Khan't Stop Us

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[khantstopus]

Getting the Hell Into (and Out of) Dodge

For our second stop in Kazakhstan, we aim for Aktobe, a largish city about 500 km east of Atyrau, which we figure we should be able to reach in a day's driving. We stop for gas before leaving town and get to talking to a local, who advises us to drive to Uralsk, 400 km north, and then east to Aktobe, because the direct road east was very bad. If "very bad" was anything like the road we experienced the day before, we figured driving an extra 400 km out of our way would be an easy price to pay compared to the likely headache waiting for us on our originally planned route. And so we head north towards Uralsk on very respectably smooth blacktop, making good time despite driving through our first (rather to our disappointment, quite minor) sandstorm and stopping to check out a peculiar Russian cemetery, complete with multi-colored crosses and laser-etched portraits of the deceased upon the headstones.

Despite the extra time, we were quite happy that we took this route not only because the road was remarkably good, but because we happened to run into three other Rally teams--Dusty Racing Advisors, Aveo's First Mongol Rally (aka, "the Chevy Guys"), and Team Snake Pit--who were heading the same way. After a friendly exchange of honks and good-natured passing, we all pulled over, exchanged pleasantries and a few stories, and decided to drive together to Aktobe. As Matt and I had somewhat expected, the day was growing long and we were still far away from Aktobe. Without the caravan, Matt and I would most likely have stopped a while before sundown to set up camp for the night, but the others were determined to make it to Aktobe that night. Since we were heartily enjoying the camaraderie of traveling with the group, we chose to continue on despite the impending darkness.

After some road construction delays that took us off the blacktop and onto dusty bumpy side tracks, we persevered, now in the full dark, to Aktobe, which we reached around midnight, a city just as shiny and impressive as Atyrau. A bit of a "herding cats" situation ensued when the four teams all tried to put their heads together to find a place to stay for the night. At one point we pulled over at a busy restaurant to hop in for directions to the center, and ended up with a rather inebriated Kazakh and his designated (or so we hoped) driver who insisted on leading us to a hotel. Lacking better ideas, we followed our newfound guide, who stopped off at a few closed or possibly full hotels before reaching the brightly lit and welcoming Hotel Amsterdam, where we all piled out to check out the rooming situation. The price for a room was way out of our price range, but the Chevy Guys were old hands at this particular problem, and tried to cajole and bully the night desk clerk into a bargain price. Having no luck despite the winning argument of "you have open rooms and it's one AM, some money is better than none, right??" (perhaps the poor girl's very limited English was a factor in this failure), we opted for plan B, which was to try and locate an affordable hotel mentioned in our guide book, directions to which we had pulled up using the hotel's wifi while the bargaining was taking place. We were all set to do so when our friendly drunken guide turned decidedly unfriendly and lunged at one of Team Snake Pit, grabbing at his keys and landing a punch to the poor kid's face in an attempt to get some money out of us for bringing us to the hotel. Fortunately the members of Dusty Racing Advisors, two brawny Germans (more on that later), and the Chevy Guys, an equally manly team of two Dutchmen and a Brit, were more than well equipped to dispatch the unruly stumbling Kazakh, which they summarily did so. After this bit of drama, we all quickly came to the decision to forget about hotels and Aktobe and get the hell out of Dodge. Despite our Herculean efforts to reach the city, we easily abandoned it and headed out of town to find a campsite, which we finally did at around 2 AM. When morning came around, we discovered that we had curiously ended up camping beside what appeared to be an informal equine graveyard.

Still in convoy, we head further east, deeper into the Kazakh steppe! - Ingrid

[khantstopus]

Swiss Cheese Lasagna

And so we drive into Kazakhstan, where we are immediately aware of a bleak semi-desert landscape, towns of mud brick houses, camels, and literally the worst spread of asphalt we've ever seen. Robert may think the roads in Bulgaria were bad. Kazakh roads laugh at Bulgaria's puny attempts at disrepair. The road from the border to Atyrau must have once been a smoothly paved road. Once upon a time, when the Soviet Union was still a twinkle in Lenin's steely eyes. The roads now resembled what I can only describe as "Swiss Cheese Lasagna:" imagine lasagna noodles, with their wavy edges. Now imagine those lasagna noodles were made out of Swiss cheese. Such were the wavy, crater-pocked roads of Kazakhstan, which sometimes lulled you into false complacency with a few miles of smooth blacktop, only to jolt you back to attention when you suddenly swerve to avoid a pothole the size of a large pizza.

Being as Kazakhstan is floating on a vast sea of oil, we knew we could at least count on the gas stations being top notch. We pull into a shiny, modern gas station that has what appears to be a credit card symbol on its sign. This is the first civilization we've seen since crossing into Kazakhstan, so we haven't had a chance to change any money to local currency (tenge). We fill up our tank only to realize, nope, cash only. Deceptive credit card symbol appears to indicate some sort of mobile phone top-up machine. Being a modern affair (but not modern enough to take credit cards, alas) they refuse our offers to pay with rubles or dollars and indicate we should exchange our money at the cafe next door. This seems straightforward enough to us, but it apparently something was lost in translation. The proprietor of said cafe eagerly ushers us in and before we know it we have been sat down at a table with water and tea but no tenge. We pay with rubles and manage to extricate ourselves from our host, who follows us outside back to the gas station, where we are hoping to try paying with dollars again. Between the gas station employee, the gas pumper, the eager host, and a waitress from the cafe, someone figures out what our problem is and fetches us some tenge to change for rubles. This whole process takes about 20 minutes and while Matt is negotiating, the perhaps slightly intoxicated cafe proprietor regales me with repeated assertions of "world peace," "Bon Jovi," "U2," and "Michael Jackson." He insists on the gas pump attendant taking a picture of us, which he does:

We also pick up one of these:  

Which I can only assume means "Warning: Lady Driver." Gas paid and spare tenge in hand, we continue on and soon arrive in Atyrau, a gleaming modern city, polished with petro-dollars and actually quite a bit nicer than any Russian city we have seen so far. I'm not sure if I felt more or less safe with the 3 to 5 military police standing at regular intervals, but it nevertheless felt a little incongruous to be in such a cosmopolitan city in a country run by an (albeit mostly benevolent) autocrat.

After checking into our perfectly adequate hotel (a shower in our room! what luxury!), we stroll the promenade along the Ural River and stop for a beer. Matt and I order two of the same and get this:

Note that Matt has received a heavy glass beer stein while I have a curvy pilsner glass. With a straw. Every beer I ordered in the rest of Kazakhstan was unfailingly garnished with a straw. How considerate! - Ingrid

[khantstopus]

Yusufeli and Beyond

Upon leaving Sumela Monastery we we found ourselves on a series of roads that lead largely in one direction - up. We climbed and climbed, somewhat unsure of where we were going. We knew we wanted to go to Yusufeli - renowned for its natural beauty and threatened a massive dam - but we weren't entirely sure if we could still get there, or how.

We found what appeared to be the tallest point in the pass, and our map told us we would then descend down into the valley and then on to Yusufeli. Unfortunately, when we reached the bottom of the valley, the road that we were hoping to take was not a road so much as a river. After much confusion and a little shouting, we backtracked, asking directions from a group of kind gentlemen at a restaurant, where our pantomime skills were sorely tested.

It took us a long time to find our way back to the correct road, but we eventually ended up on a brand-spanking-new road that lead to an unfinished bridge across the canyon. It took us most of the way to Yusufeli, though there was constant construction and the tunnels - though nice - were mostly unlit. We got to see the dam that was being built from many angles though, and it was impressive.

We came to a construction site and were stopped, and a very nice Turkish man named Mehmet told us we'd missed the cutoff by five minutes and would have to wait an hour to pass, since they were digging rocks out of the cliff. We rested by the river and waited patiently as it got dark and finally got into Yusufeli in the wee hours, where we made friends with a couple of Americans who were hitchhiking across Turkey. Again, we felt lame, but it was nice to speak English and make new friends.

We didn't get to see much of Yusufeli, but the river that ran through there was apparently a great place to go rafting/kayaking, and we saw a bunch of adventurous types braving the rapids.

Unsure of whether or not we'd be able to cross into Georgia, we got going early, heading east toward the border with - as it's known in Turkey - Gurcistan. The drive was fantastically beautiful, and we drove up into some rolling green mountains where we saw lots of cows and sheep, but few people.

When we reached the border, we were pleased to find that the Georgian border police were polite, friendly and didn't point guns at us. It took them a while to figure out what the "GB" on our car represented (in Georgia, Great Britain is Anglia), but they smiled and talked to us and waved us through after less than half an hour.

After being stuck behind some Iranian tankers for over an hour, we finally managed to merge onto the main Georgian highway toward Tbilisi. Excited and full of anticipation, we headed deeper into the land of St. George, breakaway republics and khinkali.

[khantstopus]

Trebizonid Days, Trabzon Nights

[Sorry for the massive delay on these posts. Jet lag is a bitch]

After leaving Cappadocia, we head north and east to Trabzon, a city that our guidebook described as both "cosmopolitan" and "seedy". We were curious, and a little concerned, but it was on the coast of the Black Sea and apparently full of interesting things to do, so we were overall on the excited side.

Not to mention the fact that it has a fascinating history. After Constantinople was sacked by the crusaders in 1204 (dick move guys), many of the subject nations of the Byzantine Empire decided to strike out on their own, one of the most successful of these being Trebizond, run by one of the Comnenian dynasty and made wealthy by virtue of its mineral wealth and choice trade location. Trebizond remained an independent and wealthy ally of the Byzantines until the fall of Constantinople in 1453  left it sandwiched between Kipchaks on one side and Ottomans on the other with no allies to count on.

Trabzon retained a large Greek population until the Greco-Turkish wars of 1919-1922 expelled large chunks of the Greek Orthodox population in Anatolia. Trabzon became a core part of the Republic of Turkey and now houses Trabzonspor, which is (as I was told by the locals) the best football team in Turkey.

The drive up to Trabzon was beautiful, as we traveled out of eerie, dry Cappadocia into the beautiful green mountains of eastern Turkey. We were delighted as well to see that the excellent Turkish roads continued well into the east. Most exciting, however, was when we neared the pass that would take us down to the coast to Trabzon - the hot, humid air of the coast meeting the cold air of the mountains formed a massive fog bank which we could see from the road.

We stopped to take pictures and were ambushed by five huge, adorable puppies - seemingly from nowhere. These Turkish sheepdogs kept us company while we took pictures and stretched our legs.

We also ran into a team we'd stayed near in Istanbul, passing by us on the way to the Iranian border (!). They were hoping to pass through Iran, Azerbaijan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan and Tajikistan, but were disappointed because they might have to detour around Tajikistan because of a very inconvenient war that was brewing.

We said goodbye to new friends and old and headed down into the fog bank to Trabzon. It was late when we got in and dark, and we soon became hopelessly lost in the tiny back alleys and avenues of the city. We eventually found the place we were hoping to stay, but only after we were all tired, sweaty, and very irritable. We took the last two rooms available, which included a room that looked like it was decorated for a pair of five-year old girls.

We ate a great dinner at a Trabzon restaurant, marveled at a great statue of Ataturk and caught a little bit of the Olympics before heading to bed.

  In the morning, we planned to hit up Sumela Monastery, an ancient Greek Orthodox structure built into the side of the mountain and then head for Yusufeli, a tiny town in the beautiful eastern mountains that was about to be submerged by the artificial lake formed by soon-to-be-online Ilisu Dam.

We took some pictures of daytime Trabzon and headed south.

In order to get to Sumela monastery, we had to drive up a long, winding mountain path that taxed our poor little Agila to her limit, but it was worth it. We rounded a final turn and came to an overlook where we saw in the distance the magnificent monastery practically clinging to the side of the cliff.

In order to get to the monastery itself, we had to hike a little further, but it was worth it. The monastery was incredibly well laid out, with a bunch of room dug into the side of the mountain and beautiful frescoes adorning the walls - it was the most fantastic, interesting place we'd been yet, and we were thrilled to have stopped by.

After wandering, jaws wide open, for an hour, we said goodbye to Trabzon and Sumela and headed into the mountains, toward Yusufeli - or so we hoped. 

[khantstopus]

Welcome to Kazakhstan!

After camping on a lovely expanse of steppe outside of Astrakhan, we head off towards the Kazakh border. Astrakhan is a big city, where we get our first taste of a true East-Meets-West cosmopolitan. Elista seemed peculiar, a city of Asiatic Buddhists in the middle of Russia, but we begin to realize it is only the first outpost in a succession of increasingly-less ethnically Russian areas. Seeing as Astrakhan's a big city, Kazakhstan's a big country, and the next nearest border crossing is 500+ km away, one would think the route to the border would be rather straightforward. In reality, it involves several unmarked, take-your-best-guess T-junctions, a precarious-looking floating bridge made of interlocking metal plates, and our first encounter with the Russian police. Who flagged us down because we were obviously lost, asked "Kazakhstan?" and in response to our eager nods, pointed us in the right direction. So much for the corrupt, steely-eyed brigands we had heard so much about!

We found the border without much further ado, exited Russia after a not-unreasonable wait and a short chat with a guard who I think was making fun of us for not knowing any Russian, and arrived at the Kazakhstan border. After passing in and out of big bad Russia with ease, we were entirely untroubled by the prospect of the Kazakh border crossing.

Each new border presents a new series of get this paper here, submit paper there, stand in line here, show this document there, stamp your passport here, etc. After observing some truckers and some hand signals from the guards, we think we got it figured out. Matt takes our passports and car registration towards a big central building where the guard had motioned that "one person" should go, and I stay with the car. Matt takes all the papers because at other borders, this separate building has usually been some sort of customs and/or police check before getting your passports stamped elsewhere. After a while, a guard comes up to me and the car and asks for my passport and the car registration. I tell him that my passenger has them, in that building over there. He seems perturbed by this information but tells me when I get them back, he'll search the car. Ok, no problem. He comes back about 15 minutes later and asks again for my papers. I tell him that my passenger is still over there, with my papers. His English is not bad, but I can tell he is struggling to comprehend why I would give my passport and the car papers to the passenger, but doesn't have the words to inform me why this was a stupid and irksome thing for me to do. He sighs and tells me he'll search the car now, asks me to open the trunk. I do, he considers the bags, pokes one of them, and moves on to the passenger side of the car. I follow him, thinking I'll have to open more doors, but he says, "No, sit down." So I sit back down behind the wheel and he sits down in the passenger seat next to me. Opens the glove box, asks me what the GPS is, puts it back. Picks up the ipod, looks through the music a little, puts a song on. And then he gets up and says Ok, and walks away. A rather peculiar search, but whatever works! A short while later he comes back and again asks for my papers. I'm getting a little worried at his insistence, but by this time I see Matt walking towards me and I'm like, there he is! He looks at the registration and asks Matt who's car it is--Matt says it's his. He seems very confused as to why I am driving and repeats that the car is Matt's, but I am driving? Ah, sexism, there you are! I've been wondering where you were! He seems to make fun of Matt for this, but motions for both of us to move on to the guard house to stamp our passports and move on across the border. It seems where we went wrong is that the driver is supposed to go one place for processing, while the passengers go to the building. Apparently a guard came into the building where Matt was in the middle of a huge line of people, looked around, pointed to Matt, "American?," and got Matt to follow him out. I guess they got sick of our lack of comprehension and general unsavviness and let us both go through the fast way. Lucky for us! Russia to Kazakhstan ended up being another short, two-hour crossing. We found out later from talking to other teams that our entry to Kazakhstan was unheard of in its brevity and lack of hassles. Similar searches of cars and glove boxes had resulted in the kind of holding your goods for ransom situation that we had heard so much about. I guess he liked me? And as for our two hours? It took the other teams 10 hours! ...here's hoping our luck lasts! - Ingrid

[khantstopus]

Cyrillic 101

After giddily congratulating ourselves on so easily achieving our first serious border crossing, I was pursuing our map to plot our next move. And was intrigued to discover that, Oh, see the other side of that little river beside the road we're driving on? Yea, that's Chechnya. And we waved to the rather small 10-foot high camo-colored tire fort covered in barbed wire with a small tank parked outside that guarded a tiny bridge across the river as we drove past. (Worry not, loved ones! At this writing we are currently 2000 miles away, safe and sound in the steppes of Kazakhstan) I'm pretty sure I was the only one of the team that was surprised to find ourselves so close to Chechnya, Dagestan, and Ingushetia, and to be having lunch in Vladikavkaz, where there was a car bombing two years ago, and to be driving through Beslan, the city where 10 years ago (I just now was learning), 300 civilians, half of whom were children, were held hostage and ultimately killed by Chechen rebels. Hmm. I can't say I regret taking the route we did, but in retrospect it was a little naive of me to not more closely examine our plans. Matt and Robert, on the other hand, have nothing to say since they of course knew all these things already. (I will now repeat: Worry not, loved ones! At this writing we are currently 2000 miles away, safe and sound in the steppes of Kazakhstan) Meanwhile, we obtain car insurance with relative ease, thanks to a tip from Steve, successfully navigate our first food ordering experience in Russian, and slowly piece together Cyrillic road signs--it's like a puzzle! Which is actually not as difficult as we had anticipated! After (by this writing) several days in Russia and Kazakhstan, transposing the Cyrillic for Roman letters has become almost automatic.

(Vladikavkaz, North Ossetia) Caravanning with Steve, we decide to camp for the night. Steve has cleverly downloaded an open source map of Russia to his GPS, which tells him there is a small lake a few kilometers off of the highway. We find said picturesque little lake, set up camp, cook some beans and rice on our camp stove, compare British and American politics, you know, some light conversation, fend off mosquitoes, and sleep.

The next day we head towards the city of Elista, a small Buddhist enclave of a long-ago offshoot of a Mongolian tribe, right in the middle of Russia. Where else do you see a pagoda next to a statue of Lenin?

There was also a very respectable temple, outside of which was a rather significant pothole that I failed to avoid. Thanks to Matt's superior manliness (and our car's daintiness), Matt was able to lift the tire out of said deathtrap and we were on our way, further into the steppe towards Kazakhstan!

We pulled off the side of the highway and camped, like the nomads of old! (more or less).

- Ingrid

[khantstopus]

Please Sir, Let Us In!

As previously alluded, we were still at this point not quite sure we would be allowed to cross into Russia from Georgia. Almost all the official information we found on the subject informed us only Russian and Georgian citizens were able to cross there, but we had heard a few accounts to the contrary and chose, for some reason, to put our faith in those. Plan B would be a tedious and time-consuming backtrack through Georgia and part of Turkey to catch the next ferry from Trabzon to Sochi, a 12 hour ride that only departed twice a week. To add to our uncertain prospects, we also did not have car insurance that covered Russia, which we had heard we needed before crossing. (As an aside on crossing the Russian border: if Robert's visa travails have given you any indication, it is clearly not easy to get into Russia. We ran into a nice German couple in Turkey who told us they crossed into Russia from Ukraine once before, "a very smooth crossing, no problems at all, only took 6 hours." We've heard horror stories of bribery, extortion, intimidation, days stuck at the border. At the very least we were expecting stern, unhelpful and unyielding bureaucrats with a lot of time on their hands and very little sympathy.) Despite these serious gaps in a successful venture, we decided to head over and try our luck. And were pleasantly surprised to find ourselves in Russia less than 2 hours later! Instead of corrupt border guards holding our electronics for ransom, we found cheerful, friendly officials who only gave our car a cursory glance, helped us with the Cyrillic customs forms, and to whom we confirmed that "Barackobama" was indeed our president. We were also pleasantly surprised to run into Steve, a British native who was brazenly driving his tricked out motorcycle also to Mongolia, not part of the rally but just because--and back again to England. We got to talking, discovered we were all heading towards Elista, and decided to caravan together until then. - Ingrid

[khantstopus]

The Best Mountains/Butter of My Life

And so we headed north towards Kazbegi, the small mountain town in the shadow of the snowy peak of Mt. Kazbek, one of Europe's highest mountains. And were blown away by the landscape, far and above the most spectacular we've seen so far. Sorry, Turkey, but you got nothin' on this:

And picked up some Polish hitchhikers, Chris and Janek, who were hitchhiking through Georgia on their holiday. Yea, that's right, our rally car is so superior that it has room to pick up hitchhikers.

The four of us arrived in Kazbegi and we told our guests we would drive them up to this remote Georgian church on the top of the mountain, where they planned to camp for the night. Or rather, we drove them as far as dear Gertie Roxanne could go. It was a sad first for us, meeting the road that was her match. We managed a miraculous 3-point turn without upending ourselves, parted ways with Chris and Janek, and headed back into town.

Meanwhile it was close to dark and we realized that we were in a town with no ATM and the equivalent of $6.50 in Georgian lari between us. So instead of staying in a cheap guesthouse like we had halfway planned to do, we spent 7 of our last 10 lari to buy a loaf of bread, some butter, and two beers and drove out of town into the deepening dusk. We pulled over at the first turnout that seemed suitable and camped in a grassy field a short distance from the road. So long, cushy European campsites with showers and wi-fi, hello wilderness! (As an aside, let me expound a little on this butter. Matt pulled this saran-wrapped hunk of what he thought was cheese out of the very bottom of the cooler, labelled only was a small sticker that said "2" (lari). When we set up our small picnic on a large flat glacial rock in the middle of the field, with the sound of a small mountain river churning behind us, we unwrapped this hunk and found not cheese, but the richest, most deliciously flavorful butter I've ever had. I can only assume this butter came directly from one of the many cows we saw on our way here. Truly, this was manna from heaven. Best Butter of My Life. It turned our meager dinner into a feast of freshly produced nourishment.) In the morning, to our surprise, we awoke to this:

We felt incredibly fortunate that our previous lack of planning had forced our hand to choose camping in this incredible place, and hoped this luck would last us the next 15 km to Russia. - Ingrid

[khantstopus]

And Then There Were Two...

or, The Regretful Parting of 1/3 of Team Khan't Stop Us As our last undivided adventure, we chose to make a mock pilgrimage to Stalin's birthplace, Gori, Georgia, and to the palatial drab-fab shrine to his life and (mis)deeds, about an hour's drive from Tbilisi. So, this visit was Matt and Robert's particular desire. Some unfathomable macabre fascination with dictators, is my best guess as to their motivation. I myself had some misgivings, being Latvian and therefore not Stalin's biggest fan. Misgivings which were quickly dissipated upon entering the mouldering manor and reading this helpful info poster:

"According to different estimates, during the course of its existence, the Soviet Empire claimed the lives of 15 to 40 million people. This museum was launched at the peak of Stalin's purges in 1937 by one of Stalin's henchmen, Lavrenti Beria, to immortalize Josef Stalin himself. In that very year, according to soviet statistics, which were significantly deflated, 353,074 people were executed throughout the Soviet Union, amount to 1,000 executions a day. This museum is a typical example of soviet propaganda and falsification of history. Throughout various stages of soviet history, the expositions were modified or refocused, but the objective of this museum stayed unchanged - to legitimize the bloodiest regime in history." Ah, Georgia, I knew I could count on you. With that preface, we felt quite free to enjoy the upcoming freak show of Stalin hero-worship, with such highlights as a mausoleum encircling Stalin's bronze death mask, the actual train car from the Yalta Conference, and of course multiple Stalin statues.

We shared our last team meal of par for course excellent Georgian food at "Hunter," a wood paneled restaurant covered in curiously dyed animal skins and with some sort of Georgian hunting channel playing on the TV in the corner (we learned how to skin a bear and turn it into sausage, in case you were wondering).

We returned Robert to the hostel in Tbilisi and said our goodbyes. Safe travels, Robert! See you at the finish line! And headed north towards Russia...still not quite positive they'd let us in... - Ingrid

[khantstopus]

Cappadocia - It's like the Flintstones, but without the Honeymooner's Ripoff

[You will note that this post has no pictures. They will be added later, as soon as the trip photographer ceases being so miserly with her photos and consents to adding ones that are less than impeccable, at least until we can get caught up on our posts.]

From Istanbul we headed south, toward Ankara. We had initially planned to visit the extremely exciting and historically interesting archaelogical dig at Çatalhöyük, outside of Konya, but we soon realized how very far away that was and decided - given our time constraints - we should just press on to Cappadocia and have more time there. It was certainly not because certain historical philistines failed to understand the significance of the largest and best preserved Neolithic settlement ever uncovered. Definitely not.

As we drove, a couple of things became abundantly clear to us. One: Turkish roads are excellent. Really, terribly good. We we able to push the Agila to her max cruising speed of almost sixty-five miles an hour! The other thing we realized is that there are excellent reasons for Anatolia (what is now the Asian part of Turkey) to have been settled for over ten thousand years. The country is beautiful, temperate and as we found out later, a great place to grow things. Our drive through Turkey was the most beautiful we'd seen and we hadn't even gotten to Cappadocia yet.

(photo of a kilometers-wide salt flat, from which we saw salt being harvested and sold in giant burlap bags)

Like so many travelers before us - Xenophon, Ibn Battuta, Alexander, Matthew of Rubruck - we made our way eastward through Asia Minor, though our journey was much easier and involved fewer sandals.

We arrived at Cappadocia at night and were awestruck by the honeycombed rocks that greeted us in Goreme, lit up for our benefit. The town looked an incredible amount like Bedrock, of Flintstones fame, a fact attested to by the number of "Flintstones" and "Bedrock" hostels and restaurants (which, aside from the reference, seemed to have no relation to the show and featured no laugh tracks, rock puns or ads for Winston cigarettes).

For the uninitiated, Cappadocia is one of the oldest settled regions in Turkey and has cave dwellings that date back millennia. It is most famous, perhaps, for sheltering Christians during the Roman persecutions. The underground cities and rock warrens provided protection for many of the faithful before Constantine, and came to house many prominent churches under the Byzantines. On top of that, Cappadocia is one of the most geologically unique places on the planet - full of bizarre spires, conical stony hills that look like termite mounds and disturbingly phallic rock formations. It is a truly unique and awe inspiring place. There is probably nothing else like it on the planet.

And so, of course, it was absolutely swarming with tourists (yes, I know we're tourists too. Shh). We couldn't walk ten feet without having to dodge a swarm of loud-talking, camera-wielding, fanny-pack wearing gawkers, and it wore on our nerves pretty quickly. We went to places of ancient cultural significance or with deep religious pasts and were constantly jostled from our reverie by the seething mass of humanity. The town itself, while nice, was a construction of pure tourist revenue. It seemed to have no grocery store, no housing that was not a hotel or fancy hostel and an endless supply of novelty shops. I won't go into detail on the sightseeing we did for this reason (rock city, ancient churches, beautiful frescoes. A+). Don't get me wrong - we loved Cappadocia, but if you're using this blog for potential travel ideas, here's a tip: go in winter.

The campsite we stayed in, however, was incredible. Relatively uncrowded with a beautiful view overlooking the vast, eerie landscape of Cappadocia, friendly staff and lots of space, we decided immediately to stay an extra day. There were much needed showers and grapes and apricots that grew fresh for the picking all over the campsite. We would also make some new friends there. A German couple was camped right next to us and struck up a conversation about where were going and what we were doing.

(view from our campsite)

Apparently, they were in the middle of circumnavigating the Black Sea as part of their own Eurasian adventure! They were doing it in a re-purposed military truck turned camper van, but other than that it was the same thing. They told us some important things about wild camping in Russia (you can do it anywhere - until the Cossacks find you).

On our way out we ran into two other rally teams who were headed our way - a Dutch team and a team from Mexico, who we didn't even know were there. We shared notes, made their acquaintances and then said farewell, heading north and east to Trabzon!

- Robert

[khantstopus]

It's Istanbul, not Constantinople (Or Byzantium, for that matter)

After our incredible adventure on the Bulgarian beach, we said goodbye to our new found Romanian friends and headed south, on what we thought would be a lovely, seaside drive to Turkey.

In fact, it turned out to be an agonizing drive across incomplete pavement, invisible potholes and winding, dirt roads. Though we are all quite certain that Bulgaria has some wonderful roads, these are the worst we've seen, and it took us ages to get through to the wonderfully paved and very well-maintained highways that lead us out of Bulgaria and into Turkey.

We passed through the border crossing with very few problems - the border guards were very patient with the fact that we had no idea what we were doing. After getting our visas we headed along the MUCH NICER highway toward Istanbul.

We arrived late, but were overawed with the size and activity in the city. After spending a good chunk of time lost in tiny alleyways, we finally found the hostel we were hoping to stay at, deep in the heart of old Constantinople.

Exhausted and much in need of showers, we all went our separate ways - I placed special emphasis on eating kebap, but since I seemed to be the only one I ended up dragging Anna along to the closest kebap-having restaurant. And it was indeed delicious.

The next day, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, we headed toward the Hagia Sophia, hoping to see it, the Blue Mosque, and whatever other magnificent religious buildings they would let us in to.

Unfortunately, it was a Monday, and the Hagia Sophia is closed on Mondays. This was, of course a major bummer, but we headed over to the Blue Mosque to try to see that.

It was also closed. For prayers. Also, some of us, notably me, were inappropriately attired because, holy place or no, it was too damn hot for pants.

Twice thwarted, we walked up the hill to the Topkapi Palace, home of the Ottoman Sultans of old, to walks the grounds and visit the epicenter of Orientalism - the Harem! 

The Harem was beautiful, and fascinating - and very, very big. We spent the better part of the day wandering those beautiful halls and plush apartments, or in the attached museum. It's not hard to see why so many European observers obsessed over the contents of this magnificent building during the reign of the Ottomans.

After our wonderful afternoon wandering the gardens and outbuildings of the palace - including the treasury, which contained some of the biggest gems and most expensive pieces of jewelry any of us have ever seen - we decided that it would be best if we got more kebap, and headed to what Lonely Planet described as the best in the city.

After waiting for thirty minutes for the train - during which time I made everyone listen to my breathless recounting of the siege of Constantinople and the valiant defense of the city by Constantine XI - we got to the kebap place, which turned out to something of a disappointment - decent food, but expensive. We decided to walk back, since we were all stuffed to bursting with aubergines and roasted meat.

Our path took us along the Bosphorus, and the ruins of the walls there. 

Anna and I headed off to get some souvenir shopping done and Matt and Ingrid proceeded to get properly lost - a story Ingrid will add later. I'd like to mention now that on the street we all were staying on, there was a entire box of kittens, and they were adorable.

As for said story of getting properly lost... instead of turning off of the waterside avenue into the walls of the old town at the correct point, we walked for about 45 minutes around said wall before realizing there were no more entrances to this wall. Which was all well and good in the end, since we got to see this amazing sight:

Some kind of badass, camouflage-wetsuit-wearing, spear-fishing commando who was feeding his catch to the local stray cats. Who spear-fishes in the Bosphorous and then feeds hungry cats? This guy. It was a beautiful walk, and we also saw a school of dolphins, but we were glad to make it back to the hostel at last and put our blistering feet up.

Though we didn't have much time there, we all really enjoyed being in Istanbul. Everywhere you went you could overlook the Bosphorus and sip a cup of tea, or get a cheap, delicious meal and chat with your excessively friendly waiter. On top of that, it is one of the culturally richest cities on the planet, with thousands of years of history and ruins from practically the entirety of human settlement in the Mediterranean. It was a place that we had all wanted to see, and we were sad to see it go.

The next day, we had to though, and we saw what sights we could before leaving (since I knew I'd be coming back, I let the others go see the Hagia Sophia so I could have clean shorts).

The Hagia Sophia was indeed as jaw-droppingly awesome as advertized. Matt and I had hoped to make it to the Blue Mosque and the Architectural Museum that morning before leaving as well, but between the swarms of cruise ship excursions and the time we spent gaping at the Hagia Sophia, we only had time for just the one, but we were glad we had picked it.

When we were all gathered, we hopped in the Agila, and like Alexander before us, crossed the Bosphorus, into Asia!

What adventures will await us there, I wonder?

- Robert & Ingrid

[khantstopus]

Khan't Stop Us by the Numbers

6840 - miles driven so far

1.2 - liters in our engine

78 - liters in our gas tank (including two external drop tanks strapped to the roof)

3 - full-sized spares

14 - countries visited so far

8 - border crossings crossed

4 - major bodies of water forded (the English Channel, the Danube, the Bosporus, the Volga)

7 - castles scaled

8 - holy places visited (including sites in all three Abrahamic religions)

8070 - feet above sea level at our maximum elevation

85 - US dollars extorted from us by police and border guards so far

5 - puppies temporarily adopted

0 - days of sunshine in Scotland, England, and Wales

15 - days of sunshine everywhere else

~6000 - miles still to go

~75 - miles of paved roads to look forward to in Mongolia

- Matt

[khantstopus]

Vladimir Putin - A Real Life Bond Villain

The rest of our blog is somewhat behind, but I have just been denied - for the fourth time, a chance at getting a replacement Russian visa. I'll go into further detail on this at a later date, but I wanted to do a special post on why this is happening: because Vladimir Putin is a Bond Villain.

He rules an entire country with an iron fist. He hides behind a veil of secrecy. He crushes his enemies with his judo skills.

He is cool, unflappable, and terrifying. He stares down the heads of state of other countries as if they were beneath his notice. He knows no fear, no pain, no remorse.

He probably has a secret lair beneath a volcano. And beneath the frozen seas of the Arctic. And maybe a nuclear submarine from which he commands his army of loyal troops. He likes to ride horses shirtless.

And he likes to deny visas to otherwise completely worthy travelers (clearly the visa situation is entirely his fault - part of a grand, incomprehensible scheme to replace the world's fresh water with vodka or turn every McDonald's into a Kroshka Kartoshka).

But where is our Bond? Who will challenge this judo fighting, horse-riding, pistol-firing, steely-eyed mastermind? Who will save us from the world's most corrupt petro-state? Who has the political know-how, coolness of head and appropriate level of fitness to stand up to the Putinator?

I'll just leave this here.

- Robert (And credit to Matt for first making the comparison)

[khantstopus]

Recipe for Stammpot by Misha Veldhoen

Ingredients: 1 part ground beef 1 part young Gouda cheese, cubed 1 part endive, chopped 3-4 parts potatoes, some milk, butter, salt and pepper your favorite way to spice up the ground beef Directions: When I made it for you guys, every part was about 1lb. Just boil the potatoes, and mash them when fully cooked. Add some milk and/or butter to make it smooth, and spice it up with salt and pepper. In the meantime fry the minced meat, and season it (I use a pack of seasoning herbs from the supermarket, but anything will do). Cut the cheese in cubes of somewhere between 1/4 or 1/3 of an inch. Cut the endive in narrow strips, 1/5 of an inch or so. Then, add the minced meat and the cheese to the mashed potatoes and mix it well. When you did that, add the endive, and mix that in as well (It's hard to not spill some endive, I add it in bunches for that reason). Enjoy!

[khantstopus]

Matt, Robert, Anna and Ingrid's Balkan Adventure

As I alluded to in the last post, we arrived at a ferry, rather than a bridge. When I say ferry, I should make absolutely clear that it was nothing more than a big hunk of metal being pushed around by a tugboat. There was a tour bus ahead of us that we were 100% certain would capsize the ferry--but it didn't. We all packed on to this floating chunk of metal, crossed our fingers and headed across the Danube.

And this is where it gets interesting. While I was staring, mesmerized, into the Danube, Matt was making friends with some Romanians who recognized our car as a Mongol Rally vehicle. Andrei, the intrepid leader of the bunch, had been a Mongol Rally hopeful who had to bow out and was excited to talk to us. After we revealed that we were hoping to camp on the beach in Bulgaria, Andrei mentioned that he and his friend Katalin and girlfriend Kitty were going to do just that and invited us to come along. Only slightly concerned about following strangers into the unknown wilds of the Bulgarian coast, we accepted, excited to have made friends with the locals.

Andrei happened to be driving in a Land Cruiser, a beast of a vehicle that was far more capable than our plucky but pitiful Agila, and we had some trouble following him down the country roads he took us on. It was worth it though--we drove down beautiful sunset-lit roads with rows of poplars to either side, countryside spread for miles around. We could easily have been on the set of Gladiator, and we were loving it.

As scenic as our Romanesque drive was, it was beginning to get late and we hadn't even reached the border of Bulgaria. We stopped at a gas station just north of the border, where we were surprised to find another rally team--Team Viking, a bunch of Norwegians in another tiny car with the same plan as us. Since they were hours from their destination and it was already dark, and because our plan was more awesome, they decided to come with us and Andrei, making our duo of cars into a caravan.

Team Viking deserves special mention. Unlike our team of soft-handed pencil pushers, the Scandinavians of Team Viking were men with a capital M. For reasons that should become immediately obvious, I've taken to calling them the Norwegian A-Team.

[Cue theme music]

First there's Anders, the fit and handsome Afghan war vet and police cadet--his chiseled abs, tall Nordic features and easy confidence making all of us, men and women alike, giggle and blush like schoolgirls.

Then there was Thorstein, mechanic and extreme sports enthusiast who can cobble together a carburetor from a broken toaster and a roll of duct tape. Recruited from the fjords to assist the Oslo boys of Team Viking, his rustic demeanor and rugged individualism clashed with the urban dispositions of the other two, creating excellent drama for what is clearly an action movie in the making.

Finally there was Sigve, who insisted on being called Loki. A registered nurse and genuinely strange person, his hilarious antics and general oddity made us think at first that he might be on drugs or at least heavily medicated, but when we asked, the other two insisted that "He's just like that."

Together they formed the crime-fighting--sorry, traveling--trio that made our rag-tag team of white-collar wusses seem greatly incompetent by comparison. I was certain that all it would take is the arrival of a attractive Nordic woman in trouble, the promise of hidden treasure, or a heist waiting to happen to turn their Mongol Rally adventure into a rollicking, explosion-filled action romp.

Ok, back to the story at hand.

We stopped at three different stores for meat for the planned barbeque on the beach, which we were all greatly looking forward to, then headed for the border. We didn't think there would be any problems, as we all had passports and up to date information. Unfortunately, there was something wrong with Andrei's obviously capable behemoth of a vehicle--something about his maintenance information not being up to date. We were stuck at the border for thirty minutes, seriously afraid that we'd be stuck in the middle of the night in a country with a Cyrillic alphabet and no friendly guide to take us safely to an awesome beach campsite.

With the patience of a stone, Andrei smoked and chatted his way through the border crossing, the guards eventually relenting and allowing his clearly superior car through the checkpoint.

Finally, late at night, we arrived at a beautiful, largely secluded beach on the shores of the Black Sea. After setting up, we fired up the grill, pulled our beers out of the cooler, and engaged in a long, wonderful game of "How is [x] in your country?" We talked about Norway, Romania, and America, covering topics as vast and (in)sensitive as gypsies, George W. Bush, Ceauşescu and communism. We all got to know each other a great deal and fell asleep, intoxicated and full of interesting information, with the Black Sea crashing gently in the background, the multitude of stars over our heads.

In the morning, clearly eager to be on their way to glory and adventure, Team Viking took off. We dawdled a bit, playing in the sea and saying goodbye to Andrei and the Romanians before heading south to Istanbul. Ever friendly, Andrei gave us the leftover chicken from the barbeque and wished us luck. It was by far the most fun we'd had and the best friends we'd made, and it filled us with optimism and general levity.

- Robert

[khantstopus]

Vampires, Transsexuals and Romanian Politics

Leaving Hungary, we head south toward Romania, terribly excited that we'll be passing through Transylvania, a fact that sparks impromptu performances of the Time Warp, loud arguments regarding Anne Rice and a brief and incomplete discussion of Romanian history and politics cobbled together by Matt and myself.

After our first serious border crossing (where our passports get new stamps! Take that Schengen zone!), we are surprised to find that Transylvania looks less like the set of Van Helsing and more like West Texas. It is dry, sparse and flat. Romania is immediately different from everything we've seen before: run down villages, gypsies, cows in front yards, someone drawing water from a well, a manually-operated railroad crossing arm. We get our first glimpse of the soon to be ubiquitous horse drawn carriage, which we spend the first hour trying to get a picture of without being insensitive (we probably failed). We acutely feel that we have at last left cushy Western Europe behind.

As we draw closer to our campsite, the landscape changes to better fit our idea of Transylvania--heavily wooded with rolling hills, though it is somewhat lacking in the massive, broken down castles or jagged gorges that seem to be in every movie featuring Dracula.

We stop in the idyllic Transylvania town of Sighişoara, one of many locations linked with Dracula, a fact that the town has played up to great effect. The great citadel on the hill is lit up at night, as well as the clock tower, giving the whole wooded valley a menaced feeling. It is a beautiful town, and we camp on a soccer field in what is apparently a campground, though it feels more like a tent city. We drink and look at the stars while listening to the rowdy, exuberant singing of increasingly intoxicated Romanians.

In the morning, we roll out of central Transylvania and proceed south, where we encounter the Carpathians, a massive, beautiful mountain range that does, in fact, have the massive, jagged peaks and gaping chasms that one expects from movies about vampires and werewolves. We are pleased that we aren't going the other direction--the line of Romanian weekenders stretches almost all the way to Bucharest.

The route we have picked out is supposed to take us across the Danube in a simple, painless way--cross a bridge, head south to Varna, in Bulgaria. But we keep being taken along the river, and not across, until we realize that what we've come to is not a bridge, but a ferry.

And that is an entirely different story.

- Robert

[khantstopus]

Recipe for Vegetarian Tajine by Jamie Grasse

Ingredients:

Assorted Vegetables

Onions, diced Tomatoes, diced Yellow Squash, thinly sliced Eggplant, thinly sliced Carrots, thinly sliced Potatoes, thinly sliced

*most important ingredients are onions and tomatoes, the rest are interchangeable with whatever fresh vegetables you prefer

Spices & Aromatics

Olive Oil Garlic, several diced cloves Paprika Cumin Cilantro Onion Powder Ginger Turmeric, generous amount Chili Powder Cinnamon Raisins Salt Black Pepper Lemon

Directions:

1. Begin with a traditional Moroccan tajine cooker or, more conventionally, a casserole dish will do just fine. Line with aluminum foil.

2. Place the diced tomatoes and onions at the bottom of the pan along with some garlic and olive oil to create aroma.

3. Layer the remaining thinly sliced vegetables along the bottom of the dish, overlapping the slices in a circular pattern. Intersperse the vegetable slices with olive oil, garlic, raisins and the rest of the spices, to taste. Arrange the vegetables that take longer to cook near the bottom and middle (like the potatoes).

4. When all vegetables are arranged, pour about a half cup of water over the dish and the juice of one half lemon.

5. Slice the remaining half lemon and arrange the slices on top of the vegetables. Add a final dash of olive oil and spices.

6. Cover the dish with either the top of the tajine or, if using casserole dish, aluminum foil.

7. Cook at 375 F for 30 minutes or longer; test the vegetables periodically for softness. The dish is done when all vegetable are tender.

8. Serve in the dish it was cooked in. Eat with your hands by using sliced bread to scoop the vegetables up.

Enjoy!