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.