a shabby guy  roller skating on a highway, do some red tape for the Chinese visa application and hitchhike to Qobustan to have one last beer with our friend Rafael.

We expected there would be only us, the three Europeans we met that morning, and truck drivers on the ship. So we are rather surprised when we arrive to the cargo port and besides a lot of parked trucks, we find a Gypsy camp with a dozen of travelers. They are sitting in a circle on camping chairs among their tents and parked cars and bikes, and it looks like some kind of music festival. (The dude on roller skates that we saw in the morning arrives just after us.)

"You are on time for the ship, but three days late for the party," a German guy wrapped in a blanket greets us. We are offered tea and we shake hands with all the people sitting around. Some of them have been waiting in the port more than three days already.
"How did you get here?" the German goes on.
"By hitchhiking."
He burst out laughing: "So there are people with cars, cyclists, bikers, and now also hitchhikers. We only need someone with a tricycle..."
"Well, at the gate there is a guy who came on roller skates..."

The port is way less gross than we expected. There is a booth with power plugs and coffee, and another booth with a shower. There also is a booth that sells tickets, so it is actually not true that they are sold only in Baku. The Spanish roller skater even bargains the price down.

However, there is no ship.

Or else, there is a ship but nobody knows when it is leaving. It is just quite sure it is not leaving at midnight. Two more backpackers arrive, the boys from the Netherlands share their instant soup, a smiling Italian biker shares her coffee and the guy with roller skates is telling us he actually is on the run because the Spanish government puts drugs in the water to control people's minds. We do some more paperwork for the Chinese visa in the power plug booth (there is a lot of paperwork to be done) and then one of the travelers comes to ask us if we speak Russian - the harbor staff are saying something. We apparently are the only Slavs at the hippie camp and nobody else speaks Russian, so we pretend we actually do speak it. (Vojta says that it's handy because if we get stuck at the sea, we at least will be the last ones to be eaten.)

The harbor people are saying we can start boarding - in a minute, our booth is deserted.

Except that we actually can't board. It reveals that only the trucks are boarding. After several hours, they are all gone and there is only our little group on the huge parking lot.

One by one, people give up and go to sleep. I put my sleeping bag near an Austrian guy's motorbike and fall asleep as well.

At dawn, one of the harbor guards wakes us up - we can finally go on board. The customs officer doesn't even look at my registration paper that was so hard to get. (Whereas the Spanish guy actually has a deportation visa because he didn't have the stupid paper when he was trying to get by train to Russia.)


On the boat, we can't believe our luck: not only it's not a sinking wreck we expected, but we also get a fancy cabin with shower, there is a tank with tea in the common room and it seems that we will get a meal three times a day. And there is a box with a big ax and an iron bar in case of a zombie apocalypse.

It's all so comfy we don't mind that the boat is not moving and we actually are on a houseboat.

The engineer thinks that the computer will work well

The sun is shining and there is no need to hurry, so I go to the deck. I am happy. We are going to Kazakhstan, and that is totally and undoubtedly Asia. And it's far, so it's quite an achievement. If our trip gets messed up, we break our leg, go to jail, get plague and cholera or are kidnapped by aliens, it won't be that much of a shame anymore. 

I'm enjoying the wind and I almost fall asleep on an ancient wooden lifeboat. Then the Landrover guys show up: their names are Jimmy and Roger, they have been on the road just since April and they are going to Kyrgyzstan like us. Jimmy says they can take us to the next town after the Kazakh port. It seems that we have just hitched our first ride in Kazakhstan.
 
They then start learning Russian with an audio guide, so I listen to them and learn the sentence: "the engineer thinks that the computer will work well". (What we don't know is that it actually will be handy few days later.)

Before noon the ship finally sets sail. Vojta is sea-sick, so he goes to sleep to our presidential cabin we share with Valentina and Matteo, the Italian bikers, and I have plenty of time to talk with some of the fellow travelers.

Besides those I have already mentioned, there are Carlos and Sergio from Spain that are driving a car to Mongolia, there is Sueli from Belgium who is cycling around the world, then two energetic young backpackers from Switzerland called Mira and Kasha, and two Austrian photographers with a big camper van and a young kid. There are no other hitchhikers. Also the Spanish backpacker travels mostly by buses. He seems to be too scared of government spies to trust anybody who would give him a ride or host him - and drivers are probably too scared of his big dark beard. He apparently thinks somebody is after him even on the ship - he is roaming around with his backpack on and prefers not to sleep in the cabin.

We sit on the deck and talk about our plans. All the travelers except Jimmy, Roger and Johannes - the Austrian biker - continue to Uzbekistan. Vojta is sorry we are not going there too. (Officially, one must register in a hotel every few days; not having the registration papers might be a trouble at the border, and I don't want to risk that.)

Carlos has lived in Czechia for quite a long time and knows a lot about the Czech culture and politics. And he certainly knows more bars in Prague than I do. Bjorn tells us he actually started cycling because he likes eating and he sometimes eats three portions for dinner. I tell Johannes I still miss our Iranian friends, and he tells me I should rather be excited about the new people we will meet in other countries.

It gets dark. The crew is worried that the Spanish with the backpack got lost, so they are looking for him on the deck with flashlights - it probably doesn't help him much to feel safe.

At night, we play cards with some of the sailors. We teach them Bibi salam, an Iranian game we love. They keep losing, laugh like crazy and since then, they greet us "Bibi salam!" every time they see us. They teach Vojta a local game called Durak, "idiot". It will be very useful in Central Asia (not because of the name). 

Occupy the customs

Soon after breakfast, the party is over: we are arriving to the Aktau port. The voyage was actually as long as stated in the schedule, which was something I totally didn't expect.

The Dutch boys agree to also give a ride to the Swiss backpackers, so it seems that the party will go on after all.

The truck drivers get out first, then it's our turn. We get out of the ship and wait. It's hotter than in Azerbaijan and there is strong wind. The harbor seems to be surrounded by nothing but desert - the actual town of Aktau is a bit further. The officers look Asian - this is the first country where Vojta won't pass for a local.

We get some forms to fill and we wait again. And then yet again. Then we finally have our passports stamped but for some reason we are not allowed to leave the port, so we wait still again. The guy with roller skates doesn't care and just leaves. (It was actually a good idea.)

The car owners have to do a lot of red tape, go to three different booths and pay a lot of money. Never before on this trip I've been so happy we didn't have a vehicle. It takes ages and few of the clerks speak English, so Vojta and I use our pseudo-Russian to serve as interpreters. One of the Austrian photographers is losing temper.

At noon, the paperwork seems finally over and we are all free to go.

Except that we aren't. The lunch break has just begun, so there is no way the guards, sitting at the gate, can open the gate for us.

All the cars aligned to drive out have to stop again.

We are sick and tired of the obstructions and we are getting bored, so we set up the hippie camp again. Jimmy and Roger open their car kitchen, we add some food we carry and have a picnic. The guys also take out Frekddie - a small palm-tree that they got as a gift in the Netherlands and that they still carry with them. Kasha discovers a guitar in the Landrover and plays Bella chao - Valentina and I sing with her. The gate guards are staring at us. Vojta digs out his overtone flute. The Swiss girls are then doing some acrobacy on the parking lot. Roger takes out a ball and we start playing soccer, which is immediately forbidden by a grumpy customs lady.

An hour later, the guards are so generous they open the bloody gate. The Dutch guys, Mira, Kasha, Vojta and I squeeze into the Landrover, and we finally delve into the sandy steppe.