Six years ago

Some six years ago, way back in 2009, I finished my last surveying job in Kazakhstan, although at the time I did not know it would be the last. At the time I was looking forward to a long and very well paid future with my new employers. Sadly, they were about to go into administration and we all lost our job and most of the money earned on this job.

But, through April 2009, a hardy band of marine surveyors mobbed a ship on the Caspian Sea, we ran lines, we dredged rancid sturgeon from the depths, then we were finished, and it was time to go ohome. This is the journey home from Bautino on the coast, and I think has some nice observations.

May 2nd 2009

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.