normalna

I bought a netbook in Dushanbe. Might as well come clean about it; instead of reading books now I watch movies in my tent. Only rarely of course, the rest is all wilderness survival stuff. The idea was that I'd write more, whatever, I like being able to reload my music sticks daily. More choice, better living, haha. Instead I just get pissy when the stuffy, faux-Euro Kazakh bars' wifi doesn't work and the staff ignore me, panicked to find that real-life Europeans aren't quite as well turned out, or indeed as polite, as they'd thought. I slept in a park in Taldykorgan last night, something I don't ordinarily do. But I wanted to wake up somewhere. Kazakhstan is pretty big and, I see, pretty empty. I wasn't disturbed, slept late and had breakfast on the bazaar. I've misjudged a little and find myself with far more time to cross the country than I need. I can't get into Russia until June 1st, but the border's only six hundred miles or so. I idle on the steppe.

Almaty was nice, but for the traffic. I said the roads stink of money and meant literally. Luxury 4x4s seem more obligatory than fashionable. There are lots of bicycles, high-end mountain ones, but they're strictly for leisure. If you want to get anywhere it has to be an empty SUV. Lovely. Still the nice bits won over and having got the Mongolian visa unexpectedly immediately I spent a few days being welcomed. It was ace to bump into Dan, a friend of several friends from Bristol. We spent some time and the chat felt like home. One afternoon I went with Koreans, Danes, Kazakhs, Russians and an Australian for a hillside picnic but we were suddenly stormed on and yielded to the 4x4(!) and an older gent's terrace, and then his comprehensive hospitality. The sauna broiled and blistered and nudity was insisted upon, save protective caps. Vladimir whipped us in the cramped heat - hilariously - with herby sticks. Soviet traditions are as predictable as they are generous and you could see the vodka coming afterwards. We left relatively unscathed and after a year of these strange stranger scenarios I catch myself once in a while taking it all for granted.

So yeah I'm killing time. What else? There still feels a newness to my aloneness. I chat to myself alarmingly often. Emails are at a premium. Dad wrote to say that Alma-Ata means Apple-Father in Turkish. Rob wondered when we'd next make a sunny day on the plot. Jen told me about reclaiming found furniture; Laura about chip-pan fire demos in Vienna. Rachel said the Bluebells are out and Mum sent a picture to prove it. In this much space it's especially good to be connected. William's family sorted me out some fantastic coffee (thank you!); I gorge on it and try not to ride too fast on the endless flat. Without Tieme I've finally gotten round to making my idiot-sheet of Russian vocabulary, and together with the Kazakh-Turkish linguistic overlap and the Persianesque hospitality here there's a sense - to make a big simplification - of one huge Asian landmass, divided only by history. Obvious really.

chez Vlad

dawn

  

another dawn

alone photo

Taldykorgan