Atyrau – 8/15/12
Aug 18th, 2012 by admin
We’re up for an early start and meet Paul and Stuart for breakfast. The room came with breakfast which is just atrocious. I mean, I’ll eat runny eggs but this plate is a poster child for salmonella poisoning. Settle for coffee and cheese and down to the car to leave.
But first (there’s always a “but, first”), we have to extricate P & S’s car which is trapped by the other Yanks Citroen Saxo. It a tiny little beast and is suffering under the weight of three full grown men. Luckily, the Saxo has a tow hitch (I have no idea why this tiny beast would have a tow hitch). We hook a tow strap to the Saxo and the Cherokee and drag the Saxo back a few feet. Paul’s Mondeo escapes. We on the road, again.
To the gas station to fill up. The plan is to fill the car and the jerry cans. One of the small plastic jerry cans is partially filled and as John opens it, it gushs fuel down the roof and side of the car. It’s not a disaster but… We fill the car, the metal jerry can that Guv gave us and the 1 empty plastic can and we’re really gone again.
Out of Astrakhan. On to he M road. Across the Volga and the Volga delta. Through the sunflower fields towards the Kazakh border. We come up to one of the many tributaries of the Volga and there’s a floating pontoon bridge. 100 rubles. Just another moment.
It’s about 30 miles to the Kazakh border and crossing into Kazakhstan is considered to boone of the great hassles of the trip. We’re planning a couple of hours anyway. Of course, first, we have to export our cars out of Russia. That should be fun. Hopefully, less “fun” the entering Russia.
We stop in the line that has formed on the Russian side of the border. The barrier only allows a couple of cars at a time into the customs area and our 2 cars are behind a bus. Crap. Then another of the small miracles that these trips always have happens. The border guard stops the bus and motions for us to go around the bus. Thank ya, Lord.
Stop the cars. Drivers and passengers to the window. The officer takes our passports and, then, surprisingly, only wants the car’s title – not the Russian import form! He types away on the Keyboard. Stamp, Stamp. Stamp, Stamp. Stamp, Stamp. Stamp, Stamp. The sound that warms a traveler’s heart. We’re back in to car and out of Russia in 15 minutes! Somebody check the current daytime temperature in Hell. Must be rising fast.
Through a no-man’s-land and up to the Kazakh border. We pull up in line, get out of the car. Drivers in one line passengers in another. John and I are both on the car’s title and we’re now alternating who goes through the car import maze. John did the Ukraine. I did Russia. He does Kazakhstan.
In to the building for passport control. Stuart and I walk in and head for the end of the line. The people in the line motion us over to the next line that only has a woman and child. (Huh?) We get in line behind her. She leaves. Stuart hands his passport to the cranky woman officer in the booth. “Stand in front of the camera.” “Okey, dokey.” The usual pecking on the keyboard. Stamp, Stamp. Stamp, Stamp. “Welcome to Kazakstan. Goodbye.” (Huh??) I go up to the window and, learning watching others, try to stand in the right place for the camera. “Look up at camera.” “Okey, dokey.” “Where are you going to after Kazakhstan.” “Russia.” No volunteering any more info than necessary. Always treat border guard questions like legal deposition questions. Short concise answers. Stamp, Stamp. Stamp, Stamp. “Welcome to Kazakhstan. Goodbye.” Out of the building. John and Paul are already waiting for us with the cars. Through the barrier. We’re in Kazakhstan.
Immediately surrounded by black market money changers. “No, thanks. No, thank you. NO! I said, NO!” They’re a bit on the persistent side. Hmm… Right in front of a Kazakh border guard. We need Kazakh currency because we’ll need gas and the remote gas stations won’t take cards, euro or even rubles. The money changers will take rubles. John heads off to get a Kazakh green card an I relent and call over a money changer. (I just can’t get myself to do it in front of the border guard.) She gives me 4,500 tenga for 1,000 rubles which is close to the official rate. (Duh!!!)
On the road again. The countryside has changed quickly to a dry, high desert look and within 20 miles we see our first oil well (the new Kazakh cash cow – they should have a chat with Nigeria about all the benefits that that brings.) Then free range cows and then, in the distance, a camel – can’t miss the twin humps. Then right below the road, 2 more in the water hole.
As we move on, the area becomes more and more like the free range land in the western US, complete with cattle, free range horses and cowboys. Of course, the occasional camel kind ruins the western dynamic but we like camels, too.
We stop by a shallow lake wheree there are 4 camels drinking in the shallow water and a herd of what look like wild steppe horses are trotting up to. We stop to take some photos while Paul and Stuart go off to the other side of the road to do the same. We cross over to the other side of the road to find Paul but don’t see him. We head around the lake which is surrounded by small groupings of camels and horses. No Paul and Stuart. They must have left. Back to the highway and move on.
We finally in range of Paul and Stuart’s radio. They are ahead of us and are slowing so we can catch up. They a radio call that they’ve stopped to wait. There’s a camel herd crossing the road and one very large camel has stopped in the middle of the road and is majestically surveying his domain or whatever camels do when they stand in the middle of the road. Looks majestic, though.
Back moving again. Into Atyrau. Paul Franklin has been in touch with Clemo who had arrived in Atyrau early in the morning after surviving a beer free 16 hour Russian train ride. “It’s Ramadan. No beer!” from a policeman who decides to ride in the car with Clemo. By the way, It’s been over 40 degrees temperature (104 for the centigrade-challenged) and rising and surely at least that hot in the train car.
He’s been productive since he arrived in Atyrau at 5AM and stepped into the early morning swelter. He’s found rooms in 2 hotels that are nearly next to each other. Guv has found a shashlik (a type of kabob common throughout this region) restaurant at the second and it’s own by a turkish speaking man.
We head off to the second hotel with John walking and Clemo leading me and the car. As suspected, Cleemo is loaded to the brim with stories that are just bursting to come out. As miserable as the train was, the hardest thing for him to endure was the interation with other people that he could converse with. A Clemo with no repartee is a very unhappy Clemo, indeed. I love listening to the stories but I realise that he just has to talk to someone. I’ll do. In a way, I’m happy to help.
The hotel is a very nice Kazakh hotel with big rooms, double beds and a good internet connection. And a restaurant out in front. We clean up, check email and head down for beers and dinner.
This is our last night with the group. Tomorrow we head north to Aktobe and they head on to the Uzbekistan border. We’ll be on our own from here on. The dinner is good and we exhange the last stories and business cards. A couple of beers, some shashlik, some goodbyes (a bit on the sad side – this has been a great group to travel with), promises to join up again for a trip to Georgia (the one by the Black Sea – not the one by Alabama) next summer and we’re up to the room for the night. Tomorrow will be different.
Obi-wan
Atyrau – 8/15/12
We’re up for an early start and meet Paul and Stuart for breakfast. The room came with breakfast which is just atrocious. I mean, I’ll eat runny eggs but this plate is a poster child for salmonella poisoning. Settle for coffee and cheese and down to the car to leave.
But first (there’s always a “but, first”), we have to extricate P & S’s car which is trapped by the other Yanks Citroen Saxo. It a tiny little beast and is suffering under the weight of three full grown men. Luckily, the Saxo has a tow hitch (I have no idea why this tiny beast would have a tow hitch). We hook a tow strap to the Saxo and the Cherokee and drag the Saxo back a few feet. Paul’s Mondeo escapes. We on the road, again.
To the gas station to fill up. The plan is to fill the car and the jerry cans. One of the small plastic jerry cans is partially filled and as John opens it, it gushs fuel down the roof and side of the car. It’s not a disaster but… We fill the car, the metal jerry can that Guv gave us and the 1 empty plastic can and we’re really gone again.
Out of Astrakhan. On to he M road. Across the Volga and the Volga delta. Through the sunflower fields towards the Kazakh border. We come up to one of the many tributaries of the Volga and there’s a floating pontoon bridge. 100 rubles. Just another moment.
It’s about 30 miles to the Kazakh border and crossing into Kazakhstan is considered to boone of the great hassles of the trip. We’re planning a couple of hours anyway. Of course, first, we have to export our cars out of Russia. That should be fun. Hopefully, less “fun” the entering Russia.
We stop in the line that has formed on the Russian side of the border. The barrier only allows a couple of cars at a time into the customs area and our 2 cars are behind a bus. Crap. Then another of the small miracles that these trips always have happens. The border guard stops the bus and motions for us to go around the bus. Thank ya, Lord.
Stop the cars. Drivers and passengers to the window. The officer takes our passports and, then, surprisingly, only wants the car’s title – not the Russian import form! He types away on the Keyboard. Stamp, Stamp. Stamp, Stamp. Stamp, Stamp. Stamp, Stamp. The sound that warms a traveler’s heart. We’re back in to car and out of Russia in 15 minutes! Somebody check the current daytime temperature in Hell. Must be rising fast.
Through a no-man’s-land and up to the Kazakh border. We pull up in line, get out of the car. Drivers in one line passengers in another. John and I are both on the car’s title and we’re now alternating who goes through the car import maze. John did the Ukraine. I did Russia. He does Kazakhstan.
In to the building for passport control. Stuart and I walk in and head for the end of the line. The people in the line motion us over to the next line that only has a woman and child. (Huh?) We get in line behind her. She leaves. Stuart hands his passport to the cranky woman officer in the booth. “Stand in front of the camera.” “Okey, dokey.” The usual pecking on the keyboard. Stamp, Stamp. Stamp, Stamp. “Welcome to Kazakstan. Goodbye.” (Huh??) I go up to the window and, learning watching others, try to stand in the right place for the camera. “Look up at camera.” “Okey, dokey.” “Where are you going to after Kazakhstan.” “Russia.” No volunteering any more info than necessary. Always treat border guard questions like legal deposition questions. Short concise answers. Stamp, Stamp. Stamp, Stamp. “Welcome to Kazakhstan. Goodbye.” Out of the building. John and Paul are already waiting for us with the cars. Through the barrier. We’re in Kazakhstan.
Immediately surrounded by black market money changers. “No, thanks. No, thank you. NO! I said, NO!” They’re a bit on the persistent side. Hmm… Right in front of a Kazakh border guard. We need Kazakh currency because we’ll need gas and the remote gas stations won’t take cards, euro or even rubles. The money changers will take rubles. John heads off to get a Kazakh green card an I relent and call over a money changer. (I just can’t get myself to do it in front of the border guard.) She gives me 4,500 tenga for 1,000 rubles which is close to the official rate. (Duh!!!)
On the road again. The countryside has changed quickly to a dry, high desert look and within 20 miles we see our first oil well (the new Kazakh cash cow – they should have a chat with Nigeria about all the benefits that that brings.) Then free range cows and then, in the distance, a camel – can’t miss the twin humps. Then right below the road, 2 more in the water hole.
As we move on, the area becomes more and more like the free range land in the western US, complete with cattle, free range horses and cowboys. Of course, the occasional camel kind ruins the western dynamic but we like camels, too.
We stop by a shallow lake wheree there are 4 camels drinking in the shallow water and a herd of what look like wild steppe horses are trotting up to. We stop to take some photos while Paul and Stuart go off to the other side of the road to do the same. We cross over to the other side of the road to find Paul but don’t see him. We head around the lake which is surrounded by small groupings of camels and horses. No Paul and Stuart. They must have left. Back to the highway and move on.
We finally in range of Paul and Stuart’s radio. They are ahead of us and are slowing so we can catch up. They a radio call that they’ve stopped to wait. There’s a camel herd crossing the road and one very large camel has stopped in the middle of the road and is majestically surveying his domain or whatever camels do when they stand in the middle of the road. Looks majestic, though.
Back moving again. Into Atyrau. Paul Franklin has been in touch with Clemo who had arrived in Atyrau early in the morning after surviving a beer free 16 hour Russian train ride. “It’s Ramadan. No beer!” from a policeman who decides to ride in the car with Clemo. By the way, It’s been over 40 degrees temperature (104 for the centigrade-challenged) and rising and surely at least that hot in the train car.
He’s been productive since he arrived in Atyrau at 5AM and stepped into the early morning swelter. He’s found rooms in 2 hotels that are nearly next to each other. Guv has found a shashlik (a type of kabob common throughout this region) restaurant at the second and it’s own by a turkish speaking man.
We head off to the second hotel with John walking and Clemo leading me and the car. As suspected, Cleemo is loaded to the brim with stories that are just bursting to come out. As miserable as the train was, the hardest thing for him to endure was the interation with other people that he could converse with. A Clemo with no repartee is a very unhappy Clemo, indeed. I love listening to the stories but I realise that he just has to talk to someone. I’ll do. In a way, I’m happy to help.
The hotel is a very nice Kazakh hotel with big rooms, double beds and a good internet connection. And a restaurant out in front. We clean up, check email and head down for beers and dinner.
This is our last night with the group. Tomorrow we head north to Aktobe and they head on to the Uzbekistan border. We’ll be on our own from here on. The dinner is good and we exhange the last stories and business cards. A couple of beers, some shashlik, some goodbyes (a bit on the sad side – this has been a great group to travel with), promises to join up again for a trip to Georgia (the one by the Black Sea – not the one by Alabama) next summer and we’re up to the room for the night. Tomorrow will be different.
Obi-wan