thebusmansholiday

[thebusmansholiday]

EURASIA OVERLAND 2017, FINAL POST..... ______________________________________________________ Moscow - Suzdal - Leningrad - Tallinn

Saturday 3rd June Tashkent to Moscow Train 005Ф 'The Ozbekistan' Departs 18.50 (Sat) Arrives 11.15 (Tue) 65 hours 35mins

Just 20 minutes after departing from Tashkent we were at the border with Kazakhstan and 2 hours of border guard checks on either side awaited us. As regulars on cross border railway journeys, we knew to make sure we used the toilet in that initial 20 mins, as the toilet doors on the train are locked shut until the border checks are done. It's also a wise move to pop some diarrhoea tabs before boarding, to shore yourself up if your bowels have been irritated by the local tap water, again.

The train carriage had obviously been left out in the open to roast in the Tashkent sun all day before departing, as it was swelteringly hot on board, making for an uncomfortable 4 hours in our 2 bed compartment. We had decided to treat ourselves to a first class ticket on this long 3315km leg of the journey, but there were little 'first class' luxuries about it, just the comfort of not having to share our space with any snorers. 'The Ozbekistan' train is a really old rattler and quite literally everything on it rattles. After leaving the Kazakh border we made our beds and tried to cool down with the window wide open letting in a welcome breeze, but trying to sleep was a bit of a torture, with the ever more apparent squeaking of door latches and creaking of a lose shelving unit being a constant annoyance.

The first full day, without any border crossings to delay the journey, we were able to settle into train life. For breakfast we had porridge oats we'd bought with us, soaked in the boiling water from the furnace at the end of every carriage, topped with raisins and almonds. Then you just sit back, read a bit, look out the window at the never ending Kazakh steppe, go for a walk up and down the carriage, have a tea break with some biscuits and generally just pass the time till lunch. Lunch was instant noodles with bread, and some eggs we had boiled before the journey. Break the eggs up and sprinkle in the noodles, for an egg fried noodle effect. Save a bit of bread for the end, to dip in the left over soup. After, sup on some cheap Uzbek general lager and slowly doze off for a well earned afternoon nap.... Heaven!

We had agreed before the journey that for dinner we would treat ourselves to a meal out at the restaurant carriage. Only a couple of carriages down from us, we strolled over in our best evening dress, got a window seat and ordered two Plov, a salad and some bread which went down a treat. The setting sun shone on our faces, that beautiful slow train rocking motion serenaded us as we gazed out the window on the dusty Kazakh plains and pondered  whether to order afters. We opted for vodka and biscuits back at our sleeping quarters, hoping the vodka would knock us out for an uninterrupted nights sleep. It did the trick, but we were rudely awoken at 4am by the conductor warning us we were approaching the Russian border.

Did we read the timetable wrong? It turns out the time was actually 5am. When we crossed from Uzbekistan into Kazakstan on the first night, even though we were traveling back in a westerly direction, the clocks had gone forward! A message to the Central Asian governments: you all need to sit down together and sort out your clocks, you have to at least try and follow the conventional laws of longitude. Anyway, we crossed into Russia without any problems, some tame looking sniffer dogs rushed through the carriages, probably more interested in getting to the third class sections towards the back. The clocks then went back 2 hours in one move from Kazakhstan to Russia.

The second full day on the train was very similar to the first. It was now much greener and a little cooler outside, much more pleasant temperatures to relax in, so our Uzbek train guards decided to whack up the heating and turn the carriage into a sauna. Pissed off with this, I managed to find the switch in the guards room, and when she was outside having a fag break in the little open section between the carriages, I would go in and flick the switch off, a great game to help pass the time. We eventually settled down and drank more beer, sipped on more vodka and dozed off to sleep whilst watching downloaded Netflix docs.

Walking to our Moscow hostel on the Tuesday lunchtime, we immediately felt a sense of sadness that we were no longer in the less orderly world of central asia. The timed countdown pedestrian crossings, the western fast food chains, the tall glass financial hq buildings, the grim moody faces of people rushing to get to meetings.... we were back in the 'developed' world.

We had tickets for a ballet performance at the Bolshoi theatre on our second night in the capital. I'd not been to a ballet before, and we were both really excited to be able to watch a show at such a historic venue. In 1918 Vladimir Lenin insisted on demolishing the place. He said that opera was a bourgeois art, it cost too much, and that the performers were arrogant and wanted only money. Luckily, Joseph Stalin was a bit of a culture vulture, and convinced him that they could have arts for the masses in the Soviet Union and he changed Lenin's mind. He loved opera and ballet, and would attend performances regularly. And here we were, a few decades on, attending the very same venue. I doubt Jo was in the cheap seats at the very back, but you can still feel that spooky historical presence when sat in the dim lit grandeur of the interior. The performance itself was entertaining enough, I'm just glad we read the outline of the play beforehand, not sure I would have known what was going on otherwise.

Saturday 10th June Moscow to Suzdal Bus 904 Departs 12.00 Arrived 18.50

Bank Holiday weekend in Russia, and like most Russians, we wanted a break from the city, so with the weather set fair, we headed out to our 'dacha' in the countryside. The beautiful old town of Suzdal was our choice of the many 'Golden Ring' destinations on offer, located on a roughly 100 mile radius of Moscow. We made the mistake of opting for a cheap bus all the way, expecting it to take 4 hours, it took 7! The bank holiday get away traffic from Moscow was ten times worse than that you see on the M25 back in the UK, and the never ending roadworks didn't help. Moscow is gearing up for the world cup next year and the whole city is a bit of a construction site, with road modernisation plans in full swing.

Arriving in Suzdal a bit drained from the sluggish bus journey, we were pleased to arrive at our 'Dacha'.  'Patchwork Hostel' was possibly the cleanest place either of us had ever stayed in. The well equipped kitchen allowed us to cook up some cheap home made meals, and to prepare picnics for days out in the picturesque countryside. A bit sick of walking after 8 weeks of sightseeing, we were able to rent bikes and ride for miles along country lanes without any traffic to disturb us.

Suzdal itself is home to several Unesco world heritage protected orthodox monasteries, dating back over 1000 years. We popped into one of the gold domed cathedrals for Sunday mass, the priest blessing us by splashing holy water over everyone as he chanted prayers in his deep russian voice with the nuns on backing vocals. Next to the church was a little canteen run by the Nuns where we purchased some cabbage soup and cabbage filled bread to eat, while we pondered over what the priest had to say about how better to go about our lives in the week ahead. A church canteen is a great idea for struggling parishes back home. I for one would certainly be more inclined to attend mass if you could get some good cheap comfort food straight after.

Tuesday 13th June Suzdal to Vladimir Bus 159 (40 mins) Vladimir to Moscow Marashutka 4 hours

We had been blessed with blue skies for the whole of the bank holiday weekend in Suzdal, but it was a grey wet morning for our departure back to Moscow. After a short ride on the 159 bus to Vladimir, we'd hoped to get a local 'Elektrika' suburban train back to Moscow, but there was a 4 hour gap in the timetable which would have meant a cold damp wait in Vladimir. A Ukrainian fella, who had lived and worked in New York for several years, befriended us and explained he would be getting in a Marashutka back to Moscow. After using them a fair bit in Central Asia, we hadn't planned on seeing them in use in Russia. They work to the same unofficial schedule as the central asian Marashutkas, lots of 10-15 seater transit vans lined up in a car park, all waiting till they are completely full up before departing to various destinations. At only 500 rubles we saved ourself some cash and some time, as it got us back to Moscow in 4 hours. This gave us plenty of time for a little tour of the Moscow metro and some of the grand architecture at the 'Palaces for the People' stations.

Wednesday 14th June Moscow to Leningrad (St Petersburg) High Speed 'Sapsan' Train: 768aa Departs 13.40 Arrives 17.35

We were now getting a taste for the usual bleak grey Russian summers some of the locals had warned us about. The rain was coming down quite heavy as we tried one last time to visit Lenin's Mausoleum, which had been closed on our last attempt a few days earlier. It was still closed! They must have been touching up his makeup, and Lo was quite disappointed to miss out on paying her respects to the great man, our last chance to do so as we had a train to catch to the city named after him, Leningrad.

Leningradski  station in Moscow was fairly busy, but it didn't take too long to get through the security bag checks. The high speed 'Sapsan' (Russian for Falcon) service, like the Uzbek duck and the Chinese bullet, had a really comfortable air conditioned spacious lay out, with ample leg room at our airline style seats. Also a free sandwich, with a cup of tea and biscuits delivered to our laps!

The sun was shining in Leningrad and we were able to take a late night stroll under the 'white night' skies along the canal and river banks in the centre of town.  The sun goes down around 11pm, but at this time of year it never goes down far enough for it to get completely dark and at 2am it is starting to rise again, a bit of hinderance to a good nights sleep when your hostel doesn't have proper curtains.

I reckon this city will be the pick of the World Cup venues next year. A huge park leads up to the spaceship like St Petersburg arena, with fun fair rides, food outlets and bars a plenty. Also, in the town centre itself, we visited one of the 'fan parks' that had been set up for this years warm up confederations cup tournament. It is positioned right next the impressive 'Church of the Saviour on Spilled Blood' which is some backdrop for a big screen showing football when basking in the June sunshine. Don't be worried about the scare stories in the western media, the Russian hospitality is second to none, just drink vodka with them and be happy.  Also, this World Cup will offer long distance travelling between host cities like no other. Just imagine the fun to be had on a 26 hour train for a quarter final between Ireland and England in Yekaterinburg....

To get back to our in depth look at Russian Culture and the arts scene, we had a full 8 hour day of walking around the massive Winter Palace and its Hermitage Arts Museum, which boasts a greedy amount of work from the worlds best known painters. Just staring at the interior of the building itself is enough to keep you occupied, let alone the Van Gogh's and Matisse's on show. Catherine the Greats former residence was the seat of power for the Tsars from the 18th century onwards, and whatever your views on what happened post 1917, you have to agree with what one guest had written in the museums guest comments book "the revolution needed to happen!" Gold dripping from every staircase, ridiculously big chandeliers, huge grand ball rooms.... it just wasn't going to win favour with the starving masses on the streets outside. To the Bolsheviks credit, after looting the wine cellar and the ensuing hangover that followed, they managed to maintain the interior and save the artworks and opened the building up to public as a museum which is how it has remained ever since.

We got hold of some cheap tickets for The Mariinsky theatre, and a Saturday afternoon matinee performance of the Igor Stravinsky classic 'The Firebird'(I know, listen to me!). Again, like at the Bolshoi, we were sat up in the gods, but the view was still good, and being so far back you can stand up without bothering anyone behind you, kind of like at the back of the Cold Blow Lane end but without the Tourette's  sufferers stood next to you.  I began pondering some more comparisons with football.  Back before the Bolshoi performance in Moscow, it was a Tuesday night, me and Lo, were getting tanked up on a few homemade vodka, pomegranate and soda water cocktails before 'the match'.  This time around it was a Saturday afternoon, we had a fry up for breakfast, you get to the theatre(the ground) you drink more alcoholic beverages surrounded by others and the hum of anticipation of what's gonna happen on the stage (the pitch) is deafening. Some people are clearly only there to get pissed up with their mates, they have no interest in the beautiful game(ballet) whatsoever. Plenty of geezers dressed up in designer gear showing off their macho image, what do they care about the new directors interpretation of Stravinsky (in football: the new managers use of the diamond formation). I'm clutching at straws with these comparisons now, but your mind does tend to wonder a bit during the middle part of a ballet. Anyhow, for just 300 roubles (£5) you couldn't complain and in all seriousness the ballet performers really put in a shift for the crowd, which is all I ever want as a fan.

Monday 19th June Leningrad to Tallinn Baltic Express Train: 033a Departs 06.25 Arrives 13.43

A very early start for the last leg of our trip, a train out of Russia, crossing into Estonia and so back home into the EU. There was not much 'express' about the old 'Baltic Express' rattler, it has a similar compact seat lay out to one of those old Northern Rail tanks that go from Preston to Burnley, and it chugs along at a similar sedate pace. The clear blue skies made for some pleasant views out onto the Gulf of Finland as we approached the Estonian capital and the last destination on this mammoth journey.

This morning, to complete the journey from coast to coast properly, we walked to the baltic shoreline, to get our first glimpse of sea since April, and that is that! 60 days since leaving the Yellow Sea in China, after approximately 12,565km (7,807miles) by train, bus, marashutka, jeep and taxi's only, we've made it to the Baltic Sea. Eurasia is one hell of a landmass! Forget Africa, forget The Americas, Eurasia is number 1. Don't be so quick to overlook it, just cross the channel and it's all there for you, thousands upon thousands of square miles of land to explore without the need to get on a plane. Saying that, we're getting on a cheap flight to Amsterdam on Friday morning, we have a close friends wedding to attend on Saturday and have run out of time, but you get the gist. 

I hope these ramblings have offered some inspiration to you, and I want to say a big thanks to all the fans of this blog, especially my Nan, for being so supportive and encouraging me to write it. Also a massive thanks to the people who helped us along the way: Matt, Brandon, Marrie for setting us up nicely with a good meal and beers out in Shanghai. Liza for sorting out our buses in Kyrgyzstan. Antonio and Fergus for teaming up with us, and the Osh Guesthouse for sorting out our transport for the Pamir Highway. 

See the 'man in seat 61' website for more details on cross continental train journeys, it was an invaluable planning tool for us when we started out. You can plan railway trips in all parts of the world here: www.seat61.com

Scrow down below this post for some little video highlights of the trip and check out Lo’s instagram for more photos www.instagram.com/lo_opreis

Hopefully see you all soon

[thebusmansholiday]

From way back one night on the pamir highway:

Fergus, please tell me another Irish joke!

Oh ok, just one more Antonio....

[thebusmansholiday]

Like being back in the Netherlands: a morning ride to the shops near our dacha in Suzdal. 

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The changing of the guard at the tomb of the unknown soldier, The Kremlin, Moscow

[thebusmansholiday]

Uzbekistan

Tuesday 23rd May Dushanbe to Samarkand 11 hours (Shared taxi to Border - 1 hour Walk 2km across border and through border controls - 2 hours Shared taxi to Samarkand - 8 hours)

 An early breakfast at hostel Latifa, before all the family came to the front door to wave us off in our taxi to the 'shared taxi terminal' in Dushanbe. It's pretty chaotic at the terminal but soon after arriving we agree a decent price with a driver to take us an hours drive to the Uzbekistan border. We pick up a few other passengers en route, and the driver even stops to pick us up some hot out the oven fresh bread that he insists we take for free.

No traffic crosses this border, just a few long distance trucks being the exception. The Tajikistan and Uzbek governments don't get along, lots of the more convenient border crossings are closed to tourists by the tourist rich Uzbek side, out of spite, to strangle the flow of tourist dollars crossing into Tajikistan. Our driver drops us off as close to the border fence as he can, we put on our backpacks and start walking towards the first checkpoint. The Tajikistan border guards are having breakfast so we have a 30 minute wait for them to come and stamp our passports and let us through for the 2km walk through no mans land and to the Uzbekistan border checkpoint.

The Uzbekistan guards look much more serious than the lax Tajiks, their uniform is a better fit, trousers not so baggy, tighter shirts round the arms, their boots more polished. You have to fill in 2 forms for how much cash you have on you, if you leave Uzbekistan with more cash than when you arrived they will seize it. They perform a thorough search of our bags, they are interested to know where we have travelled through and start to take a close look at photos on my phone and ipad. One guard is looking at old photos  on my phone, some of me in Russia last year, and some from way back in 2013. He is interested to know who I am posing next to in some of the photos...

"Who is this?" "That is Breznev, it's a statue in Moscow, just for fun, I have no allegiance to him or his like" "Who is this?" "That is Boris Yeltsin" "Who?" He shows the photo of me next to Boris' statue to a female colleague, who confirms it's the former president. A few seconds pass as he continues to swipe his way through.... "And this...." "Ha! That is Eamonn Mcnamee! Just a friend"

The guard hands me back my phone, and I'm left to repack all the clothes that I had only just delicately folded and packed a few hours ago. We walk through a few more military check points (showing our passports a total of 5 times on the Uzbek side) and finally reach the main road and the gathering of shared taxis waiting to take people to the nearest towns and cities. We are lucky to meet a man from Samarkand, heading home to visit family, who speaks good English and asks if we want to share a taxi with him and his nephew. Having a local negotiate the taxi price is really handy, and the 8 hour drive to Samarkand will only cost us 10 dollars each. We have to pay in Uzbek Som, so have to change a few dollars with one of the many wheeler dealers desperate for hard US cash. Getting more confident at haggling by the day, and drawing a crowd of interested onlookers keen to watch this confident dutch girl wipe the floor with them, Louisa insists on the black market rate we had read about online earlier (it is more than double the official bank rate) and 40 dollars gets us 320,000 Som! A huge wad of notes is stashed away in my backpack and off we go to Samarkand.

Two hours into the journey we stop for lunch at a roadside cafe. They are out of Plov.... Gutted! Mutton soup, salad and bread it is then. Again, not much choice in central Asia, you get what you are given, fussy tapas types are not welcome! Anack (uncle) and his nephew explain that it is custom on long car journeys to have a beer after lunch, it helps take the edge off, smooths out some of the pot holes later in the journey. "We're good muslims! One beer for the road is for health reasons" he says, toasting with a cheeky smile. The driver toasts with his tea, he's not on the beer today. I like that about this region, the taxi driver becomes your friend for the day, he dines with you, you share biscuits with him to help keep him awake, you stop at homes of his friends and family en route to pick up stuff. People are not slaves to the clock here, and it makes for better daily human interactions than you get back in the formalised 'developed' world. 

We travel not for trafficking alone, By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned. For lust of knowing what should not be known We take the Golden Road to Samarkand

James Elroy Flecker, 1913

No name is so evocative of the Silk Road as Samarkand, it has mythical resonance, to it. Today, surrounding the ancient madrassas and mosques such as the breathtaking centre piece, 'The Registan', are soviet apartment blocks, parked up old Lada's, and yellow Daewoo taxis buzzing around that give a modern twist to this cities charm.

People warn us on our travels before arriving that Samarakand has been turned into a bit of sterile theme park in recent years, and while we can sense this, it is still a very unique experience walking through and appreciating the shear scale and lasting beauty of some of the old buildings.  Also, it doesn't take too much effort to wonder away from the main tourist sights and get a glimpse of the still buzzing chaotic bazaars that have been trading goods for centuries. The 'Siob Bazaar' is a daily stop for us here, stocking up on loads of cheap fruit and veg for lunch and dinner, avoiding sit down restaurant meals to keep within our strict budget. This could come across as being a bit of chore to stick to, but it's good fun being forced to live a bit like a local and haggle for every penny off our tomatoes, to make our 320,000 som really stretch! Besides, 'Hostel Abu-Bahir the 2nd' has a big kitchen to prepare food in, and great roof terrace to eat on, especially when the sun goes down over The Registan in the distance.

Saturday 27th May Samarkand to Bukhara 1hr 34mins Afrosiob Tiago High Speed Train Train No. 762: 09.43 to 11.17

We are back on the railway today, a welcome relief from the bumpy, pot hole obstacle course of the central asian highways. Uzbekistan is years ahead of it's central asian rivals (and the UK) in terms of high speed railway infrastructure. The state run high speed network connects Tashkent in the North East to Bukhara in the South West of the country in just 3 hours! We arrive at Samarkand station way too early in fear of long queuing for security checks, but appear to be the only people around, and breeze through the bag checks in no time at all. The station has a big spacious air conditioned waiting area and free wifi, much quicker wifi than at our hostel, so we use the time to catch up on news from back home.

(Above: Samarkand Train Station and the high speed duck)

The afrosiob tiago (spanish built) high speed train, nicknamed 'el pato' ('The duck' in Spanish. Thanks Antonio!) pulls in on time, 5 mins before departure, and we board wIth a small crowd of others onto a near empty carriage. Travelling at speeds of 250kmh, the spacious air conditioned economy carriages are a joy to ride on and amazing value at just $5 a ticket. You can purchase the tickets from a ticket office in the centre of Samarkand, a few days in advance. The friendly staff will try to speak English or, as has been a common experience for us in central asia, another customer will come to your aid, keen to practice their English and help ease your worries about getting the right ticket.

After just over an hour and a half we arrive into 'Central Asia's holiest city' Bukhara and make our way to hostel Rumi, another friendly family run place, with the mum of the family serving big breakfasts of Samsa (cheese and potato pasty), rice pudding, eggs and far too much bread and jam.

The temperature outside is touching 37, far too hot for any enjoyable sightseeing. We get up early to head to the big local Bazaar to get ingredients for lunch and dinner. Pasta, tomatoes, aubergine, peppers, it's becoming a bit of staple for us as we try and keep cool in the hostel and avoid the day time heat. Once the sun starts going down we head to the Silk and Spices festival taking place in the centre of town. The whole of Bukhara comes out for it, with lots of market stalls selling the crowds plenty of 'silk road' souvenirs (mostly tat). The main focus of the festival is around the pretty main square where a live orchestra plays to a packed audience gathered around the old public bathing pool. Until a century ago Bukhara was watered by a network of canals and stone pools where locals would gather to bathe and gossip. The water wasn't changed very often though, and Bukhara became famous for plagues with life expectancy in the town at just 32. Thankfully the Bolsheviks modernised the system and drained many of the pools, with the exception of the Lyabi-Hauz, which remains a cool tree shaded oasis in the centre of town and where we watched the orchestra play away the night.

(Above: Lada’s and Madrassas in Bukhara) 

The closing ceremony of the festival was on the Sunday night, the Mayor gave a rousing speech at the start, proclaiming Bukhara open to the world, perhaps oblivious to the tedious visa procedures most foreign visitors sat in front of him have to go through to get here. Then it was the turn of local pop and cover acts to entertain the bored looking crowd, in what came across as Bukhara's 'Talent Trek'. The Uzbek Pavarotti probably won it, but like most of the crowd we left before the end.

The last evening is spent at the Bukhara athletics stadium, located next door to Rumi Hostel.  The gates to the stadium are left open all day and locals, young and old, are able to use the facilities for free. 

Tuesday 30th May Bukhara to Tashkent 7hrs 58mins Old Soviet Sleeper, Train No. 661 22.36 to 06.34

We saved on accommodation costs by opting for a slow 8 hour overnight train back north to the Uzbek capital and our final destination in Central Asia. The high speed 3 hour day time journey was another option but this sleeper train was really old school and much older than any other train I'd travelled on in the past.  The dark laminate wooded interior with dingy mood lighting lamps and gold drape bed covers made for a sleazy sort of feel. The train really shook us about  as it trundled along at a pretty sedate pace. I was slightly concerned I could fall from my upper bunk bed so didn't sleep too great and we were both relived to arrive at our hostel the next morning for a very early check in and hear that our beds were already available.

The 'Art Hostel' has a small swimming pool, perfect for cooling down in the afternoon when temperatures get into the mid thirties again. This was a rare treat for us, and unfortunately for you, the reader, it means I don't have very much to write about the capital Tashkent. The rare occasions we did venture out, we found a very clean modern looking city, big tree lined avenues, lots of parks with big ponds and water fountains. Tashkent is much more 'Russified' than the rest of Uzbekistan, lots of cool Soviet era architecture, including the huge TV tower, some wonderful southbank like concrete theatres and the quintessential brutalist apartment blocks. Also, Tashkent has very lavishly designed metro stations, similar to Moscow. Unfortunately you can't take photos as I found out when a police officer ordered me to remove the photo of the big Yuri Gagarin portrait at Kosmonavtlar station. Security is very tight at all the stations, police check bags and routinely ask to see your passports before allowing you through the barriers.

Thursday lunchtime and we treat ourselves to a visit to the Central Asian Plov Centre, a mecca for all plov lovers from the world over. Thursday is the traditional day to have a plov fest here, the central asian staple is elevated to the status of religion in Uzbekistan. Why Thursday I hear you ask.... Plov is considered an aphrodisiac and locals joke that the word for foreplay in Uzbek is 'plov'. Men put the best cuts of meat in the plov on a Thursday, gearing themselves up for the weekend ahead. It is said most Uzbek babies are conceived on a Thursday.

(Above: foreplay)

Leaving Central Asia

There are a few overland routes we could have taken back to Europe, some a lot more akin to the spirit of the old Silk Road, but we were limited to a 3 day transit visa for the heavy policed country of Turkmenistan, so we would have risked a big fine if we missed a ferry connection crossing the Caspian sea. Add to that, the not so stable situation in Turkey near the border with Syria, and Georgia's border with Russia, we've decided on the safe route back with a direct train on the 'Opium Express' line from Tashkent to Moscow. Leaving at 18.50 on Saturday (3rd June), 66 hours this old locomotive is going to take! Trundling through the Kazakh steppe for the most part, there is not going to be much to look at out the window, but those of you who know me well, will know just how excited I am at the prospect of it, probably the most excited I've been about any part of this adventure. Louisa is a little excited too, I think.

We are well stocked up on beers, wine, vodka, biscuits, tea bags and coffee sachets (we've been accumulating them from all the hotels and hostels we've stayed at).  Porridge for breakfast, bread, pot noodles, tomatoes, cucumbers and crisps for lunch, we will treat ourselves to a restaurant carriage meal of an evening (hopefully plov).

For more photos of the trip, just click on the link below for Lo’s instagram page

www.instagram.com/lo_opreis

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The Pamir Highway and The Wakhan Valley

10/05/2017 Osh to Sary Moghul 4 hrs

Antonio, a retired railroad engineer from Barcelona and Fergus, a solicitor from County Westmeath had teamed up with us to split the cost of hiring a Mitsubishi 4x4 and it's driver Mohammed from Osh. We would embark on a 10 day road trip down the Pamir Highway into Tajikistan, through the Wakhan Valley bordering Afghanistan and back up to the Tajik capital Dushanbe.

Our first night was in Sary Moghul, at a guesthouse in the valley bellow peak Lenin. At 7,134 meters he towers above the other peaks on the vast range acting as the border between Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan.

After a Mutton and potato soup dinner we take a stroll around the village at sunset and stumble upon a little party of kids dancing to some techno music from the stereo of a Lada 4x4. We happily accept the invitation to join the mini rave.

11/05/2017 Sary Moghul to Murgab

After a decent nights sleep on the floor with lots of warm blankets we are treated to some delicious creamy porridge for breakfast, made with milk from the goats outside, the same goats I was careful not to trip over in the dark walk to the outside toilet at night.  

We set off for the short drive up to Tajik border crossing, where the melting snow had left the roads in a terrible state.  Plenty of 'taxes' have to paid here. Customs Tax, Environmental Tax. Luckily our Kygyz driver, Mohamed, is well used to the procedures and we avoid any tedious bag searching delays you read about in the guide book. It is so remote here, the border is at an altitude of over 4,000 meters, the guards look extremely bored, sweeping the makeshift volleyball court of snow, appearing to be the best past time.

The first town we see, is next to one of the many big frozen over lakes in the region. Karakul is a desolate place, the Chinese barbed wired border fence collecting all the plastic waist from the small population. It's supposed to mark the start of the no mans land border zone between China and the Central asian republics.

The reinforced mud built houses with corrugated iron roofs would be our places of rest for the next few days in the barren eastern section of the Pamirs. Mohammed knew all the best houses for lunch, and for just a dollar we would walk into someones living room, get a bowl of veg soup and plenty of bread and jam to keep us going.

It is the same Kyrgyz hospitality we had grown accustomed to in Kyrgyzstan. Despite now being in Tajikistan, the majority of people in the Eastern side of the country being ethnically Kyrgyz or Pamir Kyrgyz folk. The Tajik border guards being the only 'Tajik' people we had seen so far, and they have more of a Persian/Iranian look about them. Uncle Joe drew up the borders for these central asian republics in the 1930's, some cynical people say to help with a divide and rule tactic for the region. As we were to continue through the pamir region, we would get a sense of the man made borders not really meaning much to the local populations, just causing nuisance paper work and 'taxes' when moving around.

At dusk we arrive in the dusty 'wild west' town of Murgab. Again, utterly isolated, this place would make a great eerily bleak movie set, the Chinese truck drivers rest terminal being the main industry here. There is only one 'hotel' in town, 'the hotel Pamir', a gerry built two floor structure with off line walls and uneven floors. All the lights go off in town at 10pm, including at the hotel, and the room we are in is painfully cold.

12/05/2017

We head to the nearby Pshart Valley for a days hike across to the Madiyan Valley. It is a slow bumpy drive up through the red rock death valley like scenery to our drop off point to begin the hike, our driver waves the 4 of us goodbye after reassuring us it's an easy walk to the other side of the snow covered mountains where he will meet us in 8 hours time.

Only an hour into the hike, deep snow is becoming more of an issue, so we resort to scrambling up rocks to avoid it, Antonio in his baggy Levi's and trainers is already looking well under equipped. Louisa then makes the call for us to give up and turn back, reminding us in no uncertain terms that "no one here has any mountaineering experience, we have no way of calling for help, Murgab has no search and rescue helicopter!" The walk back is still a tricky navigation down the rocks and through the deep snow we had just scrambled up.

"Never let a man from County Westmeath lead you down a mountain!" Fergus insists he knows the safest route, but soon we are all up to our waists in snow, having to frantically pull each other out at points. Antonio gives up following and decides to slide down the snow on his backside.  Eventually we make it down to where we were dropped off but now we have the daunting prospect of the walk back to Murgab, remembering the slow drive up here 4 hours ago. There was no shade to be had on the long dusty walk back through the death valley, each ridge that appeared up ahead would be a marker to aim for, a point where we hoped we would see the main road, but it never came.

(Above: the long walk back to Murgab) 

The sun went down behind the mountains and the temperature started to drop at an alarming rate. As morale was starting to go down with the fading light, a green soviet cattle truck started driving towards us, two Kyrgyz shepherds jumped out, shook our hands and said, in surprisingly good English, that they would take us back the rest of the way to Murgab. Me, Fergus and one of our Kyrgyz friends had to jump on top of the load of stinking fire lighting twigs on the open trailer at the back. It was a scary ride, clinging on, trying not fall over the side, but we were so happy not be walking anymore.

The 11 hour trek had taken it's toll, we were all wrecked, Mohammed had been anxiously searching for us on the other side and is relieved to see us back at the hotel safe and sound.

13/05/2017 Murgab to Balunkul 3 hours

We leave Murgab, and all 4 of us are not in a good state of health. I am hit particularly hard this morning by a combination of diarrhoea, altitude sickness, exhaustion from the previous days death walk and my food is not staying down.

We don't have far to drive at least, 3 hours to a village next to lake Bulunkul. It's a completely self sufficient place, solar powered electricity, but the wood fired cooking stove is all we have to gather round to keep warm at our guesthouse. This is the coldest village in Tajikistan, possibly the most isolated too. At night, the wind is biting on the long walk to the outside toilet, a walk we all do on several occasions as our bodies are deteriorating. Even Mohammed is seen making a rushed dash out the front door at one point. Louisa and me are suffering from a bad fever and spend a lot of the evening vomiting up our fish supper under the amazing views of the stars, which offers some comfort at least.

14/05/2017 Balankul to Langar 4 hours

We are late leaving Balunkul, all the village boys are out to help fix a faulty alternator on the 4x4.  It's the most excitement this place has seen for a while.  Not long into the drive we start descending into the Wakhan Valley, and we immediately start seeing glimpses of the dazzling white Hindu Kush (killer of Hindus) mountain range marking the Afghanistan-Pakistan border. Afghanistan itself is just a 10 meter paddle across the Wakhan River basin. We are so close we wave at some nomadic tribesmen on a slow walk with their camels on the opposite side and get a bemused wave back.

It's a relief for all to arrive in Langar, it's the first of many photogenic oasis like villages nestled between the soaring arid valley peaks of the Wakhan, and being down at more normal altitudes, with grass on the ground and without all the dust, we can breathe a lot easier. The food at our guesthouse is the best we've had in a while, pasta and decent looking mutton (not so greasy). It stays down and we are starting to recover from the troubles at the high altitudes on the previous 3 nights.

15/05/2017 Langar to Ishkashim

We are taking in the sights of the Wakhan Valley at a very sedate pace. Everyone is eating and sleeping much better and slowly starting to feel human again. Today we have a short drive to the impressive 12th century Yamchun Fort, a medieval lookout point for invasions from the east. We head to the nearby 'Bibi Fatima' hot thermal springs - named after the prophet Mohammed's daughter. The water is so hot it has a steam room like effect, very cleansing and again aiding our recovery from our illnesses.

We spend the night at a guesthouse in Ishkashim, a place famed for it's 'no mans land' trans border afghan bazaar. Sadly it's been closed for a few weeks for security reasons.

Antonio and Fergus are back on form, the double act providing great comedy as they chat the night away, Antonio giggling like a little girl when he gets his way and makes Fergus tell him another Irish joke. Their friendship has blossomed in the last 2 weeks since they met in the back of a taxi in Bishkek and decided to travel the same route. Recently retired, Antonio booked himself a 2 month return ticket to Kyrgyzstan without much of a plan. 29 year old 'Fergoos' offered him a guiding hand and they have been inseparable since.

16/05/2017 Ishkashim to Khorog 4 hours

Cowering beneath arid, bare rock peaks, the little town of Khorog appears up ahead of us as we turn another sharp bend on the rough dirt track road through the Wakhan Valley. This is the only real town in the Pamirs' and our first taste of shops, cafes, and restaurants since leaving Osh 6 days previously. The laid back Ismaili form of Islam practiced here, and the friendly welcoming nature of the locals, like in most of the Central Asian region we have travelled through, makes Khorog a  pleasant stop. Ice cream in the park, young local students frolicking on the grass, all lovely stuff.

(Above: Khorog on the right of the river, Afghanistan on the left) 

Me and Lo had reliably been informed a few days earlier by a biker dude from Bangalore, that there is a British style Indian Restaurant not far from the central park and we headed straight for it. Celebrating our stomachs being stable again, we treat ourselves to a veggie curry, lemon rice, samosas and poppadoms washed down with some Russian beers. Sat in the bouncy cushioned booth in the dark red carpeted room, we really could have been back at a local village curry house in the UK.

17/05/2017 Khorog to Jizeu 3 hours

After a late 'plov' lunch at a roadside cafe we turn off the 'Whakan Valley' and drive 25km into the 'Bartang Valley'. Mohammed drops us off by a rope bridge over the fast flowing Bartang river and points us towards a 2 hour hike up to the remote village of Jizeu, where we would spend the night. We were joined by David and Josephine, a dutch couple driving back to the Netherlands from India and Pakistan, in there own jeep that has a tent conversion on the roof. They were happy that our driver Mohammed was able to look after their vehicle for the night as they made the hike up to Jizew with us, leaving Mo with a few downloaded breaking bad episodes to watch on their ipad.

The hike up the steep scree sided valley is a pleasant one, with idyllic scenes around a series of lakes, one of which sits the tiny traditional hamlet of Jizeu which has a wonderful timeless feel to it. It is only accessed on foot, so completely shut off from the outside world. We plonk our bags down in one of the 14 mud hut houses, get a given a feast of fresh cut potato chips, noodles and tomatoes for dinner, drink endless pots of tea from our friendly hosts, and play the dice game 'rain worms' till the sun goes down.

18/05/2017 Jizew to Kalaikumb 8 hours

6am the next morning, after rice porridge and nuts for breakfast, we hike 2hrs back down the valley to our jeeps and meet Mohammad, who despite a chilly night, is in good spirits and now a massive breaking bad fan. The road up to Kalai-Khum is another uncomfortable bumpy ride but with many a picturesque scene looking over the river into Afghanistan and little mountain side hamlets of stone and adobe houses set among splashes of green on the stark rock faces.  It's quite surreal pulling over for a toilet stop and taking a pee behind a rock while looking down the valley at the afghan village people going about their daily lives.

(Above: Afghan Village)

19/05/2017 Kalai-Khum to Dushanbe 7 hours

The rain was lashing down all night in Kalai-Khum, everyone now a bit fearful of potential landslides on the mountain passes up to the Tajik capital Dushanbe. We leave our guesthouse early, but not early enough as an hour into the journey we just miss the opening of a section of road under construction. The Chinese construction workers close the road every few hours to allow their diggers to get to work, but enough cars start to pile and up demand to be let through. The Chinese reluctantly open the road again after a half hour wait and it's a long increasingly hot drive ahead to Dushanbe.

For lunch we pull over at a roadside set of cafes, not really sure what food is on offer. Now well into Tajikistan, Kyrgyz Mo is not really confident about places to get a cheap lunch either. Some local lads pounce on our car and direct us towards there 'restaurant' where they apparently serve 'the best fish' in town. We are taken to their house, the gate locked shut behind our 4x4 and shown to our lake(more like a pond) side table. The fish served looks like it's straight out the dirty pond next to us, hardly any meat on the tiny things and deep, deep fried to a crispy greasy mess. It's the most disappointing lunch of the trip, and as we go to leave, the boys who had directed us there demand 600 somoni (about $60) for the pleasure of it all. They start getting aggressive towards Mo when he is translating for us our shock at the amount they are demanding from us. Mo is visibly shaken and a bit upset as he pleads with the locals to remember it's a Friday, the holy day, and to not let a group of tourists go away with a bad impression of Tajikistan.

Louisa takes charge of the situation, the boys obviously don't like a woman standing up to them, but they back down and let us pay about half of the original 600 quoted. It's still an absolute rip off but we didn't fancy getting in a fight, and we were certain the Tajik police wouldn't be much help. We just felt a bit upset for Mo, who had to take all the abuse, no doubt a lot of it racist with him being Kyrgyz.

Mohammed had become a good friend over the 10 days he had driven us through the mountains and valleys of the pamir highway and whakan corridor. We didn't let the bad experience at lunch dampen our mood too much and we said an emotional goodbye when finally arrived in Dushanbe. Antonio was heading back to Osh (via a much more direct route) and onto Kashgar in China. Fergus was catching a flight to Almaty. Me and Lo were grateful to be free from the restrictions of travelling in a car, put our backpacks on a started a long walk to our cheap hostel in the suburbs.

As soon as we arrived, the bad experience of Tajikistan a few hours earlier became a distant memory. The hosts here making us feel part of the family, sitting us down with pots of tea and a massive bowl of plov. Everyone in central asia claims their plov is the best, this one at Hostel Latifa is particularly good, with grapes from the garden tree next to us adding a a nice fruity twist to the savoury dish. I think Plov could be making it's way into my top 5 dishes.

The next few days in Dushanbe were spent lazying around the courtyard garden at our hostel. I was in need of a hair cut and a beard trim, so the dad of the family here took me to a local barber shop. Some kids playing football in the street outside started to gather round to watch the spectacle of a hairy sweaty westerner getting his haircut. We chatted football as best we could, the kids reeling off premier league team names and players I hadn't even heard of. None of them had heard of my team or the famous 'Super Neil'. None of them or any of the managers at the few 'sports' and 'Irish' pubs me and Lo visited later in the day knew much about them either, or that they were playing in a play off final at Wembley that afternoon.

'Stalinabad' as the city was affectionately known as in the past is a very peaceful city, with a hazy backdrop of mountains that seem to keep the wind out and the heat locked in. There is a strange mix of original buildings from the city's soviet incarnation, and weird recent budget futurism newcomers. The worlds tallest flag pole is here, which on a rare windy day might look impressive, but the large flag on top looks a bit fed up most of the time. The worlds largest 'Tea House' is here also. Apparently costing about 5% of the countries yearly GDP during the 5 years it took to construct. It doesn't appear that you can get in for a cup of tea, the place only open for important state visits.

(Above: the tallest flag pole in the world)

On Tuesday (23rd May) we head for the Uzbekistan border and after a potentially long day negotiating the border crossing and shared taxis and minibuses, we hope to arrive in the ancient city of Samarkand....

[thebusmansholiday]

Almaty - Bishkek - Osh

29/04/2017 K9595 Train from Urumqi South to Almaty 2 at 23.14 Duration 33 hours Hard Sleeper - £150

The train started screeching to a halt as we approached the Kazakh border only a few hours after leaving Urumqi. Before we could get out of bed and look half decent, Chinese border guards were on board, wanting to rummage around in our luggage and scrolling through photos on our camera. I think they just want to make sure you have not taken any photos that could harm the stability of the peoples republic. It was all quite friendly in the end, our guard started sharing with us similar tourist snaps from his phone from his weekend in Xi'an with the mrs.

Mohammed, our Chechen friend on his way back to Grozny from a business trip in Urumqi, explained the Kazakh side would be much smoother, which turned out to be the case. The guard assigned to our cabin was eager to practice his English and hear about our trip and then spoke at length in Russian with Mohammed. After 6 hours spent travelling about 2 miles we pulled into the ghost town border station where we got off to stretch our legs as the train had it’s wheels changed to match the different Russian gauge width. Mo knows this station cafe and the staff well, and insists on buying us lunch. He is a big fan of UFC fighting and with great pride he plays us youtube videos from his phone of several Chechen fighters in action whilst we tuck into our beef noodles.

Some Kazak border guards approach our little private section of the cafe, shocked to see some tourists at ‘their table’. They suddenly see Mo, give him a nod of the head, and we continue to sip on tea as we are shown more videos, this time of Chechen rebel leader, Akhmed Zakayev, being interviewed at his excilled home in London. This then begins to make me wonder, why is Mo travelling this route? 33 hours on a train to Almaty, 4 hour drive to Bishkek airport in Kyrgyzstan, before a 4 hour flight to Grozny? Is a photo with this guy a wise move? Is it gonna land me in serious trouble with the russian border police in a few weeks time?

Almaty is very quiet on the May day bank holiday. After the crowds and noise of Urumqi we are pleased to have the city to ourselves as we get a big goodbye hug from Mo, and make our way to our hostel at sunrise. The view from the hostel rooftop has to be one of the best city backdrops in the world, with the snow covered Tien Shan mountain range surrounding the entire south side of the city.

The air feels so much cleaner here as we head towards the mountains and take the bus up to 'kok tobe’ a favourite weekend hang out for local families wanting snaps with the city view behind them and next to the only Beatles statue in the world with all the fab 4 together (apparently)?

Back down in the city, we visit the Grand central mosque. We are not certain if Lo could come in so I Left her outside went in and had a look around briefly. It seems a nice quiet space, but not much praying going on. Lots of men just sitting in corner texting on their phones.

Food is getting welcomingly less soup and noodles and more cornish pasty like sincle leaving China. The staple Kazakh snack food is a fried bread filled with potato and is sold on stalls every few meters it seems. Some have mutton in if you get lucky. The fast food soviet era cafeterias dotted all over town provide cheap school dinner like meals, you take a tray, point at what you want and a dinner lady shovels a load on your plate. Sausage and mash, mutton stew and rice, bit of cake for afters… just good simple stodge that fills you up and doesn’t cause problems the next day.

Which is important when you have a long day of hiking planned. Determined not to spend any money on cable cars and ski resort entrance fees, we took the bus up to the impressive looking Medeu outdoor ice rink and followed a hiking trail up into the mountains. We passed an old stripped out soviet tank which was fun to play around in for a bit, pretending we were en route to Afghanistan to destroy the Taliban. The fun and games were all over when we realised the snow was getting seriously deep along the trail we were following, which was no longer really visible. We were the only people up there and couldn’t work out a way back down till we spotted a big Russian geezer trekking in just speedos and boots with walking poles. Happy looking chap, and a lovely tan he had on him, but we were worried we would be disturbing his peaceful time alone up in the mountains, but he was very helpful and pointed us to a safe way down. 'Plov’ (rice with chopped up mutton and veg in it) for dinner was just reward for our hiking efforts.

4/5/2017 Almaty to Bishkek Marshrutka (minibus) 5 hours

Credence clearwater revival, 'put a spell on you’ played us out of Almaty, our 'marshrutka’ (public minibus) driver obviously had great taste in Music. Dylan, Cohen, Eagles, all made for a great head bobbing, palm tapping on thigh, journey along the dusty A2 highway to the Kyrgyzstan border. It felt good to be on the road, the Tien Shan mountains, a natural border zone, were always in view outside the left hand windows. No more railway journeys now till we depart from Tashkent for Moscow on 3rd June, just long hours in less comfortable 'Marshrutkas’ but with some amazing scenery along the way.

The border crossing into Kyrgyzstan is smooth and without too much delay. No bag searches, no questions asked. This was expected to be the easiest of the 3 central asian border crossings we were to encounter, the former soviet state border police having a pretty bad reputation for hassling foreigners for bribes, we were relieved with the friendly Kyrgyz welcome.

On arriving in Bishkek we were dropped off close to the huge Lenin statue that still stands tall here. Some flowers had even be laid below his feet, probably to mark 100 years since the revolution. Our host in Bishkek was Liza, a proud Kyrgyz lady of Russian heritage. She made us feel extremely welcome at our little homestay, an old 1960’s soviet era house, one entrance, 3 different little homes around a courtyard. We had our own little bedsit and an outside toilet and shower all for just $10 a night. Back in Dalston it would be rented out for £1700 a month, bills not included. 

Liza seems to be a face around Bishkek. As she walks us to the bus station the next morning lots of people stop to talk, eager to see where her new guests are from. She tells us of the history of the different populations that have settled in the city over the last century and the glory days of the Soviet Union when life was much simpler, people were free to travel the whole of the central asian region without the ethnic tensions of more recent times. “Then people got greedy!” she bemoans.

Liza sees us safely on to our Marshrutka for a day trip to beautiful Lake Izzy Kol, the second largest alpine lake in the world. 30 mins in and the Marushkta has a tyre blow out. No safety triangle on a fast moving highway, I stand 50 metres up the road and act as a human safety triangle waving my arms at bemused drivers urging them to slow down as they pass our driver and some younger passengers helping to change the outside wheel. I think Louisa is really embarrassed to be associated with me at this point. “The safety of your passengers is the number one priority as a bus driver!” Steve Sparkle, at the arriva london training school, drummed it into me on my first day 7 years ago. We’re never off duty!

The place along the lake we are dropped of at is a little underwhelming. Stunning scenery overlooking the lake, but all the beachfront appears to be sectioned off for rich russian holiday homes, and being out of season the place is a bit dead. We managed to find a little bit of public beach, got our swimming costumes on and tried to go for a dip. 15 seconds in the water and your limbs start to go numb with the cold so we didn’t stick about for long, especially after being joined on our little beach by an angry looking herd of cows.

6/5/2017 Bishkek to Osh Marshrutka - 13 hours

Again Liza insists on walking us to the chaotic Bishkek bus station to make sure we get on the right Marshrutka, this time a 13 hour journey to Osh in the south of the country awaits us. The driver, Safiq, a cheeky chappy with the common Kyrgyz gold toothed smile, another good friend of Liza’s, is excited to hear that I’m a bus driver in London and insists me and 'your guest’ are allowed up front next to him. Result!

After Saffiq, stops off at a few mates houses on the road out of Bishkek, to pick up some parcels, we finally start to make some progress. The views out the window for the whole drive are pretty special, as the Marshrutka struggles up the several mountain passes en route. We start passing a few brave cyclists along the way, this route, all the way down to the Pamir highway, being a bit of a mecca for Eurasian crossing lycra warriors from around the world. I’m slightly envious of the challenge they are undertaking, then read in the guidebook that a 5km mountain pass tunnel we pass through “was the scene of a tragic carbon monoxide disaster” a few years ago.

Despite only brief toilet stops for 12 hours, just an hour from Osh, Driver Saffiq decides it’s time for a sit down meal at a shashlik (kebab) house he knows. It’s nearly midnight and we are struggling to keep our eyes open, but as the guests of honour at Saffiq’s table, we are treated to a pot of tea and after prayers some meat on a stick and bread. I show Saffiq a photo of me with a London bus, much to the amusement of his mates around the table who start mocking him about my bus being bigger than his bus. Great banter.

In coming to Osh we are now back on the route of the ancient silk road after a slight Northern detour. Only a 4 hour drive from the Chinese border, this city claims to be over 3000 years old, “older than Rome!” they say. There is not much in the way of historical ruins here, the old famous bazaar is a ram shackle mix of metal shipping containers stacked on top of each other with shop windows cut of the front. It’s a lively place though and lots of cheap fruit and veg is available, perfect for us, as we try and give our immune systems a boost before we head south to the remote Pamir Highway. Also plenty of scenic hikes about an hour drive out of town, into the Alay Valley. On Victory Day bank holiday we are joined along the rapid flowing river banks by lots of Kyrgyz families enjoying the day off work in the sun and celebrating the soviet unions most important holiday of course.

The Osh Guesthouse hostel is the place to stay for people looking for 4x4 ride shares into Tajikistan. A big whiteboard is updated every hour wth requests for people to help spilt the costs, of what can be an expensive drive at very high altitudes. We get lucky on our second day when Fergus, from County Westmeath, Ireland and Antonio from Barcelona arrive and are looking at a similar 10 day itinerary to us.

We will start with a stop close to the Tajik border at the town of Sary Mogul, famous for it’s views of towering Peak Lenin (7,100 meters). Then into Tajikistan, all the way down to the Wakhan Valley, hugging the Afghan border at Khorog before returning to civilisation in the Tajik capital Dushanbe. Not much electricity en route, let alone Wifi, so you won’t be hearing from us for a while.

County Westmeath, Antrim and Down all represented on this road trip! Should be plenty of GA football chat to help pass the time.

[thebusmansholiday]

Beijing - Shanghai - Xi’an - Urumqi

Beijing

Exiting Ping'an subway station on the look out for our hotel, that unmistakable sound of a man coughing up some gob and spitting it out on the pavement in front of us, and I knew I was back in China....

Struggling with serious jet lag on the first few days, wondering around the sights of the Chinese capital in the unseasonal blistering heat was a struggle at times. Deciding to walk through the Forbidden City in the midday sun was a big mistake, the masses just keep pouring into the former emperors palaces, armed with selfie sticks and umbrella hats.

The heavenly temple gardens just before sunset were the perfect escape from the crowds, it's a must visit if you are ever in Beijing, and do it in spring if possible, when the trees are blossoming and locals gather to play music in small brass bands or crowd around tables playing board games.  What you notice about the many public parks in the city is that the elderly population make full use of them, with large groups decked out in tracksuits going through aerobic sessions to music pumping from mini ghetto blasters.

Now, onto food...  The back street 'Hutong' alleys of Beijing are full of little food stalls, and the abundance of choice can be a tad overwhelming. Trying to order from a Chinese only menu is also a daunting experience at times. If the menu has pictures then we can eat there, if not we try pointing at what someone else is already eating and rudely point at their food, usually noodle soup with a little side salad of spinach(?) spring onion and peanuts.

Little round sweet pastries from peoples front windows, turned shop front, are a delicious cheap (¥1) treat for afters.  You can never go hungry in this city, no matter what time of day, a cheap late brunch option is never far away. Our favourite in Beijing is the Breakfast wrap:  corn bread mix spread onto a hot plate with an egg cracked on top, filled with salad, crispy noodle and some spring onion and coriander sprinkled on top then folded over into a wrap.

Also, small deep fried pastries filled with spinach and spring onion (Again, it might not be spinach) being a popular choice for us to keep energy levels up during our marathon walking sessions. With the iphone app measuring the amount of steps we are undertaking, it has become a bit of an obsession to walk everywhere rather than take a short hop on the metro. Our record in Beijing was 32,858.

'When in Peking'... we tried Peking duck at 'Liqun Roast Duck' a cool hidden backstreet location which served us an absolute feast of food. All the duck is shredded up for you by the chief carver on a table next to you, so you can just get stuck in and don't have to fiddle around with it. Little rice pancakes come on a plate for you to make your own little duck wrap combinations with all the different sides that come with the set menu for two. Deep fried aubergine, mushrooms, cucumber, spicy potatoes, spinach(again) peanuts. It was well worth the ¥340 (£38) price.

We took a coach trip to the great wall on our final day. It is spectacular viewing, seeing it wind through the mountain tops and a true wonder at just how the hell they managed to construct it all the way back in 700 BC. Only problem is, with a coach trip you are given only 3 hours to walk up to it, walk along it, and walk back to the coach park before the coach driver and guide want to get back to town for supper. You could spend far longer up there, but a coach trip seems the only option available for day trips from Beijing.

Our final meal in the city and we were very curious about the famous Wangpangzi Donkey burger chain.  Sorry, but I have to try, for you the reader. Served in a crispy bread bap, with spring onion and fresh chillies, it was really delicious! 2 for a quid makes it a very satisfying dinner.

19/04/17 BEIJING TO SHANGHAI G115 train departing at 09.22 Duration: 5hrs 40mins £60 (approx) second class seat

It was great to be back on the People's Railway. The high speed network here is rapidly expanding and makes a mockery of the uk's struggle to try to shade 30 minutes off the London to Birmingham route. Here it actually serves a useful purpose: to move the vast, always on the move population between the sprawling metropolises.

We were en route to Shanghai, a near 900 mile journey that can be done in under 5 hours, and we hoped a slightly slower, mid morning Wednesday 'G-train' would be relatively quiet, but the herds of wheely suitcases just kept on rolling down the isles filling up the luggage racks around us. Luckily the G-Train offers ample leg room to stretch out, but any chance of nodding off for a midday nap were dashed when we realised the 'adults' sat around us liked to play loud video games on their mobiles.

Shanghai is much cleaner and a bit more orderly than the manic streets of Beijing. It has a much more western feel, big shiny sky scrappers and more chain stores on offer. Despite this, it retains a real buzz of life that we were to see throughout China.

The Chinese live outside, front windows are turned into makeshift takeaway food joints, parks become outside gyms where people of all ages unashamedly stretch out their limbs placing them over heads, up onto monkey bars (very flexible people) and really unwind after the daily stresses of city life. It seems no one eats at home, everyone utilises the cheap local restaurants, dumpling soup kitchens and filled steam bun stands for their breakfast lunch and dinner.

After the expenses of the great wall tour we needed to start reigning in our spending if we were to stay within budget. For such a long period away it would be too easy for spending to spiral out of control. Me and Louisa had a very strict long term economic plan and it centred around cheap food. In Shanghai it was all about the dumpling soup. For a quid we could get a big bowl of ten veggie or pork filled dumplings in a hot spicy soup. Also, Steamed buns, which were becoming a staple of the trip, filled with curried cabbage was our favourite of the many varieties you can find on most streets.

It was great to meet up with Chairman Matt (as he is known locally) and some of the other Shanghai expats in the evening. We were treated to a feast of food at 'Grandmothers Home' restaurant on our final night in the city. We were then taken back in time to the late 90's /early 00's at 'Ellens', a dive bar where a few rebellious local youth like to down shots to pumping tunes. The staircase up to this venue is bricked up for some reason, leaving the elevator as the only escape from the 3rd floor venue. (Keith Lard, of phoenix nights fame, would have a fit!) With a busy restaurant on the floor above, using the same elevator, it was a long wait for our group of 6 to leave and move onto the next watering hole.

21/04/17 SHANGHAI TO XI'AN Z92 Train departing at 18.44 Duration: 14hrs 45mins Soft Sleeper - £52

The Z92 sleeper train pulled out of the main Shanghai railway station at sunset. Being a Friday it was packed with people heading home for the weekend. Luckily for us, no one took up the other bunk beds in our 4 bed compartment and we were able to spread out and enjoy a romantic chicken and mushroom pot noodle dinner for two. Served with tomatoes, and bread for dipping in the left over soup.

The most distinctive feature of Xi'an, and you see it as soon as you arrive at the main railway station, is the iconic perimeter wall that surrounds the old central part of the city. The wall dates back six centuries and extends for more than 14km and you can walk all the way around the top of it. At 12 meters high it makes for a pleasant stroll to take in the sights of the city. We walked the whole lot and in doing so smashed our daily steps record for the trip with a score of 37,564 (21.3 km) taking our 7 day average up to an impressive 24,000.

At night, along with the drum and bell towers, the wall is lit up with rows of red lanterns and spotlights that reflect attractively in the waters of the surrounding moat. You really get a feel for the old ancient, mystical China when in Xi'an. You also start to see a more diverse ethnic mix in the population. Xi'an is the start/end point of the ancient silk road, and as well as being a famous trading route for goods, over time traders from the predominantly muslim middle east and central asia have ended up settling here.

The Muslim quarter of the city is characterised by it's minuet domes and it's famous nightly food market, which is a real pull for two hungry travellers on the look out for a cheap meal. The hand stretched noodles are famous and the men cutting them up and whipping them on the ground draws crowds. We are cajoled by an eager host into a nearby noodle cafe to try some of them. Without choosing, ours are covered in a peanut butter sauce, and a sprinkling of veg and chilli on top.

Again, like in Beijing and Shanghai, the public parks here are heaving with locals stretching, running, playing table tennis, dominoes. The Xi'an 'peoples  parks' are particularly charming as they border the outside of the medieval perimeter wall.

23/04/17 XI'AN TO URUMQI Z105 Train departing at 11.02 Duration: 24hrs 13mins Soft Sleeper £75

Two local Xi'an lads heading west for the week shared our 4 person berth. They looked like they were on a 'business' trip of some sort. Maybe someone at the Xinjiang end of the business wasn't playing ball? Lo spotted the armani jeans and high heeled leather ankle boots, along with a rolling stones live in Zurich 1817(?) t shirt. Also, a faded England football cap, worn with the bent visa as if on his way to tear up some quiet Belgian town at euro 2000.

The first hour of a 25 hour journey was a struggle to settle in. Our cabin was in a bit of a state from the night before, the occupants from Jinan to Xi'an had left half empty pot noodles and an overflowing bin for us. The Chinese carriage attendants didn't  seem too bothered about it, and there was no way Chinese Danny Dyer, a toothpick in mouth kinda guy, or his pot bellied mate were clearing it up.

We enquired with our new friends where they were heading, and a glance at the time table showed they would be leaving us around 1am which offered hope of some space and a bit of peace and quiet overnight. This is customary chit chat on long sleeper journeys. People act polite in asking where each other is going, inside you are all just hoping the others are f***ing off soon so you can have the compartment to yourself. We had it easy on the Shanghai to Xi'an leg, no one to share with, a delightful introduction to long haul train journeys for Lo.

Things got a bit confused at Lanzhou station around sunset. Me and Lo are outside stretching our legs haggling for some apples from one of the platform food sellers. We come back to find we have been joined by another room mate for the night. That makes it 5 people sharing a 4 bed compartment? Confusion all round for a while, especially from our new Lanzhou buddy who's not sure where to put his stuff. He is a big lad, chubby baby faced, no older than 20, carrying a bag of sweets and watching videos out loud on his extra large samsung mobile. This is obviously alarming, coming up to bed time. But what really concerns us is his heavy breathing, especially as he struggles up to his top bunk berth. He is going to be a big snorer and me and Lo know it. Along with Danny, a heavy smoker, it could be a long night ahead...

It turns out Danny's mate doesn't even have a ticket for this bit, he is supposed to be a carriage down, slumming it in hard sleeper (third class) but has just been hanging out with us for the day at no extra cost. As we make up our beds for the night, making it clear to all that we are wanting some sleep, Danny's mate finally leaves us for his actual seat, and all is quiet for about 5 mins before the crescendo of gargling throat noise begins from the beds opposite.

Danny left us at Jiuaguan station at 1am, the door slamming shut behind him woke up the big lad on the top bunk, and we had a brief spell of quiet as he rolled onto his side into the recovery position and began breathing a bit easier.

That was now the aim of the game for me and Lo. Every time he rolled on to his back and started bellowing out his struggling diaphragm rhythms, we had to try and wake him up. I tried a loud clap of the hands, this woke him up but didn't force him to turn over. Lo would scream "for f*cks sake, please stop!" again, this woke him up in a mild state of bemusement and for a few seconds we would have peace before he started up again. Lo eventually lost it and grabbed his arm and shook him. I switched on my bedside light and as he looked down at me wondering what the hell was going on, I begged him "please just stop that noise!" and hand signalled for him to turn over. I don't think he spoke a word of the queens but he got the message and we finally got some sleep before he left us at 6am at Hami Station, a small town on the ancient silk road famous for it's sweet melons.

The rolling desert landscape seemed like it would go on forever until out of nowhere appears this huge ugly looking metropolis in the distance. Exiting Urumqi South station and we knew we had arrived in Central Asia. The world's Uyghur Muslim population is around 8 million. 7.5 million of them live here, in the Xianjing Uyghur Autonomous Province of China, known to Uyghur's as East Turkestan. It's the largest but least populated of the 23 Chinese provinces. 

Trouble has been brewing here in the provincial capital in recent years, a growing separatist movement claims that the region, which they view as their homeland and refer to as "East Turkestan", is not part of China, but was invaded by China in 1949 and has been under Chinese occupation since then. China asserts that the region has been part of China since ancient times, and now calls it Xinjiang Province. Xinjiang, literally meaning "New Territory" or, officially, "old territory returned to the motherland". As such, tensions are high in Urumqi, and after a few bloody terrorist car bomb attacks in recent years, there is a heavy military presence on exiting the station.

Our hotel in the centre of town, had two security guards armed with riot shields at the entrance, a tad unnerving, especially as you had to wonder what good the rather elderly looking dads army guards would do if a another riot did break out on the streets.

Urumqi provided cooler temperatures than we had experienced since Beijing, and 4 nights here with not much in the way of tourist sights to see, we bunkered down in our executive suite hotel room and recharged, ahead of our journey into deepest Central Asia. The executive suit came at no extra cost after Lo demanded we get a room that didn't smell of smoke. This suite still smelt a bit and despite it being a clearly signed non smoking room, it still had an ashtray either side of the bed and one in the bathroom.  But it was huge, so we took it.

The hotel £2 all you can eat breakfast buffet, was putting too much of a dent in our daily budget, so we had to turn it into a breakfast and a lunch buffet. Trick was to turn up just before it finished at 11, take our sweet time eating as many eggs boiled in tea (it's a thing in China) as we could stomach, and filling up a small bag of bread and jam spreads as we went up for seconds and thirds.

To the south of the city was the rather tacky looking, 1980's built grand bazaar. It was supposed to recreate the feel of the once bustling silk road markets that would have flourished here before the Chinese turned the city into a concrete jungle. A walk around the Bazaar felt more like a stroll around the elephant and castle shopping centre, but without the DVD sellers (which is quite ironic) and instead, sacks of spices and nuts for sale.

Some great food is to be had around the side streets of the bazaar. We tried our first plate of 'pollo' (mutton and rice) an Uyghur staple, and a decent pot of tea to wash it down. The most common food stall's here serve the famous naan like bread.  Large furnace ovens are constantly churning them out, and they are delicious plain (great for dipping in yogurt), with almonds and red beans, or sweeter ones with raisins and sugar inside.

The regional museum killed an hour, the walk up to it about 2 hours. Urumqi is probably the most unfriendly city for pedestrians I have ever been to. Gridlocked, six lane highways everywhere, pavements often disappear without warning or are turned into car parks, pedestrian crossing lights often don't work, and some of the most bizarre raised walkway constructs you will see in a 21st century city. The people's park and hongshan park are the only escapes from the chaos. 

We boarded the Saturday night K9595 train from Urumqi South bound for the Khazakstan border and eventually, after 33 hours, we would arrive Almaty.

[thebusmansholiday]

Not in Service

7th April 2017: Farewell Waterloo Bus Garage

Seven years after starting my illustrious career on London's buses (Arriva Eco Bus Driver of the month February 2012 and Go-Ahead Bus Driver of the month March 2016) it was time to say an emotional farewell to my beloved passengers, my colleagues and the person I was most upset to be leaving, June, who runs the best garage canteen in the capital, probably in the country.

If you are ever around the Waterloo area be sure to pop in to 'The Bus Cafe' (it's open to the public too, 8am to 4pm) on Cornwall Road SE1, just opposite the old vic theatre. The fresh fish she cooks up, fresh from Deptford market, served with rice, plantain and veg has made working 12 hour shifts for weeks on end so much more bearable.  I reckon the fact I have never had a day off sick is partly down to the good food I eat there every day.  Thanks June!

So, after having, on average, 2 days off a month this year, working unhealthy amounts of overtime (17 days straight at times, it's completely legal!?) I have saved up some dosh to try and see some parts of the map around Central Asia that no one seems to care for much.  

To start with, there is a bit of an overlap with last years trans Siberian trip.  Me and Louisa are beginning this adventure with a flight out to Beijing this Thursday (13th April).  Few days there, photo by the wall etc, then down to Shanghai to say hello to Matt again before waving goodbye to the sea for a completely land locked trip west, until we get to the Baltic in Estonia!

On the way we will pass along much of the old Silk Road in China, Kazakstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan.  Then a whole massive chunk of vast Kazakh and Russian countryside (I didn't get enough of it last year) will be all we see out of a train window for days on end before Moscow, St Petersburg and Tallinn give us long days of sunshine to end the trip on a summer solstice high.

[thebusmansholiday]

Trans Siberian 2016... Last Stop - Korea

KOREA

Saturday 19th March- me and Matt have an early start in Hiroshima, leaving Josh behind for a couple of days, as we board a bullet train to Fukoaka where we catch the 'Beetle', a hydrofoil high speed boat to Busan.  The Sea of Japan is a little choppy and I suffer from sea sickness for the 3 hour crossing.  As we enter Busan port we get great views of yet another huge Asian metropolis.  The cab driver taking us to our hostel is keen to explain to us, with his limited English, the best companies in Korea, the most talented sports stars and his views on certain politicians.  "Samsung - number 1! Hyundai- number 1. Park Je Sung- number 1! Wayne Rooney - number 1! Kim Jung-Un - no no no!"

Arriving at our hostel, we immediately head out to join the hundreds of 'Busanites' taking advantage of the unseasonal warm weather, at Hundae beach.  People playing beach volleyball, taking a dip in the water, kids building sandcastles, it's all a long way from the sub zero Siberian blizzards just 2 weeks ago. The roof top terrace at our hostel is our base for the evening and we ponder whether it's possible to climb the big mountain we can see in the distance....

Sunday 20th - a bit of research confirms that the mountain is Mt Jansang, it is walkable, a 6 mile hike to the top, but very steep in places.  On the walk from the metro station to the start of the trail up we are concerned about being a tad underprepared, the groups of locals on route with us are all kitted out in the latest hiking gear.  Most of them, all armed with walking poles, are elderly folk, it seems this is a regular Sunday walk for them.  For us, there are no tricky obstacles on the well trodden paths up, and the hard work is rewarded with stunning views of the whole of Busan and out to sea.  We look to take a different route down to the way we came up, and are alarmed by the landmine warning signs.  Some rusty US army signage warns us some areas are still heavily mined from the start of the Korean War back in 1950 when Busan was the last city not swept up by the red revolution from the north.  We decide to stick to the main path and follow an elderly lady down who seems to know where to safely tread.  

To top off a heathy days exercise we make our way to a downtown restaurant and blindly pick at the Korean Menu.  We get lucky with a healthy filling pork and veg soup and plenty of rice.  The owner seems amused that I decide to just pour all my rice in the soup, and drink it straight from the bowl rather than struggling with the chop sticks.

Monday 21st March - and I board the last train of this trip, the 10.00 KORAIL service from Busan to Seoul.  With just 3 nights left till I fly back to London, I feel a bit drained and lacking in any real enthusiasm for exploring another big city.  Our hostel though, is in a cool neighbourhood and the continuing sunny weather means afternoons in Seoul are spent relaxing on the roof terrace with a few beers and a bit of home comfort fast food..... A chicken donner from Sultans Kebab house.  

Wednesday 22nd - the last day of the trip is one of the most fascinating as we board a coach to take us on a tour to the De-Militarised Zone and the border with North Korea.  Stretching across the Korean Peninsula from the Pacific coast to the Yellow Sea, the DMZ is 250 kilometres (160 miles) long, and about 4 kilometres (2.5 miles) wide.  It acts as a buffer zone between the warring sides and on the southern side it's become a very popular tourist attraction as it's the closest you can get for a peak into the secretive North.  The barbed wired fences are also a place for bereaving families to come and attach a ribbon, with a message of hope, that they will one day be reunited with loved ones in the North.  

A set of Binoculars allows you to see into a North Korean village, with a statue of the dear leader Kim Il-Sung taking centre stage.  With only a 4 km buffer zone separating you from the North, you can clearly hear both sides broadcast audio propaganda across the DMZ.  Massive loudspeakers mounted on several of the buildings delivered DPRK propaganda broadcasts directed towards the south as well as propaganda radio broadcasts across the border from the in the other direction.  In 2004, the North and South agreed to end the broadcasts but luckily for us, recent heightened tensions between the two, means they have started up again and we can really soak up the tense atmosphere.  Although I can't make out what is being said, the man shouting over from the North does sound particularly angry about something, perhaps it's that most of the Southern soldiers are not paying him much attention and appear far too happy and relaxed for a people living under evil imperialist occupation.  I was contemplating a defection to the Utopian North but the heavily land mined hills would have been far too tricky to negotiate, even for an experienced war zone hiker, like myself.

In all seriousness, hopefully in the not too distant future, the Korean dream of reunification will come true.  At the deserted border train station of Dollares, they have a detailed blue print in place for an electrified high speed line to Pyongyang and beyond, allowing Koreans to connect with Europe via the Trans-Siberian.  It's a heart warming thought to imagine that one day in many years to come I would be able to pass through this zone again, minus the barbed wire fencing, at the end of another mammoth railway journey from Moscow....

[thebusmansholiday]

Over the East China Sea and back to the future: Japan....

SHANGHAI INTERNATIONAL FERRY PORT

Saturday 12th March - board XinJianZhen boat at Shanghai International ferry port bound for Kobe, Japan.  40 hour journey ahead of us but this is the way to travel, a 4 bed compartment between the 3 of us and our own little living room with TV and a choice of 4, poor quality, moody american DVD's to watch at our leisure.  This ship has obviously had it's hey day, most people choosing the 2 hour flight.  I would estimate the ship is only a quarter full, giving the feel of living in an abandoned hotel for 2 nights.  This for me beats flying though. Travelling is not always about getting from A to B as quickly as possible.  The long journeys between places on this trip has allowed time for reflection, time to read up on the next city, time to appreciate the beauty and vastness of the landscapes we've traversed and, most importantly, lots of time to do absolutely nothing.  

Sunday on the boat is spent playing in a highly competitive table tennis tournament and some morning fitness work outs in the form of bleep test running, press ups and pull ups outside on the deck.  Most of the afternoon though is taken up playing out a cold war in a battle for the 2 washing machines so we could do some much needed laundry.  Not wanting to sit and stare at the machines for minutes on end, one at a time we take it in turns to check if one of the drying machines were free, but we were not the only ones as we kept being beat to it.  Someone was bringing wet washing in from somewhere else, but we couldn't work out who.  After 2 hours waiting, going back and fourth from bar to laundry room I finally managed to grab a free dryer.  Reporting my success back to the boys at the bar, and Josh snaps! He is not amused that I've taken a dryer for myself, leaving him to wait it out for the other one to become free.  I'm insistent that it would be quicker to dry in smaller loads. Matt cools us both down as tempers begin to rise - "We have 18 hours left on this poxy boat - plenty of time to dry your clothes" He's right, but they clearly need to have a fairer queuing system put in place for the laundry room.  

Monday morning (14th March) and we are awoken by the sound of the ships crew bashing about with ropes on deck preparing to dock at Kobe International Port.  Time for a quick breakfast before disembarkation, I'm going to miss this boat and I'm already really looking forward to that retirement cruise.  

I immediately fall in love with Japan.  The port terminal restrooms have toilets with heated seats and an automated bum washer for when you are finished.  Directional buttons on the keypad allow you to aim the spray perfectly, pressure buttons allow you to decide on the force of the spray and the piece de resistance is the 'privacy' button that plays music if you want to drown out any embarrassing noises.  These toilets are not some quirky rare luxury, most toilets, old and new, train station toilets etc that we encountered, have this technology.  This is what the future was supposed to look like, but it's only the Japanese that have turned the dream into reality.  

On board the Shinkansen bullet train, you can not help but admire the efficiency of how public transport is done here.  Spacious airline seats all pointing forwards (they are on a turn table type mechanism to be turned around by staff at each end), ample leg room, wide aisles for bulky suitcases to be stored in the large overhead shelves means no tedious delays waiting for folk to find storage, a problem you get so often on UK trains.  Again, the toilets are immaculately clean, a large separate stand up urinal for men so they don't pee on the seats of the main toilets and the lower bowl catching design means no pee drips on the floor.  Separate water basins outside the cubicles allows people to free up the actual toilet whilst they wash their hands or do their makeup. Large bins for recycling and general waist means littering is too easily avoided, let alone completely frowned upon.  I am all for high speed rail projects in the UK, but I worry it would not be designed and built with the same careful thought to ensure maximum comfort for all passengers, not just those who can afford first class.  

Tuesday 15th March - after spending far too long playing around with the toilet in my 'pod' hostel room, I meet Matt and Josh at 'Jonathan's American dinner' for breakfast, the portions here are tiny, probably explaining the extremely low obesity rates in Japan.  Feeling slightly unsatisfied we take the metro into town and walk around a few  parks in glorious Tokyo sunshine.  Matt is randomly chosen by a tv film crew to appear on Japanese tv, the presenter appears to enjoy mocking a silly westerner's interpretation of a painting of a racoon.  What that was all about, we are not quite sure.

After a long days walking, we try out various bars and cafes, some containing owls for you to pet as you sip on a latte.  Matt and Josh seem strangely at home in this environment, with clearly frustrated wild owls pecking away at our fingers.  One warning sign next to a particularly large owl reads:  WARNING! DO NOT TOUCH. IF BIRD MOVES, PLEASE ESCAPE!  More concerned with this, I'm unaware of the immediate danger that is a 'dirty protest' from the smaller owls. A large white stain now dons my trainers.

Wednesday 16th March - we wake up obscenely early at 5 to witness first hand the famous Tsukiji fish market.  Getting there at sunrise, we are bitterly disappointed to see 'CLOSED FOR FIXED HOLIDAY' signs at the entrances.  Some friendly American tourists inform us that the plus side of this closure is that you can wonder around the deserted market stalls and get some great snaps of the place before it shuts down for good in November.  More yuppy flats in the race to sterilise and homogenise the world, no doubt.  The sushi for breakfast was a nice experience, but I’m still struggling to avoid gagging violently when I eat cold fish.

Wednesday night is a battle to stay awake after such an early start,  we try out some quirky bars.  You can struggle to find bars here, lots of them hidden away on upper levels of apartment or office buildings, but this certainly adds to the charm of the place.  '8 bit cafe' is a Mecca for anyone brought up on sega master-systems and/or super nintendo. You can play mario kart whilst sipping on a wide range of themed drinks.  Cocktail list includes 'Doctor Mario' and 'Princess Peach Temptation'.  The best bars in Tokyo though, are the various dingy basement whisky bars, some more classier than others.  Our favourite was 'High Five' where we were served some very expensive Japanese malts by a Hawaiian shirt wearing, Mr Miyagi type character as we watched Buster Keaton silent movies on a projector screen.  

Thursday 17th March - our last day in Tokyo, we wake up late and due to the amazing weather, decide to hike up Mount Takao.  About an hour's train ride west it offers amazing views of Fuji - and the train ride itself offers amazing views inside the train drivers cab, a large window at the front of the carriage is an unexpected treat.  The 4km hike up the mountain is well worth the effort and we are rewarded with breathtaking views of snow covered Fuji at sunset. A fitting end to our stay here in this magnificent city.

Friday 18th March and it's back on the bullet train, this time to Hiroshima for a brief one night stopover.  We have a sombre visit to the peace memorial museum and hyper dome, the last building left as it was after the horrific a-bomb war crime of 1945.  The bomb was dropped at 8.30am to cause maximum devastation, school children's burnt clothes a particularly harrowing display at the museum.

Hiroshima, like the rest of the Japan is a very clean modern city, but it was modern in the 1980's, and not much has changed, partly you feel, due to everything being constructed so well first time around, and no apparent need to change how efficiently it all works.  As such, Japan has a very cool post modern retro charm to it, I believe our German friends might call it 'kitsch'?  Anyhow, I seem to have fallen in love with the place and we toast to it over a glass of warm saki and stuff ourselves with 'Hiroshima Pizza' (noodles, shrimp, peppers, sweet corn, all cooked together on the grill on your table in omelette form with crispy seaweed and a fried egg on top).

"To Japan.....Cheers"

[thebusmansholiday]

The Great Leap Forward - Into China....

BEIJING

You can taste the thick smoggy air here as we try to work out the complicated metro ticketing system and end up settling for a taxi to the hotel.  This offers a better opportunity to get a glimpse of some of the city. Like Moscow, Beijing feels like one big historical theme park, with sights such as the Forbidden City, Tiananmen Square, Chairman Mao's mummified corpse etc.  Our hotel is situated not too far from all of them and in the heart of one of the fast disappearing Hutong(narrow alleyway) neighbourhoods, a photo of Angela Merkel's visit sits proudly on the courtyard wall outside my room.  Walking around this neighbourhood you witness the hustle and bustle of Beijing life at it's most intimate.  

Saturday night(5th March) and I try my hand at haggling for food and avoiding fried frogs and scorpions at the local night market.  I'm not very good at it and end up paying about £10 for some chicken noodles, fried banana and a beef kebab for afters. Washed down with a Chinese general lager - Tsingtao. Beer is not so popular here, apparently the Chinese stomach can not handle the yeast and as such there appears to be a limited choice of GL's.  Stella Artois is the only other option to Tsingtao at most bars.  Also, there is not much of a going out to drink culture.  Socialising is done over games of cards at local parks or going out 'for a western' at Pizza Hut. Lively nightspots are not hard to find, but rather predictably they consist of bars playing shite cheesy techno music at illegally high volumes.  I know, I'm getting old!

The highlight of Beijing, and this is in no way intended as a swipe at the place, is the amount of public toilets.  Every few hundred yards you will find a little block of separate  male- female wc's.  All completely free and provided for by the state and manned by a local attendant wearing a communist party red armband who keeps them sparkling clean(ish).  Restaurants and bars(with some high end exceptions)  don't need to provide toilets, they all pay for the upkeep of the nearby public toilet through their business rates.  Free market capitalism is obviously rampant in modern China but on a local level Communism lives on and as such you will never get caught short in Beijing.  

Sunday morning (6th March) we join the less than orderly queue to enter Tiananmen Square to pay our respects to Chairman Mao, the great founder and leader of the new China, the China that now leads the world in so many aspects.  Due to the people's parliament opening to discuss the new 5 year plan, Mao's memorial is off limits, probably due to the current leadership having dinner in there in the hope of drawing some words of inspiration from his mummified corpse.  So intead we have to settle for some impressive portraits of the dear leader at the National History Museum, which also had a delightful exhibition on all the gifts various world leaders had given to Chinese presidents over the last few decades:

Margaret Thatcher - a silver cigarette case Tony Blair - a small silver ashtray David Cameron - a glass jug (a silver lighter and they would have had the complete set, you berk!)

It was soon time to head to Beijing South Railway Station to board a super high speed train to Shanghai.  The station was the size and similar design to that of Wembley stadium.  From the concourses you would go to appropriate gate number and descend down escalators to pitch side, where, instead of the football pitch, there are about 30 platforms all with futuristic bullet trains waiting for take off.  After 5 mins the train is racing away at full speed - 310 kph, the endless tower blocks of the Beijing suburbs, a blur out the window.

SHANGHAI

Meeting us in Shanghai was our good friend, Matt (from Leeds),  who has been living and working in the city(Shanghai, not Leeds) for the last 3 years.  We head to a favourite bar of his to recount stories of past times living together in London and our mammoth journey getting to Shanghai.  It is immediately apparent how great a travelling companion Matt will be in the coming weeks with his excellent grasp of the Chinese language and well researched historical local knowledge.  Do not tip anyone, it is considered condescending.  Do not be offended by local xenophobic attitudes towards westerners, a yang gui zi (ghost from across the ocean) was mainly used for the Japanese but is now charmingly used for many outsiders.  The Chinese, men and women alike, unashamedly like to clear their throats very loudly and spit it out onto the pavement. This is normal behaviour, do not take it personally if some phlegm  lands on your trainers.

With this in mind, I felt ready to explore this vast mega city of 27 million people and the tallest city in the world (based on the number of buildings over a certain height, overtaking New York in 2013).  We have plenty of time here, 6 nights, which is a nice relief from constantly being in transit with heavy luggage in hand and it's good to be able to call a place home for a few days.  I find a good local regular breakfast spot that does me a healthy leek, cabbage and carrot spring roll.  Good quality cheap street food is in abundance here, the language barrier not an issue as you can just point at what you want chucked on the grill.  Evenings are spent socialising with Matt and the large expat community based here.  KTV (karaoke tv - you are not allowed to call it that here, karaoke being a seriously frowned upon Japanese word) is a very popular night out.  A room with food and drinks is hired for you and your friends to sing along to some of your favourite tunes.  The choice of songs available appears limited and I'm forced to belt out a bit of James Blunt, Your Beautiful. Lovely stuff.

An Australian friend, Maree, takes us for a tour around some of Shanghai's famous 'wet markets' where you can watch fresh fish, off the boat that morning, being bashed on the head, gutted and cut up to order.  Again, it's great to have a tour from someone with good local knowledge and able to show you the best food spots etc, that made them fall in love with the city enough to want to stay here for several years.  After some serious walking in monsoon rains, Maree insists on us visiting a 5 star massage parlour (Not that type) for a 90 minute long foot bath, scrub and a rather painful massage.  A visit to Matt's local street barber for a trim(£1) the next morning and I'm feeling refreshed in preparation for a two day boat journey across the East China Sea and into Japanese waters....

[thebusmansholiday]

Escorted Through Mongolia by the Military High Command...

Goodbye Russia

We finally get through the Russian side of the border only to have to stop again in Mongolia's chief border town, Sukhbaatar, named after the revolutionary hero Damdin Sukhbaatar, who in 1921 famously rode his horse to Russia to enlist the aid of the Bolsheviks after Mongolia was invaded by White Russian troops. Frustratingly, we are held for another 3 hours whilst the border officials politely ask us to open our bags.  The chief Mongolian border official is joined by her 8 year old son who must have been on a half term break and was using the time as work experience.  If you do this route in 10 years time expect him to be in charge, he watched his mothers work so attentively. Their friendly nature set the tone for the warm hospitality we would receive from all the local people we encountered on our brief tour through Mongolia.

So it took seven hours in all just to get through the border, but me, Josh, Jule, Anna, Laura and John Smith were all in good spirits, the sun shining outside the train window onto the increasingly arid landscape.  Trees were now becoming few and far between.  Into the town of Darkhan at sunset and we have another 2 hour stop, this train is in no rush! We dash off into the nearby high street and find a restaurant where we are treated to a huge portion of mutton, the staple diet for Mongolians, served with rice and French fries and washed down with our first and only Mongolian general lager of the trip- 'Gobi Gold'. We will have to publish a league table on here listing our favourite GL's at the end of the trip.

Back on the train for an 8 hour, overnight stretch to Ulaanbaatar, and the last night with our German friends is spent finishing off our remaining Russian vodka and getting very little sleep before we say our goodbyes the next morning on the platform at Ulaanbaatar station.  The German crew opted to stay 3 nights in the sprawling concrete jungle that is the Mongolian capital.  Me and Josh, wanting more time to explore Japan and Korea in two weeks time, opted to head straight to Beijing.

(Thursday 3rd March) After a 3 hour wait in a cafe near the station, we board the 07.30 train to Beijing, another 27 hour journey awaits, this more modern Chinese carriage is a lot more spacious than the previous Mongolian wagon. All the carriage attendants/guards are now male, in stark contrast to the all female staff on the Russian and Mongolian services.  A visit to the toilets and you can immediately see the difference in standards, the Russian and Mongolian attendants took great pride in keeping their particular carriage in pristine condition, toilets always stocked with soap and loo role, always happy to help provide mugs for tea etc. It was as if you were visiting their house for the first time.  Not so on here, no loo roll (luckily I have an emergency stash) and the Chinese male guard choosing to sleep for most of the journey so far.

Joining us in our compartment is Tayo (for security reasons I will not use his real name) a high ranking member of the Mongolian army on his way to China for a training exercise with 4 of his colleagues.  He doesn't waist time in offering us some of his grub, a plastic carrier bag full of Mutton, carrots and bread all mixed together and eaten straight from the bag with our hands.  Tayo and his regiment were not long back from a UN peacekeeping mission in South Sudan, and they seemed grateful to be having some time off from the stresses of army life.  After paying homage to the statue of the first Mongolian cosmonaut outside Choir station, a bottle of vodka was soon thrust upon us, Tayo and his friends insisting on very large shots. They were in hysterics amongst themselves when I started to sip it slowly.  It had to be done in one go, and after 3 of them, I was starting to feel a little light headed.  I was grateful when we pulled into the town of Sainshand for a 20 minute platform break and a walk about in shorts and flip flops in the pleasant Gobi desert sunshine - the morning sub zero temperatures of Ulaanbaatar seemed a long way back now.

Back on the train and I pretend to be asleep to avoid Tayo insisting on us drinking more cheap vodka. It works, and the Mongolian army boys are quite happy having wrestling matches amongst themselves in the compartment next door.  The bleak dusty landscape continues to the border town of Zamyn-Uud.  Travel writer Paul Theroux visited the town in the mid 1980's and commented that it was 'a wreck of a town set on glaring sands and so lacking in events that when a camel went by everyone watched it.'  Not much has changed since then.  By the time the border police are on board, Tayo and his regiment are in an awful drunken state.  Tayo, hardly able to stand up, insists that me and Josh fill in all 5 of their customs declaration forms, which we rush to do before the police get to our carriage.  To be fair, we did eat a lot of his mutton. Thankfully, the police appear to have seen it all before and across the border we go, Tayo now fast asleep on my lap whilst the train bogies(undercarriage and wheels) are changed from Russian to Chinese by workmen underneath us. This is a very slow and noisy process, another 3 hours all in all before we can tuck our boy Tayo up in bed and get some much needed shut eye ourselves.

We wake the next morning with just a few more hours left to Beijing.  Tayo jumps out of bed with an obvious sore head and puts his foot straight into the bag of left over mutton, which until that point I was contemplating having for breakfast. The industrial landscape on the outskirts of Beijing, is already looking a smoggy mess and I reach to the bottom of my rucksack for the surgical mask given to me back in London as a leaving present, not too convinced about the difference it will make to my lungs over the next few days.  At Beijing station, Tayo and his regiment say their goodbyes with a firm handshake each, off they go to help keep Mongolia and the world safe, me and Josh struggle to work out the metro map in Chinese script. 

[thebusmansholiday]

Irkutsk and Lake Bailkal 

[thebusmansholiday]

Eastern Siberia, Lake Baikal and Into Mongolia....

NOTE TO MY FANS: Apologies for the long wait between posts.  I made it to Beijing on Friday 4th.  Due to the people's government having to work overtime trying to protect the population from certain western trouble making media, the Internet  is really slow in China, many websites are blocked, including anything Google or Facebook related.  As such I’m not able to upload any photos just yet.  I will do so once we get to Japan this coming weekend. 

‘The Trans-Siberian came in for considerable criticism in the west when it was first built. The Russians were portrayed as corrupt incompetents. While undoubtedly mistakes were made and money went missing, this is to deny a magnificent achievement, one of the great engineering wonders of the world.’ (Christian Wolmar, 'To the Edge of the World: The Story of the Trans-Siberian Railway')

On Friday morning(26th Feb) in Yekaterinburg, we are joined on our trip by 4 Germans, Jule, Anna, Laura and John Smith (yes, he is German!). They are friends of Josh, in Berlin, and after a short tour of Yekaterinburg's main sites, they join us on board the Trans-Siberian for a daunting 50 hour train journey east.  It doesn't take long to settle into our 4 bed compartments and we are soon eating more cheese and tomato rolls, sipping vodka and discussing what we are going to do for 50 hours! Listening to more Russian Techno music(why?!) in the restaurant car and downing a few Siberian General lagers kills some time on the first night and quite a bit of time the next morning as most of us are slow to wake.

A cup of tea whilst staring out the window onto the sun kissed, snow covered landscape, we are soon crossing the huge, frozen over River Ob and approaching the capital of Siberia, the city of Novosibirsk.  We jump out for a 30 minute break and inspect the grand station interior, well known as a real temple of the Trans-Siberian.  I pay my respects at the impressive world war 2 memorials depicting a family waving off soldiers to the front.  The Nazis never got this far but lots of Siberians left for the war from this station.

The second night on the train, is rather predictably, spent doing exactly what we did on the first night, drinking beer and vodka.  Wake up, drink tea, eat sandwiches, repeat.... 

Sunday morning (28th Feb) on the train, and our group of six is in surprisingly good health and spirits as we pass a big landmark for me and josh, the halfway point between Moscow and Beijing - 4501km.  Another day spent rolling through this vast, hostile looking landscape and you can't help keep admiring what an amazing achievement it was for the Russian people to complete this engineering wonder back in 1900. Reading Christian Wolmar's 'History of the Trans-Siberian' as I travel, he comments on the negative press this achievement got back in the west...

'This attitude, particularly prevalent at the time of the building of the Trans-Siberian, has survived, despite the fact that its completion in less than a decade was an achievement on a par with any of the other great engineering projects of the nineteenth century'

'The true story is that day after day, week after week, tens of thousands of workers mostly armed with little more than pick axes and shovels, created this monumental railway'

Just as I am settling into life on the train whilst reading and sipping on my 20th cup of tea of the journey, Sunday evening is drawing in and we finally arrive into the city of Irkutsk, the de facto Capital of Eastern Siberia. 'The Paris of Siberia' as it is also known due to its 19th century architecture, revived churches and classy eateries.  So, where do 2 Brits and 4 Germans end up dinning on our first night in the city....? An Irish Pub! The walk back to the hostel through the wooden hut lined streets is earily quiet.  Irkutsk has a Wild West feel to it, and when you look on the map at how far it is from European Russia, you understand why.

We are now 8 hours ahead of GMT, well to the east and well into the Asia continent but the population is still made up of predominantly Slavic people, a testament to how successful the Railway was in spreading Russia's grip over it's eastern territories, huge numbers of people settled here, helped by the railway, similar to the great migration west in America but on a much bigger scale.

Monday morning(29th Feb), we wonder around some of the city's historical sights, the city being a stronghold of the counter revolutionary white army during the civil war.  It was here that some of the most gruesome war crimes of that period were committed.  The western backed white army commander Admiral Kolchak used to hang any suspected communists from lampposts and stuff their cut off penis' in their mouths, on show as a warning to the rest of the city.  Luckily, the red army caught up with him in 1920.

We continue to ignore the Paris style eateries and opt instead for a workers caff in the Irkutsk equivalent of Romford Market before heading 70km south on a bus to Listvyanka on Lake Baikal.  On the speeding mini bus down, we are kindly offered some vodka from a drunken passenger which keeps us warm at the back of the bus, the driver insisting on opening his window for a fag every 10 minutes whilst continuing his phone call with his Mrs back home. The bus drivers here are always using their mobile phones whilst driving, an instant sackable offence back in London and witnessing this drivers erratic driving, you realise why.  Anyway, arriving at the lake we are stunned at just how vast the lake is and how it is completely frozen over.  636km from north to south, but only 60km wide, it was formed by rifting tectonic plates.  Though nearly 8km of the rift is filled with sediment it is gradually getting deeper as the plates separate.  It will eventually become the Earth's fifth ocean, splitting the Asian continent.  In the meantime it's the worlds deepest lake (over a mile) and as such it contains 20% of the worlds freshwater - more than North Americas Great Lakes put together. As it's frozen over, we, and many other tourists are able to walk on it, play cricket on it, and generally lark about on it whilst drinking more vodka.  

Listvyanka aka 'the Baikal riviera' is the perfect base to explore the lake further, with plenty of nice eateries to chose from.  Me and josh though, manage to find another workers caf' for lunch.  We could probably get started on writing a book on Siberia's caf' s now. A Siberian style cornish pasty, some grated carrot and a cup of tea is our usual choice from the limited menu. All for under £2. Come dinner time, we do manage to find a more up market option looking over the lake and stuff ourselves with plenty of local fish and veg whilst discussing 'Brexit' with the Germans.  

Back in Irkutsk on Tuesday(1st March) night and boarded 40 hour train towards the Mongolian border and down into Ulaanbaatar.  A rough ride and not much sleep in the older and very hot Mongolian train carriage, with lots of disturbances from loud platform announcements at several stops on route to the border the next morning.

Wednesday morning (2nd March), We had a 4 hour wait at the border town of Naushki station, so a chance to stretch our legs and wonder around the desolate town centre looking for lunch. As we are leaving the station, some unfortunate souls, Mongolian looking men and women, are escorted off the train in handcuffs and slowly marched to the back of a police van, what they are accused of we can only speculate.  Naushki is bleak, not much goes on here but we luckily stumble across what appears to be the only cafe in town and treat ourselves to some Borsch (Russian Soup- consisting of beetroot, potato and onions with a spoonful of sour cream), the last time we can enjoy this Russian delicacy.

[thebusmansholiday]

Siberian GL’s, Into Asia and Yekaterinburg...

Boarded the 13.20 trans-Siberian train from Moscow to Vladivostok. If we stayed on this train it would take us 7 days to reach the final stop on the Pacific coast, some 9288km/5771miles away.  We are initially only on here for 26 hours, to the Europe-Asia border and the city of Yekaterinburg (the furthest east of all the 2018 World Cup venues).

"There is no railway journey of comparable length anywhere in the world.  The Trans-Siberian is the big train ride.  All the rest are peanuts."  (Eric Newby -  'The Big Red Train Ride')

No ticket barriers at Moscow, if you wanted to jib it to Vladivostok, you could, but a 7 day hide out in the toilet would be tough.  Good to know you have that option though if your club ever get drawn against FC Luch-Energiya Vladivostok in the Europa League. What an away day (2 weeks there and back, but) that would be!

Our train and 4 bed compartment, for this first leg of our 'trans-sib-mongol' journey  to Beijing, are relatively modern.  Tv, reading light, clean bedding and small towel.  First eight hours we have the compartment to ourselves and are able to stretch out and get through a few glasses of vodka toasting to a successful start to the trip. Our one dinner included in the ticket price was a choice between pork and pasta or chicken and rice.  I'm sorry to report that I am no longer a vegetarian, again! I was hoping to at least make it to Asia, but not to be. The plain processed chicken and rice was a poor way to end it.

At the stop in the city of Nizhny Novgorod, we are joined in our sleeper compartment by two big Russian dudes who stay with us for the night time leg of the journey.  One was a big snorer and appeared to suffer from a terrible addiction to sudafed nasal spray.  He had obviously built up a tolerance to it as it clearly was not working despite giving it a good loud snort at least every hour.  Me and Josh decided to take a stroll down to the restaurant and bar carriage and down a couple of Siberian general lagers(GL’s) to try and give ourselves the best chance of some uninterrupted sleep.  Some would argue that at 5.4% these can not be considered GL's, but I would say this is as weak as it gets in this part of the world, Stella Artois would be laughed at. The shite Russian techno music (they love it here) playing on the barmaids phone attached to a cheap speaker didn't help us relax but the GL's did their job, and luckily, the big snorer settled down a bit just after midnight and I was able to pass out and not wake up till just before we rolled into the bleak looking industrial city of Perm and over the frozen river Kama.

Crossing the Europe-Asia border and Arriving in Yekaterinburg on Wednesday evening we were immediately surprised by how mild it was, and a big snow melt was well under way in the city making the 2km walk from the station to the hotel, a muddy one.  If ever you needed proof of global warming, it is here where February temperatures of +5 degrees are unheard of, the average for this area of Siberia being -10 to -15. I managed to find an Irish pub that evening, enjoyed a chicken burger and chips and a pint of Guinness with a new East German friend, Joern, who I met on the train from Moscow.  He used to come here on school exchange trips in the 80's before the fall of the wall, harking back to the well intentioned internationalist socialist spirit of those times.  

Yekaterinburg, the furthest east of the 2018 World Cup venues, will be a great city for travelling football fans, lots of pubs, good range of restaurants, riverside walks and a big lake that I imagine people take boats out on when the sun is shining in summer time.  Traffic is a bit of an issue, as is the poor state of the roads, but I Imagine the city will be getting a big cash injection from central government when the eyes of the world are on it in 2 years time.  The 'Tsentralny Hotel' we stayed at is first class, and only worked out at £25 a night for our own individual room each, with a big buffet breakfast included at the downstairs 'Savoy Restaurant' where Khrushchev and Castro had dinner together in the sixties.  I found, what looked like a cigar burn, on the carpet, probably from Castro.

Plenty of other history in this city, the Romanov Death Site, where Tsar Nicholas II, his wife and children were murdered by Bolsheviks on the night of 16th July 1918. If you run a brutal regime like they did....

Good meal at a family run Uzbek restaurant last night, a slippery run along the river path this morning and a visit to the Boris Yeltzin museum this afternoon has set me up nicely for the 50 hour train journey to Irkutsk that leaves Yekaterinburg at 17.39 local time (12.39 GMT Friday 26th Feb).  I'm strangely excited about being able to cut myself off from the modern world and spend  50 hours on a train with no Wifi/ phone signal through the vast, baron, Siberian landscape.....

[thebusmansholiday]

Moscow Metro