Cotton Road?
We are cycling the Silk Road. However- as we progress Eastwards, I do wonder if it should infact be called The Cotton Road as there is more evidence of that fibre than silk. All through Central Asia we cycled through miles and miles of cotton, saw the cotton pickers, had the cotton laden trucks thunder past us, and saw all the irrigation dedicated to that crop.
Evidence of silk was only in the rows and rows of deformed Mulberry trees along the route which over the years have been stripped every season to feed the hungry worms.
In the heart of the desert- I came across an old, sad-looking poor Chinese man pushing a hand cart. I stopped and engaged in sign language conversation. His cart was packed high with bags of empty plastic bottles and scraps of raw cotton which he had scavanged along the highway.
What a difficult, harsh way to make a living.
I cycled away slowly- wondering how he must view this new China- with its 1.3 billion people all entering the world of consumerism and leaving him caught in a time from a different era.
Campsite between the trucks and trains
Thunderous racket at night as I lay warm and snug in my sleeping bag.
Trucks to the right- and trains to the left - but above a silent brilliant sky with more stars than I felt I had ever seen.
Rain in the Desert
We have only been rained on once while cycling- and beyond belief, it was in the Taklamakan desert. We cycled 175 km that day and it was cold, miserable and we arrived besmeared with filthy road dirt.
But the next morning was washed clean, dust free and I even managed to record a photo of a reflection of the sky in a road side puddle
Friday, September 26, 2008
The Livestock Market in Kashgar
Dawn is breaking and we are headed at breakneck speed in a rickety taxi, to the Animal Market in Kashgar.
I notice all along the freeway in every form of vehicular transport- animals-bundled up together- sheep with donkeys, with goats, in the back of trucks, on 3 wheeled bicycle carriers, on animal drawn carts- all facing the same fate- new owners, or the pot.
We approach a rising cloud of dust with shards of sunlight feebly trying to pierce through the haze. Below is a milling mass of men and animals, and the air is filled with bleating, whinneying, stomping and yelling. Loud shouting erupts to the left. A donkey cart going at full tilt has overturned and the donkey performed an almost perfect cartwheel, in full harness. I am shocked. A dead donkey for sure I think - but no- a few kicks here and there and the donkey strains to rise, head comes up and he is resigned to his fate of hauling the heavy load again.
A scuffle behind me alerts me to a huge onerary Bactrian Camel, pulling at his harness and wheeling around in anger. I quickly move away- to some more action. A magnificent black stallion is pawing at the dirt and letting fly with back legs. As he does this- his harness bedecked with bells and ornaments jingles merrily.
The energy is contagious. I love this working market where the vendors are hauling out huge wads of cash and arguing with potential buyers as they feel, stoke, prod and sniff the available merchandise. The smaller animals like the goats and sheep stand quietly as they are virtually spliced together at the head. They are sold in " rope lengths". Greater numbers are crammed together in movable camps.
My heart goes out to the larger animals - the cows and bulls who are brought in the back of lorries - and then have to make a wild leap to get to earth. There is very little concern for their safety or suffering.....
I wander off fromthe main animal section and bump into a few pale and dazed looking tourists - all clicking away furiously. This is indeed an unrepeatable, if not exhausting experience.
My final action is to purchase a part of a donkey harness- highly decorated and with bells. It is all in preparation for the donkeys I am hankering after for my Harmony in Knysna.
Well - one has to start somewhere!!!???
I notice all along the freeway in every form of vehicular transport- animals-bundled up together- sheep with donkeys, with goats, in the back of trucks, on 3 wheeled bicycle carriers, on animal drawn carts- all facing the same fate- new owners, or the pot.
We approach a rising cloud of dust with shards of sunlight feebly trying to pierce through the haze. Below is a milling mass of men and animals, and the air is filled with bleating, whinneying, stomping and yelling. Loud shouting erupts to the left. A donkey cart going at full tilt has overturned and the donkey performed an almost perfect cartwheel, in full harness. I am shocked. A dead donkey for sure I think - but no- a few kicks here and there and the donkey strains to rise, head comes up and he is resigned to his fate of hauling the heavy load again.
A scuffle behind me alerts me to a huge onerary Bactrian Camel, pulling at his harness and wheeling around in anger. I quickly move away- to some more action. A magnificent black stallion is pawing at the dirt and letting fly with back legs. As he does this- his harness bedecked with bells and ornaments jingles merrily.
The energy is contagious. I love this working market where the vendors are hauling out huge wads of cash and arguing with potential buyers as they feel, stoke, prod and sniff the available merchandise. The smaller animals like the goats and sheep stand quietly as they are virtually spliced together at the head. They are sold in " rope lengths". Greater numbers are crammed together in movable camps.
My heart goes out to the larger animals - the cows and bulls who are brought in the back of lorries - and then have to make a wild leap to get to earth. There is very little concern for their safety or suffering.....
I wander off fromthe main animal section and bump into a few pale and dazed looking tourists - all clicking away furiously. This is indeed an unrepeatable, if not exhausting experience.
My final action is to purchase a part of a donkey harness- highly decorated and with bells. It is all in preparation for the donkeys I am hankering after for my Harmony in Knysna.
Well - one has to start somewhere!!!???
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Check out the photos
My faithful blog followers-
I have been able to post quite a few photos today - but they are a bit out of order with the text - my apologies.
The China photos are first and then the Uzbek ones - and the text is the other way around
Sorry!
Hope you enjoy seeing a bit of my world now/
All is well and the mob remain healthy - fortunately!
I have been able to post quite a few photos today - but they are a bit out of order with the text - my apologies.
The China photos are first and then the Uzbek ones - and the text is the other way around
Sorry!
Hope you enjoy seeing a bit of my world now/
All is well and the mob remain healthy - fortunately!
My Ode to Autumn in Uzbekistan
This update is a little out of sequence due to our being out of communication. Just to mention that from Samarkand , we headed through the bountiful countryside of Uzbekistan, then briefly into Tagikistan, again into the fertile Fergana valley of Uzbekistan and finally into the hills of Kyrgestan. Here ended our flat riding which covered over 1500km from Turkmenbashi in Turkmenistan.
I loved the autumn countryside and had a lot of wonderful contacts with the local farming folk. I have condensed my feelings into the following Haiku and will post photos to complete the picture.
A veil screens the dawn light
Autumn stalks, padding softly
Air is tight and cool.
Bountiful harvest
Shining scarlet apple piles
Reflect vendors smiles.
Bright pales of plump grapes
green orbs tight with honeyed juice
Gift from a sister.
Cosmos dances wild
In fringes and in ditches
The world's autumn bloom?
Bees have made magic
Their labours measured in jars
Of gold and amber.
Potatoes, garlic
With tomatoes,hebs and chives
Swing thoughts to fireside meals.
The patient donkey
Helps move his winter fodder
With bleak thoughts of snow?
And so the land slows
Succumbing to the rhythm
That always renews.
I loved the autumn countryside and had a lot of wonderful contacts with the local farming folk. I have condensed my feelings into the following Haiku and will post photos to complete the picture.
A veil screens the dawn light
Autumn stalks, padding softly
Air is tight and cool.
Bountiful harvest
Shining scarlet apple piles
Reflect vendors smiles.
Bright pales of plump grapes
green orbs tight with honeyed juice
Gift from a sister.
Cosmos dances wild
In fringes and in ditches
The world's autumn bloom?
Bees have made magic
Their labours measured in jars
Of gold and amber.
Potatoes, garlic
With tomatoes,hebs and chives
Swing thoughts to fireside meals.
The patient donkey
Helps move his winter fodder
With bleak thoughts of snow?
And so the land slows
Succumbing to the rhythm
That always renews.
High in China
We have made it to Kashgar (1200 metres) - the most western city in China and also the city in the world which is furthest away from any sea! China also means hugely improved internet comminication and as we have a rest day tomorrow - I will fill in a few details as to where we have been for the last 2 weeks. For now - a short piece composed in my head as we cycled through the Irkestam Pass between Kyrgestan and China.
I am high in China- high in every sense of the word- elevation, mood, spirit.
The climb on the Talgit Pass in Kyrgestan, up to our highest elevation of 3650metres, was fairly gruelling. It consists of 14 massive switchbacks - and the road is shared with a myriad of trucks, some with as many as 22 wheels, all headed for China. As a result the gravel road is churned up and rendered a dust bowl, interspursed with rough boulders. The air got noticeably thin and in between gasps, the views took even more of my breathe away! Quite indescribable and exhilirating but chasing us up the pass was a snow storm so temperatures were rapidly dropping . The race down the other side was freezing and luckily we were able to stay in a yurt( nomad style felt tent) that night, so were pretty cozy.
Next morning as I crept out in all the foul weather gear I possessed, the temperature read 4 degrees C and wind chill factor was added once on the bike. But my mood was untouchable by mere physical discomfort. Towering above me were snow covered peaks of the Pamir Range reaching up to more than 6000 metres- and they seemed to stretch interminably into the far distance. Shepherds were herding their sheep, goats, cattle and horses down to lower altitudes for the winter, and generally there was an air of urgency to get battened down for the pending snows. Silver ribbons of water snaked deep in the valleys as we climbed again to our last high campsite in Kyrgestan, 20 km from the Chinese border, and as I lay tucked deep in my down bag that night, listening to the howling snow bearing wind - I felt distinctly privileged /
The border crossing for now will go unrecorded. Suffice to say - it was an exercise in hurry up and wait - and having to endure officiousness and beaurocracy taken to new heights.
Into China. The mountains here- the Tien Shen, have an arid starkness and made me think a little of the Kaokoveld. I was in my element, and as the road downhill was now a superb paved one, my spirit soared, I gave thanks for good health and strong legs, thought of my wonderful family and friends- and clocked 75km per hour. Whew!!!
I am high in China- high in every sense of the word- elevation, mood, spirit.
The climb on the Talgit Pass in Kyrgestan, up to our highest elevation of 3650metres, was fairly gruelling. It consists of 14 massive switchbacks - and the road is shared with a myriad of trucks, some with as many as 22 wheels, all headed for China. As a result the gravel road is churned up and rendered a dust bowl, interspursed with rough boulders. The air got noticeably thin and in between gasps, the views took even more of my breathe away! Quite indescribable and exhilirating but chasing us up the pass was a snow storm so temperatures were rapidly dropping . The race down the other side was freezing and luckily we were able to stay in a yurt( nomad style felt tent) that night, so were pretty cozy.
Next morning as I crept out in all the foul weather gear I possessed, the temperature read 4 degrees C and wind chill factor was added once on the bike. But my mood was untouchable by mere physical discomfort. Towering above me were snow covered peaks of the Pamir Range reaching up to more than 6000 metres- and they seemed to stretch interminably into the far distance. Shepherds were herding their sheep, goats, cattle and horses down to lower altitudes for the winter, and generally there was an air of urgency to get battened down for the pending snows. Silver ribbons of water snaked deep in the valleys as we climbed again to our last high campsite in Kyrgestan, 20 km from the Chinese border, and as I lay tucked deep in my down bag that night, listening to the howling snow bearing wind - I felt distinctly privileged /
The border crossing for now will go unrecorded. Suffice to say - it was an exercise in hurry up and wait - and having to endure officiousness and beaurocracy taken to new heights.
Into China. The mountains here- the Tien Shen, have an arid starkness and made me think a little of the Kaokoveld. I was in my element, and as the road downhill was now a superb paved one, my spirit soared, I gave thanks for good health and strong legs, thought of my wonderful family and friends- and clocked 75km per hour. Whew!!!
Monday, September 8, 2008
Samarkand - The Fourth Paradise
"And I have not told the half of it"
These are the words of Marco Polo on his return from his epic Silk Road travels - and it is just how I feel about Samarkand.
This city reached its zenith under the famous, notoriously cruel ruler, Tamerlane (1336-1405). He is now, needless to say revered and given almost saint like status - but it must not be forgotton that during his reign, when he ruled over an area that extended from Constantinople, to India to China and up into Russia, he was responsible for the deaths of 17 million people. That is more than Hitler or Stalin could be held to.
However- he was determined to make Samarkand the "Centre of the Universe" and he brought in artisans and architects from all over the world, and he encouraged the arts and scientific learning. The result is a huge central square in the old city above which soars magical feats of architecture in the mosques and medrassas surrounding it. Many have been damaged badly by earthquakes and mans warring stupidity, but even Lenin saw the value in restoring them and began work in this direction in 1922.
Tamerlane's grandson was Ulagh Beg who was a famous astronomer whose star chart done in the early 1400's served as the basis of all navigational charts in the 17th Century.He also calculated the length of the year to within a minute of what we use today. Unfortunately - his scientific leanings went contrary to the religious zealots of the time - so he had his head chopped off.
So I have been seriously educated in Samarkand.We have also eaten well and savoured all the local dishes. The average (male) Uzbeki goes out for lunch and eats Plov- washed down by vast quantities of vodka. Not surprising that afternoons dont seem very productive. The evening meal consists of huge quantities of meat cooked on an open fire on a skewer, and known as Shashlyk. There are always piles of fresh bread, obtained from the female vendors who sell from converted baby carriages which are pushed along at high speed by the youngest boy in the family.
The young students all look very disciplined and respectable in dark trousers and ties and all school kids throughout the country wear the same uniform- and it is always immaculate. It had me wondering if this is the stern, disciplinarian, Russian influence. A group of western schoolkids and students would definately show more individualism and open rebellion. But then Uzbekistan is not known for allowing much freedom of political or philosphical thought - and has insencenced the world over police violence and supression of dissidents.
So my eyes are opening ever wider and my head bursts with all this new knowlege. I am also so enjoying the rural days on my bike- and look forward to heading east tomorrow - into Tajikistan
These are the words of Marco Polo on his return from his epic Silk Road travels - and it is just how I feel about Samarkand.
This city reached its zenith under the famous, notoriously cruel ruler, Tamerlane (1336-1405). He is now, needless to say revered and given almost saint like status - but it must not be forgotton that during his reign, when he ruled over an area that extended from Constantinople, to India to China and up into Russia, he was responsible for the deaths of 17 million people. That is more than Hitler or Stalin could be held to.
However- he was determined to make Samarkand the "Centre of the Universe" and he brought in artisans and architects from all over the world, and he encouraged the arts and scientific learning. The result is a huge central square in the old city above which soars magical feats of architecture in the mosques and medrassas surrounding it. Many have been damaged badly by earthquakes and mans warring stupidity, but even Lenin saw the value in restoring them and began work in this direction in 1922.
Tamerlane's grandson was Ulagh Beg who was a famous astronomer whose star chart done in the early 1400's served as the basis of all navigational charts in the 17th Century.He also calculated the length of the year to within a minute of what we use today. Unfortunately - his scientific leanings went contrary to the religious zealots of the time - so he had his head chopped off.
So I have been seriously educated in Samarkand.We have also eaten well and savoured all the local dishes. The average (male) Uzbeki goes out for lunch and eats Plov- washed down by vast quantities of vodka. Not surprising that afternoons dont seem very productive. The evening meal consists of huge quantities of meat cooked on an open fire on a skewer, and known as Shashlyk. There are always piles of fresh bread, obtained from the female vendors who sell from converted baby carriages which are pushed along at high speed by the youngest boy in the family.
The young students all look very disciplined and respectable in dark trousers and ties and all school kids throughout the country wear the same uniform- and it is always immaculate. It had me wondering if this is the stern, disciplinarian, Russian influence. A group of western schoolkids and students would definately show more individualism and open rebellion. But then Uzbekistan is not known for allowing much freedom of political or philosphical thought - and has insencenced the world over police violence and supression of dissidents.
So my eyes are opening ever wider and my head bursts with all this new knowlege. I am also so enjoying the rural days on my bike- and look forward to heading east tomorrow - into Tajikistan
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Bukhara
Our ride into this,Central Asia's holiest city, was an ordeal, but the reward was great as it offers a true glimpse of gracious pre- Russian Usbekistan.
Our border crossing from Turkmenistan into Uzbekistan meant that we started peddalling at noon, with still 100km to go - and the head wind was vicious. As the sun was starting to set, on the outskirts of the city, we spied blue domes and minarets. It had a magical, mysterious feel accentuated by the fading light.
Daylight, and a quick taxi ride into the Old City, revealed sights quite breathtaking. The centre of the city is crammed with medrassas, mosques, royal fortresses and a once vast market complex which served the travellers and traders of the Silk Road. It was also a centre of learning and of the arts, and despite being bombarded by Monguls and Russians amoungst others- its magnificent architecture has survived and is being lovingly restored.
Tourism is in its infancy - but there is unfortunately evidence showing of all the bad aspects - like being hassled by vendors and folk demanding money for photographs.
The Kalon Minaret built in 1127, probably (then) the tallest building in Central Asia, is an incredible piece of work. Despite numerous earthquakes it has needed only cosmetic repairs. Its strength is reputed to be in the mortar which was made from blood and camels milk. Even Genghis Khan was so astounded by it that he ordered it to be spared as he laid waste the remainder of the city.
However- amidst all this spendour lies a violent and bloody history. Criminals were hurled to their deaths from the top of the minaret and the evil Emir Nasrullah Khan was responsible for beheading Colonel Stoddart and Captain Conolly in 1842. They were even made to dig their own graves and they met their doom in front of the Ark ( Emirs Palace) and crowds of rowdy onlookers. The two British officers were players in "The Great Game"- which was the name given to all the exploration and spying in Central Asia-that went on between England and Russia as they fought to secure/extend their empires.England was particularly anxious to keep Russia as far away from the Indian frontier as possible - so there were lots of pacts, promises and lies and battles in the areas which are now Afghanistan, Iran, and in all the massive mountainous areas between.
The colour was also stiking in Bukhara. Streets are lined with carpet vendors and there are also beautiful hand embroidered clothes and clothes. Exquisitely dressed puppets are also an old tradition. Metal work is also an ancient art which is passed down the generations and proudly practiced.
This was a wonderful respite and left us all with a feeling of grace and beauty. The images from "1000 and 1 nights" are real.
Our border crossing from Turkmenistan into Uzbekistan meant that we started peddalling at noon, with still 100km to go - and the head wind was vicious. As the sun was starting to set, on the outskirts of the city, we spied blue domes and minarets. It had a magical, mysterious feel accentuated by the fading light.
Daylight, and a quick taxi ride into the Old City, revealed sights quite breathtaking. The centre of the city is crammed with medrassas, mosques, royal fortresses and a once vast market complex which served the travellers and traders of the Silk Road. It was also a centre of learning and of the arts, and despite being bombarded by Monguls and Russians amoungst others- its magnificent architecture has survived and is being lovingly restored.
Tourism is in its infancy - but there is unfortunately evidence showing of all the bad aspects - like being hassled by vendors and folk demanding money for photographs.
The Kalon Minaret built in 1127, probably (then) the tallest building in Central Asia, is an incredible piece of work. Despite numerous earthquakes it has needed only cosmetic repairs. Its strength is reputed to be in the mortar which was made from blood and camels milk. Even Genghis Khan was so astounded by it that he ordered it to be spared as he laid waste the remainder of the city.
However- amidst all this spendour lies a violent and bloody history. Criminals were hurled to their deaths from the top of the minaret and the evil Emir Nasrullah Khan was responsible for beheading Colonel Stoddart and Captain Conolly in 1842. They were even made to dig their own graves and they met their doom in front of the Ark ( Emirs Palace) and crowds of rowdy onlookers. The two British officers were players in "The Great Game"- which was the name given to all the exploration and spying in Central Asia-that went on between England and Russia as they fought to secure/extend their empires.England was particularly anxious to keep Russia as far away from the Indian frontier as possible - so there were lots of pacts, promises and lies and battles in the areas which are now Afghanistan, Iran, and in all the massive mountainous areas between.
The colour was also stiking in Bukhara. Streets are lined with carpet vendors and there are also beautiful hand embroidered clothes and clothes. Exquisitely dressed puppets are also an old tradition. Metal work is also an ancient art which is passed down the generations and proudly practiced.
This was a wonderful respite and left us all with a feeling of grace and beauty. The images from "1000 and 1 nights" are real.
Desert camping haiku
EVENING
Dry, hostile desert
Lifted by red setting sun
To peace and splendour
NIGHT
Pinpricks of sparkles
In a dome of ebony.
Woundrous night sky thrills
Dry, hostile desert
Lifted by red setting sun
To peace and splendour
NIGHT
Pinpricks of sparkles
In a dome of ebony.
Woundrous night sky thrills
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Into Uzbekistan
It is late on a Saturday night. I am sitting in an Internet cafe in Samarkand, Uzbekistan. The place is packed with teenagers playing computer games and there is very loud Uzbeki music blaring. We cycled 128km today into a potent headwind- so my creative juices are just not up to much.
However- I know it is many days since I updated this blog so briefly wanted to explain.
Turkmenistan is unbelievable - and although there are no internet cafes we were warned that the hotel internet was "Bugged"- as were our rooms - and my cell phone was blocked. We were forced to have a police escort for the entire time we were cycling - and as I was sweep rider - I often had them creeping up my tail, playing discordant music through their loudspeakers - or gesticulating at us to hurry up. Taking a pit stop was a stressful business as often they trailed after one - and in the desert there is very little in the way of decent cover.
I did enjoy the desert riding although 6 days of totally flat cycling gets to the brain a bit.
The city of Mary was a highlight due to an excursion we took to Merv- which is an ancient site where no less that 5 different cities were built over the ages, starting in 300BC. It is a World Heritage site and has contributed greatly to knowlege of early Islam architecture and learning. In its heyday it had a population of 100,000 people and rivalled Baghdad and Constantinople. It was ravaged time and again by warring factions - the Mongols in 1220 slaying every last inhabitant.
It was a moving experience standing on a windswept ridge and knowing that the ruins that lay before me were an important crossroads of the Silk Route that I was now exporing so many centuries later.
We managed to get out of Turkmenistan in a few less hours that it took to get in, but it was still a tedious, irritating experience. We fared better than a poor Belgian motorcyclist who, when we came through had been camping in "no mans land" for the past 3 days. There was something wrong with his Turkmenistan visa - and Uxbekistan would not let him back. A horror story.
Tomorrow I will write about the delights of Bukhara - and try to get some photos posted.
However- I know it is many days since I updated this blog so briefly wanted to explain.
Turkmenistan is unbelievable - and although there are no internet cafes we were warned that the hotel internet was "Bugged"- as were our rooms - and my cell phone was blocked. We were forced to have a police escort for the entire time we were cycling - and as I was sweep rider - I often had them creeping up my tail, playing discordant music through their loudspeakers - or gesticulating at us to hurry up. Taking a pit stop was a stressful business as often they trailed after one - and in the desert there is very little in the way of decent cover.
I did enjoy the desert riding although 6 days of totally flat cycling gets to the brain a bit.
The city of Mary was a highlight due to an excursion we took to Merv- which is an ancient site where no less that 5 different cities were built over the ages, starting in 300BC. It is a World Heritage site and has contributed greatly to knowlege of early Islam architecture and learning. In its heyday it had a population of 100,000 people and rivalled Baghdad and Constantinople. It was ravaged time and again by warring factions - the Mongols in 1220 slaying every last inhabitant.
It was a moving experience standing on a windswept ridge and knowing that the ruins that lay before me were an important crossroads of the Silk Route that I was now exporing so many centuries later.
We managed to get out of Turkmenistan in a few less hours that it took to get in, but it was still a tedious, irritating experience. We fared better than a poor Belgian motorcyclist who, when we came through had been camping in "no mans land" for the past 3 days. There was something wrong with his Turkmenistan visa - and Uxbekistan would not let him back. A horror story.
Tomorrow I will write about the delights of Bukhara - and try to get some photos posted.
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