Asia

One of the things I enjoy about keeping this blog is getting to experience parts of my trip all over again as I sit down to try and make som kind of sense of it all in written form. Flicking through photos and glancing in diary entries from weeks back in an attempt to recall what I’ve actually been up to.

I tend not to not always notice it on my own, but these flashbacks really make it obvious how fast things are moving, in terms of everything from changing landscapes and cultures to shifts in my head and gut.

Last time I checked in with you guys I was in Golmud. Hopeful – but nervous like Professor Quirrell – and just about to head for that magic military checkpoint situated 30 something km south of town. The one that supposedly isn’t to let foreigners through it’s gates. But unfortunately also my only option for ever getting up the majestic Tibetan plateau, and the one that I so desperately wanted to pass.

This was a situation made to – if nothing else – at least create a good story. And it did. Unfortunately one that’d be a bit too long for me to jot down here, so I guess I’ll just save that one for my grandkids.

I’ll brief you with the short version though:

In full disguise, I left Golmud late afternoon hoping for the best. Reaching the checkpoint I snuck up behind a truck giving me cover from the controllers’ booth. All according to plan. But only until 5 minutes later when I got too curious too fast and ended up super-caught as I tried to sneak a peek of what was going on in front.

Caught and terrified to have ruined my own chances on the mountains I was dreaming of, I pulled out my best poker face and went for it. Being the stupid tourist or the briber, go for kissing up or acting out. There are so many ways to go about these stuff, and I had no plan.

What I ended up doing? Well. Equally horrified and amused, I watched myself kind of play… the girl card.

The one thing that shocked me more than my own creepiness and parodic fake laugh, was that it actually worked. It sure took it’s time, but after a long questioning, a few phone calls and some lengthy discussions amongst the earlier so stern guards – I was let through. Just like that.

??!!??!

So. With my pride left at the gates, the rest of me made a mental victory dance, jumped up the saddle and hit the road before giving anyone the opportunity to decide they’d made a mistake.

I was through. And this was going to be epic.

First thing up to reach the actual plateau is an enormous mountain pass on close to 5 000 meter ASL. As Golmud is situated on 3 000 meters, I was already decently acclimatised, but obviously still needed to keep a slow pace in order not to rise to fast.

Apart from comfortable and gorgeous riding, these days included some lovely hospitality. Nights were already starting to be quite a bit below freezing and when the opportunities of sleeping inside presented themselves, I gladly accepted.

Now, sleeping wise I did just as well camping in that storage room of a gas station as in the temple I’m showing you here. But obviously some places are more made to be shown off in a blog than others. This Taoist temple being one of them.

At first glance this place didn’t feel very welcoming…

But it quickly turned out to be run by the sweetest people ever!

My first ever temple overnight – check!

I was about to make way up my highest mountain pass to date, but it never really felt like such a big thing. Gradients were always mild and the roads flawless. So instead of focusing on a beating heart and complaining legs, I got to enjoy the surroundings and blue skies full on.

At 4 000 meters. Snowcapped mountains AND sand dunes?! Why not, I guess…

Even if I had had to work remarkably little for it, reaching the top of Kunlun Pass was amazing. Once again I was now standing on the highest point of my life, after which I knew the actual Tibetan plateau would be awaiting me.

Coming down from the pass I got a good night’s sleep in the last village on the ‘highway’ I was on, and then started off the next day by taking a left. A turn that in my mind symbolised the beginning of the plateau that would now be my home for the upcoming weeks.

From having shared the road with a bunch of loud and stinking trucks, everything went silent. As if from nowhere, I now again got to ride with that magical feeling of having the world all to myself. The cold combined with me not being able to wipe the smile of my face left me with a more or less permanent brain freeze – and all was good.

Very, very good.

I had been ready for scenic landscapes and stunning views, expecting what I guess could be described as a 2nd Pamir experience. And I was far from disappointed. What I hadn’t been ready for though, was the wildlife I’d find up there. Crazy! Hundreds upon hundreds of wild animals, everywhere and every day.

Do you know these fellows?

Curious, but always ready to rush down their underground tunnel systems

Also, there was more or less constant presence of animals giving away that there (despite the lack of villages) were people around. Occasional yurts dotted across the grasslands told me the same thing.

On this trip there are few things I’ve enjoyed as much as the big highlands. This time surely was no exception, though at the same time it was the most demanding one yet. Not because of the cycling itself. The roads were constantly smooth as silk and winds were not at all an issue in the way it has sometimes been in the past. There was really only one challenge here. The cold.

As soon as the sun was out, days were nice. Not warm enough to start peeling layers, but never with temperatures making the cold an issue. Though on days when the sun decided never to show up, things ended up a bit on the chilly side.

Really didn’t stop this place from being totally gorgeous though.

And obviously – sun or not – the nights on 4 000 – 4 500 meters ASL in November are freezing. With night time temperatures hovering around -15 °C I generally crawled down my sleeping bag wishing for the morning to hurry up. And the space in mentioned sleeping bag I was sharing with everything from batteries to food and bottles of water that also needed protection from the cold.

It’s not like they’re comfortable, but I still really enjoy these things. Anything (well, most things) that add to the feeling of adventure are more than welcome in my book.

There is one thing I enjoy even more though! Something that also tend to come more frequently as the conditions become harsh. Frequent readers of this blog might already know what I’m referring to. Homestays. Despite barely having a population, my ride across the plateau of western Qinghai would turn out to consist of many.

The whole thing was a bit like experiencing Persian hospitality with Pamir views. Food, shelter & amazing company came in from left and right, and thanks to the incredible people along my way I was always taken care of in the very best of ways.

One of the first families that invited me (with Dad behind the camera)

As most kids don’t give a crap about things like language barriers, they quickly tend to become my best friends and teachers when staying with families. In nomadic Tibetan families they tend to have lots of little ones running around, making these evenings the best ones ever.

Morning goodbyes – a completely useless part of the day…

Already beforehand I knew I would love this ride. But by this time I had more than actual proof for it. There is simply nothing like riding mountains. This whole adventure is about freedom. But the feeling of it never gets nearly as intense as when I’m up there, soaring among the clouds.

Best part about this though, was that I still had just only gotten started.

Until next time,

Fredrika

This post starts off where the last one ended. On a chilly but beautiful morning by the edge of the Chinese Taklamakan desert. A morning where I finally got my first glimpse of these.

The last bunch of days in the desert I had been longing for them more and more. I knew that in time China would give me more than my fair share of mountains, and that it could be wise to enjoy the easy cycling my days still consisted of. But by then I was kind of done with easy. And definitely done with sand.

Up was a couple of days climb to my first ever Chinese mountain pass. 3600 meter ASL might sound like a lot, and I guess by all means it is. However getting up there was remarkably easy. Coming in from Central Asia – used to climbing the dirt road Kamikaze passes of Tajikistan – surely played a role in what a breeze I experienced the whole thing to be.

‘Does it even count as climbing, with easy gradients, air full of oxygen and smoothly sealed roads like this?’

After a day of slowly gaining altitude I set camp just a couple of hours from the pass. Next day I would for the first time wake up as a 24-year-old, and figured that saving the pass would be a suitable birthday present to myself.

What my first on the road birthday was like? Different! And awesome.

Though however odd the day might have been – I didn’t have to miss out on too many things of what I remember my childhood birthdays at home to have consisted of.

Breakfast in bed (bag)

I’m an October kid – it’s supposed to be cold!

The sun soon brought some nice temperatures…

…and I got to cash in my present with a clear blue sky!

To top the day off, I crossed my first province border, leaving Xinjiang for Qinghai. Finally I really got to feel some sense of progress, and in other words – this was a good day.

Now one might think that things would really be changing from here. But to tell you the truth, they really didn’t. At all. Once up on the mountain plateau (around 3000 meter ASL), I was hit by just the same monotony I had had company for the last weeks. The only real difference being that most of the sand was exchanged by some kind of gravel, and naturally that the temperatures were now considerably lower.

Luckily, the slap-in-the-face camp spots also joined up the plateau.

I guess everyone has a limit where you’ve just had enough. By now I think I was getting closer and closer to mine, and the cycling started feeling more like a chore that anything else.

No matter how many hours I put into it, I could barely see myself moving on the map, and China slowly started to feel just as overwhelming as it’s supposed to do when you’re stupid enough to go at it on a pushbike.

Waiting for tired cyclists to throw in the towel?

Then – just like always when I need that extra push, life heads straight out to give it to me.

Now this sign might not tell you much. But really, this one made all the difference. This was my first real finish line since starting my Chinese ride. This was…

A turn.

The first actual turn since starting off in Kashgar. Weeks – and thousands of kilometers – ago.

Right for Golmud. Gosh.

No matter what logic would tell me – this was all I needed. That the turn itself was something like a one second event, and that the sign clearly stated that I then had another 359 km before anything else would happen, was completely irrelevant. I was in fact making progress, and this another proof of it.

The last few days into Golmud were good ones. Nothing revolutionary happened, but my head was back into appreciating things by default – and I no longer had to make an effort in order to have a good time. I guess at least some of you know what I mean?

I enjoy my own company a lot more when my mind is set like this. When I unconsciously look for the good stuff. They’re always there of course. But it’s so nice to see them also without necessarily be looking for them.

My first proper prayer flags!

Now this is a menu even a foreign cyclist can understand! (It’s a whole wall)

Even the views started to show up again

Daytime temperatures were still comfortable, but as the nights started getting colder and colder, the prospect of camping got less tempting as time went on. What good does the views do if you’re not out to see them?

There was still no civilization to speak of, but as my ‘sleep inside radar’ went on, I ended up having a couple of really weird – and absolutely hilarious – ‘homestays’ with people working at the industrial areas occasionally popping up along the road.

I consider one of my strengths on the road to be communicating with the people I bump into along it. It was long ago since I generally had a language in common with the locals, but it all tends to work pretty well with some basic vocabulary, body language and a lot of will power.

In China however. It’s so difficult. Never before have I had so much trouble with this, and daily I fail miserably with the most basic stuff you could imagine. Nothing works! At times this is obviously frustrating. But it can also be so much fun. With the right people the lack of communication becomes communication in itself, and when everyone just stops bothering with making themselves understood, the good times comes naturally.

These guys spoke Mandarin with me. I spoke Swedish with them. And it was great! Luckily laughter is universal.

Coming into Golmud I was exhausted. Like really, really tired. From home, I had gotten the best birthday present imaginable at the time – money to stay in a fancy hotel.

I mean. The kind where you have your own shower, are treated to a breakfast buffet (the weird Chinese one, but still!) and someone comes to clean your room every day like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Even my bike got it’s own bed, I think that if anything proves that this place was the real deal.

So what do you do? When you finally get inside, after weeks of working for it?

Damaged as I am. I set up the camera…

Me. For the camera.

Me. In reality.

Then, my friends. I spent the upcoming days the only way I knew how.

I spent them resting.

Hard.

Take care,

Fredrika

China. The Middle Kingdom. The world’s most populated country. Sizewise the 3rd biggest on the planet. A place with never ending diversity as it comes to everything from culture and history to nature and climate. China is a whole world in itself. One I’ve never even set foot in before, know embarassingly little about – and whose language(s) I don’t speak a word of.

Sounds like made for a good bike ride – right?

After a chaotic ride to the border, I arrived to get my Kyrgyz exit stamp just in time not get turned down at the door. The day I entered China was the last one the borders were open at all, before they closed completely in favour for the Chinese national holiday & ‘The Golden Week’.

When you’re limited to never moving any faster than your legs peddle, timing can sometimes be tricky – to say the least. This time though, everything truly worked out for the best.

The border into China has a reputation. And it’s not the most flattering one of those. After all the headaches of crossing borders in Central Asia, I was a bit nervous about this one. Apparently – the Chinese customs was even stricter than the ones of the hardcore bureaucracies I’d already been struggling so much with.

In the end, this would not turn out to be true (for me). The crossing did take like 10 hours in the end, but they were only 10 slow hours, not difficult ones.

The first thing that happened as I reached the initiating Chinese border point was that a guard stripped me off my passport. This is standard. Every foreigner who shows up at this border, has his or her passport confiscated. Passports are then handed over to a waiting taxi driver, and the only way to get it back is to pay him for a + 100 km transport to the actual customs spot.

I still have never really gotten a proper explanation as to why this particual border area is so sensitive, but there is simply nothing you can do about it. Do you want to get into China? Do you want to see your passport again? Ok then. Shut up, pay for that overpriced taxi ride – and you will.

True maffia style.

At the border I met the French cyclist Peps, and together with a couple of backpackers we went with the taxi driver who were holding all of our passports hostage. What could have been a couple of hours drive ended up taking just shy of forever. This due to everything from repeating arguments about prices to waiting for the controllers at some military checkpoint to finish their 2.5 hour long lunch break.

When at last, we got dropped off at the customs, we were all pretty tired – but nowhere near relaxed. I mean, sitting in the back of a taxi is only that demanding. Getting pass customs officers though, that’s a whole other story. This was where the actual hassle would take place.

…Or so we thought. In reality, this would turn out to be the smoothest customs since crossing into Turkey (of course, with the exception of Kyrgyzstan).

After all the stories I’ve heard about this border, with people having everything from their chain tools to Swiss knives taken – I was ready to argue my case, play dumb and do some serious kissing up in order to get my stuff across the border. But noone cared about us at all.

In the end we just had to make a quick x-ray scan of our panniers, and I don’t even think anyone was watching the monitor as they went through. So 10 minutes after filling out the declarations forms, Peps and I were standing by the door to exit the building. Still with everything from pepper spray to fresh fruit in possesion. Peps even still had his pretty impressive stash of cannabis on him.

‘Do you think this really could be it?’

‘I have no idea. But let’s go before any of them change their mind!

And we were out.

Still I had just known Peps for a few hours. We had both had our completely different paths up until here. But right then and there – we were companions celebrating like life long friends.

China. From our front door to China. That his was in France and mine in Sweden didn’t matter. We had both gone through deserts and over mountains. Both been fighting ice cold blizzards and frying under tormenting sun. We had made it. China. We had cycled to China.

China. China, China, China.

Say it enough times and even the name starts to seem just as absurd as the ride there.

We were both childishly excited, and laughted, shouted and danced (yes, of course you can dance on a bicycle) our way to the road that would eventually lead us to our first city – Kashgar. After a good night of camping, we started off our first full day in China. And this was a particularly good one to have company.

The Chinese made sure to give us a proper welcome to the country

Can’t even remember the last time I rode a road smooth like this

Peps – the ornithologist – in his element

My first few days in China could make up a book in itself. But I’ll keep it short.

Kashgar, Xinjiang. This is China. But still not really. For me it was a whole new world – but at the same time I still had one foot in Central Asia. This is Uighur region. Where Uighur people live. Speaking – and living Uighur. This is a muslim people with their very own culture and history. The only thing that they really have to do with China, is that they happen to live within it’s borders.

Riding into Kashgar. A lot of Uighur – and a tiny bit of China

For me this was the perfect introduction to the country. Coming in from Kyrgyzstan, there was so many things just screaming China. But still not. Still I could get by with using my Turkish, Uzbek & Kirgiz vocabulary – as Uighur is also a Turkish language. Still there was plov and lagman served as the main meals. Still I felt at home.

Kashgar night market. A hungry cyclist’s dream.

Staying in one of the youth hostels, I ended up spending a couple of more days than planned. Meeting up old friends from Central Asia, and making new ones travelling in the opposite direction. This was a good time.

Once the Kashgar people were also cycling. Now they have upgraded.

Sold outside a pharmacy. I wonder for what they’re used?

A lot of the times I feel kind of like my mind is falling behind my movement. Constantly there are so many new impressions and experiences. And before I’ve had the chance to wrap my head around the first one, the second and third have already come and passed.

In hindsight I felt like the time I spent stationary in Kyrgyzstan was so good for me. It give me time to actually digest what had been going on the last couple of months. My head had had time to catch up with reality, and I was entering China with what I can only describe as a clean mind.

Instead of thinking back on what actaully happened yesterday, the day before that – or even last week. I was now in the present. Completely in the experience – as it happened. I don’t think I had really realised it before, but in Kashgar I could really tell that it was a long time ago since I truly could do just that.

Now. I just had to start cycling.

Fredrika

The border separating Tajikistan with it’s neighbour Kyrgyzstan consists of a mountain pass. A high, steep, gravelled and windy one. One that I was not happy to pedal. Reaching the top requires work, something I’m generally not hesitating to put in. This time however, I didn’t want the result it would get me.

Still I was peddling. From the effort I was sweating like a pig, while simultaneosluy being freezing cold from the harsh wind that kept me constant company. Even though the lack of oxygen left me completely out of breath, I was still swearing and muttering my way up to the border control at the summit of the pass.

It all just felt so… stupid.

Working hard is one thing. Working hard for something you don’t want is another. I wasn’t ready to leave the Pamirs. Sure, this had by far been the most demanding leg of the journey, and my body was in desperate need of some proper rest. But more than any of that this had also been the number one experience I had had in my life.

I had truly found my thing, and life among the clouds had been so much better than I had ever dared to even dream of. And now it was all coming to an end. I was headed back towards civilisation.

Paved roads. Fresh food. Warmth. Beds. Even showers. All great things!

But I had found greater ones.

Of course. It’s not like I was about to step across the border only to suddenly find myself on sea level, standing in the middle of a crowded shopping mall with a Starbucks cup in my hand. The opposite really, as Kyrgyzstan is known to hold some of the best mountain adventures the world has to offer, be it by foot, bicycle or from the back of a horse.

I knew this. But in some way it still felt symbolic to get that exit stamp and – together with by travel buddies Karin & Fritz – head on down the other side of the pass.

One thing is for sure though. It’s difficult to stay grumpy when you’re welcomed by this:

And when I still wasn’t smiling big enough, the adventure Gods quickly decided to send down a welcoming committee that would take care of the rest.

Two high fives later – and I was back in game!

It’s not like I ever said that I’m an adult!

Lucikly I realised how absurd it would be not to enjoy the awaiting 3 day ride down to Osh. We still had some great passes between us and the city, and more importantly – a 3 000+ meter descent.

Bye bye Pamirs! See you next time.

My seasons this year have been extreme. I experienced a spring on steroides as I rolled south through Europe. A summer unlike any other, wrapped from head to toe in 40 degree Iran. Then in the up to 50 degree desert of Turkmenistan. And before I had even had time to cool down, I was camping next to snowcapped mountain tops and waking up to an in tent temperature around – 5 °C.

As we made our way down the high mountains, the climate was no longer extreme. It was still werid though, as the seasons now kind of came in the wrong order. I had gone from high summer to immediate winter, and now rolled straight into… autumn?

A lot had happened while we were gone

Maybe that hat look funny to you, but in Kyrgyzstan they are totally stylish

Kyrgyzstan is the land of horses and apparently not only according to the travel guides. Everywhere we looked people were living up to the Kyrgyz stereotype in great style.

We enjoyed our last few passes. Something which of course was easily done as a 300-500 meter climb would be rewarded with stuff like this:

Loosing altitude and peeling layers

And then – we came to Osh. The second biggest city of the country and one of the big hubs among Central Asia travelers. After a few days rest Karin & Fritz continued north, and after spending almost an entire month of eating, sleeping, cycling and… surviving together – it was one of the more difficult goodbyes I’ve had since leaving home.

Our routes from here are complete opposites. They are flying to India to then make their way along Eastern China to Japan. I’m going straight for China and will stick as far West as the police will let me. But who knows. Maybe, maybe – we will bump into each other somewhere in South East Asia.

(Adventure Gods? Please?)

While they headed North, I didn’t go anywhere. I couldn’t. Because my Chinese visa was still being processed.

…In Stockholm.

I won’t go over the details of the how’s and why’s, but in the end I was stuck in Osh for almost three weeks.

Or well. For one week I was there completely voluntarily. Hanging out with fellow travellers and eating shashlik like there was no tomorrow. I was this lady:

Maybe only with less gold in my mouth

The 2nd week, things started getting itchy. It was all still OK, but still not really. Something like these guys:

The 3rd week, I was climbing on the walls. My passport had been sent ages ago, but it simply refused to show up. This year, the three big national holidays of China and Kyrgyzstan were taking place with horrible timing, all lining up just after each other.

I’ll skip the details, but basically this meant that the borders between the countries would only be open during a 2 or 3 day window within a 3 week peiod. And if my passport didn’t arrive in time – I would miss it.

Day by day I could feel myself turning into…

…whoever you think is more miserable. The man, or his sheep about to be slaughtered.

What happened?

Well, we all know how it works by now. Just as my last hope was crumbling down – BOOM!.

Yeah, that’s right – our beloved Adventure Gods stepped in for the rescue! Sure, this was a rescure that included a whole lot of practicalities, stress, rushed cycling and funny situations I really hope to tell you about some day.

But this was basically what happened.

1) My long lost box including my passport & Chinese visa showed up

2) I was cycling like a mad woman towards the Irkeshtam border to China

So, so happy to be able to get across in time. But not without regret for having to rush past a landscape like this way too quickly. I guess you can’t always have it all.

It’s funny isn’t it? For weeks I’d been so desperate to get the heck out of the country and into China. But now when I finally got the chance to do just that, I kind of didn’t want to? Gosh. Sometimes I really feel like smacking some sense into myself.

But then again. Sensible is probably the last thing one wants be on a trip like this.

So for now, I’m leaving myself unsmacked.

Fredrika

My tent is great. Spacious, comfortable and in my eyes – even pretty. That most things are realtive is a widely accepted fact, and one of those mountain nights I learned that this is also totally applicable as it comes to mobile homes.

My day had been sort of amazing. With ingredients like a clear blue sky, a stunning mountain pass, a whole lot of tailwind and a bicycle in a good mood I had enjoyed myself ever since I zipped my sleeping bag open in the morning. I appreciated all of these ingredients for sure, but as they were all familiar ones it wasn’t exactly like this day would qualify into the Memory For Life-category.

The evening of this particular day wasn’t neccesarily more spectacular, but definitely more memorable as it ended up including a whole bunch of something that I am head over heels in love with – Firsts.

I’ll keep this one short, but just imagine this:

– A grandmother.
– Her adorable granddaughter (who even knew a few words of English!)
– Their Kyrgyz – completely handmade – nomad yurt
– Bread, tea and absolutely delicious cream and kefir made of the milk from their animals
– And most importantly. Big smiles that not for one second would disappear from these ladies’ faces

I know that many parts of this trip is not for everyone. The cycling. The uncertainty. The feeling of endlessness.

This however.

Sitting in the warmth of the burning fire, zipping on a cup of tea and just letting your eyes wander along the walls of the yurt. Each time you blink you will find some detail you didn’t see before. Some detail telling you just a little bit more of the story of the people living there.

And when you finally look down you meet the eyes of this 8-year-old girl, looking at you with just the same curiosity with which you’re discovering her home. Her eyes glimmer with a peculiar blend of shyness and strenght. She smiles innocently, but will confidently keep the eye contact until you decide to break it.

She likes tea as well, but before drinking hers she will always make sure your cup is filled. Actually, she will make sure to do whatever an 8-year-old could possibly think of to make a guest comfortable. As the sun sets, she rides the donkeys under roof for the night like it’s the most natural thing in the world. But is then so, so proud to show you that she too has her own bicycle.

This girl is shining like the brightest star of the mountain sky.

At the same time her grandmother is silently and constantly working – just like the women always do here. She’s cooking. Fixing up one of the walls of the yurt. She keeps the fire steadily burning. Prepares the blankets on which we’ll sleep at night.

She…

–

Oh.

I said I’d keep it short, so I’ll just stop here.

All in all. The memories of some meetings you carry closer to your heart than others. This was one of those.

This really was my best night in a while. But of course – what goes up, must go down. And the inevitable goodbye is always waiting just behind the corner. The more you connect with people, the harder it is to leave. I guess I’m used to them by now, but that sure doesn’t make these Goodbyes any better.

Photos make me happy though. These small digital memories proving to myself that those moments I cherish actually took place in reality. They’re all dreams, of course. But with these I know for sure that I experienced them with my eyes open.

Two girls and their bicycles

All the best,

Fredrika