Ellen

02 Aug 2012
Sticky Post By Posted in Scary Moments, Summer 2012, Tajikistan, video With 14 Comments Permalink

Pamirs v2.0 – and a little about my bonehead move.

Sticky Post By On August 2, 2012 With 14 Comments

After my first attempt into the Pamirs, and a return to Dushanbe during the fighting…I will be going back out in 1 day…hopefully.

In the meantime, here is a little bit of what I’ve already gone through:

The 22nd, the day the KGB boss was killed and started the fighting…I pulled a bonehead move.

I came to a river. I knew Chris (a guy I had ridden with for 3 days) had crossed it so I figured I could too.

The second push in the brown muddy water, waves went over my front panniers and the tire wasn’t touching the bottom. I’m not sure how long this went on but the water was over my waist as I’m screaming trying to push the bike back up on the bank.

I was desperately trying to keep the bar bag above water – camera. There was a helicopter over me (because of the murder) and I’m hoping some of the miners will come to my rescue. There are a few men watching from the hill as I scream at the top of my lungs for help.

I think…I’m not really sure what happened or I tried to do, but I tried to take the bar bag off to throw on the bank but instead the bike is whipped and pushed on top of me and I’m taken down with water under my armpits, water rushing over my entire bike, and I’m carried nearly 2 meters before crashing against the stones. My bike is on top of me, I’m almost completely submerged. I think my adrenaline gave me a moment of superhuman strength…as my bike is pushed across my body, the current taking it further, I crawl out and pull my bike out too.

It’s a grey fog, I’m not sure how I got out, what actually happened…but I’m alive and the only thing I lost was the tupperware container full of food and my book. I remember seeing the bin go down the river followed by a book…as I was pulling the bike out. There were some pressed wildflowers from Kyrgyzstan I had planned on giving to my gramma.

Earlier that day, a boy had been launching rocks off the ledge at me as I tried to repair the snapped bolt on my racks. I had washed my hair, and my clothes…and now…I was soaking wet from muddy waters.

(The day before, at a homestay, an older Tajik woman had insisted I take a bath. I was naked in her tub, while she poured warm water over my body…she helping wash my back. Yeah…only this gal would have stories of spongebaths from new Tajik lady friends!)

A mining truck came down to take me across the flooded river. We loaded the wet gear into the truck and we crossed. The water going over the massive wheels. I’m holding on in the truck, thinking it’s about to tip over in certain areas.

At the top, I unload my bags to dry and let it all out…

Then a jeep of Russian mechanics drove me up a pass of massive rocks…Chris had to push his bike for 3 hours…the path was unrideable.

That evening, arriving at the following city, it was raining and too dark to continue on. I slept in an old outdoor bazaar, on top of the stall tables where the produce is usually sold. Up to this point, I had at least one pass a day, sometimes 2…and tomorrow I would be tackling a big boy…

I had to push my bike for 2 days up the pass from hell towards Kala-i Kumb…body bruised, cut, banged. Ego damaged…breaking into tears every now and again. It rained so the first day was pushing through a few cm’s of mud. Also, the screw on my seat tube was stripped so my saddle would slowly drop in.

At the end of the second day, some backpackers I had met in Samarkand stopped on the road to see if I was okay. As soon as Maria asked me, “Are you okay?”…tears started flowing. It had been the first person to express what had happened to me. Maria and Max tried to get me in their jeep and the next one to come along…but no room. I thanked them anyhow and they donated a bag of snacks and bread.

That evening I would stay with a family up the pass that owned a cafe. A French mountaineer would alert me of the current situation with the fighting and the rebels.

Chilling with Grandpa! He is wearing a traditional hat that the Uzbek minorities wear. There are a lot of Uzbeks, and Kyrgzy, that reside in Tajikistan.

Riding down the pass…a group of boys launched apple cores and rocks at me. 20 meters later a group of boys come up to me in the road trying to talk and then start throwing sticks and rocks at me….I go absolute ape shit. I leave my bike in the middle of the road, pick up the biggest rock I can and start screaming, “I’m going to bash you fucking skulls in you fucking mother fuckers!” and chase them down the street and begin down the steps through homes. EVERYONE comes out to the street and I’m explaining to the men what they had done. I climb onto my bike, tears streaming down my face to find myself in Kala-i Kumb.

I stayed there, along with 9 other cyclists…where 8 of us took cars back to the capital after 3 days of waiting out the fighting in the Pamirs.

Of course, a bike in a car always gets damaged. For the past few days I’ve been trying to repair a snapped plunger on my stove and my Brooks saddle looks like a dog chewed on it. All from a 10 hour car ride back to the capital, Dushanbe.

I’ve been able to find a replacement pump for the stove, a replacement screw for my seat tube, and my body is nearly healed. Let’s try this again!!!

There are rumors of what is going on. Some say borders are closed, cities are shut down, fighting continues. No one can get the story straight, or accurate.

I promise to come back to the beginning of this story…of the Pamirs…after the Pamirs….

See you on the other side!

30 Jul 2012
Sticky Post By Posted in Kazakhstan, Summer 2012 With No Comments Permalink

Kazakhstan May 14, 15…Gone Fishin’ (Continued)

Sticky Post By On July 30, 2012 With No Comments

I wake up in the early morning and the couple is still sleeping.

Around 11 they wake up and Jalabad heads out.

I spend the day with the girl, as she does laundry and other stuff around the apartment. She tells me how she gets so bored at home and how here husband just leaves for the day.

We talk about possibly going to Astana. A tentative plan is to take a bus to Balhash, leave my bike at her gramma’s and then go to Astana for a few days. Why not?

My plans were to leave today, as Jalabad said he would drive me further. I’m getting a little impatient because I want to get back on the road and out of this depressing situation. Also, I don’t want massages offered to me with out the offer.

I do feel sorry for the wife, she seems so sad and in such an awful situation.

Around 3 Jalabad returns home with his fishing buddy and I say, “I have to leave.” They begin to show concern and telling me about “banditos”. And how I’ll get raped on the route to Balhash. They promise to get me on a bus the next morning. Okay, whatever…whatever.

Once I agree to this Jalabad and his friend step out, leaving me in front of the television with some movies. The wife telling me to nap. I take up the offer.

Later, she joins me in the living area to continue watching some Russian dubbed movie. The hilarious thing about Russian dubbed movies is there is the same man…just reading the script with no voice inflection – completely monotone. For men and women actors.

The electric goes out for a little while.

Eventually Jalabad returns home and he and I sit in the kitchen for a little while together. He explains to me that his wife is a little weird in the head, stating the age difference of about 48 years. He has been married previously, wife and kids living in Almaty. I’m not sure how accurate this translation is, but it seemed there may have been some documents preventing him from seeing them.

Again, we have boiled chicken, onions, and pasta. Of course, with white bread with mayo and ketchup on it.

I reside to the living room and they continue their evening marijuana smoking. Jalabad later shows me the “plants” he is trying to grow…and I have to break him the bad news but I don’t think that is marijuana.

Later, brushing my teeth, I bust the faucet and have to call them in, holding the tap. If I were to let go the water would spray straight to the ceiling. They both work on it and can’t fix it, but I arrive with some zip ties and the problem is solved.

Falling asleep around 10, I’m left undisturbed throughout the night.

11 Jul 2012
Sticky Post By Posted in Kazakhstan, Photography, Photos, Summer 2012 With 1 Comment Permalink

Kazakhstan May 14, 15…Gone Fishin

Sticky Post By On July 11, 2012 With 1 Comment

Breaking down camp well before 6 am, I pass through a small town. Picking up minimal supplies, like candy, along with some ice cream for breakfast.

It’s been close to a week since my last shower and I saw a gas station/truck stop that seemed to offer something of the sort. But, it either wasn’t open that early or just not open at all.

I ride through the barren steppe with a headwind until about 11 when a blue, 2 door Lada pulls up next to me.

There are two men in front, a bit older, and they are extremely friendly and waving at me. Asking me where I’m from and they are even happier to hear I’m an American. We wave goodbye and they move ahead.

They stop about 200 meters ahead.

I’m greeted by two men and an old tiny Kazakhstan flag. They seem so excited to meet me and so welcoming I can’t help smiling during the entire conversation.

He tells me they are going fishing in Lake Balhash and I am invited to come along. Them miming that I’ll throw my bike on the car and we’ll all go together. It’s only 11am but, if you’ve been following this journey for awhile now, you know I rarely turn down offers of any sort. Well, I do turn down the offers for sex…

One man tells me his wife is in the back of the car and this is the confirmation that I shouldn’t have too many problems.

He pops the trunk of the tiny 2 door Lada and there is a tiny girl sitting in the back with reflective aviator sunglasses on. We exchange “hellos”…she doesn’t look Kazakh or Russian, but she does appear to be very young. As she moves around in the area of the hatchback, for me to put my bags in the back, I catch a glimpse of her eyes behind the sunglasses.

Holy F*$K! What am I getting into?

Her eyes are nearly swollen shut and the skin dark purple. It’s the worst black eyes I’ve ever seen and I try not to look too much. I cringe from sympathy pains as I throw my bags into the back, being engulfed by the smell of fish.

They tell me to sit in the passenger seat by I insist on sitting in the back with the wife.

We head off the road and throw sand tracks within just a few minutes. I’m trying to settle my nerves, as I’m having flashbacks of the perverted police officer in the Gobi. Okay, these people aren’t intoxicated, friendly, and it’s daylight. I’m trying to make mental notes of the tracks just in case I have to make a run for it. We are heading East, further and further from the main road but I can keep my orientation by the power lines and the city to the South along the lake.

We pass wild horses through the sand, listening to Hip Hop being blasted through the Lada. I’m forced into the front seat, as a guest. The heater is also blasting on me.

At one point Jalabad, the driver, jumps out and then jumps back in with a small bouquet of wild flowers. For me? Yes. Okay, this is uncomfortable, what about your wife?

It’s about a 15 minute ride through the sand until we arrive at a tiny shack on the banks of a sparkling turquoise lake. We get out of the car and my senses are filled with the smell of salt and dried fish…and the sun beating down on me.

There is an old man at the shack and a very old aluminum boat.

The two men from the car and the wife begin preparing the boat. It’s slid off the trailer and we begin leaving the bank, the 4 of us.

My seat is an old 2×4 set across the front. The driver picks up speed and I’m bouncing all over the place, attempting to secure my camera.

We arrive to the first net in the middle of the lake. As the men begin pulling the net to grab the fish, the wife is in the back scooping out the water that leaks in.

The men toss fish from the front to the back, barely missing my head and hers.

We continue checking nets for about the next 2 hours. The leak is peaceful, and calm, and curious birds all along the way. There are fish I’d never seen before. I watch the wife, behind my sunglasses, sticking her finger in the eye of one of the fish. Not as cruelty, but I saw it as a curiosity, a playfulness.

The driver of the Lada and boat…the leader. His name is “Jalabad”.

Fishing partner and wife.

We come back in and dock the boat. There is a jeep there with one police officer and 2 other men. They are talking to the old man that lives in the fishing shack. The men from the boat join in and I can tell the conversation is about me.

The wife and I go sit in the Lada and wait for the men. As we are completely ignored. A giant bee flies into the car and startles her from her sleep. It’s hot in the sun…I want to go, I want to get out of the sun.

As we are speeding through the sand, I am invited for tea. I’m in the front seat, with the wife squeezed between us. Wife gets a smile across her face and she puts in extra effort with the invite to come to her home.

The first thought to my mind is, “If my presence will keep him from beating the shit out of her…well, I ‘ll go.” If she were to be punched a few more times, she would probably lose the eyeball. But, here I am making assumptions.

What I do notice is both eyes are black, the worst one being her right eye, and her husband is right handed…along with a big ring on it. She also has dozens of scratches all over her face and neck. This is just weird, men usually don’t beat and scratch women.

(I wish I could remember her name.)

After unloading the bike and gear, Jalabad leaves to get rid of the fish and I spend time with the wife. She makes me Nestle hot chocolate and adds a shit ton of extra sugar.

She walks into the kitchen with her hand covering her eye and signals to me not to look. I give a hand signal to dismiss, it’s not my business and I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable.

We sit in the kitchen, the apartment empty except for a few necessities. A new fridge, washer/dryer, and in the living room a bed, 2 chairs, a tv, and countless DVDs. Their bedroom closed off.

Within 15 minutes we are scribbling on paper and drawing photos to communicate. Also using a Russian English dictionary we are able to get simple questions and answers across. She had quit covering her eye and tells me it was Russian girls in Balhash. She is actually half Korean and half Russian, 20 years old and Jalabad is 46, his second marriage and has 2 children.

Jalabad returns home and we have dinner together. Boiled chicken, pasta, and onions…all boiled together. Of course with bread, topped with mayonaise and ketchup. Not my choice but my hosts insist it’s delicious…I’ll say differently.

They escort me to the living room, throw some awful American movie in the DVD player with a hilarious Russian overdub. It’s just a man translating the movie…he does it all…like reading from a script. I’m mostly entertained by the Russian Sprite commercials.

I’m under the impression I will be getting a ride tomorrow, so I settle in for the night and not think too much about my next step.

Jalabad and his wife are in the other room. Finally, I smell marijuana and realize they are getting high. Whatever, none of my business.

It’s getting very late and they enter the room. They have an idea and I’m pulled into the kitchen. Jalabad makes a sketch of me getting bathed by his wife. Um, no thanks…I can pour water over myself and don’t need creep fest 2012. I thank them for the offer, laughing, and say I’m okay.

I’m in bed half asleep, in the living room and I can hear the wife go to bed. Jalabad is switching off the lights and I’m very aware of what may happen next. I’m lying with my face to the wall and the lights are off. Within a few seconds, I have hands rubbing my legs…I turn over and see Jalabad kneeling at the foot of my bed and I kick him away simultaneously.

Damn Sex Pests, everywhere!

To be continued…

09 Jul 2012
Sticky Post By Posted in Kazakhstan, Photos, Summer 2012 With 3 Comments Permalink

Kazakhstan May 13 2012

Sticky Post By On July 9, 2012 With 3 Comments

I hit 20,000km around 10am, here.

The South East edge of lake Balhash around noon. It’s been baby animal season in Central Asia for the past few months.

I had had an early lunch in the town and had been passed by a motorcycle. It had honked at me while passing. Then as I was hunting down lunch, I had taken a double look because I could of sworn it was a woman.

After lunch I’m riding and she passes me and I see her braid hanging out the back of her helmet. God damn I want a motorbike…I bet she is one rad chick.

Nap time. I’m visited by a couple police officers to check on me…along with about a half a dozen of truck drivers and other randoms. I love the bus stops here, besides offering shade and somewhere to sleep, I get to enjoy some nice art and design…from one of my favorite art periods.

The day is spent pushing along the edge of the lake. I’m beginning to see shops on the side of the road selling “pыба” – fish. I can smell the salt from each little shack as I ride by. It’s a nice smoky flavor but I don’t stop to buy any because I’m not sure what standard prices are and I’m not sure how to store it in my bike bags.
There are some hills to the West of the lake that I push my bike behind for camp. It’s about a kilometer from a truck stop that I can see some people and trucks. The mosquitoes are gradually getting worse and worse and I have to constantly shake my whole body while setting up my tent to prevent getting eaten alive. There is no cooking in this area, unless the wind is strong or on the side of the road, where they don’t seem to be that bad. That’s the advantage to the wind of the Steppe, if it’s slight, it will keep the mosquitoes from swarming and there are nasty little flies that also like to go up my nose and in my ears.

10 Jan 2012
Sticky Post By Posted in Kham Tibet, Photos of Eleanor, Sichuan With No Comments Permalink

Tibetan Hostesses, Kham (NW.Sichuan) Summer 2011

Sticky Post By On January 10, 2012 With No Comments

The girl on the left could speak fairly good English. She met Brandon and I at the restaurant her brother cousin owned. The two older girls in the photo are sisters. Their family had lived in these Tibetan mountains for generations. When we walked up to the temple, as they bought Brandon and I each a beer, she explained how the city had grown since her childhood.

There were about 2 dozen small Tibetan homes now, and a large area of homes and a dormitory for the monks.

These girls were half Tibetan half Han. Their mother, Han, had passed away near her birth.

The house we are in here is new, because her father had sold the older and bigger home. Since his daughters were growing up, and one in college.

I slept in her bed and Brandon got the floor. In the morning he gets up first and runs back into the room and tells me to get my lazy a$$ up because it’s 11am! “Oh sh*t!? REALLY???!!”

“No, it’s 9:30”.

Even though we left early in the day, we didn’t make a lot of progress because we kept getting stopped for tea and tsampa. We weren’t riding road or tarmac either. The road eventually broke into a cow path through some of the most beautiful valleys I have ever seen in my life. This route continued for a couple of days and over a pass.

I’ll never forget when we got out of the mountain valley and finally hit tarmac, a Tibetan invites us in for some frozen Yak meat. Yes…raw frozen Yak…Brandon and I especially enjoyed the cookies.

25 Dec 2011
Sticky Post By Posted in China, Western China, Xinjiang With 4 Comments Permalink

November 21 Songshu to YanChiXiang

Sticky Post By On December 25, 2011 With 4 Comments

Even in another country, I know the sounds of shoveling snow, snow plows, and even the type of light that sneaks through the window to let you know…SNOW!

Yep, 2nd day riding and I get about 3″ of snow along the top of the mountain. My morning greeting:

It’s about 3km of backtrack to where the road breaks to go North to the desert. I pass about a dozen trucks putting chains on their tires and only feel my own tire slip once.

Lunch, noodles, a soda, head North. Steady incline for majority of the day. I can’t help but think how all m photos are blue and white…blue and white…blue and white. Between thoughts of “how am I going to warm my fingers?!”

The day basically consists of this scenery without traffic. At the top of the mini pass (I say mini now because after Sichuan and Tibet, the mountains and passes are only hills and bumps to me) I see trucks pulled off and a police checkpoint to my right with a small town to the left. This is the town where the men in Songshu said I should stay the night because I will never make it to Yiwu.

Police checkpoints still make my heart race, a lump in my throat, and my vision gets a little shaky. I’m rattled but I come back down and remind myself it’s only Xinjiang. Yes, exactly, it’s ONLY Xinjiang. Last night was my first visit by the local police, on my first day riding in Xinjiang, to take care of my foreign residence in China. Always a pain in my butt!

I go past the trucks, pass the checkpoint, and there is a man standing in the road with the long Army green coat that reminds me of the gate keepers at Emerald City…if it was Olive Green City. “This place have accommodation?”

“Probably not”.

“I will look”.

It’s a small village and I pull in and ask the man on the motorcycle, a Kazakh, “this place have accommodation?”

“Probably not”.

I still have about 3 hours of light so I power up to the tip top of the pass and begin a slight descent. Fingers freeze…Fingers REALLY REALLY FREEZE.

Camels!

I can see a small town ahead with some new construction, grey concrete with a crane.

The sun is setting fast…the roads are freezing and nearly a sheet of ice. Although on this side of the mini mountains it’s not as bad as it was earlier. My hands are completely frozen after removing my 2 pairs of gloves to photograph the camels, that walked away from me.

I get off to walk because of the ice. School is getting out, it’s nearly 6pm. There is a school, must be a place to stay. Walking puts feeling back into my frozen feet and I can fist my hands up in my gloves. A man tells me there is zhusu around the corner. I don’t see it.

2 boys on a scooter ask if they can help me. I tell them what I need, they tell me there is nothing there. It’s really hard for me to believe this. So I say thanks and walk all the way through the town…I have about 15 minutes before it’s dark.

On the edge of town they return. They tell me they will help me. One boy stays with me, the other goes away on this scooter. He returns, nothing. He asks me what I’m going to do…I say go on, slowly. I say I have a tent and hope for an offer of one of their homes. Nope.

Gotta go. Go.

About a 1/4km down the road I look on and it’s very very barren. All I see are headlights and the dark blue. Riding at night, on ice…not so good.

I pull off the road and into a road tunnel. It’s just one of those ditches under the road that cattle/sheep pass through or water. It’s dry, not a lot of turds, it’s not a concrete one, so I could pitch my tent – as it’s nearly 7′ in diameter.

It’s dark. I begin to unbuckle my rear rack bag on the edge of the opening and I hear a gate closing. Shit. Shepherd.

I run in. I can hear the footsteps crunching over the ice towards me…I walk to greet him, only seeing a dark figure with an orange tip from a cigarette. He’s about 5′ and I greet him with “hello” so he knows I’m not Han and a foreigner.

“What are you doing?”
“Resting.”
“Where are you coming from?”
“Hami.”
“what country person are you?”
“America.”
“Are you cold?”
“Alright.”
“Come into my home over there”, as he points to the small rows of concrete structures.
“Okay, is your wife home?”
“Yes,” with a slight smile.

We walk over and I rest my bike, fully loaded minus the bar bag, outside. The door is guarded by a dog and a Kazakh woman steps out from a small concrete room. They exchange a short conversation and she smiles to me. I enter a room about 8’x 8′ with 3 small beds shoved against the back and side with a little boy and color television. I smile and say hello to the toddler and directed to sit next to the small coal burning stove.

Basic questions and conversation. I lie and say I’m 28…I’m struggling to figure out her age…she looks like she could be in her late 30’s with deep set forehead wrinkles…but I keep doing the math of a 4 year old…and the hidden newborn in the cradle in the back of the beds. It doesn’t make sense…this is crazy. They’ve been married for about 6 years…he looks my age. She is 28…should have lied more. I don’t care what kind of woman you are, where you come from, how you’ve lived…no woman likes to feel “Old looking” – even nomads. She’s had a rough life and very weathered. I’ve got to start saying 24 when I’m dealing with nomads/shepherd families.

She washes her hands!!!! Then begins to make dumplings with beef. Wow, she washed her hands, and he does too after handling the coal. This sure isn’t Tibet!

At one point the man rushes out, to return with a baby lamb that he shoves under the bed. It comes out, shivering and “bah”ing with some poo hanging off it’s rear. It’s still so young it’s wobbling around on the floor.

We watch t.v. with a little conversation, she is making dumplings with a break to breast feed…and the little boy and I are entertaining ourselves with little games of facial expressions.

I have to force the 3 bowl of dumplings down…after repeated “chi chi chi”. eat eat eat!

The great thing I have found about minorities is that they are really kind and helpful but won’t talk your ear off like the majority. We had some basic conversation and they were curious what the Kazakhs in Kazakhstan are like…I can not answer. I don’t know.

The father is wonderful with his children. Both parents are hunkered down over the new baby girl. The toddler frustrated, banging against the small table the tv sets on. During the dumpling making, he had taken her out of the small cradle, that she was strapped into and cuddled with her. Talking to her, snuggling his face into her. He sets her up against a pile of blankets with her wobbly little head. When mother is taking care of her, he devotes playing time with the little boy, who is jumping over the metal frame of the bed. At one point, crossing back and forth over it, I see him grab his crotch and whimper. ooops!

At one point the infant is in the fathers lap and she is looking at me with her wobbly head, and she begins to smile, drool, and make a high pitched noise. The parents notice this and smile. I smile.

After dinner there is a little tea, curds added. Strange but good. He apologizes for his home being so small, I feel so bad because my Chinese isn’t so good and I smile and say “it’s not a problem”. What am I supposed to say?

As the toddler gets ready for bed, as he takes off layers and layers of close, he gets a little attitude and starts playing some sort of game. I can’t help but start laughing, with a few tears rolling down my face. The parents smile at this but I can sense a feeling of “what’s that foreigner laughing at”.

It was a delightful evening where I got to warm up, literally, and warm up to a new group of people in China that I haven’t had any experience with. Trying to learn customs and figure out how to photograph this simple life. I did notice no baijiu…which is always a relief.

I leave my bike outside, a little apprehensive, and go to the room next to the heated living room. It’s a large room with a bed with beautiful weaved carpets and fancy looking blankets with embroidery. He stands on the bed once I’m settled in and removes the light bulb. Goodnight.

I would love to hear from you!

Studio Address: Front Street Artist Studios

 

 

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