Kyrgyzstan to China

On a Tuesday afternoon, we’re told the final ‘go’ for China. We’ve got three days to get from Bishkek to the border (Torugart Pass): the pass has just been re-opened one day ago and will close again in four days for Chinese holidays. Guess we’re lucky for once…

In anticipation of flying to bikes (which would have meant: drain engine oil & petrol for safety reasons), we still have the crap fake Chinese “Shell Super Helix” engine oil from Tajikistan in our bikes. But with the help of a local biker from Bishkek and Yulia’s translation skills, we manage to source some decent Motul oil, which we take with us to do the oil change en-route in Naryn.

The road from Naryn to the Chinese border takes us through the most beautiful scenery I’ve seen so far on this trip, the highlight being the valley around Tash-Rabat, where we stay in a yurt-camp about 3h ride from the Chinese border. It’s the end of the season, and with winter approaching quickly, most yurts have already been taken down. In the morning, we realize that we were lucky the yurt-owner accepted our last (and insufficient) Kyrgyz cash for a ‘yurt & breakfast’: at 7am, the nearby river is still partly frozen – it would have been a freezing night, had we camped out in our own tents.

We leave around 8:00am and get to the border about 2h later. On the Kyrgyz side, the border crossing is reasonably straight-forward (although a bit lengthy due to a bus-load of tourists going the same way as we). About 10km through no-man’s land and we get to the first Chinese check-point. As promised, our Chinese guide-car is awaiting us. Another 5km later, we get to the second check-point: we leave the bikes outside & get taken into the border building by our agents to have some Chinese instant noodle soup and ‘do business’: $1400 change hands (counting twice on either side) – the price for 2 people & 2 bikes to cross for 5 days through China with a guide-car. An insane amount of money, but still cheaper than bypassing China by airplane.

Over the course of our instant noodle-soup meal, we realize how difficult it was for our agents (Newland Travel) to get us into China on such a short notice: the managing director himself had come to the border to pick us up. At first, the Chinese border guards didn’t want to let the guide car through to pick us up at our meeting point – until the managing director made a phone-call to a ‘special friend’ at the Chinese Immigration in Urumqui.

To cut a long story short: after a thorough luggage-check (border guards looking at every single item and opening every bottle from contact-lens fluid to mouth-wash), we’re permitted to enter China. And we know: this time we’re really “off the radar”: not the usual Chinese license plates, no Chinese driving license, no insurance paperwork, no nothing: We just let the guide car go in front & let the agents do the talking at the various check-points on the way to Kashgar. Agent’s connections & bribes. THAT’S where our $1400 went. (Note: doing China on your own vehicle the official way costs the same amount of money – Newland Travel’s price was good, and I can highly recommend them).

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Kyrgyzstan: Bishkek (2)

Something I had been looking forward to in Bishkek was to finally meet someone who’s been really helpful & encouraging via e-mail: Arne, another contact I got through Horizons Unlimited, is a Danish guy and motorcycle enthusiast who’s currently working in Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. Arne’s job keeps him really busy, working in agricultural projects between the two countries, and I’m lucky to meet him one evening whilst he’s here on a brief visit.

We’ve got a real good meeting in central Bishkek, and very unexpectedly Arne offers us to stay in his flat in the heart of town. He’s hardly there anyway, he says, and the way it looks we might be up for a long-term stay here whilst trying to arrange shipping the bikes… so why not stay in his flat? We happily accept the offer and once again, we’re treated for absolute luxury – just like back at Trevor’s place in Dushanbe. On top of that, Arne introduces us to his project manager Yulia. Over the next week, Yulia helps us with internet access, translations from Russian to English and trying to find a cheap cargo-agent to deal with the bikes. (Yulia, if you’re reading this: you’re a real gem, and without your help things would have been so much harder, if not impossible to arrange – Thank you so much for all your help and efforts!)

As it turns out, Arne is a good friend of Trevor from Dushanbe, and they’ve recently gone for a little ride-out in the same area we’ve been to just a few weeks ago in Tajikistan. Arne also dreams of doing a long-distance motorcycle-trip one day – maybe from Central Asia to Europe. What a great idea, of course, but: One evening, we have a conversation, which turns out to be a bit of an eye-opener for me. Back in England, when I was preparing this overland trip, I often struggled with the paperwork that’s involved with crossing various countries by motorcycle. But when you’ve got Tajik license plates (like Arne does), things get so much more complicated… Where do you get your carnet de passage from if there’s no automotive club in the country? What about bike insurance when you enter Europe? All at once, the paperwork I thought was difficult to deal with in Europe seems to be like a walk in a park compared to what you’ve got to organize when you want to do the same thing, starting in Tajikistan.

One day, Arne and I set out for the outskirts of Bishkek to visit the used car market. I already noticed the large number of German cars on Bishkek’s streets., and the car market is just the same: endless lines of BMWs, Mercedes, Audis, Volkswagen, amongst some Hummers and Toyota 4WDs… and all of them in absolute mint condition. Apparently, they’re all getting here overland – some of them even have the German license plates still on. As one of Arne’s friends in Bishkek explains: there’s quite a large Kyrgyz community in Germany since the fall of the Soviet Union, and they buy second hand cars in Germany. Their Kyrgyz friends come over to Germany to pick up the cars, and with the German license plates drive them overland to Kyrgyzstan. Once in Kyrgyzstan, the cars get polished, waxed and (if necessary) fixed up, until they’re sold second hand. Probably with a healthy profit, considering the relatively cheap labour in Kyrgyzstan.

Back to our ‘dead end road on a bike problem’: We get all sorts of prices from various shipping agents, and all kinds of requests of how to disassemble the bikes to make them small enough to go on an airplane. And in most cases, it takes a good few days, if not a week, to even get a rough quote. Our favoured option (Galaxy Air) turns out to be fairly vague: there might be a cargo plane going to India or Pakistan – but we won’t know for sure for at least another week.

As time passes, I get increasingly annoyed about the long-winded process of getting a definite quote from any of the shipping agents. Thanks to Arne’s offer of staying in his flat, we’re not spending any money for accommodation. We even got television with CNN and BBC World News amongst a dozen of Russian and Kyrgyz channels. But I very soon get tired of all the news repeats about the financial crisis, the US election campaign and the hotel bomb attack in Islamabad… time to move on, or at least to try & see something of Kyrgyzstan. After all, we’ve already extended our visas here, and all we’ve done in this country is to wait for spare parts and things to happen…

After a long time of waiting in Bishkek for 2 weeks, very unexpectedly things suddenly start to happen: during an internet session, I receive two crucial e-mails within a few minutes: One is from Iza and Kamil (Singapore-to-Poland overland bikers we met near Sary-Tash about a month ago), the other is from their Chinese agent. Iza and Kamil somehow managed to cross into China. They know that we are trying to get into China and asked their agent (Taher from Newland Travel) to contact us. The deal is perfect, though it comes at a prize: $700 per person/bike seems a lot of money to cross through to Khunjerab Pass/Pakistan, but we also know that this is the standard rate for a motorized vehicle and the mandatory guide in China.

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Kyrgyzstan: Bishkek (1)

We arrive in Bishkek on a Friday, and it’s already late afternoon as we’re trying to find our way to a cheap guest house. The last 700km have been mildly concerning: I was riding with a knowingly damaged rear shock absorber, and every time I put the bike on the side stand, I noticed the rear end of the Dakar going lower and lower, until there was probably not a single drop of oil left in the hydraulic dampening of the bike. But I made it – so all good.

After asking for the way to the guest house a few times, Len and I get separated in the maze of intersections on Bishkek’s roads. As I arrive at our planned destination, the first person I encounter is an old friend whom I last met in Uzbekistan: Salva, a fellow traveller who’s been cycling in Africa and Asia for the past 2 years. The second person I meet is Gubi, another motorcyclist who’s just come from Mongolia. Gubi hears about my rear shock problem and kindly offers me a hand in fixing it: he enjoys a bit of mechanics, he says, and appears to be very keen to fix my bike problem the best way he can.

I’m in a bit of a rush, trying to get to the local UPS office before they close for the weekend. Thanks to Salva, who kindly lends me some money for picking up my parcel, there’s no need for a cash machine right now and I arrive at the UPS office just in time, after the taxi-driver couldn’t find it for half an hour.

So, with the help of UPS Bishkek I’d like to get the parcel out of customs. Preferably before the week-end, to get the bike fixed in case we get the “go” for China on short notice. “Not possible” I’m told. But they’ll try to do their best to get through to customs on Saturday. At last I’m finally dealing with someone who’s helpful, seems to be on my side and understands the urgency of this.

As expected, I receive the rear shock absorber no sooner than Monday. Still no good news from China, though, and whilst Gubi and I are busy working ourselves through the BMW repair manual to change the shock, Len sets off to inquire with some local shipping agencies: we agreed to ship from Kyrgyzstan to Thailand. If we shipped to India or Pakistan, we’d have to ship again from there to Thailand, as Burma/Myanmar is a no-go for motorcycles. The only other option we have comes from a contact from Horizons Unlimited (probably the best website for overland motorcyclists): a contact there managed to get himself and his bike from Kyrgyzstan to India for a real bargain: with a small cargo airline (Galaxy Air) on an even smaller IL-18 turbo-prop machine – bike tied to the side of the airplane interior. (Check out this video from a fellow overland motorcyclist who did this last year). Now THAT would be a real adventure! Options for India are open again it seems…

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Kyrgyzstan: Osh to Bishkek

We’ve been in Central Asia now for over 2 months, and against all odds we still haven’t had to pay a single bribe. Quite an achievement, I would like to think. And not so much for the money, but for the records, I will try to keep it that way. Well – our next encounter with the local police should become quite a challenge for this ‘no bribes paid’ record…

We set out from Osh to Bishkek. Fantastic tarmac – an absolute joy to ride. No traffic signs at all, in fact not even a sign that tells us about the beginning of a ‘city speed limit’. When all of a sudden, the race marshalls (=police) flag us down. With a big smile in their face the cops show us their digital speed-gun display: 75 km/h. 25 km/h too fast. Oh well… and I thought this was a bypass-road around the village, no?

They ask for our driving licenses & show us their paperwork. Official fee on the list: $7 per person. Yet he (wrongly) shows me the fee for speeding 30 km/h too fast: $15 per person. Nice try. “But, of course”, he communicates with sign language, “no problem”. Rubs his hands, moves one of his hands towards his back pocket (=his imaginary wallet) and starts to grin.

This one single hand-movement is enough to remind me of my anti-bribing principles. Although we were ’speeding’ without even knowing about it: we’re certainly not in a rush. Plenty of time to challenge a few corrupt cops & see if we can get away without paying anything at all. I get my notebook out and draw a little birds-eye view of the road, trying to sell them the story that, since they’re metering the speed from the side of the road, they must have picked up both bikes at the same time: “A car is 2m wide, a bike is not. So that lovelt speed-gun of yours was measuring both bikes at the same time, and because we were 25m apart from each other, the speed-gun shows the wrong speed. Alright?” Doesn’t really make sense, but the point is to steal the cop’s time: if all the speeding-fines go into THEIR pocket anyway, then time equals money. And the more time they spend with us, the less time they’ve got to catch other people speeding. Ten minutes later, they’re sick of discussing the whole thing, and we’re back on track to Bishkek.

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Kyrgyzstan: Osh

Osh brings us back into a much warmer climate, and back into the land of ear-bursting lorry-horns, cash machines, a good choice of restaurants, cheap phone calls to home and, above all: internet access. And the first email check since one week brings with it another problem: the rear shock I had ordered a week ago has been built to my specifications – but it hasn’t been delivered yet. In fact, for reasons unknown, it hasn’t even been shipped by Hagon Shocks – meaning: it will arrive in Osh within 5 days at the earliest. Yet another entry on the list of companies who’ve failed to deliver what they promised.

Nurlan, a friendly & helpful guy from Osh Guest House, helps us with safe storage for the motorcycles – and just as we ride into the parking premises, we get approached by Vladimir, a local Russian biker who happens to know a good motorbike mechanic in the outskirts of Bishkek. Bike-storage is safe as can-be, with an enormous beast of a growling dog guarding the premises. As we’re chatting away with Vladmir (Nurlan translating quite a few bits here), Len notices a missing subframe-bolt on my bike… and a quick look on the other side of the bike shows the same: both subframe bolts sheared off. THAT’S why the bike had been handling so badly since Murghab… I’ve got to say I’m rather embarrassed about this – but I never thought about checking the subframe bolts & simply blamed the bad bike handling on the corrugated roads.

After a brief intermezzo in Osh Guest House’s dormitory, we move on into a hotel (for the same price) to make ourselves comfortable & set up a base for the next week. Hotel Alai is a slightly run-down place with a true Soviet feeling to it: it’s cheap & cheerful, provides us with two separate rooms, one door key, cold water shower (funnily NOT during day-time), frequent power cuts and a bunch of not-so-cheerful hotel employees… but the place will do for now. It’s close to the main bazaar, and after setting up our two camping-stoves in the room, Len quickly gets into a routine of delicious cooking.

Whilst waiting for the rear shock absorber to arrive, the next week passes rather quickly: we make plenty of phone-calls to friends & family, every now and then go for a meal and a few beers in the evenings, visit Nurlan in Osh Guest House for a chat, and above all: ‘operation China’ still isn’t sorted out yet. Without much success, we try to find a Chinese lorry driver to take us ‘off the radar’ over Irkestham Pass into China, and through various sources of information (including our agent in China), we’re trying to find out when & if any other borders might open again, or if there’s any official ‘put-the-bike-on-a-truck’ alternative that’s within our budget.

One week later, my awaited spare part from the UK should arrive any time soon. And indeed, good news: it’s finally arrived. Bad news: it’s in Bishkek, some 700 km away – and I’ve got to pick it up in person. Any further delays from my side will cost me $3 per day for storage fees in the customs office. “Great”, I say to the lady in the UPS Bishkek office, “What would you say if you ordered a new TV and one week later you were told to pick it up a full 2 days journey away from where you actually wanted it delivered?”

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