Wanna ride with me?
It fell really good to go down this pass after spending 4 days going up during the snow last Spring.
eleanor moseman
While you were sleeping…
…dinner was being prepared in Kashgar.
What a fizzle to my end…
I’ve been in China for nearly a month now. Actually, I’m not quite sure as I’ve lost count.
The past two weeks have been a grey haze. One being that I was ill, including spending a day at the hospital, and I had food poisoning before that…and the realization I’m finished. And, like I was warned, it’s just downright depressing.
Daily reminders to myself that “I can not go on forever”. I started planning around May 2009. That’s a lot of time dedicated to one endeavor. This has been my life, for the most part since then.
I’m also a bit bummed when I think of the Summer of 2012. I feel like I just didn’t ride that much. The Central Asian deserts and Civil Wars really put a damper on a lot of the dreams.
Last week my back was really acting up and could barely crawl out of bed. It’s pretty bad.
Currently I, and another solo female cyclist, are planning a Winter Expedition. It’s still in the “Top Secret” phase so if it does go off…I need to begin to recover. Frankly, there are worse places to hang out and photograph than Kashgar and Xinjiang.
So, I have this winter ride to keep my head straight along with my other ideas. Some of them require very little funds and time and others involve a lot of training, funds, and a support team. Of course cycling Africa is in the top 5. The other expeditions are without a bike, or some other mode of transportation.
Yeah, I’ve been a bit under the weather. That’s painting a pretty picture, I’ve been downright depressed. I try not to beat myself up about it, that just makes it worse. Trust me, I know. This is an emotional state I’ve battled against since I can remember. You can call my mom and ask her all about it.
Although, over the past 3 years, I’ve only found myself depressed twice. Once was being because I had take a break after this first stint and the second being a heartbreak.
The conclusion is, this emotional and mental states comes mostly from trying to live a life that is expected of me. Not having the freedom to do what I want to do and when. Basically, I get sad when I’m not being a “selfish” “bad-ass”.
There is one other reason I get depressed. It’s when I’m not making images, taking photographs. The other day I was spending time with my Uyghur contacts here and I felt great afterwards. Almost on top of the world. It blew those grey clouds away for the time being.
Maybe some of you are thinking, “Quit your crying…YOU are living the dream”. I’m stuck at my 9-5 job and all these responsibilities.” Granted.
There are plenty of things YOU have that I would love to have. Rather than crying yourself to sleep in a bunk bed with 7 Chinese people snoring…I bet you have a friend(s) you can call up and have a beer with – or just talk it out.
Maybe you get to sleep next a warm body that loves you every night.
You have deadlines, appointments, and places to go and people to see. A schedule. Wow…I would love a schedule right now. Something to tell me when to do what.
I’m just saying…don’t overlook all the wonderful things YOU have in your life that some of us don’t. Things that we (solo cyclists) would love to have.
YOU are more real than ME.
This is an image…a personality. Eleanor Moseman, the “Wander Cyclist”, is only a facet of the person that is sitting behind this computer pecking out her edited for public consumption thoughts, ideas, and feelings.
Even if this chick is an illusion, I hope you’ll continue to follow my future Adventures, and failures.
So, now what. Well, I’ll continue to work my way into this photo project. But in the meantime, I’m thinking of going for a bike ride somewhere for a couple of weeks. I can’t tell you where…seriously.
The End…?
Kashgar…
…while you were sleeping.
花儿为什么这样红
North East South West by Bike – Central Asia
Featuring yours truly in the first minute!
I dance more than you KNOW…
…BUT now you do.
Welcome to the ‘Boys Club’…or rather, no welcome at all.
“I’m more woman than you could handle.”
7km off course to camp next to Lenin Peak, Kyrgyzstan.
This summer was the first time since beginning this tour that I had the chance to encounter so many other travellers. Ranging from backpackers, motorbike riders, cyclos, and other miscellany.
I began this summer by riding with my favorite brothers, Matt and Lucas. It was stressful, downright frightening…at times I wanted to murder them for keeping me from my beauty sleep with their tent talk. I miss the chatter and that SMELL…THAT SMELL…from the tent. Although, at this current moment, I think both of these would offer great comfort to me. I do miss them dearly, especially that I’ve returned to Kashgar where we met.
There was Nathan in Bishkek and from there I would go onto Kazakhstan. I would not encounter another traveller until Tashkent, nearly 5 weeks later.
It was only the budding of the tourist season…where I met 2 Italians that had just completed the Pamirs on motorbikes. And a wonderful backpacker from the States that shared delightful stories of Africa, and a cyclist he met. Tashkent would be just the beginning.
From Tashkent, I would ride a small road through the mountains of Nurata. What a beautiful experience…except…that “eco-tourism” listed in the “Lonely Liar”. Stay away…they even received a lengthy complaint email.
The Uzbeks on this route…were…amazing. The homestays…the love. I had already broken the law after not registering for 3 days so I just threw my shit to the wind and didn’t worry so much about it.
Usually sleeping in cafes or with locals, kept me safe, rested, and well fed. The one time I camped in the desert, I got invited in by a petrol station attendant who grabbed my breasts twice in the late night. Nothing like starting to ride at 3:30 am along the desert highway, after only a couple hours of sleep. Luckily, I was planned to arrive in Bukhara that afternoon. I would do 80km before 10am that day.
Bukhara…I would become fast friends with Chris-Alex, a Swiss cyclist. We hit it off splendidly. A gentleman and a fellow solo cyclist who has been on the road for nearly a year. Besides our language barrier and his accusation that my English is “horrible”, we spent our days talking and recovering. We had both fallen ill and he was getting his shots for a dog bite.
We made plans to meet in Samarkand and away I went…through the deserts of Uzbekistan…taking a small road to Samarkand. I thought a route with little traffic would offer an authentic experience of the Silk Road. Everything DID turn into a beautiful golden color.
Samarkand must be the meeting point of the Peloton. All couples or solo male cyclists. Here I would have the honor of meeting the famous Jacques Sirat, who sends me lovely electronic correspondence.
The guesthouse is filled with all kinds. I would meet Robin and Keely (my favorite motorbike couple), Max and Mariya (who would see me crying on the side of the road in the Pamirs and donate their food supply), Richard (a British boy I would spend a half day with in Sary-Tash), Angelica and her new love (what an inspiring story, and the only girl to love my southern accent), this boy who had ridden a horse across Mongolia that was now carrying a pair of rollerblades (having given up his tuxedo a few months earlier)…and I would see the return of Chris-Alex…the boy that sleeps and showers more than anyone I know.
One night we enjoyed the fine vodka of Central Asia. Robin began to tell us all how women are better than men. We would also have a guest there that was completely insane. She kept us all entertained for a couple of days.
Towards the end of Samarkand, new couples arrived. Then it became couples/cyclists time. Chris-Alex had told one pair to talk to me about China as I “know everything about China”. I don’t…but more than the majority.
When I over heard them discussing the usual…maps/visas/roads…the stuff that bores me…I tried to add some insight and advice. I was looked at like I was speaking Chinese and they would rather not hear. Oh, excuse me…I’m sorry…did I talk outloud…shame on me…I’ll go sit in my room by myself. All my friends had left and I had these pompous cyclists left in the shadow of pleasant memories.
I’d been in Samarkand for 8 days…it was time to move on. My mood suffers drastically if I stay more than 5. Especially having to hear the same conversations over and over and over and over. Hey cyclos…lets make a deal…Visa talk for 5 minutes max. Let’s talk about other pleasantries…or funny stuff. Routes…mileage count…what job you quit…*yawn. Okay, so it was the first time I was obviously shunned from cyclists. Love me or leave me.
Onto Dushanbe. What?!
A dozen tents in the guesthouse. Bicycles and motorbikes everywhere!
I’ll run into some of the folks from Samarkand…hear rumors of those ahead of me leaving for the Highway a week earlier. Here, in ol’Dushanbe…I would learn that boys on motorbikes and I get along real well. I acquired a nice short list of emails…some handed to me…Alick being the first.
Again, the usual run of couples and a few solo men…with the eventual return of Chris-Alex and a posse of 2 other solo cyclos. Men, of course. A few pairs of girls show up (the second time in Dushanbe)…which surprises me.
The couples from Uzbekistan had been there earlier…and left with 2 other couples. Hey, ain’t nothing wrong with being a cycling couple…ain’t my thing, probably never will be…nor is riding in a group of 6.
While in Dushanbe, I got to meet a wonderful cyclist gal that lives and works there. It was such a pleasure spending some time with another woman that spends hours pouring over maps and can “do it all” herself.
Pamirs…well…we all know that one. FAIL.
I returned to Dushanbe with Chris-Alex and 3 AMAZING Swiss couples, all returning from Kalaikumb. So wonderful that I was invited to their National Day Dinner…the only non Swiss, out of 9! Sheeesh, I felt like the guest of honor although I couldn’t understand a word. Eight were German speakers while Chris-Alex is a French speaking Swiss. Remo, the solo guy on a single speed Swiss Army Bike, impressed me not only by his bike of choice but also his beard. The wonderful couples, Janine & Dominik and Ruedi and Fabienne – see the Sponsors page to visit their blogs.
If you all have found this blog…you made the return to Dushanbe enjoyable. As enjoyable pouring our tears and misery into bottles of beer can be. Perhaps we will have a reunion in Dushanbe before the next Civil War…as Matt Woodward would joke to me tonight about. A fine fella on a motorbike that is currently in Mongolia.
The great thing about being alone, is when other travellers cook, you more than likely, get invited. THANK YOU TO ALL…IT WAS GREAT!!! And never ever under appreciated.
So, I’ve only met a few assholes…honestly. It’s been a fine fine summer…so many new friends…a lot of faces I won’t ever forget. Although its caused my Chinese to go to the shitters, I’m thankful for a few of lifelong friendships I look forward to. And just imagine…when I finally tour Europe I’ll have Switzerland, France, UK, Belgium, and the Netherlands covered.
What the hell happened on the border of China?!
Ok, I’m not going to act completely naive. I’ve seen a little of the “Hey I’m on a bike…I’m extraordinary…lady you should talk to me.” But very very very little of it. Most of us know there is nothing special about it…we are just like you, backpackers…just like you motorbike folks. We are all living the way we want to. We are not extraordinary…we may just be more masochistic…and for the solo folks, socially inept, emotionally stunted, or running away/towards something.
On the border, yes, I did the Irkeshtam Pass – again, I met 5 other cyclists, 1 married couple, 1 2dude couple, and 1 recently solo dude.
I know the ropes. I help them all with the border crossing bullshit. Getting into the truck and all that garbage.
My stuff is loaded with “Doofus” and Christian…the boys from Germany. I would camp with them that night, it’s nice to have the laughter…but I do notice “Doofus” is a bit in love with himself and NEVER quits talking. Well, when he’s asleep, I suppose.
We make it to Kashgar the following day, early afternoon. The solo Frenchie caught up with us and the 3 of us got here just a few hours before the Dutch couple.
After 7 beers a piece…and a lack of water and food…we all crash out. “Doofus” had been making his moves on me all night. I was quite turned off by his technique for passing gas in peoples faces…and his beatboxing was not something that makes a lady swoon.
Then the most awful pickup line…”You inspire me”. Gross. Shut up.
He keeps trying to cuddle with me outside and I tell him, “no, I don’t want anyone to see me”. First, I’m not 15…I do not like PDA…especially from an A1 Doofus. He tells me he has always wanted to be a clown…”Really, are you retarded?” was my drunken response.
Yes, I’m difficult.
He continues to try and convince me to cuddle…”Oh, it’s been too long…you just need to be close to another person”. Haha, that’s a new one. I deny and fall off the platform pulling away.
I’m lying down next to him and Frenchie comes back. The two start wrestling and then Doofus turns to me and gets extremely aggressive and starts trying to bite my butt? I pull away telling him to stop/quit and he refuses…he gets a big ol’slap across the face. I don’t stand for that shit…when I say stop…you better STOP.
Earlier that night, Doofus had strutted around the courtyard about riding a bike to a few locals here. At 4000km, a few months, and a plane ride…yeah, homeboy…strut your shit to someone else ‘cus your shit to my face, stinks!
He gets the nickname Doofus from me this night.
So we go to the dorm room. He lies down in the bunk next to me and he’s silent. Oh my god…you do shut up. Okay, readers…I’m going to be completely honest about what I do next. Jason, quit reading now…or anyone that thinks I’m a nice girl.
I lie down next to him for an hour. There is NO hugging, NO cuddling, NO kissing. It’s nothing. Honestly, I just needed to lie down next to a SILENT human being (after 18 months) for an hour. His hand would only lie on my thigh. Completely innocent. Yes…I used him. Blatant admittance…I used a doofus for emotional comfort, slipping back into my bed an hour later and awake with my dignity – or so I would think.
Through the next 2 days I would go insane listening to him in the courtyard. Even his friend and I would exchange a couple of eye rollings of the “kids” behavior. Oh, I never told you how he claimed to be a filmmaker and wanted to work on my project with me. WHATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT?!!?!?!?!!?!?!?! You think I’m some stupid girl that’s going to give away years and years of work for you. You have got to be out of your obnoxious, self obsessed, mind! (This is the same filmmaker that didn’t get to film the Buzkashi match because he had a dead battery. No excuse.)
(I would explain to Doofus what the “drivetrain” is. He also told me how he will change his chain when he changes the cassette…wait a minute buddy. You’ve missed something here. You keep on dreaming of your clown career and your ukulele/beatboxing performances in the courtyard.)
Okay, I know I’m loud at times. Yeah. But I do have an “Off” button. I was really hoping this guy would find his. But, nope. Does not exist.
About 6 other cyclists show up. All guys…no solo. I’m really left out in this situation, ain’t I?
I begin to pick up on something. I watch from the corner…my face buried in my laptop dreaming up my next Expedition with Miss Chappell…laughing at my Doofus stories.
Hearing his stories over and over and over and over again. The same…over and over and over…He’s a braggart and a performer. I begin to catch onto the other male cyclists. There is a pattern. It’s somewhere along these lines.
“Where are you from?”
“xxxx”
“Oh yea…”
….
….
…..
…
…
“You came here on bikes, that is sooOOOooOOOoo cool, I would sooOOooOOOoo love to do that.” (Responses similar from men and women).”
Of course, I’m a woman, I’m a cyclist…of course I sit in the corner by myself wondering why they don’t talk to me. What’s wrong with me. I walk around with a smile and try to make small talk. Oh, like this classic one.
“Hey guys…where ya headed, where ya going”
“We are going to India.”
“You didn’t come from the Pamirs by any chance.”
“No.”
“Oh…just wondering because a lot of cyclists are coming from there and there was trouble because of the war.”
“War…KnoW nothing of it…that’s what happens when you are on a bike. Where are you coming from.” (Catch that?…letting me know THEY ARE CYCLISTS!…my bike is not in hand and there is nothing to show I have a bike.)
“I started in Shanghai and just did a loop through Central Asia and am returning home.”
“Oh, Shanghai?”
“Yeah, I live there.”
“Ahhh…teaching English…obviously.”
(Wait a minute!)
“No, I’m a photographer.”
“Oh.”
Great intro, eh?
So, I get it. Maybe it all stems from the fact that these boys that think what they are doing is the greatest thing since sliced bread or ice cream know they can’t use their silly “I’m cycling around the world” charm on me. Hey homeboy…I see through ALL YOUR SHIT.
I’m leaving Kashgar for a nice visit with a local Uyghur family. I’m so tired of listening to the whole “why you should bike tour” speeches. Why can’t people just enjoy what they are doing now…without regrets or thoughts of what they should/could be doing.
Cyclos…quit selling the idea so hard…it’s tacky. Let these people enjoy what they are doing NOW…they can think about the bikes later.
5 Seconds after we had arrived in Kashgar some girl just started up about cycling…to the BOYS. On and on and on and on…maybe I smell bad? Is there a reason to think Doofus has more experience and knowledge than me…oh YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…THAT’S RIGHT…THEY HAVE PENISES…I FORGOT…TOTALLY SLIPPED MY MIND. Of course…they must know more than me and give more accurate information.
Everything Doofus said about cycling China was a repeat of me…but inaccuracies added. I would sit and listen to the bullshit being spread around the only hostel in Kashgar. I even shared a quote from Genochio – giving him full credit and I heard doofus use it at least 10 times out of context. The third time (in a few hours), I screamed from inside, “Hey, you know that’s not YOUR line!”
I may go absolutely insane if I have to hear his voice…
…oh, wait, I nearly forgot…the conclusion of Doofus and Co.
So, Doofus and Frenchie go out for KTV their last night here. Well, it will be the second to last after all the drunkeness.
I wake up at 6:30 to the awful word: Pu$$y…being dropped like the word “bike” over the past few days. What is going on…I’m sleeping. Of course it’s Doofus…eyes barely parted I realize he is TALKING ABOUT ME!?!?! It continues…on and on…a debate on if it’s shaved or not. WHO THE HELL DOES THIS A METER AWAY FROM THE GIRL?!?!
Then…THEN…THEN…I hear: “I probably know but don’t remember…huh huh huh.”
EXCUSE ME…EXCUSE ME…EXCUSE ME…
I throw a pillow at them and go into the room. Leaving behind, “I don’t know what I did wrong…she’s so beautiful.” Yeah right buddy…try to make up for that vulgar talk. You didn’t do anything wrong besides being the biggest creep, one celled organism, self obsessed, moron I’ve ever met. I’m just NOT into you.
Christian tries to have me come back and feels bad about it. I whisper, “this is bullshit, no.”
The next day, Doofus comes up to me with his arms spread…going in for a hug and says, “Darlin’ (Aussie accent), I’m sorry if we hurt your feelings.”
I pull away, flip my hand in his face and say, “Whatever, DUDE!” and walk past him.
Frenchie calls me a Princess. Sorry homeboys…if thats the only insult you can fish for…well, Thanks.
Bon Voyage ASSHOLES! They had been planning a route through T1b3t and with Doofus as their Captain…and already 2 days late because of his shenanigans…it’s not going to happen. There are some logistics I didn’t share, nor did they ask for. You will not get your Visa renewed after the police escort you back to legal land. 3 Weeks will not get you across the Northern part.
I don’t wish ill on anyone…he’ll be sure to find it on his own.
Days earlier, whispering with Christian at 4 am…I would tell him that the biggest problem they will have in T1b3t is teamwork. The stress levels will be high, you’ll be hungry, rushing against a clock, dealing with altitude…relationships will fail. i.e. Brandon/Ellen.
Being a woman…alone I have had to deal with a lot of shit.
I had one cyclist make fun of me in Dushanbe accusing me of using a “poor little girl” technique to get taken in and fed. Let me tell you one thing…I would give up all these perks if it guaranteed no rape attempts, no boob grabs, no pelvic thrusts on the side of the road, no harassment about not having a husband, no secret massages late at night. Bring on the equality!!!! I’ll take it with open arms.
YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT ITS LIKE. You wonder why I lock myself in a hotel room every now and again. It’s exhausting…it’s painful, having these reminders that I am inferior in so many eyes.
Then, western boys do similar, if not worse shit to me. Who am I run to for comfort? To another dude on a bike that uses his “riding around the world” to get attention from girls, and guys. I don’t think so. I try talking to the Dutch couple about it, but they have a bit of starry eyes for the triplets.
Two French boys, that had ridden with Doofus and Christian a month earlier invited me to come along. So…why would I? Is it because I’m a girl and I need company? You don’t know me? How do you know we would get along? I’ve learned that most people have ulterior intentions. Even like the Uyghur “friend” I have here…that made me promise to bring him back an iPhone.
If Chris-Alex was here…there’d be none of it. Or if darling Jacques…or even Brandon who behaved as a gentleman for 2 months. There are a lot of good, really good men out there. But at the present moment…there are too many boys stuck here in Kashgar.
Hey lady…wanna ride a bike….? I’m SPECTACULAR!!!!! I really hope my bike turns you on because my conversation is DULL DULL DULL.
Welcome to the Boys Club, Darlin’…too bad I’m into MEN!
I type this, silently, alone…because…I don’t need to strut, nor did I ever. This journey has been about me…not you. It only matters that I proved it to myself…every kilometer since the very first.
Kazakhstan May 16 2012
I wake up to Jalabad’s fishing friend knocking at the door at 5:30.
Already having been up for 30 minutes, after hearing Jalabad’s phone ring over and over, I roll my loaded bike up to the door and greet him.
He makes an attempt to wake Jalabad but neither of them stir, so there are no goodbyes.
We walk to the road and wait in front of a little shop.
The first bus has no room for the bike and bags.
The second bus does.
His friend instructs where I am to get off at. Balhash, approximately 130km North.
The Russian drivers instruct me to sit in the first row, behind the current driver.
Within a few minutes, the driver pulls out a cd case. I notice his hands, wearing some pretty metal driving gloves…mesh and leather. His balding head and some mean lookin’ sunglasses.
By the look of the cd cover, I’m expecting some Norwegian metal.
If you know me personally, you may know I have a bit of passion for metal. I’ve been away from home awhile, and anything small, even if it’s not the type of metal I would prefer…it brings a nice warm feeling of familiarity to me.
I sit in my seat…thinking, “wow, I’m riding a bus through the Kazakhstan Steppe, with my bike in luggage listening to some intense metal…life is crazy”.
When we arrive to Balhash, there is some confusion of where I’m trying to go.
They think I’m continuing on, so after unloading, they load me back up. I hand them my map in the bus and after about a half kilometer, they realize I need to be let off now. I’m given an offer for a free ride to Astana…but I politely decline. My bus ride was free and the driver introduces himself, then I, with a thank you over a hand shake.
In Balhash around noon and I try to get directions to try to get to a small “town” North of the lake. I ask one man and he gives me directions, not in English, in Russian…but I make do at this point and can understand.
As I head in the direction…he pulls up in a car and tells me there is no road and I need to go back to Almaty and then come up from the East side. Okay, this is possible…could be very possible.
I go to a shop to buy supplies and tell them where I’m going, to see about their response. They seem to be familiar with the name and just kind of nod a “yes” and smile.
I go to another shop to do the same test. Same response.
So I decide to head out.
There are no signs to the road and it leads North and then towards the East.
Friendly Russians pass me in their cars. One stopping and asking, “Adventure”? I respond with yes. He hands be a big bottle of “Kvas” and a cold Vitamin C and tells me, “gift”. Holy shit, thanks!
I continue on and soon I can see the lake and there is no traffic except some local vehicles.
There is a headwind and at one point it catches my toilet paper on the front rack and before I know it I have 4 meters of white TP trailing behind me. I jump off with a few choice swear words and salvage what I can.
Only 2 small villages and about every 20 meters some sort of shed/shack that has some electrical facility. There seems to be some areas for growing plants as well, perhaps 3 or 4. I’m now questioning if this is going to turn into a service road of sorts.
After about 24 kilometers into this crappy headwind I see some abandoned concrete apartment buildings and offices ahead.
I can see, and hear, some construction going on. Trucks loaded with concrete and I can see a few people in a shell of a 5 story concrete building. Appearing to be very Chinese, I can see that they are taking down the old bricks and stacking them to be reused.
With a little more pedaling, I can see that this appears to be an old Soviet military base/testing area. Continue a little further on the crumbling road…and then…pass the base…and then…AND…THEN…
…THIS…
Here the road would be considered in “great condition”.
The temperature is in the low 40’s (C), being swarmed by mosquitoes and flies, and…and…hundreds of empty vodka bottles.
I sit on the side, in the sand, sweating…and think about what I could be getting into.
No traffic, no people…oh wait…a massive olive green military truck passes with 2 Russians…no water (a salt water lake), possibly at least 5 days without water/food, headwind, empty vodka bottles: drunks?, eaten by mosquitoes and flies, LOTS AND LOTS OF SAND.
Okay, maybe that guy was right about no roads…be smart Ellen, turn back. Screw your pride, love your life.
I turn back.
I’m waved down by a couple truck drivers that are curious of what I’m doing and after stumbling over my broken Russian I move on. I’ve got a hell of a tailwind and I’m pedaling over 30km/h.
About 5km up a car comes up to me. A man and woman, Kazakh. They insist to come back to where they are working and they will drive me to town. I can stay at their home for the night. They look about my age and decent folks. I insist it’s not a problem, I can do this…but they are very very insistent on me spending time with them
They are at the old military base breaking down the walls and salvaging the bricks.
We have a bit of a picnic, with 2 other men that are working with them.
One is a bit older and he makes me laugh, the other is a sex pest in the making. Asking me for kisses…peering at me behind corners asking for more kisses. No dude, you aren’t getting any kisses.
So, after some work…and the older dude getting shit faced on vodka…we head back.
In the car, I’m in between both men and the older one on my left is really truck and accidentally grabs me a couple of times. As he is really excited to be talking to me. He means well…I just laugh.
The OTHER dude gives me that handshake with the wiggling middle finger in the palm. I pull away and look at him sternly and let him know I do not appreciate it at all. No more games with this shit…I’m tired of it.
We have to pull over to let oldie vomit.
Arriving to a classic Communist apartment block, we go inside.
Wow, it’s very nice and has really warm feeling about it. The couple’s son arrives and he can speak a little English.
We have dinner and then I retire to the room with the tv. Mr kissy is in there and asks me for a massage. “No.” or rather “nyet”. He begins to beg and I ignore him with my constant “nyet”.
He finally gives up and actually apologizes to me. It’s time for sleep.
Buzkashi
After 4 months riding through Central Asia, I was disappointed to not see a game of Buzkashi. My last day in Kyrgyzstan, the second time around, I pushed my bike through a field to greet the large group of men and horses.
Sorry about the dot in the center, seems there is some water in my lens from my river swimming.