The Kazakh desert ... only for the mentally stable

"The vast desert and steppe flatlands of Kazakhstan offer little in terms of visual stimulation and should only be attempted by the hardiest and most mentally stable of cyclists." This is where I am about to sink.

This quote is from the website Caravanistan, probably the best resource currently on Central Asia. And after my crossing the Caspian Sea, I'm about to start the most difficult part of the trip, crossing a real desert for hundreds of kilometers.

This will be one of the toughest stretches on your trip. There are no sights, besides the bleak desert and its inhabitants, and the occasional cemetery or isolated settlement. Generally, this is not fun. You are doing it for the experience. The heat is an issue for most, and you have to be lucky with the wind, which is always fierce. (source - Caravanistan.com)

Aktau in Béïnéou, 475 km of desert.

The Kazakh part, before continuing through western Uzbekistan.

Alone, or almost

Very quickly after leaving Aktau, the desert begins. It doesn't look like a dune beach like the Sahara. It feels more like New Mexico, with a bit of dry vegetation growing here and there on hard, level ground. For half a day, I still see a few isolated villages clinging to the road, but after that, it's total desolation.

A mother and her daughter waiting for transport outside a village.

Well, almost total desolation. During these almost 500 km, I will periodically meet herds of horses, dromedaries and camels. I find traces of the latter at almost every camp where I stop. They seem to like walking!

The dromedary will also become over the days my new favorite animal. He is curious and friendly, with large, soft eyes and long flirtatious lashes. And it looks like he's constantly smiling. Several will even let themselves be gently petted and photographed.

But, in total, these moments of flattering camelids remain rather rare.

The reality is that I quickly discover that the desert is a stifling place. With its heat, its dry wind which drives moisture away from the face, and its fine sand gradually enlarging a sticky layer on my clammy skin. The infinite space, the flat horizon and the monotonous road crush me rather than enlarge me.

It is the opposite effect of being on top of a mountain.

Sometimes, however, I manage to enter into a certain plenitude and the happiness of feeling myself an explorer. How they already said ... "you are doing it for the experience"!

Leonid and Sasha

Leonid and Sasha.

While I am driving, a car stops in the direction opposite to me. I turn to them, and I see ... Leonid and Sasha come out! Stunned and happy looks on both sides! A few days after leaving them on the boat, I see these charming Ukrainian hitchhikers in the middle of the Kazakh desert. After'Azerbaijan, And the The Caspian sea, our third meeting is the most astonishing.

Sasha shows me the little stuffed camel she was given as a gift. She named him Profesor Gul, named after our cargo freighter.

Jon

The next day, I stop in a chaikhana, or tea house, lost in the middle of nowhere. These simple concrete buildings, selling water, a choice of meals, and serving tea, are lifelines to keep going without dying of thirst. There is one about every 60 kilometers on this road.

The god of travelers weaves surprises for me. Imagine, I'm 150 km from the nearest village, sitting at a rickety table with 86 flies circling around my head. A Briton walks through the door, looks at me questioningly, and asks in his refined accent:

Jonathan?

Jon among the trucks as we drove together.

This is Jon, a 47-year-old cyclist who left England shortly after me to tour the world. A dream he had cherished for ten years. He had gotten my email address from other travelers on the road, and we had written to each other in Tbilisi, Georgia. We had unfortunately not managed to meet, but the luck of the road took care of it.

We ride the rest of the day together, comparing our routes, our adventures and our misfortunes. His crossing of the Caspian took five days because of the weather, and he was then ill for nearly a week in Aktau, preventing him from continuing his journey. Suddenly, his Uzbek visa has already started and he has to catch up. I let him slip away in the English way, wishing him good luck and good wind.

The painters

Camping in a Muslim cemetery.

New day, new heat and even a long drive. I am very uncomfortable in my saddle due to heat irritation. I'll let you imagine the details.

Around 15:30 p.m., at the height of the sun, I found a very rare bus stop. Strangely, I did not see any buses on the road, and the stop seems to serve only one hut ... which has an automobile.

Taking advantage of its shadow, I dozed off, stretched out on the three spaced metal bars that form the bench. Fifteen minutes later, a truck stops and a smoker sits down next to me. These two guys are coming to repaint the bus shelter. The paint must have been peeling off the crumbling concrete for 15 years, but that's where the work needs to be done. I'm going back.

Why aren't you married?

The family who hosted me for dinner in a small desert village.

I miscalculated my water. Having drunk more than 10 liters since the day before, I am dry and I have to finish the bottles of motorists who stop to talk to me ...

I eventually find a village of less than fifty inhabitants. A man comes to my aid by opening his cistern for me.

This village is so far from water points that the inhabitants have to have it delivered by truck, and store it in basins underground, in what looks like our sheds. Honestly, I can't imagine having to live under such conditions on a daily basis.

After the water, I am offered the meal and too much fermented camel milk. Half the village must live in this house, there are people sitting in each room. I manage to put some milk back in the main bowl when I am left alone for a moment.

My Good Samaritan's wife, who has 4-5 children and looks younger than me, asks me in the kitchen:

- Where do you come from?
- How old are you?
- Are you married?
- Why aren't you married?

And there she looks at me, wondering what must be my problem. I am judged by my lifestyle choices, in Kazakhstan, in a kitchen that does not have a sink.

Leonid and Sasha, take 2

Under the sun, the dust and the construction.

At this point in the story, you understand the principle. I ride, I stop, I fill my water bottles, I ride, my butt hurts, I don't ride fast.

Stopping at a building, I talk to truckers by the side of the road. But at the same time, I dream that a beautiful female voice with a Russian accent is screaming my name.

Jonathan! Jonathan!

I turn. Well yes, the Ukrainians again. So, you guys aren't going faster than that?

They retraced their steps because Sasha had left her phone in a truck that had picked them up. Miraculously, she managed to find both the truck driver and his phone. Recognizing me on the road, they stopped at the nearest stop to keep me company.

We cross the next climb together, and the surrounding construction. Definitely, this desert is full of nice surprises.

Distances have nothing to boost morale.

My new boyfriend, Dromo.

The stars

Sleep under the stars, power 10.

Each night, after removing the grime from my body with a dozen wet baby towels, I take the time to contemplate the sky.

Hundreds of kilometers from the nearest small towns, the sky is more starry than you would expect. It is breathtaking, even to the naked eye. I feel like I'm suspended in space.

During the day, I have the right to another type of star: the Kazakhs. Every day, several generous truckers stop and offer to board me for free. When I tell them my destination, some people think I'm joking.

Man, don't fuck it, it's 300 km away, you're going to die, just get on board.

Or something the same in Russian.

And there are those, too many, who stop just to take selfies with me. Including the road guys who chased after me for the sole privilege of having a shot with my oily face.

Riding until late at night allows you to enjoy the less stuffy air.

In bulk

But the Kazakh desert was also:

Having to get up twice during the night to better tie my tent in the wind, and cover it with its outer canvas since it was filling with sand. I didn't make the mistake again afterwards.

Extreme heat during the day, and having to take my down sleeping bag at night.

A landscape that changes so slowly that the most interesting thing to watch is often the mileage on my odometer ... which changes even more slowly.

A surprising absence of sweat. Considering the temperatures of 45 degrees, I would have expected to push a lot more water through the skin. But the dry wind seems to remove moisture from the body as soon as it forms there. Eyes, nose and mouth included.

Big clouds of flying beige insects that stick to me and get caught in my hair. And in the evening, around and on my tent, I have the right to grasshoppers the size of mice. I have the impression of being in the plagues of Egypt ...

Chaikhanas toilets that appear not to have been cleaned since the creation of the Soviet Union. To do my needs in kind seems to me a better solution.

Conclusion

Caravanistan was right. This crossing exhausted me. Physically and mentally. In these conditions, I am happy with my 500 km in 7 days.

Am I glad I did? Yes. Would I do it again? Definitely not!

Do I recommend it to you? Well, you are doing it for the experience ...!