Ile Alatau National Park

In which Adam and I have our closest encounter with police/border guards. 

We were planning on an overnight trip in the national park just south of Almaty. I read before the trip that propane-butane canisters were hard to come by in Central Asia so I flew with my trusty white gas stove. We spent a few hours trying to figure out what Russians call white gas and then find it in the city. With no luck, a liter of gasoline was easily purchased from a nearby gas station. The attendant was even kind enough to keep the portion I couldn't fit in the fuel tank. 

Now we had to get to the park. The attendant motioned us to flag down a taxi in front of the gas station. We roasted in the sun for 20 minutes and only one marked taxi passed us. We looked back at the attendant forlornly. He enthusiastically flapped his hand again in the international hailing motion. Then it dawned on us. 

Every car in Almaty is a potential ride share. We started to notice how many locals shared their rides with strangers. That explained the scarcity of taxis! Name a place and price, get in. Easy. And faster than waiting for the uber driver to show up.

We quickly made our way to the trailhead by no fewer than three separate cars. Some drivers actively looked for passengers as if it was their full-time job. The "trail" was a supply pipeline for Russian hydroelectric station fed by Big Almaty Lake. 

We followed this pipe, sometimes next to it, sometimes on top of it, until we got to the dam. We sat down tiredly. I noticed a guard sling his assault rifle over his shoulder as he stood up from his guard post. I remembered that we were extremely close to the Kyrgyz border, and that the guards were notorious for stopping folks. 

"Adam, it's been a great trip," I said, "but that might change right now. Let's make sure we have our passports out. Here he comes"

The guard didn't look like he was enjoying the heat either. He put his rifle at his feet and sat down between us on the dam. He tried a couple times to make himself understood in Kyrgyz and Russian. He checked our papers and made vague complaints about the accuracy of our visas, looking for something to bust us for. Then he took out his phone and opened Google translate. He typed and handed it to me.

YOU ARE ON FORBIDDEN AREA AND WILL BE ARREST

He took the phone back and types more.

OR YOU WILL HAVE TO PAY FINE

Bingo. Yes, we were caught in a restricted area. No, there was no sign on this side of the dam. We hoped he was just looking for a bribe and can point us back to safe ground. I write back:

WE DIDNT MEAN ANY HARM. I WANT TO SPEAK TO MY EMBASSY

Bam. That was enough to spook him. He seemed unwilling to push the matter further. He pointed us to the safe territory across the dam. We thanked him, shook hands, and walked away. 

On the other side it was obvious, even from the placement of the sign alone, that we shouldn't have been there:

"Restricted Area. Access Forbidden"

On the opposite side of the dam we encountered a friendly Kazakh family on a picnic. They invited us to share food and drinks and were delighted when we agreed to drink a little vodka with them. After nearly an hour we broke away and continued up the hill. 

We both agreed this side was better. 

We had planned to spend the night at the second-largest astronomical observatory in the former Soviet Union, Tien Shan Observatory. Instead we found the gate locked and guarded. Since we were so close to our exit days for both Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan, I thought it best not to push our luck. We headed back to our hostel in Almaty so we could get a bus back to Bishkek first thing in the morning. 

It was a very eventful day hike as it was.

Kaz/Kyrg backpacking fuel summary: there is usually one well-equipped outdoor store that has stocks a single 8 oz propane-butane canister at a time. Red Fox in Bishkek and Limpopo in Almaty should have you covered if you beat the wave of other tourists vying for the same can. Do not count on white gas. Gasoline is easily obtained.

Almaty, Kazakhstan

After a quick layover and lunch back in Bishkek, we continued on our flight to Almaty: cultural, economic, and former political capital of Kazakhstan. 

Holding my tongue on any number of Borat references, I proceeded to pick my jaw up off the well-swept, glittering streets. It's best to cross them expeditiously, as the constant armada of Lexuses and Mercedes will give you just enough time to cross. Less Soviet than Bishkek, Almaty has fully embraced western tastes. 

So much so that it has pedestrian-only shopping streets, a few bicycle lanes, and even a Saturday morning farmer's market. The market sells exclusively  produce, cheese, and meat—no pre-made food, wine, or handmade goods like in the States. The nectarines and apricots are unparalleled here.

Picked up a latte at Starbeans Coffee (next year they'll be getting the real deal, as well as their first McDonalds) as we walked to the Central Mosque. Adam and I were able to sit in on the second half of a Qu'ran reading—men and women in a room together on benches, no-one too conservatively dressed. 

Gorky (Central) Park was next. Like Osh, it was filled with rides and food. Still a couple cuts below Disneyland, but a much more convenient and affordable outing for everyone.

Then on to Panfilov Park, with its enormous memorial to Kazakh soldiers who died fighting in their civil war and WWII. Pictures online didn't do justice to the scale of this exposing monument. It does a good, modern interpretation of the nation's Soviet heritage. 

Right next-door is the Zhenkov Cathedral, all-wood and tsarist-era. We were able to watch a baptism. 

Here's the Central State Musem. Good ancient history section, as well as a good exhibit on all of the constituent cultures that make up the Kazakh people. It was worth the couple miles walked though the 100 degree Fahrenheit day. 

Starving, Adam and I went to Coffeedelia, which is a world-class cafe full of what looks like Almaty's elite. Good value food, at just below US prices. Everyone's outside, underneath the neon orange awnings. 

For our last meal in the country: Daredzhani. One of the city's favorite restaurants, and a Georgian one at that. Adam and I were rewarded with
superbly-seasoned meat dishes in rich tomato-based sauces. Delectable cheesy bread on the side, washed down with delicious Georgian wine. I would definitely return, and now want to travel to Georgia sometime. 

On our way to the mashrutka station for a Bishkek-bound bus the next day, we tried Almaty's brand new subway. Completed in 2011, and started essentially as soon as the country gained independence, their single-line system is nice, even if the stops are sparse. More routes to follow. Each station sports a unique decor, so it's easy to distinguish them. 

 

Almaty has been full of pleasant surprises. It's definitely an easy city to visit. 

Osh Sesh

Took our turbo 24 hour trip to Osh via a pair of $30 air tickets. Got there in a British Aerospace 146-200, which I hadn't seen before. Wide and stubby, and small:

Made our way to the same hotel as a pair of Danes we traveled with from our hostel in Bishkek. Dropped off our bags, then took a mashrutka to the largest bazaar in Central Asia. It's not much to look at, nor very apparent how large the space is. Streets are covered in narrow walkways flanked by stalls tucked into shipping containers. 

The fruit here—as in Bishkek—is to die for. Apricots on par with those from the tree at home. 

From the market, we cross the river into a tree-covered amusement park. Similar to carnivals in the states, except everything costs $0.75 and the entire area smells like shashlyk/kabobs

On to Suleiman Too--Solomon's Mountain/Throne. It's an auspicious, cave-studded rock formation in the middle of town, famous for being a prayer place for both Muhammad and Babur (Moghul Dynasty--see India). Also a UNESCO world heritage site. I didn't bring my camera, but you can get plenty of pictures on Google. 

The next morning before our flight: a visit to one of the largest Lenin statues in Central Asia, and a detour to the storefront for Kyrgyz Cognac, which they are famous for. 

The night before Osh

At 4AM the next morning, we were to catch a 40 minute/$30 flight to Osh in the southwest near Uzbekistan. Naturally, we stayed up until 2AM at a terrific nightclub done up like an old Soviet apartment.

We had our first encounter with the police (5 of them) who seemed friendly and accepting of our story/hotel/dates/passport (photocopies). I had heard about corruption but haven't encountered any yet. They must have thought we were weird asking for the location of the bar, whose name is simply Kvartira 148, or Apartment 148. It all worked out. Dinner was horse pizza and a half bottle of vodka. A photographer made her rounds and ensured every moment was well-documented. 

Ala Archa National Park

As soon as my backpack arrived and I handed over my luggage ticket--good thing I was there!--we hired a car to Ala Archa National Park just 45 minutes drive south of Bishkek. In the 3 hours we had before our driver took off, we poked around old summer camp ruins and got up some unbelievably sketchy and steep riverside trails looking for a climber's cemetery. Also this bridge, sans boards:

This place was a hotspot of alpinism  back on the Soviet days, and continues to be a destination for climbers around the world. I'll come back next time with a guide and my gear. 

Up another trail, we met a friendly Kyrgyz trio followed by a large, aging Japanese group valiantly sweating up the steep trail. Both were delighted to exchange a few words in Russian/Kyrgyz and Japanese, respectively. 

On the way back we had our first taste of kymys--fermented mare's milk--in a yurt. Smokey and sour, but definitely palatable. Adam liked it a lot more. 

Met up with our driver, who stopped so we could get super touristy with a hunting eagle photo opportunity.

Despite not meeting any of our hiking goals, our trip to Ala Archa had a couple good cultural/touristy moments. 

Bag's Back!

Trek day 2: Alakjol Lake to Altyn-Arashan

Our early start in the morning pays off: by 5AM we have slipped out of camp, along the North side of the lake. We pick a spot in the middle for an unparalleled sunrise breakfast hike. Those who know me know that's one of my favorite things in the world. Getting to do it on the opposite side of the world is even better. 

From breakfast we climb up and make the pass at 8AM, so the snow decent is still firm enough to provide steps. 

Adam gets a crash course in plunge stepping--my favorite--and we make it down the 1000' slope without incident. 

From here we are faced with a yawning glacial valley filled with wildflowers, cows, and large marmot-like critters. 

Further along, a group of shepherds point for us to cross to the right side of the river. Though we are able to leap over parts of it, eventually we are forced to ford the painfully icy waters. An English day hiker on the other side confirms the trail continues on the right, and that we will have to cross again. We are thrilled. 

We reach the main river at the bottom of the valley and continue to Altyn-Arashan by noon, where we are easily the first to arrive. Our reward is a spot in the yurt and a lunch of potato puffs and fried rice with horsemeat. Finished with lots of tea, of course. We wait out a rainstorm in the covered dining area, thinking of our Polish comrades who are probably still suffering through snow and mud to get here. 

We nap until dinner--noodles with horsemeat. Then a Dutchman, who had arrived earlier on horseback with his  friend, approaches us distressed. His buddy was overdue from a day hike up a nearby peak, and the sun was setting. 

We packed up and set off in a search party, and found him stumbling through the blackness halfway up the peak. Relieved, we all headed back to the yurt. Bedtime. 

Trek day 1: Karakol to Alakjol lake

A taxi picked us up for an early morning trip to the convenience store for food on the trek. We were able to pick up everything we needed, including Russian instant oats and coffee. 

We drove up to the gated entrance to the park, where a soldier asked us where we were from. He responded with a hearty, "Amerikanskis! Good luck!" 

The taxi dropped us off under brooding skies and we walked on, with an enormous group of Poles right behind us. As we entered the high, flat valley, the clouds opened up. 

We are lunch under dripping pine trees before heading east across a log bridge with wire handrail, up a smaller tributary valley. Following the warren of trails through the trees, we soon came upon a field of horses. 

We rested at a small wooden cabin, filtered water, and dried our clothes from the rain storm before heading on. Turns out that 15 year old Gore-Tex is about as good as a sponge. 

Further up, we enter a gorge and the trail steepens significantly on our final push for the lake in mid-afternoon. 

Finally we reach Alakjol lake and pick the best unoccupied tent spot from the meager selection at the west end of the lake. The scenery is stunning. 

We make dinner and head to bed early. The plan the next day is to wake before sunrise and get a good lead on the trail and camp spots for the next day. 

The wind whips at our two person tent. 

Karakol, Trek Prep

We started the next day with a quick stop at Red Fox (Russian outdoor gear store). Their branded clothes would be a great souvenir, in addition to providing needed warmth for our trek. 

An hour later we felt like DHL packages, rocketing along the national highway towards Karakol in a bright yellow Mercedes Sprinter. This is the model of choice for Kyrgyzstan's mashrutka bus, the workhorse of public transport. We pushed 70 and 80 miles per hour on potholed, 2 lane roads, fearing for our lives between winks of sleep on the bouncy ride. Perhaps most terrifyingly, we arrived on-time in Karakol--maybe this is how fast they all drove, all the time? The driver and other passengers did let on that anything was cause for concern. 

At a highway rest stop, we tried the cheese balls that our local friend had recommended to us. More salty and sour than feta, they were quite good, and would also probably be excellent in salad. 

As we arrived in Karakol, we found a hostel, then set off for a rental company to pick up tent, sleeping bag, and stove   As luck would have it, the owner had stayed two hours beyond the posted closing time. He remained open to walk us through the gear and explain the route to us. As we were talking, his friend arrived from completing the very same 3 day trek, so we had updated information on trail conditions. Again, we were pleasantly surprised by their hospitality. 

Our late dinner was sheshlyk-kabob, laghman-noodle soup, manty-dumplings, and spiced rice from a tented eatery near the park. Baltika 7 holds the current award for best beer here. 

Bishkek

Мой багаж пропал. (Moy bagash propal) It means my bags are lost. That hasn't stopped us from exploring Bishkek, walking 14 miles(!) across the city. 

Along the main drag, Chui street, many government building (including the White House) and the national history museum. Here is the view of enormous Ala-Too square from the front steps of the museum, done up in true Soviet neo-brutalist style. 

Inside, the glorious exhibits are dedicated mostly to Lenin. Hardly any explanation, much less any in English makes our visit amusing and confusing. 

Lunch was at a chaikhana or teahouse, where we tried a trio of delicious meat dishes, including the national specialty, besh barmak: rich, minced horse meat on a bed of homemade noodles. Multiple pots of tea and a jug of fermented wheat drink that's popular in summer kept us hydrated in the sweltering 100 degree day. 

From lunch we went on to the Osh bazaar. This was easily the best I had ever been to. It started lightly with t shirts and cheap toys, then evolved into felt handicrafts, bedding, hardware, and military surplus. That was only the first block complete!

We re-emerged into the oppressive heat to quench our thirst at one of the ubiquitous stalls selling drinks out of large Gatorade-looking insulated plast jugs. Adam picked a yogurt drink, Aaron picked a sweet lemon tea, and I went with more of the wheat drink which was starting to grow on me. Aaron won for picking the best flavor though, and along the walk back to the hotel we stopped multiple more times for more tea. 

We finished the trip through the bazaar complex by checking out the butcher's building. Nothing was refrigerated, and the smell of beef fat permeated everything. Nevertheless nothing ever seemed off and the meat all looked extremely fresh. Lastly we went to the dry fruit markets with their light, sweet aroma. We picked out some of the freshest, best dried apricots, almonds, and golden raisins I've ever tasted.

We made our way back for dinner at Turkish kebab restaurant. All the meat ingested on this trip so far has been expertly prepared and seasoned. It may actually be relatively easy to go back to a lower-meat diet when I get back since all the food here has been peerless. 

Late night grabbing beers at Blonder Pub with a woman Adam met in the Istanbul airport. The three of us, plus her and her three friends, had a great time comparing cultural notes across the world. The craft beer brewed onsite was good too. 

Bagless in Bishkek

Aaron and Adam got their bags when we landed. I'm not so distressed that mine didn't show yet, since a number of other passengers came up empty handed as well. Only thing is my bag has the tent and stove, so the trek may be a little tougher if it doesn't make its way back to me. Time will tell. 

Istanbul

Made it! Met up with Aaron and Adam in the international terminal. Turkish coffee all around, then on to Bishkek. Flight's delayed, but no worries because we don't have any more after this. 

Bye Dubai, hello Istanbul

The adventures start before I even leave the States! "Equipment failure" keeps us grounded for an extra hour and a half in SFO. That means I'll miss my connecting flights to Dubai and Kyrgyzstan. I hop on the phone with customer service while the plane pulls away from the gate, and get confirmation AS WE PICK UP SPEED DOWN THE RUNWAY that my bro Taylor at United worked a deal with Turkish Airlines to get me on the same flight to Bishkek from Istanbul as my buddies!

It's hard to wrap my head around how well things work out sometimes. What a rush when logistics fall into place. 

Kyrgyzstan!

Flying out tomorrow. Very excited. Trekking, sightseeing, spending the Fourth in a former Soviet satellite country.

Back to Banaue

Woke up to loud crowing of roosters, rested and ready for our hike out of Batad. Wrote blog posts from the porch and watched the sun creep down the terraces.

We hiked out single file together with the French, bookended on either end by our respective guides. Our 2.5 hour hike back to our tricycle took us past more villages and terraces. We ascended a particularly good example of the stairs built sideways into the walls of the terraces. The extended blocks serving as steps vanish into the wall when viewed head-on. 

Every 45 minutes we stopped to take in the view and take a water break, which was appreciated in the already-significant morning heat. 

Upon reaching the road, we bid adieu to the French in their waiting tricycle while we hiked along a little further. We came across Bangaan village and terraces, which seemed even more picturesque than those before. 

Graham hopped on top of our tricycle to get a good picture of Aaron and me against Bangaan. I thought our view summed up our adventurous guide and daring driver. 

Last stop on the way back to Banaue was a walk across a suspension bridge leading to town. For some reason Aaron wasn't too enthused about the soundness of the structure. I was too excited because I recognized the floorboards as Marsden matting--steel planks used to quickly prepare airfields in WWII. Also the gaping holes in the planks allow you to conveniently determine how high up you are when crossing the river!

Now we just relax outside in the fresh air before another overnight bus ride back to Manila. Banaue and surrounding towns were a great trip!

Batad Rice Terraces, Luzon

As soon as Aaron and I started out descent to Manila airport, things got interesting. 300 feet off the ground, the pilot suddenly threw the throttle forward and pulled up sharply. We didn't get an explanation until a few confused minutes later: the runway was full and we had to circle around. Once we pulled up to the terminal, we waited another 20 minutes for the previous airplane to pull out of our gate. Combined with the delays in our plane coming to Tacloban to pick us up, we were an hour and a half behind schedule. This should be a good challenge. 

We got to the taxi stand which was understandably back logged due to the evening rush hour. Touts all around us offered four times the going rate, but locals (and we) knew better than to take them up. We befriended a Frenchwoman at the front of the line heading to the same bus terminal bound for Banaue. Skipping a half hour or more of waiting would be critical if we wanted to get out there ourselves. 

The Frenchwoman had her ticket already squared away, but Aaron had for four days been trying to secure a bus trip for us. Ohayami bus didn't have any openings. Florida bus never picked up on any of the four business phones.  So arriving at the terminals, we were simply hoping for any cancellations. 

Though they never responded, Florida was truly fully booked. Their ticket office was closed and a friendly security guard pointed us back towards Ohayami. As we were only 45 minutes from the 10PM departure, it was either Banaue via Ohayami or we would have to change plans to hike Mt. Pinatubo. 

As luck would have it, we grabbed two last tickets at their posted price and were soon on our way in well-padded and reclining though disproportionate seats. The trip would last 14 hours, so we had scarfed a couple hot dogs and pork skewers and bought Chinese apples and an unidenified white fruit at the terminal. It was small and needed peeling like a lychee. The color and texture of the skin and flesh were also same. Differences started when we found six sections that split like an orange, and a flavor like a grapefruit's. The seeds were horrendously bitter and became disguised in the sections, as Aaron and I each found.

Upon our arrival the next morning in Banaue, we secured a return bus to Manila and found a guide and tricycle to get us to the famous rice terraces. 

At an overlook above Banaue, a plaque from the Philippine Institute & American Society of Civil Engineers celebrated the terrace's engineering marvel and estimated their construction at 1000 BC--crazy. 

After this we took the tricycle over to a saddle in the mountains before hiking through forest to Batad, home of the amphitheater-shaped rice terraces on the the money. Might be the $200, don't know because I don't have any. 

As soon as we dropped off our packs, our guide Graham took us on a day hike to the Tappia waterfall across the terraces. The water was chilly but the mist made intricate patterns in the sunlight. While we were resting in the shade--and unbeknownst to us--Graham dove into the spray to save a kid that had been pulled under by the currents. 

After cooling off, we hiked to the highest point in the terraces before cutting back horizontally towards our hotel on the hill. 

 We got back at 3 and ate our well-deserved lunch with San Miguel beer. Relaxed the rest of the afternoon and watched from the veranda as rainstorms blew through. At night after dinner with a pair of French exchange students on spring break from school in Taiwan, we heard drumming and singing down the hill. After a little local rice wine passed around, we turned in early.