Thursday 29 October 2009

The storm rages on....

The storm turns into a full on blizard as wead head back to Kulasari. I was actaully covering the distance faster the day before on the bike as we sit on about 17km an hr max.

We pass the oil field which is now a nicer shade of white indeady of black oilly goodness. The road is ashphelt but puntuated by lada sized potholes and long streches where the ashphelt has gone altogether. As the snowget thick the poor lada begins to struggle in some of the more muddy sections. I am sitting in the with the front cog of my bike threatening to severe my jugular if we stop in anykind of hurry. I havent got my seat belt on as the bag fromt the trailer is preventing me from moving anywhere at all.

We come to a rather soft section and the Lada is not liking it much at all.The front wheels are stuck pretty hard in the mud. Then the engine stalls and the guy in the passenger seat gets out to try and restart the car. I look at the fuel gauge which is flashing empty. I am beggining to wonder if maybe the tent was a better option than freezing to death in a car in the middle of nowhere. The engine restarts and its time to push. First one person, then two and then three of us are trying to get the car moving. The snow is being driven into my face by the wind and i am now covered in mud thanks to the spinning wheels. Eventaully she moves once more and we are off, only to have to repeat the process three or so more times. We all breath a collective sign of relif when we are back on the main road.

I am taken to the drivers house and fed. Having not had breakfast i am very greatful. I am invited to take a nap which i do. The train i am told leaves at 230 am.Later the driver returns and we move to his house to wait for the train. As happens when its cold and snowing in Kazakstan, a bottle of Vodka apears. Not fancing a drunken train trip i politly decline thier offer.

By 1 oclock the driver who was going to take me to the train staion has passed out. The rest of the crowd that had gathered are not looking in much better shape. Thankfully they call me a taxi and we pile in to head to the station.

The station is in total darkness. I feel like its back in the war and there may be an incoming airraid. On some signal, im not sure what everyone moves to the platform which is likewise in total darkness except for the light of the approching train. The train over shoots the platform and so everyoe then has to run to catch up. There is a caotic scramble as a seething mass of people tries to capture some of the few remaining bunks on the train. I lock the bike and throw my bag on a bed...

Tuesday 27 October 2009

Putting my tent thought its paces

Its 6 o clock or so and i have just cooked dinner and am enjoying the peacefullness of the Kazak steppe. I look up and notice that the sky is brewing some clouds. "could get some rain," I say to outloud. Funnilly enough there is no response. I watch the sunset and then retire to my tent to try to work on my Russian a bit. I have been on week 4 of the teach yourself russian course for a month now!

At midnight or so i notice it is raining rather heavy. The ground is now soaked and has loosened my pegs. I fumble for the rain coat and go out to take a slash and sort it out. A little damp i head back to bed. I notice my tent is leaking from the cealing, no holes but i think the seams need some work. I curse my lack of forsight and move my sleeping bag away from the drips.

I wake at 4 and its like the somone has made the winds gods, very, very angry. The rain is still teeming and it feels very close to the point where the tent will self destruct. I pack my bags in the tent, not really sure why but i guess i will have to make a break for it somewhere. Sleep is impossible to i sit up and wait for the sun to rise. Perhaps the coming dawn will calm things down.

At 630 i go outside to sruvey the scene, its windy but the rain has eased. Then its start hailing. "I am going to die if i go out in this" i say to myself but i cant even hear it as the wind carries it off. I lament my choice of campsite- about as exposed as one could be on the Kazak steppe. I return to the tent and my now wet sleeping bag and reslove to sit it out......


10 oclock and i hear a car too. Its snowing now and i scmable for my overtrousers and try to unzip the tent. The car is just pulling away but they turn around. I jump in the back seat. I deciede discretion is the better part of valour so amid hand signals they tell me they are going back to where i had come from the day before and we agree top put the bike in the car. Its not cheating if i have already ridden over the same ground i tell myself........
And that was just the start of a rather amazing day.......

Tuesday 13 October 2009

A Concert in Baku

I am at the Music acadamy in Baku, thanks to my very kind hosts i am about to get some 'culutre' The only culture i have had in the last few months or so has been between my toes so i am bit excited. I am about to learn a thing or two about concert going in Azerbaijan......

The 730 start time comes and goes. The ambassdor, who has helped to fund the concert, paces up and down somewhat impaitently at the front. The camera crew from the local TV station arrive about 15 mins later and the ambassador conducts a 'doorstop interview' with the help of a translator.

Its 750 and there is still not sign of the performers. I wonder if they have gotten stuck in Baku's crazy jumble of one way streets.....

The toilets are at the back of the room but i notice that if anyone gets up they walk via the front of the room. Seeing and being seen are everything in Baku, so it seems.

Finally a young violinist appears on stage. He is a young lad of 18 or so, a first year student at the acadamy, i read on the programme. He plays a difficult work by a local composer in comanding style. It was an impressive performance, i sense the he knows this also.

Next up is another student, a girl this time. Her performance is also very impressive. It is marred however by the antics of the camera crews. Moving nosiy tripods, walking up on stage and worst of all jamming the camera ( spotlight and all) a meter or so from the poor girls nostrils. They later zoom in on me, clearly the importance of having a forighn looking vistor cannot be underestimated (being tall, with blonde hair and blue eyes has never been such a blessing and a curse). I refrain from making rude jestures as the camera hovers near my face. Causing a national outcry for giving the one finger salute wasn't really on my trip itinary.

The concert continues with another pinano student. She plays Blue Rondo Alla Turka by Mozart and i think of pictures of lighting showroom flashing by(The De-lights add in Adelaide in the Mid-nineties for the un-informed). The tune was also used to sell lighting here in Azerbaijan i saw the otherday. The audience continues to talk and the camera crew get riddiculusly close to the poor girl. I admire her paitence as she doesn't miss a beat thorugh the entire ordeal. She didn't however stay to collect her bunch of flowers at the end and i sense that this may have had something to do with it.

The hightlight of the evening and reason for the concert is a visit from a Norwegian fiddle player. He has been working with some local musicians and tonight has been joined by a renonwed Mugab player ( Similar to a violin but played like a 'cello). Clearly not used to working with a translator the fiddle player rambles for a while as the translator does a supurb job of keeping up. He attempts to draw some very tenuis link between Azeri music and Norwegian music. 'There are only 12 notes, of course some of it is going to sound the same' i think to myself.

They play a set of tunes that includes both Azeri and Norwigian folk tunes, the fiddler playing the norwgian tunes and then pausing while the Mugrgab player takes over. Thankfully the camera crews must have had deadlines as they vanish midway though the performace. I cringe though as yet another mobile phone rings with the owner having a lenghty conversation in front of me.

The concert ends and the ambassador thanks all for their attendence. I leave feeling happy for the experince but perhaps a little wiser as to what i may expect the next time i attend a concert in Baku....

Music on the Road

The sun is up as i emerge from my tent. Although i am not claustrophic I am finding that i don't like to be in the tent with the door sealed up. Perhaps its my safety instinct kicking in and wanting to see whats coming, that or needing to get away from my own stench...

I am feeling rather unmotivated and it is a rather tawdry 9 oclock by the time i finally get the leg over and clip my feet into the cleats. My motivation doesnt really increase that much being on the bike and i deceide its time for some music therapy. I rummage in my bag for my trusty, non Ipoo'd, mp3 player. If i was any good at physics i would try to work out how it is that, no matter how carefully i wrap the headphones cable, it will ALWAYS be notted when i got to use it next. I try the balance myself on the bike as i untangle the cable.
Its finally in my ears and its time to pick a song.

First up is comes Tom Waits. While i am big fan of the guy, 'Rubys Arms' isn't prehaps the greatest song to get one motivated. 'Sorry Tom' i say as i hit the next button. The random function on my MP3 player isnt so random. I hit the next button as i get the Crash Test Dummies 'mmmmm' AGAIN. Not so kean on hearing about the boy who got into an accident and couldnt come to school! Redgum is next with 'The beumont Rag' i listen to John Schumans rant with a smile and remember that my friends parakeet could whistle the opening bars. I reminds me a bit too much of home so i skip again.

In my rush to get everything packed to leave for the trip i put my teach yourself Russian course in with all the other music. I scramble for the forward button as i hear the annoying guitar intro, 'lesson 4, lets speak Russian fast and fluently' 'Zavtra ( tommrrow)' I say as i fiddle with the player while trying not to swerve into the on coming traffic.

I finally settle on some 'Batterz'. I sing along to the words, '....son im afraid its much worse than that, your mother has turned into a spider' 'Your mother has turned into a spider' i harmonise i reply and realise that the nearby fruit seller is looking at me very strangly. I laugh as i try to get the speedo sitting above 20kms an hour.

Thursday 8 October 2009

The Great Visa Chase

It is Monday morning in Baku and its times for me to start chasing the visas that will let me continue the trip. I have spent a wonderful weekend being spoilt by a family here but now it is time to get on with it...

The Uzbek emabssy is first on the list. I try without success to hail the no 3 bus which the trusty lonley planet says will get me there. The driver either doesn't see me or chooses not to stop. I give up and decide to walk. Its a bit of a hike up to the top of the hills that overlook the main part of town. I learn quickly that its only the wealthier countries that can afford to rent offices for embassies in the centre of town. The poorer countries are out in the 'burbs. Australia doesnt even have an embassy so i'm not sure what that says.

I reach the top of the hill and the area where the embassy should be. The address says lane number 9 but none of the lanes are labeled. I wander the rather busy street hoping there may be a sign to help me out. I am regreting not taking a more decent map as the poxy map of greater Baku in the LP just doesn't cut it. After an hour or two my tired legs override my frugal instincts and i get in a taxi. He takes me there, at the very end of the lane i had walked past 4 times! He asks 4 mannet, well more that he should for the 400 hundred meter journy, and i curse under my breath for not setting the fare before i got in.
I am given a chicken drumstick by the very cheery ( and rather bored) security gaurd while i wait to here what i didnt want to here. I do infact need a letter or introduction. I smile benarly as he hands me a shiny brouche for an Uzbek travel agent who can 'assist me'. I wonder weather slipping a green back into my passport may have facilitated the process and wander off.

(Letters of Introduction are a soviet era hangover that is designed to ensure you spend money on goverment hotels. They are usually more expensive and take far longer to obtain than the visa themselves.)

Next its off to the Kazak embassy. Another rather lenghty but alas futile walk that leads me to a bank where the embassy used to be. 'Its moved' says the security gaurd ' somewhere near the europe hotel' i look at the clock that says 4 and concede defeat.

The Next day i am off bright and early. I have found the area where the embassy should be on the internet and even have the benfit of a street directory.
Alas there is still no sign of it.

I meet an electrical engineer who offers to take me there. Some how however we end up in a cafe drinking chai. I drink my tea and wait paitently, hoping the situation maybe resloved in my favour. Eventaully i am put in a taxi, told what the fair should be and have the directions given to the driver. He drops me off at the far end of the street, clearly not happy enough with the fair to drop me any closer. I get there to find he has dropped me at the Turkemenistan embassy. Here a stan there a stan everwhere a stan....... Someone says the Kazak one is near the Europe hotel ( the other side of town) i mutter and get in a taxi 'Europe hotel' i say

The embassy was closed for the day when i got there........

It's day three of the great embassy chase. I have a spring in my step. I know where i have to go and...... its not that far. I am even there 10 mins early. Eventaully a rather serious women beckons me in. I try to get her to crack a smile, not a bright idea emrys, she scowls at me. Stalin would have been proud i think to myself. The two week wait for the Uzbek LOI is beyond my level of paitence so i have decided to blow it away altogether. I fill in the kazak form, '2 month' visa i tick. Stalin's cousin behind the counter takes my passport and my US $40. I leave somewhat satisfied though a little nrevous that they still have my passort........

Saturday 3 October 2009

The good the bad and the Ugly

Its my first day in Azerbajian. 1st things 1st i need a bit of money so i can by some food. I rock into Balakan. Lonely planet describes it as a little sleepy but it seems busy enough to me. I try the first ATM. "Cannot dispense funds". Time to try another. 20mins of ridding around and i am no closer to finding another bank. A voice in a Moskvitch calls out "Bank" i say making a circling motion "around here"? His car does a U turn and i follow.

We find a bank. Somehow though i end up with 40 mannet in one mannet notes. So now i have a wad of cash like a mafia boss to try and conceal. He also finds me a hotel but it is well beyond my budget. He speaks a little English and with a little to ing and froing he invites me back to his place. I am very grateful as the rain is starting to hose down. We share a meal and i try to learn about Azeri culture as best i can before i tumble into a wonderful bed. The ( very) good

The sunny weather of the previous day has gone and that night it hammers down. I wake to see the storm has yet to pass. I thank my hosts as best i can as i put on my waterproofs. The rain heaves too and the passing Kamaz trucks do a good job of picking it back up again to hurl at me. My hands are cold and my nice yellow pack looks like it has taken a dive in a mud wrestling pit. Its going to be one of those days.......The bad

A new country means new bactria for you to adjust too. It could have just waited till it wasn't pouring with rain. Sparing deatails but my second day in Azerbajian was spent in pain. The Ugly.

A border crossing

The sign in front of me reads "Azerbajian border" 1km. I stop and decide to do a qucick repack. I have heard various reports of some rather shifty guards at this broder crossing and there is not much in my pack i really want to loose. I put my money belt on, though i am sure they can find that if they want it. I try and stash my camera so its buried in my bag. Knowing the anal-retentiveness of Austrlias quaratine officials i eat the kilo or so of grapes i have been given eariler that day. I put my passport in my pocket and strap myself on the bike.

I reach the Georgian side of the border. The official puts my passport under the scanner. "look at the camera" he says. Well i assume that is what he says to me as he points the webcam at me. I smile benarly. "Australia" he says, "Harry Kewel" he says and i try and look like i haven't heard it before. He hands my passport back with a smile and i try to remount the bike without falling off in front of him and wiping out the person waiting behind me. I wobble off to the Azerbajian side. A que of rusting Ladas and Mostvitchs wait on the bridge while a man with an assult rifle gaurds the gate. A rather drunk man gets out from behind the drivers seat of one and begins the usual set of questions. I try and balance on the bike as the poke it and shake the trailer.

I am eventaully ushered into the line for the booth. A man takes my passport and it dissperes. Never a good sign. I wait a little nervously and try to stay dry as as the rain starts to come down. I am trying to go thorough any "problems" they might find. I am pretty sure its in order. 10 mins later i am handed it back. 1 Azeri stamp included. I move towards the customs. I am trying to remember where i hid the 10kgs of heroin...... I hand over my passport and it dissaperes again. A man emerges and beacons be to a table.
I am so not going to unpack.
His boss calls him.
He decides i am not worth the bother and motions me off.
Another gaurd with a Kalisnakov opens the gate and i am off on my Azeri adventure....

A day in Geogia

It is my last in Geogia. I am am headed towards the Azerbajian border, hoping not to have too much trouble with the border crossing. I stop when i see two men wih backpack standing by the side of the road. As it turns out they are French hikers who are 1 year into a 7 year trip walking around the world. We chat for while until a car pulls up. After some quick words which i try hard to understand we are loading my bike into the back if the van and heading back the way i have just come. We are off to a picnic it seems. I have a slightly ominus feeling that i am somehow not going to get to Azerbajian today.....

We arrive at the a house and a greated by Tika and her family. She is the only one who speaks english and soon becomes our translator. It seems today is the vintage festival- celebrating the end of the harvest of the grapes. An imporstant day in Geogia. We are invited to go and help with the picking and we acceppt the offer.

3 big glases of Vodka later ( time...about 9:30) and we are out in the fields. The burning sensation susbsides a little as me, the two French hikers ( Tierry and Killian) and the family work our way down the rows of vines. A horse wagon is soon filled with grapes and we return to the house to help with the unloading.

A small box sits on top of a big metal vat. The horse waits paitiently as we bucket the grapes from the back of the wagon into the box. A handle is then used to turn two gear wheels as the grape juice, seeds, stalks and leaves come out the bottom. We all take turns at the handle as the smell of grape juice fills the barn. The trailer is empty and its back to the field. Reversing a horse and cart is never a safe process epsecially if you are the todler that nearly gets under the wheels. A few tears from both todler and mother and we are off...

Its 4:00 and the harvest is finally done Well i never really planned to get to Azerbajian today anyway. Back to farm we go. Tika does as wonderful job translating as the crowd of family and friends want to know all about us. What we think of Geogia, if we are single, what we think of Georgia....etc. The table is set like its chirstmas dinner and its time for a toast. 1 Vegemite jar size glass of wine down the hatch........ its going to be a long night!