Day 14 - There's a bloody camel

James

Aug 10 |04:37

Day 14 - There's a bloody camel

Following on from yesterday's blog...

We awoke at about 8am in our rally campsite, a small area packed with ambulances and small cars, the tents filling the gaps between. As we slept, it seems a couple of other teams had spotted this makeshift city and joined us.

Mackey was up first, and delighted in waking us (and everyone else up) at the early hour. It was a good nights sleep, probably the best i've had camping in the coffins. It was warm at night to not really need a sleeping bag, but cosy with one. As soon as the morning sun arose the horizon though, the sleeping bag would fast become a little oven of sweat. Very nice to wake up in the night though, as you'd roll over as per normal but onto an unseen stone lurking underneath your roll mat, and look straight up; straight up through the mosquito net of your tent and see nothing but expansive sky, with absolutely nothing in the way of artificial illumination to detract from the sheer absence of light.

Mackey was now quite well known amongst the camp, as he snores like a bear. An actual bear. As we left half the camp still chatting and finishing drinks when we retired, Mackey had fallen asleep quite quickly and started snoring. Much to the amusement of everyone in the immediate area.

We packed up, a somewhat arduous task but we're getting quite good at it, finally able to get the tents back in their ridiculously small tent bags. That must be the sign of a veteran camper, surely.

Half the camp set off for the nearest city of Atrayau, south east of the border. We convoyed with the Danish guys in their ambulance, Team Stardust in theirs, and the red Suzuki swift. Within 10 minutes, we were already beginning to appreciate Kazakhstan. We might have only been a tiny fraction into the great expanse that makes up the 9th largest country in the world, but it was worlds away from Russia. The horizon seemingly stretched to each corner without a hill or mound spoiling the view, impossible to determine how far you're actually seeing.

Will started the day's driving, when we saw something. We saw something awesome. We saw camels. That's right, actual real life camels, just like you'd see in a zoo/on a postcard/imagine in a humpfrey joke. 8 or 9 of the little cheeky devils just hanging out by the side of the road, chewing whatever it is they eat, even admiring Pete the Saxo and watched as we drove past equally engrossed in them.

For me, this felt strange flat land felt a lot more foreign than anything we've seen so far. On the inside of Pete the Saxo, high up on the spacious roof, we write down each country as we depart it, and we are each allowed one word to sum up the just visited state. We'll reveal our one word descriptions of all of our explored kingdoms once finished, but it's strange to look up and see that my word for the Czech Republic was "foreign". Back then, just a couple of days into the trip, everything seemed so different to our usual UK lives. So much so, the Czech Republic earned the title of being the country so different to home. How much we'd see and experience in a couple of weeks after that.

The roads in Kazakhstan were as expected for the most - shoddy attempts at a tarmac road, perhaps once a shining example of Kazakh engineering, had become a literal mountain range of tarmac peaks and troughs. I'm not sure whether it's the sun that damages these roads so much, or the traffic, but pot holes and raised pinnacles of tarmac poised a constant danger to Pete the Saxo. We'd learnt from our Ukrainian experience, even if it did turn out to be a small issue. We do thank Nick Shiles for putting on such a fine sump guard - i've lost count the number of times we've hit it. It's usually a case of pot holes all around, and the one route you have whilst cruising at 30mph involves one of these tarmac mountains, standing a mighty 10" tall. After inspecting it a few days ago, already bearing a few light scratches from previous roads, I knew we'd rather hit the sump guard and skid over something as opposed to hitting a pot hole and potentially damaging all manner of things on the car.

Small villages littered the roadside, yet again feeling worlds away from the UK or even Russia - half of the domiciles of these steppe inhabitants were nothing more than huts made of wood, mud and straw. We began to get even more waves, or at least a lot more stares, as we cut through their villages on the way to the city. Rather interestingly, next to each settlement no bigger than suitable on Samson, was their cemetery. Having asked other teams about this, each burial would involve constructing a mausoleum for the recently departed, 4 elaborate stone walls around the grave. Probably 4 or 5 meters along each side, but as far as we could tell, without a roof. Each looked different to it's neighbours and a fine way to respect their departed; but worrisome and macabre to see these two laid side by side, the bustling village and the collection of tombs, with the latter usually outsising the former.

We convoyed along, losing ground to the high clearance ambulances and having to slow down to properly avoid the constant obstacles, but we'd catch them up every so often as they stopped to change drivers. We found our first Kazakh supermarket, always an exciting thing to marvel at what the locals eat (although usually not risking it too much and going for things we know and like!). The prices however have finally changed for the better. Much better. For example - Mackey has found cigarettes for 40 pence a pack. I found a litre of vodka for a pound. A single, UK pound. We bought 25 litres of water, some sweets, vodka, cigarettes, bananas, apples, biscuits, wet wipes, chewing gum, and some other things, and it all came to less than Ј10. Unbelievable.

With Pete the Saxo now carrying a decent amount of water, which means we don't have to stop every hour or so refuel ourselves, we hit the road once more. Dodging each and every pot hole with care meant we didn't make the best time in the world, but we caught up with our original convoy as we entered Atrayau.

Kazakhstan is the most developed of the 'Stans', and it's oil and gas money is being reinvested into the country. Development is everywhere, much more than we thought we'd find in a minor Kazakh city. Shiny new hotels were popping up everywhere, the city was clean, even filled with nice cars. Mackey had found a well recommended hotel in the Lonely Planet guide, that offered air conditioning in rooms, showers, free wifi, and a bar called the Guns & Roses, which played live music every night. Once we'd discussed this with our motorcade, we all decided to attempt to find it (what with city centre driving in a foreign country not being our specialities. Managing the roads and road systems is fine - it's just finding our way around is the problem area) and pulled into what we thought might be the car park.

Lots of beeps as we tried to park up, ignored as we assumed just irate locals looking for a parking space themselves or perhaps just showing their support for our great charity rally. As it turns out those, we'd parked in police headquarters, with many a confused detective looking at us. Quick reverse, and we were out of there.

We blindly drove around, and within a short space of time, found our hotel. it was on one of the main roundabouts, stood 10 storeys tall with the name in neon down one side, but we were still extremely pleased with ourselves. A quick check in before we bundled into the elevator and began our ascent to the 7th floor - a growing tradition to that high it seems. The rooms were cold, the shower was wet, the bed was comfortable, we were happy.

We cleaned our grubby selves up and changed, still one of the best feelings, and headed down for the free wifi at the Guns & Roses bar. A half English/half American bar, completely decked out in heavy stained varnish but happened to be the coldest room in Kazakhstan (we think). It was freezing, and we loved sitting there and for the first time since we started the rally, actually considered putting on a second tshirt. We played some pool, ate some sandwiches, updated some blog and enjoyed our little bit of frigid relaxation.

The Danish team turned up not long after, and decided to stay also at the hotel. They met us in the bar for a few drinks, and we agreed to meet Team Stardust and the Newlyweds at 8pm (The Newlyweds being a young, recently married couple who are doing the Mongol Rally as their honeymoon. How amazing is that?). A few beers playing pool as the bar quickly got busy with locals coming to see the live music (despite it being on most nights anyway. Perhaps they just heard we were in town).

8pm came, as did our comrades, and we decided to go out and find some local food. The receptionist was adamant that the best Kazakh food would be found in the hotel restaurant, but we wanted to get out of the hotel (and we'd be in Kazakh long enough to experience lots of Kazakh food). Across the busy roundabout, armed with a policeman and baton whistling at everything he possibly could, was a nice Turkish restaurant. The 10 of us decided there would be as good as anywhere, so Ziggy (from the Danish ambulance) ran and got us a table as we trundled over.

30 seconds later, we were the focus of the policeman's whistle - you can't cross the road at anywhere but a crossing here. We weren't to know, that would be our excuse, but we all ran away before he could even consider telling us otherwise. We got to the restaurant and found it to be quite an upmarket eatery - spacious, air conditioned, with great food. We went through salad, soup and meat although struggled as the last course was unveiled (a platter of kebabs and Turkish meats) - our diminishing diet has meant we fill up rather quickly when offered the luxury of a considerable meal.

Next would be a bar handily located next door, and the 10 of us passed the bouncers and headed up a small flight of stairs. Here, we were presented with two options - to the left seemed a fine upmarket bar, dark and inviting whereas continuing up the stairs, we heard loud music and the potential for some disco dancing (We learnt well from watching Borat. On that note, we've been extremely careful not to drop the "B" bomb and insult anyone within earshot). Upwards we went, and burst through the double doors into a large hall. A few of the group started disco dancing, while the rest of us realised we'd just barged in on a private party, quite possibly a birthday party, and made for the cool bar downstairs.

The bar was nice. Very nice. We were there quite early, and managed to grab a VIP table in the corner, the 10 of us excited because the menu was in English as well as Cyrillic. We went about choosing, although noticing that the prices equalled the New Inn. Then, we saw it. As clear as day, listed on the left hand side about half way down - GUINNESS. I got excited, and the boys joined me in a pint, not knowing what to expect but praying it was nice. The others went for the usual lagers or shorts and a couple of minutes later, the Guinness's arrived.

Unfortunately though, they were quite rubbish. More a can of Guinness Original mixed with a can of coca cola, but it was still the nearest we've had in a fortnight. Within 15 minutes, after lots of very funny chat (especially with Ziggy and his "what would you rather" questions. Jane, you'd absolutely love this boy), we began to notice the place filling up. But rather than the flip flop wearing, sweaty shirts and shorts rallies that have been driving for a fortnight and certainly look it, the place was full of expensive cocktail dresses and shoes that no doubt cost more than Pete the Saxo. We, of course, found this funny and then moved back to the Guns & Roses for more drinks.

By this time though, the place was packed - heaving 4 deep at the bar, and the questionable rock music drowning out us telling our rally stories to each other. I noticed something worrying as well; the number of elderly Western men with quite young Kazakh women was so similar to my visit to Thailand. Had this become the new Thailand, or was this a regular thing in all foreign cities? We asked at the reception if there was a quiet bar we could all go to, and once again, she said we'd find no better than the hotel's other bar, the Winter Garden. Located about 20 meters from where we asked the question, the receptionist was right - beer around a big table, lots of rallies, and went on until who knows what time - I retired at midnight, like a dirty sweaty Cinderella, and Mackey and Will followed not long after....