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Day 17 - Do we look suspicious?

Following on from yesterday's blog..

We set up camp in an enormous field, the night before after 3 hours of shocking road conditions, pushing us all to breaking point. By car headlamp, it looked like Eden. Tents were set up very fast, we've got it down to an art; using only two tent pegs (well, one tent peg each and a screwdriver each hammered into the hard ground) and the fly sheet to protect us from bugs only.

As it turns out, this sleep deprived decision wasn't the best. At 5am, it started to rain rather heavily. The three of us woke up to find rain beating down on us, slowed briefly by the net a few inches above of our heads. Quite a weird feeling, being toasty warm in our sleeping bags but getting our torpid heads thoroughly soaked.

Within seconds, i'd jumped out of my sleeping bag and coffin tent, and headed straight for the car door. "Screw this" as I fumbled for the keys. Mackey then pointed out it wasn't yet 5am. "Screw that" I apparently said, as I climbed back into my tent. Will made a vain effort to put on his top sheet, before caving in and once again falling to sleep. Luckily the rain stopped shortly after.

We all woke up (again) at about 8am, the sky bright with the morning Kazakh sun and the ground once again moistureless. We had indeed camped in between the troughs ploughed into the field, the expanse of land almost hugging us as we slept. Pete the Saxo had bumped over quite a few and the wheels too were nestled in-between the field's trenches.

As with every glorious morning when camping, it was time for a wash. I say wash, it can't be described as a shower. A mere 1 litre of water, perhaps 1.5 if we've stocked up, to lather up and rinse. It's a skill we'll be bringing home, probably to never to be used again. Separating the main road from our gypsy home was a sparse row of trees, which looked ideal for our private bathroom. Will grabbed his water allowance and travel towel, and went off to wash. 

Not long after, I did the same, giving Will a good 30 meters of clearance walking further down the tree line. Enter the tree line, and ensuring I was out of sight of Mackey etc. I mean, we're all friends and sharing a tiny space on an epic journey, but that's about all the closeness we want to see.

I won't hold any details back - I feel we all know each other well enough now as you, our magnificent readers, have come this far with us. I got very much naked, apart from flip flops (as there are 3 types of venomous snake in Kazakhstan) and started to shower. Meagre amounts of water poured over head, shower gel, clean specific areas, another paltry amount to rinse etc.

All was going swimmingly, excuse the pun, until something caught my attention and I saw the flash of two high beam headlights. It seems that, as the roads are so very quiet in Kazakhstan, that i'd separated myself from the our car by going completely through the tree line, and instead was quite visible to any passing motorist. I'm just glad it was this Kazakh highway through nothingness, and not the M5 through Bristol.

We repacked the car, everything coming out and put back in. After our rather drastic "repairs" (with the big hammer and angle grinder), we'd trimmed back a lot of the junk plastic trim around the back wheels. One of these "junk plastic trim" pieces fills a gap between the boot and the back wheel. As a result, there's a 6 inch hole on either side inside the boot, where you can reach through and touch the back wheel. Driving through the steppe, infinitely more dusty than even my house, means everything accumulates a nice amount of red dust.

Onwards we went, and I started the morning shift. The sun was out, despite being a lot cooler that the previous week. Temperatures in the morning were a mere 23 degrees. Practically polar. We headed through Actobe, and stopped off at a big modern supermarket. Shopping here is fun - half the time, we have no idea what we're buying, but can happily afford it all.

Something strange happened here though. Despite looking relatively clean and tidy, showered and wearing fresh clean clothes (such a luxury), we attracted the attention of the security guard. Every business seems to have an on sight security guard here; supermarkets, banks, shops, even petrol stations.

We grabbed a shopping trolley and started our tour of the aisles, stocking up with both essentials and luxuries. Essentials are things like; wet wipes, black bags, copious amounts of water, pot noodles. Luxuries are things like cheese, meat, and finally cool enough weather for a chocolate bar. Pushing the trolley around the first aisle though, despite stocking such low risk items as cleaning cloths and polish, we had SecurityMan quite obviously trying to be subtle and following us. 

He even started talking on his radio, and every time we stopped or turned into the next aisle, SecurityMan was there, keeping his apparent colleagues very much up to date with our location. We didn't take much notice of it to begin with, but then we saw not one but TWO more shirt wearing employees with radios lurking around; at the next aisle, hiding behind a free standing display of noodles, concealed behind the very transparent glass of the delicatessen. 

How dodgy did we really look? Without sounding pompous or arrogant, Pete the Saxo in his frail state was probably worth more than the whole town. I wanted to get out my wallet and show them I had ample currency to buy our small trolley's worth of goods. It just got weird though when a delicatessen girl followed me around as I browsed separately from the boys. Did they really think this was a tactical decision, to divide our forces and do bad things, finding a chink in their armour? Ah well, it kept me amused for the entire trip as I made the effort to say hi to every covert agent.

We paid for our shopping trolley, pretty much tailed to our car, and started once again on our eastwards journey. Mackey made lunch - bread rolls, weird cheese and weird meat. It was very tasty, and we all ate as I navigated through the city. We're all enjoying city driving at the moment - it's such a contrast to the miles of dead straight road, lots of stopping and starting, darting amongst traffic and lights.

A few minutes later, that damned red baton was pointed at us, and we were pulled over by the local police on a busy dual carriageway. The police came over and asked me for my documents, which I duly gave them. My wallet was already emptied of high bills, and I started the distraction tactic - immediately jump into an introduction of who we are, what we're doing, and if they know the way to the next town. It worked - we were told something about our headlights, yet again, and told to move on.
It wasn't until we'd pulled away when we realised Mackey had been holding a hunting knife the entire time, using it to cut the bread rolls for lunch. Rather a good thing PoliceMan didn't glance in the back!

Onwards we drove, leaving the city and along those straight roads connecting the scattered towns and cities, the conditions of which are an absolute guessing game. Motorways can be 20mph dirt tracks, whereas B roads can be 70mph perfect roads. The further east we're getting, and it does seem to be getting more old school. Huge herds of cattle, sheep and goats roam free around the empty fields, although seem to prefer grazing on the field boundaries on either side of the road. Quite a few times, we'll happily be cruising along at 100kph when we need to stop and 100 goats are trotting happily across the road.

I drove for 5 and a half hours, completely unaware of the time and happy cruising along on the pretty good roads. Will jumped into the hot seat, and as the Will luck would have it, straight away landed on some freshly laid tarmac, not a pot hole in sight. Mackey and I (more Mackey) laugh when this happens. If you don't laugh, you'll cry. Or kill Will.

We stopped for an afternoon snack; Kazakhstan's own Pot Noodle. You might be wondering why we're eating such rubbish, but look at it from our point of view; we want something quick, something kind of filling, doable on our stove and with minimal washing up. Pot noodle fulfils every one of the criteria. We pulled into a picnic area/parking area, and started up the stove, boiling the water needed in about 3 minutes flat.

Kazakh pot noodles, as it turns out, are rubbish. Don't ever buy one. Oh yeah, and we saw a seagull. They look exactly like the ones we have at home, but strange as we were a thousand miles or so from the sea. I came to the conclusion that this particular buggar had followed us, like the scavenging flock escorting a weary fishing boat home.

Nice smooth roads continued to present themselves to Will, but a waiting policeman just over the brow of the hill waved the stupid baton and we pulled over.He came over, and did the usual - documents etc. Will's wallet was once again void of anything worth more than £8, but the patrolman wanted Will to accompany him to his car. Standard practice when asking for a bribe - away from the prying ears of the cars occupants and potential recording equipment, but reinforcing the image of power with the blue and white Lada when asking for the "fine".

This time though, Will had actually done something wrong. They replayed his pre-pull over journey on a small screen inside the police car, complete with speedo overlay. It seems Will had been speeding a touch. 81kph in a 60kph zone. Ooops.

This time however, they were almost excited to meet Will. They shook his hand, took an interest in what he was doing (the Mongol Rally rather than the obvious speeding), and let him go with nothing more than a pat on the back. We love Kazakhstan.

Will pushed on for about 3 hours, smashing through the miles and handing over the reigns to the wild stallion that is Pete the Saxo to Mackey. Dusk was falling over the steppe, and it seemed Mackey had piggy backed onto Will's luck. For the first hour, roads were great. 120kph was accomplished, unheard of since the German motorways and the odometer struggled to keep up with our headway.

But then again, with Will falling to sleep in the back, Mackey's misfortune once again reared it's ugly head. 
Despite being on a motorway, we saw the first of 4 signs that we now dread. 

90kph
70kph
50kph
30kph

When they go down to 30kph, you know something bad is about to arrive. And arrive it did. Despite being on the motorway, or at least a straight well surfaced road, roadworks signs were pointed off the road, to a hastily made road to the side. We'd had something similar the night before - some semi flat surface dug into the roadside, yet pot holes and large rocks remain everywhere. Driving at anything over 5mph sent shudders down the steering wheel, and every passing car kicked up huge clouds of dust that got inside the car no matter what.

To begin with, we'd take bets on how long these conditions would last. Roadworks for 3km, Roadworks for 8km, Roadworks for 5km. And before long, the game got tedious and just made us mad when the roadworks lasted for 25km, shortly followed by another set.
This was due to the Kazakhs, and their new found oil/gas wealth, relaying many of the roads and motorways. It is very much needed - but within a couple of years, once the main networks have been finished, the Mongol Rally will be much less of a challenge. Much less indeed, when you can cruise on almost UK standard roads from Calais to Almaty.

Mackey pushed forwards as fast as he could, using both lanes avoiding every hindrance in the way (opposing traffic dependant of course). For a few hours, this was horrible driving - each bang and bump causing Pete the Saxo to bounce around to breaking point. I have to say it was rather skilful driving by Mackey, but I won't tell him that.

Once we'd finished a stretch on the temporary road though, a large slope and 8ft of height separating us rubbish road dwellers to the freshly laid motorway, we'd find a dirt ramp that led up to it.Despite not having any road markings, sign posts or anything to indicate we could use it - there was technically nothing to say we couldn't. When safe to do so, we'd shoot up the dirt ramp and onto the virgin tarmac, the smoothness a godsend after rough road hell.

Kazakh drivers would do the same, an unspoken sense of relief filling the flat highway after us all sharing the grief of the last. We'd happily cruise along for 5 or 10 minutes, when we'd notice something up ahead.

Huge mounts of dirt in the road, extracted probably from the ditch to either side, and a tarmac machine now blocked our route. This ended our happy motorway experience rather swiftly, and some heavy braking took place as we avoided the abrupt motorway terminus.
Now, we were stuck, 6 or 8 foot above the temporary road still blindly accompanying the motorway to one side,  The ledge was certainly too much for Pete the Saxo to handle - we'd bottom out long before reaching the bottom. It was nice to see it wasn't our English stupidity that thought we could get away with using the newly laid motorway and skip the bad road - scores of Kazakh drivers did exactly the same as us, forcing a U turn in the middle of the road and heading away from our target trying to find a way back down.
Dirt ramps did exist every 5 minutes or so, but a 10 minute motorway drive followed by double backing on ourselves for 5 minutes, meant we didn't make too much progress. Anything was better than that temporary road though.

This went on, and on, and on. We'd find a stretch of motorway, hit that up for a while, then those damned signs again. 90kph… 70kph… 50kph… 30kph… and back on to a horrible surface. We'd find a way to sneak on to the motorway again, before ending up at an obstruction and re-finding a way down.

Eventually though, we saw the lights of Astana in the sky, the way every city seeps light into the otherwise abandoned night. I think that being able to see this light pollution, and watching it grow every so slightly with every kilometre of hellish road, was the only thing that kept Mackey going.

Astana is the capital of Kazakhstan, after the Prime Minister declared it to be the capital in 1997 (completely out of the blue, and stripping Almaty of the title). As soon as we approached, a couple of kilometres out, the road surface reappeared and gave Mackey the last bit of drive to us on and find a hotel.

Now we know the Cyrillic for hotel, which begins rOCTn, we can spot them now. It only took 5 minutes (as opposed to the hours before we learnt their language), and we checked into our £17 a night room for a shower and a sleep.