Kazakhstan, in one blog post!

Flying into Astana from Uzbekistan was a bit of a culture shock. After being surrounded by historic architecture for two weeks, being propelled into the futuristic city of Astana was incredible.

Astana was made the capital of Kazakhstan in 1996, bumping off Almaty which had being the capital of Kazakhstan (in its various forms) since 1929. Astana prides itself on being a modern and newly-developed city. Just look at some of these buildings that have gone up in the last few years:

We loved Astana and had a fantastic experience with the locals who were always willing to help. For example, the night we arrived we headed to the apartment complex in which Apple Hostel was situated. Our Russian-speaking taxi driver buzzed the intercom and had a short conversation with a lady at the other end. We he'd finished, he tried to explain something to us, but his skill at non-verbal communication was limited and we weren't understanding him. This went on for several more minutes and involved another call to the intercom lady, who seemed to be getting increasingly annoyed. It was getting dark and we were both getting tired and frustrated, and just wanted to be let into the hostel. Finally a young Kazakh man who had been sitting down nearby and who could evidently hear our conversation came up and asked, in near perfect English, whether he could help. We almost hugged him. We explained the situation and he buzzed the intercom lady to ask what the problem was. Turns out Apple Hostel has closed down, and the poor lady at the other end was just a tenant who had moved into that apartment!

The young man offered to help us find somewhere to stay, and also said we would be welcome to crash in his family's apartment that night. He invited us back to his apartment where he got onto the internet to find somewhere for us while his mum cooked us dinner. His little brother even presented us with a block of Kazakhstan chocolate each. Win!

Thankfully we did find somewhere to stay, but Astana is not cheap. However, we had our own apartment close to everything and it was quite a luxury to have our own space with a kitchen.

We spent three days in Astana, seeing the sights by both day and night - the main plaza of Astana is lit up by night and is a great place for watching locals riding around on segways or giving their children rides in mini cars.

After three days in the city we caught the train up north to Lake Borovoe, which was a small (and cold!) slice of heaven. We camped in the wild for three nights amongst some beautiful Birch trees. 

The first day we were there was beautifully warm and sunny. Unfortunately, the rain set in after that and we spent the day in our tents reading our kindles and occasionally draining the water from our tents and groundsheets. The rain continued on and off, but we were able to venture out for a walk around the lake, a visit to the local market where there was a family of cats and Claire got her cat hug fix, and a walk around the small town in fruitless search for a decent coffee.

On the fourth day, we caught a bus back to the train station where we caught a train to Astana, then another overnight train to Almaty

So many feet to tickle - Claire had to restrain herself.

We found a great hostel in Almaty that we would highly recommend if you're on a budget. It's called Hostel 74/76 and is situated on Zhambyla Street. At only US $6 a night you can't go wrong.

But we didn't stay long in the city before escaping to the stunning wilderness of Kolsay Lakes. We had planned to leave Almaty by bus or mini bus from the Sayakhat bus station. Having been advised that these left Almaty for the town of Saty near the Kolsay Lakes between 6am-7am, we had got up early and caught a taxi to the bus stop. Upon reaching the bus station, however, we were told that there are no buses running to Saty!

In the end, we end paid 6,000 Tenge (US $22) for two seats in a share taxi. Four hours later we were in Saty. Getting from Saty to the lakes proved more difficult, with locals wanting around US $40 to drive us the 13km up the road. We could have walked the distance, but as we'd anticipated getting transport all the way in we had not bothered to travel light, and weren't keen on hiking that distance with heavy packs. We waited on the main street for a while and I captured this photo of some children freshly released from school:

Eventually we found a local who was heading into the lakes to go finishing, and offered to take us for 3,000 Tenge (about US $11).

His van, which he drove at break-neck speed over the potholed road, looked like a relic of a bygone era, and the windows and doors shook like they were about to go flying. It was awesome!

After getting to Kolsay One (the first lake) and paying our camping fee (which I'm sure was just some kind of bribe) we walked around the edge of the lake and found a spot to pitch the tent.

We were at 1800m and it was pretty cold the first night but not unbearable. The next day we relaxed and soaked in the beautiful surroundings of Kolsay One.

The next day we walked to Kolsay Two and then Kolsay Three, at 2,800m. Kolsay Three lies quite close to the border with Kyrgyzstan and we'd been told by another hiker we passed that access to Kolsay Three was currently closed. We did see a small group of guards camped at Kolsay Two, but they didn't try to stop us from continuing up the track to Kolsay Three.

Kolsay Two

Kolsay Three

It was a long walk. Around 30km all up. We met a guy from France at Kolsay Three who was driving to Saty that night so we decided to get a lift with him. Unfortunately, after packing up our tent and walking back to the village where we assumed his car was parked, we lost sight of him! The sun went down and we were left standing alone in the little village at Kolsay One. Instead of re-pitching the tent we decided to camp in one of the little shelters on the lake. Kinda looks a bit like this one.

And woke up to a beautiful still lake in the morning. 

There were no cars heading out that morning so we walked the 13km into Saty, which was pretty uncomfortable for Claire who had developed some nasty blisters on her feet after yesterday's long walk.

We waited in Saty for a ride out. We waited, and waited, and waited. Then it started to rain. We ran to an abandoned service station set back about 20m from the road. When we saw cars coming we ran to the road to stick out our hand. The temperature was starting to drop and we were about to get out our sleeping bags and wait out the rain in snuggly comfort when a car stopped for us.

Our next stop was Charyn Canyon. We had seen lots of beuatiful photos of this mini Grand Canyon and were keen to see it for ourselves. Unfortunately, the weather continued to deteriorate and when it came time for us to get out at the Charyn Canyon turnoff the rain was coming down hard and the wind was blowing a gale.

As we watched our ride disappear into the distance we pulled our rain jackets tight and decided to pitch asap rather than walk. There were no water sources visible and the only flat spot we could find was under a buzzing power line.

It continued to rain but at least our sleeping bags were dry and warm and we slept well. The next morning was nice and clear but we decided to hitch the 10km to the canyon rather than walk. Claire's feet were still quite painful and I'm all up for getting a lift when I can.

It wasn't long before we were picked up by four Kazakh boys who were the loveliest people ever! They drove us to the canyon and we did some exploring with them. 

Unfortunately I left my kindle in their car! Rookie hitch hiking mistake. Thankfully they were nice enough to return it to my hostel once we were back in Almaty. Thank goodness we exchanged email addresses.

We walked down into the canyon then continued to the end were a little tourist village sat. After a little exploring,  we walked through the village and turned right, following the river upstream until we came across a gorgeous and secluded little canyon where we could pitch our tent.

On the fourth day we walked the 13kms back to the main road to get a lift to Almaty. And through this cool looking rock which cars have to squeeze through. It was a long walk but seeing these guys along the way made it more pleasant. 

The sky was turning black as we waited on the main road, but we got picked up just before it started to rain. The kind man, who turned out to be a police officer in Almaty, drove us all the way to our hostel for free and tried his best to communicate with us, despite not speaking a word of English.

Claire hitching a lift 

After having a rest day in Almaty our plan was to go to Big Almaty Lake, but we heard from other blogs and Trip Advisor that it's not a good time to go due to over policing by border guards. It is also expensive to get to and we didn't want to go all the way there only to be turned around. Instead we went to the Malaya Almatinka Valley, where the 2011 Asian Winter Games where held, for a day walk. There are plenty of hiking trails surrounding cafes, restaurants and the impressive Medeu ice skating rink.

What I loved most about this place is how easy it is to get to. A local bus runs from Almaty to both ends of the walk. We caught the number 12 bus from Hotel Kazakhstan and were there in half an hour and the number 28 from Butakovka Village at the other end back to Almaty.

This would be our last walk in Central Asia so we took it nice and slow, soaking in every every leaf, every tree, every blade of grass. The autumn colours have started to come out and the trees in the valley were spectacularly coloured. The morning light shone through the branches making them even more brilliant. 

We had some rest days in Almaty to get ready for our flights home and onward. I'm currently sitting at the Almaty airport waiting to board my flight to Tbilisi, Georgia. Claire flew yesterday, and is still in the air on her way home to Melbourne, Australia. I can't believe our Central Asia adventures are over. It's been one of the best overseas trips I've ever done. In large part because I had an awesome travel buddy. Highlights were the mountains around Karakol in Kyrgyzstan and the Fans in Tajikistan. And the Pamir highway of course.

Thanks for following along. Unsure at this point whether I'll keep blogging as I head to Georgia, Armenia, Greece and Turkey. Hopefully if I get the motivation. But for now, peace out...

Medressas, minarets and mosques in Uzbekistan

WARNING : If you don't like really old ancient buildings from the Silk Road era, then you're probably not going to like this post. But I'll stick in lots of pretty pictured to keep you happy.

First stop on the Silk Road was Bukhara, which many travellers list as their favourite Uzbek city. It's got some cool looking buildings such as the Ark.

An old royal fortress containing an ancient town complete with mosque, reception and coronation court, the Ark is pretty impressive. Occupied from the fifth century until it was bombed by the Red Army in 1920, it is Bukhara's oldest building. 

The most noteworthy buildings in Bukhara, though, would have to be the Kalon Minaret, Kalon Mosque and Mir-i-Arab Medressa. They all face onto each other so can be viewed at once. Here is a photo of me at Chashmai Mirob restaurant which undoubtedly has the best views of the three structures in town.

View from inside Kalon Mosque courtyard.

And of course we had to visit Char Minar. Not a particularly outstanding building, but it's on the front cover of the Lonely Planet so a visit was of course essential.

After spending five nights in Bukhara we got a shared taxi to Khiva with a Belgium couple we would continue to bump into throughout our time in the city.

Khiva was by far our favourite town, with the old wall surrounding the ancient city centre. The modern town of Khiva is quite large, but we barely saw any of it. Our hostel was located just inside the east gate of the Old City, and as all the sights and most of the decent eateries are situated within the Old City, we barely ventured out.

Juma Minaret

The most eye catching building would be the Kalta Minor Minaret.

Me at Bir Gumbaz cafe with Kalta Minor Minaret in the background.

It kinda looks like a chopped-in-half minaret due to construction ceasing before the structure was completed. Building of the minaret commenced in 1851 under Muhammed Amin Khan who apparently wanted to build a minaret so high it would be seen from Bukhara. With 452 kilometres between the two cities, this was an audacious undertaking. Unfortunately for the good khan, he died four years later and construction ceased, leaving the minaret in the stumpy form we see today.

One can't help but be overwhelmed by the number of souvenir stalls in Khiva. If only I had enough room in my pack for one of these!

In the desert north of Khiva there are some old forts, including the ruins of the impressive Ayaz-Qala, dating back to the 6th century. 

A day tour around these old forts is cheap (around $10 per person if you have four in a car) and well worth the effort.

Be aware there are no ATMs (well, working ATMs) in Khiva and we had to make a quick dash by taxi to the larger town of Urgench to get cash out. Doh.

Be warned that the food situation in Khiva is nothing to get excited about. Unless you enjoy microwaved food. We only found one good restaurant in town, to which we inevitably kept returning when we needed a good feed. This was the Khorezm Art Restaurant, where we were introduced to a wonderful food called 'gumma', which is kind of like a deep fried potato cake, only better.

We ventured outside the walled city one night for dinner at a local restaurant. After waiting over an hour for our meals to arrive it came with meat, despite us ordering it biz myaza (without meat). When we pointed out that it had meat in it, the lady gave us a spoon so we could pick it out. We were not impressed. Keep your expectations low if you're eating outside the city walls.

After four nights in Khiva we got an overnight train to Samarkand. It's how the locals travel and it's good value for money, around $17 for the 12 hour ride.

We arrived in Samarkand at 5am and had no problem getting a taxi and checking into Bahodir B&B, just a short walk to the Registan.

Samarkand is more glitzy and expensive than the other towns, causing me to like it less. However, you can't help but be impressed by the incredible architecture which is the most impressive in all of Uzbekistan.

Tilla-Kari Medressa at the Registan. 

Claire at Ulugbek Medressa at the Registan.

Shah-i-Zinda mausoleum.

Ulugbek Medressa the Registan.

Woman in trading dress at the Registan.

After three nights in Samarkand we made our way to Tashkent, the day before flying out to Astana, Kazakhstan. While there we headed to a good coffee shop for some treats and amazing wifi, after being deprived of a good internet connection for two weeks. Downloading podcasts while eating a brownie and drinking good coffee felt very luxurious. 

Entering Uzbekistan (not by camel)

Our time in Tajikistan drew to an end and we tried psyching ourselves up for Uzbekistan. We were both a little wary, as we'd heard many negative stories about border guards and police 'shake-downs' of foreigners in Uzbek cities. We were also not too excited about being stuck in cities for the next two weeks. There would be no camping for us in Uzbekistan due to the compulsory registration system where foreigners are required to provide evidence of their accommodation. Apparently this is only required every third night, but we didn't want to take any chances as border officials can make up the rules as they go, especially if you look like a wealthy foreigner. We didn't want to give them any reason to have a problem with us.              

We had heard many bad stories from other travellers about the border guards in Uzbekistan. These were mostly from people exiting Uzbekistan, rather than entering, but still we were a little nervous. To help us with the border crossing we decided to purchase the traditional dress (a kurta) and wear it for the crossing. Given that I'll probably never wear it again I thought I may as well get the most flamboyant one I could find. Just for laughs.

Me in my leopard print kurta. Our driver trying to fix the car in the background after just having crossed the border.

Here are a couple of the horror stories we heard from people when trying to leave Uzbekistan:

A guy from Spain we met at Green House Hostel in Dushanbe said that when he tried to enter Tajikistan from Uzbekistan using the Denau/Tursanzade crossing he was arrested for having prescription medication for back pain. He was taken to the city of Termiz, several hours drive south of the border crossing, was detained for five days, and was required to pay for a lawyer and get blood tests. Eventually he was allowed to cross the border into Tajikistan.

A couple we met on the Pamir Highway had been detained for five days for having prescription medication - for which they had a letter from their doctor back home. I think the medication was some kind of sedative to help with sleep. They also had to pay for a lawyer and were out of pocket more than a thousand dollars once the ordeal was over. They were also crossing the Denau/Tursanzade border. 

This may have something to do with Uzbekistan's relationship with Tajikistan more so than their war on drugs. However, they are very serious about the eradication of drugs, possibly a knee jerk reaction to being a neighbour of Afghanistan, the largest opium producer in the world.

The night before we did the crossing we did a purge of anything that may be considered contraband. We had read online that codeine is illegal in Uzbekistan. We weren't sure if it was true but just in case, it went in the bin. All medication that wasn't in its original packaging, in the bin. All religious or political material from our kindles - deleted. John Piper sermons on my phone - not deleted. There are some things I can't live without.

From Dushanbe it only took around an hour to get to the border where there were several 'illegal' money changers waiting for travellers. In Uzbekistan, all money is changed on the black market due to inflation and other economic problems. Changing on the black market will get you twice as much for your dollar than if you change it at the official money changers, which only really exist in banks or fancy hotels. Even though it's illegal, I liked this system as every hostel owner, taxi driver and street vendor is a money changer. So you never waste time looking for a bank or a money change. If you're motivated enough, you can also negotiate your exchange rate.

Taxi drivers don't go over the border and you have to walk across no man's land from the Tajik to the Uzbek check points. Thankfully, this is only about 100 metres. We got many smiles and comments of "Uzbekski!" from Customs officers and the border guards about our kurtas and it proved to be a really good icebreaker.


The border crossing was incredibly quiet, with hardly anyone around. After getting our visas stamped we entered a final building where we were ushered to the front of the very short line. Big benches waist high rowed each side of the room and we were instructed to put packs on the benches and empty them. Everything came out. Tent, sleeping bag, powdered milk, toiletries, underwear! Everything. They went though our medications asking (in Russian) what everything was for. Our explanations were limited to touching the relevant body part - head or stomach. They went through my kindle, asking what was on it. Then they went through my phone. Photos, videos, music etc. They looked at my play list which contained a lot of John Piper and some Christian music. 'What type of music do you have on here?' I was asked. 'Pop music' I said. 'Do you have anything religious?' My heart skipped a beat. 'I have pop music', I said. She must have seen something to prompt the question but after x-raying my bag and hiking boots she let me go. Whew! 

All up the border crossing probably took about an hour. It was a hassle, with us having to repack our bags in rapid time as there was quite a queue after us by this point, but it all went smoothly.

Now we just had an eight hour car ride ahead of us to get to Bukhara. We got a taxi at the border, plugged into our podcasts (at high volume in order to drown out the loud local pop music that blared from the taxi's speakers), and settled in for what we assumed would be a restful, if long, journey.

Alas, before long we were stopped at a check point and searched again! Despite there being four passengers in the taxi, the local passengers were waved through and Claire and I were taken into a separate room, our packs put on the bench, and were requested to take everything out. Again. 

The guards were two young women who diligently went through every item. One of them picked up my bag of brightly-coloured tampons and with a questioning look indicated she wanted me to explain what they were. It took several attempts with me making lots of hand gestures south of my cervix. Thankfully, Claire then offered the Tajik word for 'blood' and the guard pieced it all together. She went very red, shared some embarrased laughter with her colleague and us, and that was the end of my search. They even helped us pack our bags back up.

We had assumed when we negotiated to go to Bukhara with our taxi driver from the border that he would,  you know, take us to Bukhara. Turns out he had other plans. He pulled over at the town of Karshi, loaded us and our packs into a different taxi, and headed north with his remaining passengers to Samarkand. On a side note, he had tried to convince us several times during our drive that we really wanted to go to Samarkand. We remained adamant that we wanted to go to Bukhara. So he had to pay a portion of our fare to the next driver, and find new customers to fill his car to Samarkand.

All up we changed taxis four times before we reached Bukhara. The driver for the final leg chain-smoked as he drove and Claire spent a lot of that trip with her head out the window getting increasingly headachy and grumpy.

It was after dark when we finally reached Bukhara. For the icing on the cake, it turned out our driver wasn't going to take us to our hotel. He left us near some local taxi drivers, to whom we then had to pay an extra fee to get to our lodgings.

Things improved significantly once we reached our hostel. We stayed at a beautiful B&B called Rustam & Zuxro which had the best breakfasts in Uzbekistan with pastries, fruit, eggs and real coffee.

View of the courtyard at Rustam & Zuxro B&B

We slept in a mixed six person dorm and thankfully we were so exhausted each evening from all the sight seeing that we had no problems sleeping.

I hope you like really old buildings because next post will feature some architectural highlights from Bukhara, Khiva and Samarkand.

Yagnob Valley, or thereabouts...

After our hike through the Fan Mountains, we had a few days to kill before entering Uzbekistan. We decided to spend a few nights in what we thought was the Yagnob Valley. It turns out the Yagnob Valley is about 20km further than where we ended up, and we never did learn the name of the valley we were in.

Our map indicated that the road to Yagnob Valley was pretty remote. However, the Anzob tunnel, which is on the main road from Dushanbe to Khojand, was closed for reconstruction, causing all north-south traffic to be re-routed onto another road which went right past the turnoff to the Yagnob Valley. This alternate main road was in a laughably bad state, with many a pot hole, and much of it unsealed. Traffic was slow and followed a thin river through a narrow gorge with high rocky walls. Despite the poor road and slow journey, the scenery was amazing and this has been one of my favourite roads to travel so far.

The village of Margeb.

We got a taxi to Margeb, which was the first town off the busy, re-routed road. It was much more peaceful here. We had thought this village lay in the Yagnob Valley, but learned upon arriving that we were wrong. We asked locals the directions to Yagnob, which they indicated with their hands and arms... a very long way.

Hitting the road.

After walking less than 5km we came upon an apricot orchard. Our plan was just to have lunch here, but after snacking on some (ok lots) of fresh apricots we decided to spend the night. 

We left the apricot orchard early the next day and walked further into the valley, grateful for the fact that the high valley walls meant the road was in shade. After a couple of hours, though, the sun came overhead and the valley started to heat up.

Walking into the valley.

The river swung east and we followed it for a few more kilometres before Claire's sickness revisited. We stopped for break in the shade of an apple tree, where Claire promptly fell asleep. When she awoke the day had become hotter and she was still feeling substandard. We decided to find somewhere close to camp for the night. We walked on a bit further before we found a flat spot next to the river, shaded by a tree and close to a beautiful clear waterfall that fell across the road and joined the river.

Claire at the waterfall as it crosses the road.

We pitched our tent here and happily collapsed in the cool shade. It was a lovely campsite, with a little sandy beach and plenty of river boulders upon which to perch and watch the water as it danced and frolicked over the rocks. 

Claire wasn't feeling any better the next day, so we decided to have a rest day before heading back to Margeb the day after. By this time we were well and truly over eating two minute noodles, and were very eager to return to the apricot field. Much to our dismay, when we finally reached the orchard it was full of local villagers harvesting the trees. We were terribly disappointed and hungry. We continued walking into the village and came upon three women (a grandmother, daughter and grand daughter) on the road who were returning from their harvest with several buckets full of apricots.

While Claire was busy devising a strategy whereby one of us would distract them while stole one of the buckets and made a break for it, the women engaged us in conversation then poured handfuls of apricots into our eager hands. A few minutes later, we were invited back to their house and provided with a small feast.

The lovely mother and daughter who invited us back to their house for chai and food.

After this early lunch we headed back to the road a hitched out of the valley with a couple of locals. They were headed south, and we were going north back to Sarvoda, so they dropped us off at the main road. We waited here for a few minutes before a lovely young truck driver picked us up. Unfortunately, his truck broke down about an hour into the drive, but we were picked up by another car and made it back to Sarvoda that afternoon.

Hitched a ride to Sarvoda in one of these bad boys (before it broke down).

We had another rest day in Sarvoda before getting a taxi back to Dushanbe. In Dushanbe we stayed with a couch surfer for two nights. He was a lovely Afghan guy who worked with a humanitarian aid organisation helping refugees and stateless people in Central Asia. He and another guest he had at the time were very hospitable, taking us out for dinner and showing us the sights of Dushanbe.