Sunday 5th April.
In the beginning was the word, and the word was Borat. And the first rule of \Borat is don’t talk about Borat. It seems Kazakhstanis don’t have a sense of humour and have found the whole affair unfunny.
We arrived at Almaty in the small hours and had a five hour wait for our flight onto Aktau in the morning. We had a two hour wait in the arrival hall; I call it arrival hall, it was just a small room, the only consolation was that there was a wifi available. And so we checked on the news and football scores as the wheels of immigration turned slowly round and our passports were stamped after the right amount of lubrication was applied.
Once through immigration we were shown into the VIP lounge, which turned out to look like a ballroom from imperial times, because that is probably what it was. We were allowed free drinks and food, and once stirred the barmaid did prepare the saddest of open sandwiches and some lemon tea.
The flight to Aktau was full to bursting, mainly of families with screaming children, and so the two hour flight seemed much longer than it was; doubly so as there was a screaming child just one seat away from me. I did have a window seat, and so got the full effect of the view of dessert for hundreds and hundreds of miles: broken only by dried up lake beds and the fast receding shoreline of The Aral Sea. Former islands poked up through long since dried silt, coated white is salt: it looked for all the world like the moon.
When we walked to the plane back in Almaty, the sun was just rising, casting golden shadows on the foothills of the Himalayas. Rising from mere hills, they quickly rose into snow-capped mountains, meanwhile to the south, the flat plain of desert or near desert spread to the horizon.
If the view from the plane was bleak, then the view from the coach window was even worse. As we trundled down a dirt track, the brown spread to the horizon without break. The bus slowed down every few minutes as passed over a larger pothole than usual. We turned onto the main Aktau to Bautino road; it wasn’t much better. At least on my side of the bus the Caspian Sea could just be seen, starting for no particular reason just down the steep cliff about half a mile away.
We stopped 90 minutes into the journey for a toilet break; the toilet turned out to be a concrete building with a hole in the floor. Tales from those who went in tell of it being like the entrance to hell with a smell to match; gladly we climbed back on the bus and headed north.
Bautino is a port, and existed for the sturgeon industry, and now for the oil industry. It rises, brown out of the dirt, all cinder block houses thrown together with rough grey mortar, set back from the semi-dirt tracks that count for roads. We pass Muslim cemeteries, orthodox cemeteries, all built in the desert, rising out of the earth with crosses pointing to the sky of the occasional mausoleum to beak to lines.
We had an hour wait while immigration looked at our passports and visas again, and decided that we only had business visas and therefore could not work until more lubrication in the form of dollar bills was applied to the wheels. As our freight was stuck in customs, this was not of immediate worry. We headed off to our boat, ship; The Caspian Maria, to find our home for the next month would be the back deck of a supply vessel and several converted shipping containers. I was sharing with my mate Richard, and being first one in claimed the prized bottom bunk. I say bunk; these what you would buy for your children to sleep in, and didn’t look strong enough for burly jolly jack tars, especially if at sea with a keep nor’wester blowing.
Monday April 6th.
I awoke after some 14 hours sleep to find breakfast served, which was various pink bit of unknown animals; I had an orange.
Lubrication applied, we can at least now work, if only our freight was cleared by customs. We settled down to wait; the sun came out and we sat on the back deck and read in the warmish sunshine. In the sunshine, the sea sparkles with a turquoise blue and looks wonderful. The truth is it’s polluted to hell. Kazakhstan has been a dumping ground of Russia for decades; they mine uranium round here, the Soviets exploded nukes up the road, they dumped chemicals in lakes and poisoned the water. There is a lake in the centre of Bautino that glows red; no one is sure what the Soviets left there.
Tuesday April 7th.
Still no freight.
A cold wind blows and we put on extra layers of clothes. Our clients come round to look at the ship and us, before we are bussed to one of the three hotels in town for a safety meeting and formal handshakes. On the way we bounce through the desert, see a couple of camels looking for food, before heading down into the town.
Our client is Shell, and they have rules; lots of rules. They are all explained to us as if we are children, and the consequences of breaking them. We are allowed a sandwich each and a cup of coffee before being bussed back. But the good news is that the client is going to pay for beer for us tonight in another hotel where there is a bar with beer and food and stuff.
We are excited.
Freight has cleared customs and is being driven up from Aktau in the morning; we are told we are representing the company, lots of important locals will be in the bar, don’t drink too much, don’t say you hate the country, but above all, don’t mention Borat,
The bar is full of ex pats from all over the world, all in the oil industry. Smoking is allowed here, and soon the bar is thick with smoke and talk of work. A large screen TV shows a basketball game from Russia. We have three beers each and then we are herded out back onto the bus to be taken back to she ship before we turn into pumpkins, or worse.
Wednesday April 8th.
The freight arrives stroke on half nine. The crane arrives just after lunch. We begin to get the skids and equipment off the trailers and onto the quay. We lift the skids onto the ship and anchor them to the deck; it’s a tortuous procedure, as the crane driver speaks no English, we no local language and he is permanently angry. At three he packs up and drives off saying another crane will come later.
Thursday April 9th.
Thursday passed much as Wednesday did, with work from dawn until dusk. So much to do and we all did what we could. Hundreds of problems to solve, and all the while the cold wind blew from the sea. We got on with things, and slowly the plan came together.
Food is pretty simple here; most nutrition comes from dairy, with milk being either 3.5, 6.0, 10, 25 or 50% fat! Lots of cakes and pastry is eaten, I fear for my waistline; I eat more fruit and vegetables.
By the end of the day we are fit for nothing other than sleep, which we do.
Friday April 10th.
Good Friday.
The wind really howled today, and it was really cold, like a winters day back home. I tried my hand at soldering, which went well, considering. I only burnt four fingers, which was a small price to pay for three split computer leads.
One of the final pieces of the jigsaw arrives when the pillar drill turns up, and we get to the task of fixing the davits to one of the skids. Essential in the deployment of our kit, and one mistake would kill the job stone dead, as we have no spares. It goes well, and we lift the final skid into place; tomorrow the davits would be lifted in, and then we would see if the measurements were right and they would actually reach over the side of the ship.
Another good nights sleep.
Saturday April 11th.
Easter Saturday.
The job continues; most of it is now done; we just have to hope everything works now when we plug it in. Equipment is welded to the skids, leads connected, tomorrow everything will be turned on, and then we will see.
Another promised pub trip faded as the towns only bus is going to take some offgoing marine crew to Aktau to catch a train back for their three day trip back to Russia.
Another early night.
Sunday April 12th.
Easter Sunday.
The age old problem of too many chiefs and not enough workers reared it’s head again, with orders and counter orders given. Tempers frayed, toys were thrown out of cots. Work continued, and slowly it all began to work.
We get one 20 minute call home, and I take mine on Sunday; bliss.
The bus arrived at six, and soon we are bouncing off across the moon to the town and our few hours in the bar. The setting sun shines through the thousands of plastic bags caught in the dead branches of small bushes, more camels forage about. The bar is open.
The bar is a little piece of the west in the east. The price of a beer in here is several hundred times what it is outside. We get football on TV, pizzas to eat, and local gassy beer to drink, and three hours in which to unwind.
Yay.
The drive back to the ship is so dark it’s like every light in the rest of the world has been turned off, starts twinkle above, and passengers snooze whilst the loud Australian tells bawdy jokes; we wouldn’t have it any other way.
Monday April 13th.
Bank Holiday Monday.
A final day of getting things to work; thankfully all our kit does, and most other systems do too. Although navigation is still crashing, and without that we won’t be able to run survey lines. People look at monitors and scratch their heads and swear. And computers makes our lives SO much better.
We work until dark to get everything done before we are told management are happy enough for us to rest. The chaos begins in the morning.
Tuesday April 14th.
We sail in the morning for a day of trials in which we have to convince the client that we can get the job done and the data would be good enough. It’s a glorious day, not a breath of wind, and once again the Caspian sparkles; the cliffs of the moon rise steeply about a mile away and the small harbour huddles in-between
We pass the tests and head back to port at nine.
Wednesday April 15th.
I had tried to sleep to get into shift pattern, but sleep would not come at all. But, lucky for me, that shift would be spent transiting to site. Although the site was just 100 Km away, we had to go almost double that to find the deep channel. In this part the Caspian is just 9m at it’s deepest, and just 2m in places, and yet is 100s of Km wide.
By the end of shift I was so tired, and as we arrive on site, my shift ends. And so, over to you, Richard.
Thursday April 16th.
After 10 hours sleep the world seems a better place, and I woke up to find that strong wind have stopped us from working; I spend a hard shift reading Morton’s ‘In Search of England”, it makes me homesick, and longing for places new to explore.
We watched the sun rise gloriously before breakfast, into a sky of pinks and reds. The wind still blew.
Friday April 17th.
Day 14; two weeks ago I was packing, and now here we are, feeling like we have been here forever. I begin to read Jane Eyre, and so passed 8 hours of another shift.
After breakfast, the wind drops, and word comes that we are to start work. Not all that easy, we have to deploy the gear first and then get the digital stuff working.
First of all is to get the 600m long streamer all out and make sure it floats. Oh look, that four hours gone and shift change.
Goodnight.
Saturday April 18th.
A shift in which we actually worked. For a while. Our sonar went down, water in the termination, and so we have to fix that before putting it back out, bit of a bodge job, but then, if it works……
Just after seven one of the guns goes down, and we have to get the array in. It had caught some nets; illegal sturgeon fishing is a real problem, and we have caught a huge net in our gear. In the net were five rotting sturgeon, stinking to high heaven, and weighing it down were bits of aircraft and half a breezeblock. Everyone came out to see what we had, but no one thought of lending a hand as the extra weight made the task of pulling the guns in just about impossible. But, we did it, and cleared the nets; bagging them up as evidence for the authorities.
Sunday April 19th.
Easter Sunday (Orthodox).
When awake, my first task is to listen for noises of the deck and engine to see if I can guess what the state of play is. I usually get it wrong, but today there is no doubting the bang of the guns going off. Work it is then.
And an untroubled shift unfolds. We do lines, gather good data and begin to get the job done.
Another stunning sunrise, the flat calm sea reflecting perfectly, and the swooping seagulls in our wake would have made a great shot if I had my camera with me instead of being in the cabin.
For breakfast there were multi-coloured boiled eggs, and several types of cake. Happy Easter. Again.
Monday April 20th.
The forecasted wind and rain had arrived; all the gear was onboard when we got up, and so another shift of reading and drinking tea spread before us. The sea broke over the side of the ship, and we spent a few frantic hours making sure everything was tied down and rain not getting into the lab, which is exposed on the back deck. Finished Jane Eyre, and enjoyed the language and description of life in the early 19th century.
Tuesday April 21st.
The wind and rain eased some, but not enough to work. That, and we have no chase boat to scout lines for nets. So we sit bobbing and waiting. I begin The Pillars of the Earth, although trying to limit myself to 100 pages a day, as this is the last book I have. We are beginning to swap books, and as yet I have resisted the lure of the DVD player, and so if get bored there is always 6 series of Shameless that Dick is working his way through.
Wednesday April 22nd.
We awoke before shift to find the wind a howling and the sea a rough. Etc. We looked round to make sure the equipment was tied down and then settled down for a shift of more reading and tea drinking.
The wind dropped just after dawn, and so we slowly deployed the gear, only for the wind to drop to nothing and the sea to calm like a millpond. So, by the end of shift we were working away.
Thursday April 23rd.
St George’s Day
Awoke to find the other shift had snagged another net, abut going one better they had a long dead Caspian Seal caught up, and it stunk. It had wrapped itself around the streamer, ruining data, and so there was no option but to cut it all off. Of course it was right the other end of the streamer, and so the operation took some six hours. And now the weather has come down; and so we wait again, reading, tea drinking and snoozing.
We begin shooting at breakfast, as the weather comes down quickly. The sunrise, once again, was spectacular, with flat bottomed fluffy clouds to the horizon turn golden by the rising sun. Must remember to bring my camera each day from now on.
One benefit from the diet is that I am losing weight, quite quickly. I can’t really explain why, but there can be no doubt as I am now using the forth notch on my belt, and all my clothes now hang instead of looking like spandex. Well, almost. If only the night chef would stop baking cakes it would be even better, Oh well.
Friday April 24th.
Another quiet shift as we near the end of the survey area. Sadly, we still have one more to do, but this is a major point, and thoughts turn towards going home. Paul is booked to fly out on the 2nd of May, so we could in theory fly back in the four days after that; if we get the job done. Many people are flying home as soon as we dock, which means just a skeleton crew doing the demob. I would have thought it better to have as many folks helping out as possible; but then if they are all as helpful as Lukaz then they may as well just go.
I am rushing through the Pillars of the World book, and now have just 250 pages left. And thoughts on that are what will I read next as I have now run out of books. Russell Brand’s Booky Wook is around; but am that desperate?
Saturday April 25th.
So, we take over shifts just as we begin to run lines on the new site. Straight away everything starts to go wrong; no water in compressors, noise on streamer and thermoclines on the sidescan. But it settles down, although our data is still rubbish.
Dawn breaks with the sea still as a millpond and not a ripple to disturb the surface. The sunrise was wonderful, and the reflections stunning. The day contuned with no wind and flat calm seas.
We have to avoid multiple nets, one with as many as eight dead seals in; how on earth will we manage at night going virtually blind?
Finished the book, The Pillars of the Earth just before lunch; and now I have nothing to read. So, after lunch instead of reading until three or four, I went straight to bed and sleep. Much better for that.
Sunday April 26th.
On shift to find we had just snagged a new net on one of the more distant birds, and so first job was to get the streamer in and clear more rancid sturgeon off. After cutting it off one bird, it slid down the streamer and snagged the last bird. So, do it again, without gagging on the smell of rotten fish. I swear I’m not going to eat fish again, and my caviar days are well behind me now.
Data still rubbish, and the word on the street is that the client is going to have to accept the sonar due to time as the boat is needed for a 3D job as soon as we have demobbed. I am so looking forward to going home; some coffee, some wine and just be back in Moordown again with Jools and them cats. Bliss.
And then, just before dawn, we snare the mother of all nets, right on the end of the streamer. So, we go out again, haul the streamer on to find several rancid sturgeons and probably a few dead seals all wrapped in nets on the end of the streamer. The smell was something else, and it took some strong knives and stomachs to cut it off, without it snaring on any other gear. We hope that that will be the final time we are on the back deck this shift.
The bane of any football support is hope. All week I have been telling myself Norwich are doomed, only for the results yesterday to go all their way; now all they need to do is win at home to Reading today and again at Charlton, and they are safe. Damn them, I was resigned to our failure and relegation, now I have to live with hope.
Monday April 27th.
Seems like I was wrong thinking the torment would be over today; Norwich play tomorrow night, tonight, Monday, and so I have another 24 hours of lingering hope to bear. Why don’t the overpaid useless tossers just get it over with and go down? And why do I still give two figs about it? Because I can’t stop, that’s why. Brian wants to be manager next season; he’ll have to make sure they win these two next games, then. I really don’t care as long as this never-ending struggle against relegation ends. Of course it could be a struggle against relegation from League 1, and just how bad would that be?
Thinking again about going home; it fills most of my quiet moments, and what we might do: Scotland, Europe on the Eurostar, Switzerland. Ther’re all train related of course, but I feel the need for trains, if I’m honest. Julie wants to go to Mallaig, of course; that might just work.
We are working, I am recording rubbish on the sonar; the client is livid, but if the conditions are awful, what can we do? We can’t change the laws of physics just to suit that squinting weasle of a rep-tile; go away and ask someone else some pointless questions. At least he’s going this week; immigration won’t extend his visa; maybe they don’t trust a man who looks like moleman from The Simpsons. We all hate him, and another day longer spent on here with him than need be we might just commit clientcide.
Rumors persist about the demob and possible date when we will be flying back. I know I shouldn’t listen, but I want to give Julie as much notice as possible. At the moment there seems to be just six of us for the demob, which is not enough if you ask me. I might just want to go home too.
Yes, the sonar data is awful; caused by a thermal layer in the water column; it reflects most of the signal back, and we get some kind of crap modern art instead of a picture of the seabed. It’s so bad I hardly watch the data come through now. The seabed is quite interesting, pack ice has scarred the seabed with lines and curves and is quite beautiful; when you can see it. In places it really is mesmerising, all concentric circles, curves and straight lines; but we haven’t seen that in four or five days now the weather has warmed the sea surface up. If things don’t improve, they might just have to accept what we have, or we’ll have to do the whole site again. Not looking forward to that.
Eleven AM: Well, the news is that the job could be over in less than two days, if Shell accept the data as it is. If not, we’ll have to re-shoot the sonar when the conditions improve. Guess which one we want? Plans to time off at home are in full swing, and talk is of beer and girlfriends and surfing. Although, not in that order. That’s the way it is sometimes, we just never know. We could be home in a week or a month, we just never know. Either way, we should know by tonight once the client and head office decide, whilst I will be sleeping, of course. Less than an hour to go now, and all the while the data slowly improves, damn it.
Tuesday April 28th.
And so, suddenly, it all seems to be ending. Woke this evening to find that the provisional flight details are in for our homeward flights; most are going home Saturday, the rest of us next Wednesday. The client is going to be happy with the sonar data we have, I should think so. And now there are nine days and counting to go. Amazing to think that a couple of days ago I was thinking I could be here at least another two weeks, and now plans are well under way for a return home.
It came as no surprise to find that Norwich could not manage a win tonight. After getting their fate back in their own hands, they had to throw it all away with yet another loss. 46 points from 45 games is just pathetic, and we quite rightly deserve to go down; not that it any easier to accept. Quite where the club goes from here is anyone’s guess. Not that we are quite down yet, a win at already relegated Charlton and Barnsley lose then we stay up; but to be honest, we don’t deserve to.
We are plugging away with work, two more lines done this shift, 18 plus the crossline to do, and then it will be ‘goodnight Vienna’ and tome to pack up and go home. Hurrah.
I almost spoke to see after seeing an e mail from Shell that they did not think the data was good enough, and there seemed a chance that we would have to re-shoot some or all of the lines. That would have meant another 4 or 5 days here, and with the weather closing in on Thursday, possibly another week on this tub. As it was, a couple of infill lines to do, and we’re good to go.
Wednesday April 29th.
And so when we came onto shift, just eight more lines to do, about 14 hours work; if nothing goes wrong. And the plan for the de-mobbing is in, and we’re being given three days to pack boxes. A little over-generous we think. The upshot is we could be home before Wednesday, which will be fine by me. Mike, the safety Shrek, has left, home via Almaty and Bangkok to Oz back home to his wifey. How we won’t miss the grumpy bear with a tab always on the go. Saying that he has been a non-smoker now for some 5 days, which may well explain his bad moods. One thing for certain it will be quieter around here without Mike. We just needed him to take the client with him and it would have been fine.
And so this is probably our last night shift together, the three amigos, the three musketeers, etc. More competitive cards, more cake and more moaning; all of which makes the shift pas quickly, until the rest of the ship wakes up around six in the morning. Those four or five hours when the rest of the crew sleeps, and we’re left along here are the best. As long as we don’t have to go out onto deck to pull the streamer in and cut two tons of rancid fish from it. Those are not quite so good nights.
It is ten in the morning, we just have one more line to do, a velocity dip and then we can head into port. Despite our best efforts to mess up so near the finish line, it seems that the finishing line is in site, the light is there at the end of the tunnel and the fat lady is clearing her throat. Yes, we have done it. All that is left is to pack everything away, and then load it in crates, drink some beer and catch a flight home. But, the last part could be some seven days away. So, plenty more work ahead and then home for tea and medals; sweet.
So, after trying to sleep in the afternoon, I get up and help to pack away the gear and such for a few hours. It seems strange to be doing it so soon, but the job went well and now the best bit; going home.
The anticipation of home is fantastic, and every thought is of things to do, places to visit, and just the sights and sounds of springtime in England. So, in the morning, at seven sharp, the work begins for real. Get into port and really start ripping things to pieces and hopefully loading it all onto trucks. There is talk of a trip to the bar tomorrow, and beery thoughts will spur us on to greater work. Yay.
Thursday April 30th.
Pay Day.
Yay!
And so switching onto days was never going to be easy, and at just gone four in the morning the whole of the old night shift gathered in the lab, bleary eyed and unable to sleep. Oh well, one last time.
Breakfast time, and time for unleavened cheesy bread, strange sausages and omlette and then the work begins.
In the afternoon work really begins; and the desire to get everything done so we can relax over the weekend bangs right up against the Kazakh work ethic which is more relaxed. But, we crack on and by late afternoon most of our equipment is packed and over half the deck is clear, with just the davits to break down and then detach from the skid. We did well. However, trying to make the local transport manager understand, or care what we were trying to do, and getting him to provide the three trailers for Friday was something else. I think getting everything loaded for Tuesday lunchtime, when we begin the long trip home, could be problematic. But I could be wrong.
Our client took us out for beers and pizza last night; we have done a remarkable job this past four week, mobbed the ship, got the data and well on the way to demobbing it all in four week, under budget and losing just 0.7% of time through equipment problems; a company record. So, the beer flowed, the pizza kept coming, and we all got quite drunk. It’s a surreal experience though, being in a hotel yet in Kazakhstan, us spending in one evening on beer what the average worker here earns probably in a year. I looked at the waiters, and seeing them serve drunken oil workers and company executives; I wonder what they think. I guess they have good jobs, but it’s such a difference to the town and life outside the high fence that surrounds all hotels here.
At lunchtime today, half the crew will leave for home, we will all have our own cabins, but things will be a lot quieter. And we who stay will know that our job is coming to an end.
Five more days to go, come on legs, let’s get working.
Friday May 1st.
After a late start due to hangover, the sore heads begin to appear just after breakfast, and so begins more packing, re-packing and re-re-packing, just to get everything in boxes and ready for the long road trip back to England. Sadly we have to wait for the crane so we can begin to clear the back deck, so until then it’s hard to see how much progress we have made, really.
Just after lunch, half the crew leaves; the bus arrives and they take their bags and head off him the dusty road on their way west. And so Paul, John, Marek, Dave me and International Rescue are left behind to finish off. The crane arrives and we work until dusk, and amazingly, we have nearly done. Paul calls the office to arrange earlier flights home, and news arrives that we are to leave at half three tomorrow. The journey will be long and tiring, but we’ll be home at breakfast time on Monday, and that’s all that matters.
Saturday May 2nd.
And so, all things come to an end. We get up, me at the crack of sparrows again, but watching the sun rise of a still harbor and watching the turns wheel and dive is a simple pleasure. We pack the rest of the stuff and transfer the last of the boxes to the quay, and now have to wait for the trucks to arrive so we can load and then leave.
Everything is at a different pace out here, and you just have to accept that some things take time and happen when the happen, and no matter how angry you get, how much you want to go home, the two hour lunch breaks and smoke breaks every 15 minutes are just a fact of life.
Half an hour after the stroke of one, the trucks appear, and we get cracking. Everything fits on just the one, and although it all looks precarious to me, Paul declares himself happy and we pack our work things, say goodbye to the ship’s crew, and take our bags and climb into two waiting Land Cruisers for the three hour drive to Aktau to the north.
I get the front sea, and soon enough we’re heading out of Bautino for the final time, and out into the low rolling country of the Caspian coast. Since our arrival, some rain has fallen, and the once brown is now green, and we see herds of camels, horses, cows and donkeys grazing and moving over the grassland which stretches to the horizon. I plug the I pod in, and listen to some favourite tunes as the desolation rushes by.
The road is very rough, and evidence of past accidents are every few miles, cars of various ages and states of decay rush by as we safely head south. The emptiness which I remember from a few weeks ago doesn’t seem so empty; we pass shrines, houses, military bases and gas platforms and cattle and camels moving, grazing. It all seems so other-worldy.
Soon enough, we pass the airport, and on the horizon we see the towers of Aktau poking to the sky. Houses built in the middle of fields pass by, street lights appear, and the road widens, and soon we are driving through the mix of old and new that is Kazakhstan. Each junction has no road makings or lights, so the bravest gets to go first; but it all seems to work, although I cling on for dear life.
We pull up at a modern hotel and pile out. The bright light of the hotel bar greet us, and after checking in we go for a cool frosty beer. It tastes good, doubly so when someone else pays.
I am to share with one of International Rescue, Alessandro. We call them that because they have been no use in either the mob or demob, and for the most part have shied and shirked any work. He means well, but to be honest is a pain, and is very high maintenance. He says he is going to use the hotel gym; I think this is a good idea and decide to join him. Right on the top floor, the views over the town to the sea, stunning.
The pool looks great, but filled with the great, good and corrupt of Aktau society. I make do with the elliptical stepper and plug the I pod in and do half an hour. After a shower, and I take some shots from the top floor, I meet up with the other guys who have just changed bars since arriving and are now very happy and slightly drunk. Paul pays and one beer turns into a few and then many. We have a meal and I a huge Cuban cigar. At ten, most of the others head off into the night for a night of debauchery; Alex and I stay in the hotel; have a coffee and a nightcap before heading to our room.
Sunday May 3rd.
Sore heads began to appear at half seven, the bus for the airport is due to leave at half eight, and so require bedding to be pulled off and then being shoved in the shower. But soon enough we pile into a Soviet era bus and head out past grim looking flats and wide empty roads to the airport. The bus driver looks at us, some still drunk, with contempt, and turns up the Kazakh pop radio station all the way up to 11 to drown out our conversation.
More chaos at the airport as we struggle to find where to check in, but manage to in the end, and we are stung for 40 Kg in overweight baggage, and Paul just manages to make the flight after paying the bill for that.
A bus is waiting for us on the tarmac and whisks us into the busy streets of Almaty. We are to stay in a hotel for the 15 hours before I flight west leaves. We begin passing through leafy roads and quiet housing areas; but soon we are entering downtown. Grim housing blocks look down on pot-holed roads. Outside people have set up makeshift stalls and are selling what possessions they have. We look on from our air-conditioned luxury.
We climb up what must be the main street past shops and stalls selling wonderful smelling grilled food. The traffic is chaotic, and we’re all on edge. All the time we are climbing towards the foothills. We pass many wonderful looking modern hotels, and as the city thins out again and we head out into the countryside again, the music from Deliverance plays in our heads. We drive through a gate into a national park, and grand hotels and restaurants nestle amongst the trees, while snow-capped mountains tower above us.
We are showed into log cabins and then we have time and space for ourselves before the cars are due to pick us up at eleven in the evening before our two AM flight.
I have a wander and bump into Marek, we find tables under some trees, cooking smells fill the air and we realise we are very hungry. After ordering beers, we look at the menu and I go for lamb kebabs cooked in tail fat on an open wood fire. It really very wonderful; thunder echoes around the gorge, and we take shelter around a table in a wooden shelter. Soon enough the clouds break, and hail the size of marbles rattle down, scattering diners and waiters. Our waiter wraps blankets around our shoulder as we eat.
I muse on how far I have come from being a giblet stuffer in a chicken factory to eating lamb kebabs in the foothills of the Himalayas; quite a way.
We take to our rooms; although some take to seats at bars, and the day passes. At eleven, the cars return and take us through the city, all quiet but looking modern as skyscrapers reflect streetlights and moonlight.
Back at the airport, our fixer arranges our exit visa, checks in our bags, and soon enough we climb onto a near empty Lufthansa plane, and we zoom into the night sky and towards lovely Frankfurt to change flights and then onto London.
Monday morning, bleary eyed we walk out into the arrivals hall; Jools is waiting, and just like that, the adventure is over. We shake hands, make promises to keep in touch and meet again; and then I’m walking with Jools towards the car park and then home.
