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  • Dan Squire
  • Chelsea Haith

Chelsea & Dan’s Gap Year 2025

Moving from Sydney to the UK in the slowest way possible. Read more
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    🇹🇷 Fatih, Turkey

    Soviet Asia in review

    November 16, Black Sea ⋅ ⛅ 15 °C

    Southeast Asia was cheap, chaotic and tropical. East Asia was modern, organised and densely-packed. By contrast, the latest chapter has been expansive, adventurous, and at times unhinged. We weren't sure what to call this section—'Central Asia and the Caucasus' is a bit of a mouthful (though perhaps a band name?). 'Silk Roads' is cute, but without including Western China, Iran or Turkey it feels a bit wrong (we're blasting through Turkey quite quickly and it doesn't feel fair to compare). We settled on the one thing these seven countries all have in common, and which was definitely a theme throughout the last eighty days: their complicated history with Russia.

    Let's unpack the layers of our tour through the former USSR! 🪆

    Most Russian: Kazakhstan 🇰🇿
    Every former Soviet has taken a slightly different path, with Georgia being the most anti-Russia, Armenia being extremely pro, and the rest sitting somewhere between. Kazakhstan is the one that felt most like a stereotypical Russian experience though. It was the dumping ground for exiles from across the USSR, meaning it's full of ethnic Poles, Ukrainians, Koreans, Cossacks, etc. Kazakhstan produces the best Russian vodka, launches all the Russian space missions, and has the longest border with Russia. Most Kazakhs speak Russian, there are old babushkas doddering around everywhere, and the food is mostly soup, pickles and bread. It's also, like Russia, enormous.

    Most Bizarre: Azerbaijan 🇦🇿
    This is a very competitive category. We've been gifted chunks of lamb wrapped in tissue paper, drunk fermented horse milk, heard how Armenians claim to have invented the US Dollar, ridden yaks, and much more. But for sheer unbalanced weirdness, Azerbaijan takes the crown. An astoundingly rich country, mostly below sea level, which somehow still feels like three goats in a trenchcoat pretending to be a legitimate cultural leader. It's half Bahrain, half Borat. They have a museum shaped like a carpet and another dedicated to the world's smallest books. It is a point of national pride that, until 100 years ago, you could squelch crude oil right out of the ground with your feet. You can look at some of the world's oldest petroglyphs, and if you turn 180⁰, stare at the inmates of a maximum security prison in the middle of the national park. They make excellent wines, but the district the best grapes come from is called 'Mud Volcanoes'. It's a bonkers place.

    Best Outdoors: Kyrgyzstan 🇰🇬
    Similar to Kazakhstan but smaller and more democratic (a rare political luxury in the region). There's a reason so many travel influencers on TikTok and Instagram are going to Kyrgyzstan: it is ruggedly beautiful, with mountains, lakes and canyons to rival anywhere else in the world. The infrastructure is rapidly improving, so it's surprisingly accessible while still feeling like you're off the beaten track. We were lucky enough to get there in late September, just at the end of the tourist season, because from October to April the best bits are largely inaccessible due to snow. For us, the roads were blocked only by monumental herds of livestock. If we were to give a second award out here, it would be 'Most Sheep in the Road'.

    Most Underrated: Armenia 🇦🇲
    Locked in by enemies in almost all sides, and constantly the geopolitical punching bag of the region, Armenia has had it pretty tough. We thought it might just be a flying visit to tick off the list. But our four days in Yerevan were surprisingly good, with beautiful mountains, a proud and historic culture, and excellent Armenian brandy and wine. The food is not quite Georgian level, but pretty strong—the Georgians will be horrified to hear we actually had the best khachapuri of the year in Armenia. The tourist infrastructure still leaves something to be desired, but we wouldn't be surprised to see Armenia coming up as an edgy alternative travel destination in the next few years.

    Best Value: Uzbekistan 🇺🇿
    While we had some mixed feelings about the tourism culture here, it was definitely the cheapest country we visited. It was also the easiest 'Stan to navigate, with the best public transport, internet coverage and payment infrastructure. As the main 'Silk Road' nexus in the region, Uzbekistan has the most interesting and beautiful cities in Central Asia, with stunning architecture in Samarkand, Bukhara and Khiva. It was a shame Dan was ill for a big chunk of our visit, but Uzbekistan is fairly relaxed and comfortable, so it was better to be sick there than elsewhere in the region. If you wanted to visit one country in Central Asia, this is the best starting point.

    Biggest Adventure: Tajikistan 🇹🇯
    Expensive visas, an extremely under-developed economy, paucity of transport options and extremely difficult terrain make Tajikistan the hardest nation in the region to visit (baring Turkmenistan, which we abandoned due to cost and politics). Tajikistan is definitely the most 'off the beaten track' country we've visited all year. Our journey took us hundreds of kilometres along the Afghan border, hugging the cliffs along dirt roads high above ravines, over passes and on hikes as high as 4,655m above sea level. The driving was terrifying, the food was terrible, the views were breathtaking. A once in a lifetime experience.

    Favourite Country: Georgia 🇬🇪
    No surprise for anyone who has been following our posts. Just as Japan dominated our experience in East Asia, we've found Georgia to be head and shoulders above the rest of the region. It has the best food by a country mile, and some of the best wine we've ever tasted (which is saying a lot)! It's worth saying that Central Asian food in general is grim —Georgia is the only country in the region with a cuisine that can actually compete with the rest of the world’s stand out cuisines. It has the best city (Tbilisi), and a huge variety of things to do packed in a small country. We love the mountains, we love the people, we still have so much we didn't manage to do in our 18-day tour, and we will be back!
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  • Batumi

    Nov 14–16 in Georgia ⋅ 🌫 15 °C

    Our last stop in Georgia was the second-largest city, Batumi. This is the biggest port on Georgia's only coastline (the Black Sea), so the bay is full of huge carrier ships. It is also a slightly seedy party town, full of high-rise hotels, casinos, and new-build apartment complexes with Israeli, Russian and Emirati flags. But it's right on the Turkish border, so it makes sense for us to pass through here, and we managed to time our visit perfectly to coincide with an international rugby match being played in the local stadium.

    Rugby is popular in Georgia because it resembles a folk tradition called 'lelo burti', in which two opposing villages compete once a year in an hours-long scrum to push a 16kg leather bag across a field. The number of players is unlimited, the game often crosses multiple rivers, and teammates often tap out for smoke breaks mid-game. This happens every Easter, so sadly we couldn't watch a lelo burti match this time, but we *did* get to watch Georgia thrash Canada at least. The national team are nicknamed the 'lelos' after the traditional game, and one of their chants goes 'lelo, lelo, Sakartvelo', which means 'try, try, Georgia'.

    Other than the rugby, our stop in Batumi has just been a chance to work on some job applications, have a lie in, and prepare for the final sprint of the year. Although not cold, the fog was rolling in from the Black Sea and we can feel that we'll finally be facing winter weather soon. We have been so lucky throughout our time in the Caucasus, which has probably contributed to why we've loved visiting Georgia so much. It has been perfectly bright and crisp, with beautiful autumn colours for the last three weeks in the region, clear views through the mountains, and ideal temperatures for walking around and seeing the sights. We are also (as regular readers will be bored of hearing by now) obsessed with the food. Once we get a house sorted in the UK, expect plenty of Georgian dishes on rotation if you come to visit us for dinner.

    We were told by of the people we met that Georgians will put a cross on absolutely anything, to express their Christian faith. Crosses on flags, clothes, cakes, hats, vehicles, mountainsides, whatever. We noticed that, inadvertantly, our travel tracker in this app has left a cross on Georgia. Our parting gift to the country that has treated us so well! 🇬🇪
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  • Kutaisi

    Nov 12–14 in Georgia ⋅ ⛅ 16 °C

    We bid a fond farewell to the Blobber Baron and headed for the Tbilisi bus station, jumping on a surprisingly plush intercity coach to Kutaisi. We were even served a cup of tea! It’s not a Cambodian nasi goreng topped with a fried egg delivered in-situ, but serving tea at 100kms/hr is a feat not to be sniffed at. Kutaisi is a small city in the Imereti region of western Georgia, meaning it is the source of that good cheese we’ve been hoovering. Dan has gone up a belt notch, and Chelsea is dreaming about green vegetables. Two weeks of bread and cheese has done the job.

    This has been the first of many short stops we’ve got this week as we start the sprint towards Europe proper. We whipped round the old town of Kutaisi which is one of the oldest inhabited places in the world. Jason and the Argonauts came through here on their quest for the Golden Fleece. This adventure is depicted in a massive, Soviet-style bas-relief by Bernard Nebieridze completed in 1982, near the Green Bazaar. Turns out every town between China and Turkey has a Green Bazaar. A more contemporary hero, the khachapuri queen of Imereti, Bebia Dali, is the inspiration for the mural ‘With Love’ by artist Sasha Korban. It’s a charming city, though a little quiet in the off-season.

    We had a few brilliant recommendations from our Tbilisi friend Sebastian and worked our way through restaurants Gala, Palaty, and Café Foe-Foe, the last of which means ‘hoity-toity’. Dan settled in there to spend the day working on his novel. Chelsea walked around the city and stumbled across a Georgian band trying (and failing) to film a music video in the park. They’d get only about a minute into the song before an oblivious granny would wander through the set, obstinately ignoring crew entreaties and camera lines.

    We’ve been charmed by the prevalence of live music in Georgian restaurants. If it’s a nice spot, there’ll be a vocalist and pianist at minimum, and occasionally a cellist as well. Our dinner of khachapuri, ojakhuri and gebzhalia was accompanied by a surprisingly stirring instrumental rendition of ‘Nothing Else Matters’ by Metallica (Dan misidentified this as Linkin Park 👎).

    We’re back on the bus heading for the coast now, heavy mists blanketing the green and gold tea-fields of the Guria region all the way to the Black Sea.
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  • Tbilisi (again)

    Nov 8–12 in Georgia ⋅ ☀️ 19 °C

    We loved this city so much the first time around, we decided to rejig our plans to squeeze in another four days here 🙌 (the big bath in our apartment may have also been a decision factor)

    It's been a relaxed stop, with plenty of reading, writing, bathing, and forcing inordinate amounts of Georgian cheese down our gullets. Dan's birthday was this week, so Chelsea bought some candles to do a surprise dessert at dinner. Unfortunately, he had already stuffed himself with five plates of food in the main course, so we've had to postpone the cake celebration.

    We took a daytrip to the small town of Gori, which is mainly famous for being the birthplace of Georgian national icon, Iosif Vissarionovich Dzhugashvili (aka Joseph Stalin). We walked along Stalin Street, through Stalin Park, to the Stalin Museum. As you can imagine, it was a very balanced and unbiased exhibition. Surely we're not the first people to note the irony of a mass murderer coming from a town called Gori?

    After this, we caught a terrifying taxi piloted by a Deep Purple super-fan to Uplistsikhe, an ancient town carved into a hillside. None of the tourist maps made any sense, so we were mostly just pottering around climbing into holes and caves. But this is admittedly quite fun even without a history lesson.

    The streets in Georgia (like all the Caucasus countries) are chock-a-block with cats and dogs. You'll see lots of photos in this post. We have to give a special shout-out to the resident dog at our apartment though: an extremely chunky boi of near-spherical proportions called Bobby, who we nicknamed Blobby. This naturally led to Blobby Williams, Blobber Baron, Blobster Thermidor, etc. Comment below with further options 👇
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  • Kazbegi

    Nov 5–8 in Georgia ⋅ ☀️ 7 °C

    From Yerevan, we caught the night train back to Tbilisi, which included a 2hr border check conveniently scheduled between 3-5am. We shared a cabin with a couple from Crimea who are Russian AND Ukrainian AND the husband has been drafted to the front if he ever goes home. Georgia is awash with people in this war limbo.

    On early morning arrival in Tbilisi we immediately caught a marshutka north towards the Russian border, stopping along the way at the Russia-Georgia Friendship Monument (erected in 1983, looking pretty awkward now). Our destination was Kazbegi, a hiking region made famous by the Gergeti Church visible way up on the hill. Chelsea hiked as far as the church, while Dan proceeded on to the glacier. There he fulfilled all of Chelsea’s worst nightmares by accidentally sliding 5m down snow-covered mountainside towards a rocky ravine. Fun!

    This area is the Koishaur valley from the novel ‘A Hero For Our Time’ by Mikhail Lermontov, which we’ve both read while sipping wine beneath the very mountains described. The valley only gets 60 days of clear weather a year, and we were ridiculously lucky to be there for three of them, with clear views of the church and Mt Kazbek, the third highest mountain in Georgia.

    After getting electric shocks off the bed springs in our Yerevan accommodation, it was lush to be in a comfortable bed with a view and firepit. We met a lovely French couple who happened to be our neighbours both here in Kazbegi AND back in Tbilisi. We shared much khachapuri and saperavi, and the next day the four of us went for a waterfall hike before driving back to Tbilisi along the Georgian Military Highway, one of the most scenic roads in the world. We are absolutely besotted with this country.
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  • Yerevan

    Nov 1–4 in Armenia ⋅ ☀️ 14 °C

    The marshrutka driver from Tbilisi to Yerevan was definitely Armenian; very responsible on the Georgian side of the border, he reverted to his native, preferred driving style (aggressive, erratic, anti-gravity) as soon as we crossed onto his home soil. It’s no wonder that written on the back of every Armenian bus is the exhortation: BRAKE!

    Armenia is the first (and only) country we're visiting this year with orange on the flag. A monumental milestone. We stayed 3 days in the capital, Yerevan, which was just enough time to get a measure of the country and see some of the main sights, including the Garni Temple, the Geghard Monastery, Symphony of Stones, Ararat Cognac Museum, and the Armenian Genocide Memorial.

    Like the two other Caucasus countries we've already visited, Armenians are adamant that:
    1) They have the most unique culture
    2) They have the longest history of wine-making
    3) They are the most oppressed nation in the region

    In fact, Armenia does score pretty highly on all three counts. Firstly, they do have a unique culture, with their own alphabet, an extremely difficult-to-learn language, decent food, and beautiful landscapes. Both Kim K and Cher are Armenian, which tells you everything you need to know about their enthusiasm for plastic surgery, fillers, and Botox. Our walking tour guide proudly told us how Armenians had invented everything from ATMs to automatic gearboxes to US Dollars to the prophet Noah to Frank Sinatra. Impressive if true! We also bought some last minute tickets to watch a ballet at the cavernous Armenian National Opera House, which was... an experience to be remembered. The ballet, Cipollino, is about a little onion who rebels against the oppression of the evil Prince Lemon and arrogant Señor Tomato. If it sounds bizarre, it was. But also somehow good? We never thought we'd be emotionally invested in the romantic dance of a suave aubergine, but here we are. Cultured.

    Point 2: they do have ancient wines, and especially brandy, which we tried at the Ararat Brandy Factory. Armenian cognac was Winston Churchill's favourite drink—he necked a bottle a day. They recommended a 'winter warmer' cocktail with cinnamon, honey and tea which we will absolutely be trying when we get home. On a related note: everything in Armenia is named Ararat. Restaurants, banks, hotels, clothing brands, even a significant number of men. Mount Ararat (where Noah supposedly landed his ark) is enormous and visible from viewpoints all across Yerevan. It's the symbol of the country... though it's actually just across the border in Turkey.

    This brings us onto the third point: the Armenians have undeniably been more oppressed than their neighbours. This is obviously not the accolade you want, but is made more bitter because the Armenian Genocide still hasn't been acknowledged by most countries, more than a century later. Over 1.5mil people were massacred in 1915-18 by the Ottoman Turks, who also expropriated about half of Armenia's territory (including Mt Ararat) while much of Europe was distracted by WWI. One consequence is a huge diaspora, which is why twice as many Armenians live abroad today than in Armenia itself. This is still the most bitter sore in the country's history, and impacts on all their foreign policy. The borders with Turkey and Azerbaijan remain closed and fractious, Russia is their closest ally and economic benefactor, and their relations with Iran are surprisingly good (in an "enemy's enemy" way).

    The Georgian border at least remains open, which is where we're returning to. We decided to catch the overnight train from Yerevan to Tbilisi, mostly so we could say that we caught the midnight train to Georgia. We’re going back to find a simpler place and time.
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  • Tbilisi

    Oct 28–Nov 1 in Georgia ⋅ ☀️ 22 °C

    Turns out, we weren't getting ahead of ourselves when we hyped Georgia so much in the last post: it really is *that* good.

    We're obsessed with the capital, Tbilisi, having been here for four days. It's a beautifully edgy city, densely packed with coffee shops, tiny bars, vintage clothes stores, graffitied walls (mostly of the pro-Ukraine, pro-EU, 'Fuck Russia' variety), and tree-lined boulevards. It squeezes itself into the contours of the hills around the Kura River, with funiculars and cable cars ready to ferry you up to the hilltop viewpoints. You're always finding yourself gazing across unexpected city prospects.

    At the same time, the buildings are all crumbling—it has been a steep uphill climb for Georgia to modernise over the last 30 years, since it was a brutally poor, post-Soviet hole. In the 90s, you would get robbed at gunpoint in Tbilisi for luxurious items like... jeans. It must have been a terrifying time, albeit with plenty of people walking around the streets in their underwear.

    We learned this from the guide of our walking food tour, George. Is any country quite as obsessed with their patron saint as this one? Something like 1 in 5 men in this country are named George or Giorgi. Their flag features the St George cross, but they didn't think it sufficiently demonstrated how strong their love is, so they decorated it with four more flags of St George for the avoidance of doubt.

    Guide George took us around the ‘new city’, which is misleadingly named because it was built by German and French architects in the 1800s and looks pretty historic. The ‘old city’ has more Persian influences, but George said not to go there because "70% of the people are scammers and the rest will overcharge you." We went there anyway, and it's... really nice? If this is a scam, count us in.

    The German architects were the beginning of a fruitful relationship between Georgia and Germany, which continues to this day. Tbilisi has an active techno scene, a section of the Berlin Wall as a monument, and the vintage shops are filled with clothes brought back by Georgian tourists who have been on pilgrimage to Berlin. Dan has stocked up on his Deutsche aesthetic vintage outfits (see photos), which were useful for our visit to Fabrika, the artist hub in an old sewing factory which is the peak of Tbilisi's homage to Berlin.

    Our last night here was Halloween, which Georgians celebrate very seriously. We didn't have costumes, but had a good scare when Dan bit down on a small rock in his falafel wrap 💀 the vender didn't give us a refund or really apologise, but did eventually bring out a small shot of chacha (Georgian grappa) on the house. We continued imbibing Halloween spirits at a few bars, before wandering into one which wasn't actually open to the public but was hosting a birthday party. Rather than asking us to leave, Natta and friends enthusiastically insisted we stay, and supplied us generously with cupcakes, good chat, and a neverending stream of additional chacha.

    The highlight came when, around 1am, as we were saying how much we love Georgian food, we mentioned the spicy dip 'adjika'. A glint came into the eye of one of the party guests, who excitedly whipped a jar of adjika out of his pocket. This may seem stereotypical, but is apparently not a usual thing for a Georgian to have casually to hand, so his triumphant reveal had our whole group in hysterics.

    We'll be back in Georgia in a few days, but first, we have a side-quest to complete in Armenia...
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  • Signaghi

    Oct 25–28 in Georgia ⋅ ☀️ 22 °C

    Cheese! Wine! Beans! Fresh bread! Never have two people been so thrilled about a change in culinary scene. We crossed the Azerbaijani border into Georgia and arrived in the medieval hilltop village of Signaghi. This is the heart of the Kakheti wine region and we celebrated our escape from grim food territories with three wine tastings and many plates of the national dish, khachapuri— a warm flat bread covered in salty, melted cheese. We paid £22 total for three nights of accommodation (maybe the cheapest private room we've had all year?), although we found out why it was so cheap. The room strongly recalled trying to share a chilly single bed in the Wolfson Annexe in Oxford, circa winter 2018. But hey ho, savings!

    One of the first things we noticed on entry to Georgia is the number of EU flags flown alongside the national red-and-white crosses. Georgia aims to accede to the EU by 2030, but last year’s elections and Russian pressure have thrown those commitments into doubt. Though just one hour from the Azerbaijani border, it *feels* in Sighnaghi as though Europe isn’t that far off, with cobbled roads, an ancient citadel, good bread and cheese and a natural wine industry.

    We started at Kerovani Wines and learnt about the qvevri method, which entails burying egg-shaped wine-casks underground to aid the fermentation process. The wines are mostly skin-contact ambers and reds so dark that they call one, Saperavi, ‘black wine’. We thought we knew a good bit about wines thanks to our year in Cape Town, but Georgian grapes are unlike anything we're familiar with. After the fall of the USSR, the vineyards in this region were divided up amongst the people working them, with the result that most families do a little wine production. We enjoyed the view and a cheese plate of such vastness that we could not finish it.

    Since we're going to spend nearly three weeks in Georgia, we've made an effort to learn a bit more of the language in advance. Dan tried out his new vocab at the first tasting, trying to say "this is my favourite wine". The guy just laughed, before explaining that what Dan actually said was "This wine is my lover."

    At our second tasting (Pheasant's Tears), Chelsea forgot her money pouch (safely returned the next day, 300GEL still intact). Then we walked up the hill to a brilliant viewpoint for our third tasting (Okro's Wines), where we made friends with a Thai-Chinese couple. The four of us got stuck into the chacha (local grappa). At 48% it was strong stuff and Chelsea apparently forgot our new friends weren't native English speakers, as she started to drop a few straightforward terms into the conversation like ‘volition’, ‘ubiquity’ and one of her favourite topics: ‘contemporary geopolitics’.

    Apart from wine tasting, we enjoyed exploring the town and walked out to St Nino’s Bodbe Convent to see our first Eastern Orthodox church of the year. We also snooped around the parts of the citadel walls that are accessible and were thrilled with the views of the Caucusus mountains across the plains, snow caps just coming visible as the leaves turn.

    Maybe we're jumping the gun with how excited we are about Georgia already, just because we finally had some nice meals after the culinary desert of Central Asia. But we're already pretty confident that "this country is my lover" 💗
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  • Sheki

    Oct 23–25 in Azerbaijan ⋅ ⛅ 18 °C

    It's no wonder Formula 1 is so popular here... this is a FLAT country. Leaving Baku, we skimmed for four hours across this arid, desolate pancake of a place, seeing nothing taller than a two-storey building. The earth here is salty—the legacy of the Caspian Sea, which once covered the whole land—so agriculture is impossible. Azerbaijan is extremely rich thanks to its oil reserves, but if demand for oil dries up, it's hard to see what else will fuel their economy. This is one of the most bizarrely imbalanced countries we've visited this year.

    Fortunately, the northern and western edges of Azerbaijan rise up to the leafy Caucasus mountains. At last, hills! Trees! Rivers! We spent two nights in the old silk road outpost of Sheki, enjoying the autumn colours creeping across the mountains and seeing a different (less opulent) side of Azerbaijani culture.

    Sheki is a beautiful, provincial village, with a well-preserved historic centre, stunning Khan's Palace, and winding, hillside streets. We were ushered into an old Soviet cafe during an evening stroll and drank too much extra-strength tea, sweetened in the traditional way with jam. Dan convinced a cafe owner to play a couple scenic games of chess over breakfast the next day: it turns out Alishen was a chess professional in Kyiv back in the 80s, so Dan got off lightly with a 1-1 score. We also watched the beginning of a very steep half marathon going through the village, which must be an absolute dream to run (although tough on the knees).

    We stayed two nights in the caravanserai, which is a strong contender as the most iconic place we've stayed all year—a centuries-old stone courtyard and travellers' inn, for the ludicrous price of just £15 a night. This stop we were aesthetically spoilt. The Sheki Art Museum presented some interesting pieces, much of it memorialising WWII. They continue the former-Soviet trend of shortening the war to 1941-1945. One in ten Azerbaijanis died in WWII, answering the question of how Russia fronted so many soldiers.

    The highlight of the stop was an Azerbaijani wine tasting. Our sommelier, Vusal, hangs out in his wine cellar all day smoking shisha and playing guitar, until guests arrive so he can regale them with stories about his collection. This includes some incredible local varietals neither of us had ever heard of, the product of a much-lauded but defunct vineyard Marandi (the owner jailed!), as well as a sharp and undrinkable pomegranate wine which we endured for the experience. 10/10 would do again though.

    Five days has been a good amount of time in Azerbaijan. We were concerned a little that we might be rushing through, but there is so much exciting stuff in our next country... stay tuned!
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  • Baku

    Oct 20–23 in Azerbaijan ⋅ ☁️ 18 °C

    Welcome to the Land of Fire! 🔥 🔥 🔥

    We’ve crossed the Caspian Sea to the Caucusus on what is (save disaster), our final flight of the year. This takes us to 10 flights in total, which should allow us to visit around 28 countries... we wish we could have managed it in fewer flights, but we're still pretty happy with our carbon footprint, considering how much 'bang for our buck' we've managed!

    One place whose carbon footprint is less impressive is our first Caucasian destination, Azerbaijan. Zoroastrians were deeply impressed by Azerbaijan because two thousand years ago, most of it was ablaze. Oil bubbled right on the ground, catching fire and burning in perpetuity. It still does, though since industrialised extraction in the late 1800s, you can't just find puddles of it lying around on the surface any more.

    Baku, the capital, is a city that over three millennia has been torn between Zoroastrian Silk Road merchants, the Islamic caliphate, Soviet overlords, and oil giants. The past lingers around every corner, beckoning you over to buy… a barrel of crude oil? It turns out, everything here is oggy oggy oggy, OIL OIL OIL. They claim the first industrial oil well in the world (1846), and 85% of Azerbaijan’s economy is built on gas and oil extraction. Scary stuff given the oil is sort of running out and also, not very chic right now (see impending climate collapse). No matter, they love oil here, and to show how much, the president smears it on his face when visiting the oil fields. Visitors to the mud volcanoes are also encouraged to jump into the oil and methane-gas rich lava flows, as they allegedly have healing properties. We were brave enough only to dip a hand in.

    Since it has been a petrostate for over 150 years, Azerbaijan isn't exactly 'new money'. It's a weird mix of hyper-modern development and surprisingly classy Victorian-era architecture. Described as the love-child of Paris and Dubai, Baku is a deeply uncanny city. Literally flashy, Gulf-style Flame Towers loom over baroque 19th century mansions, formerly home to the Azeri oil barons. We've been impressed by how stylish Azerbaijanis are... Baku is a fashion hotspot! Although that's probably because central Baku, where we stayed, is where all the super-rich live. 5 million people (half of Azerbaijan’s population) live here, and outside of the small city centre it's a different story. Our first impression of Baku was a pleasant surprise at the modernity of it... but it does feel like a bit of a façade.

    Azerbaijan has good diplomatic ties with almost all of its neighbours... except Armenia. They really, really, really, really hate Armenians. At the Independence Museum we learnt about the oppression of Azerbaijanis by the Soviets and Iranians. The Soviets exploited Azerbaijani people and resources (apparently Baku oil won the Allies WWII, but was never properly appreciated 🙃) and last year a couple of unionising Azerbaijani workers died in Russian detention. 35 million Azerbaijanis live in northern Iran (also known as Southern Azerbaijan 🙃), and the imams are not keen to return the oil-filled region and its population to the Azeris. But no matter! It’s all good! Iran and Russia are lovely neighbours, made so by the diplomatic genius of the great leader Heydar Aliyev, and his successor, current president Ilham Aliyev (his son, democratically elected 🙃). The real bad guys are, surprise surprise, the Armenians! A masterclass in Orwellian Double Think proceeds. Those pesky hill-dwellers want their flat plains to graze sheep and be Christian and inshallah, this cannot be allowed! (A gross simplification of the Nagorno-Karabagh conflict, but you get the idea). Every bad thing that has ever happened to Azerbaijan is part of a grand Armenian conspiracy—even preventing them from winning their unfairly withheld Nobel prizes. We postponed judgement—we're visiting Armenia in a couple of weeks, and are excited to see their perspective on the same historic rivalry.

    Most of our first day was spent walking Baku, exploring museums and the 12th century Old City. Chelsea toured the Shirvanshah’s Palace, Dan dropped into the Museum of Miniature Books, and we both visited the Carpet Museum, the latter of which was better than it sounds (and also shaped like a carpet, so points for thematic consistency). The next day we joined a tour of the surrounding areas. This was led by guide Reza, who surprised us all by narrating the history of Zoroastrianism in the hifalutin, plummy tones of Basil Fawlty, and then switching back to fluid Azerbaijani to tell off the driver. We visited the Gobustani national park and 10,000 year-old petroglyphs, as well as the ancient Atashgah Fire Temple, a caravanserai and temple complex built by Zoroastrian traders coming north on the Silk Roads.

    We’re heading into the interior next, so more to come on the dualities of Azerbaijan.
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  • Bukhara

    Oct 15–19 in Uzbekistan ⋅ ☀️ 22 °C

    If Samarkand has the most beautiful buildings and Khiva has the best preserved old town, Bukhara is the best balance of the two. Our last stop in Uzbekistan, this is the city we'd heard would be the best of the bunch.

    Unlike Samarkand, most of Bukhara's old buildings around the historic centre are still intact, and it feels much more vibrant for it. There are lots of people around (especially coach tours of 60+ Europeans), and the streets are filled with market stalls selling beautiful crafts and textiles. We have never been more tempted to buy a huge silk rug, despite it being the least practical item we could possibly pick up this year.

    Dan was finally feeling better by the time we arrived, meaning we could actually enjoy wandering together around the old madrasahs, mosques, markets and art galleries. The place is jam-packed with beautiful arches, domes and passages... but there's something uncanny about the city, which is a persistent feeling we've had throughout Uzbekistan. The cities are too clean, too well-managed, and it's clear that everything has been rejuvenated in the last ten years. It's like walking through a Silk Road-themed shopping centre.

    Our biggest gripe: the markets are full of incredible spices, yet the food is unbelievably bland. What are they doing with all this cinnamon, saffron, cardamom and chilli if it doesn't go in the food? We haven't encountered a vegetable that has been cooked properly since August. They sprinkle herbs on top of the food for garnish, but don't use any in the recipes. Weirdly, we've found that the Uzbeks do very good desserts—so we've often been filling up on cheesecake after disappointing main courses. What's more, the service in all the cafes and restaurants is oddly stilted, like the staff have learnt a few phrases from TV shows but never had any training. They will bring you a menu, then never come back to your table. They will come and ask how the food is, half an hour after you finished eating. You will go to the front desk to pay, and they will look at you like you're crazy, even though they've not looked at you once for two hours—we often felt we could walk out without paying and no one would ever notice. (We never did, obviously).

    This is probably an issue of heightened expectations... Uzbekistan was one of the countries we were most excited about at the start of the year. It has underperformed those expectations, but overall we've had a really relaxing fortnight here, it’s extremely easy going for tourism. This whole year has been conducted at a relentless pace, so having two weeks to read, write and catch up on sleep in a beautiful, uncrowded country is not a bad thing at all. Just a shame about the food!

    For now though, we're in the capital city of Tashkent to snoop their Soviet-era metro (a delight!) and catch (hopefully) our final flight of the year 🤩
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  • Khiva

    Oct 12–15 in Uzbekistan ⋅ ☀️ 24 °C

    We arrived in Khiva in a white Chevrolet, notable only because there is no other vehicle type in Uzbekistan. Literally no other brands or colours are available here. You can buy a white Chevy hatchback or sedan, and that is considered a good range of options.

    Dan was still recovering from the end of his illness when we arrived, but Khiva turned out to be maybe the ideal place to recoup: it's tiny, and the main activity is just wandering around the 1km square area of the ancient city. It is possible to stay inside the city walls and some locals do live here, but mostly the buildings are given over to small museums, artisan workshops, and cafés. The streets are lined with stalls selling traditional goods, mostly gorgeous textiles. The turquoise-tiled domes and minarets rise over the flat roof mud buildings and no structures inside or outside the ancient city are permitted to exceed four floors—the minaret’s majesty is respected and preserved in what is sometimes called a 'living museum '.

    What does a ‘living museum’ entail? Khiva’s ancient city has been preserved to such a degree that it is both beautiful and sterile. There is no spark to the city, it is a film set—literally. On our last day, Chelsea accidentally wandered from the bazaar straight onto the set of ‘Aladdin’, and made pals with some soldiers, locals from Khiva making cash as extras. Captain Farhar, the Uzbek policeman who jumped in as photographer, was deeply amused that she shares a name with a football club. On learning that she is South African, he also commented generously, ‘Your English is very good.’

    While Dan was still bedbound, Chelsea walked down every street and alleyway of the ancient town. Much time was spent admiring the 20m thick walls and thrilling that people were actually entombed inside it, the cemeteries functioning as additional ballast. Dan is also patiently teaching Chelsea the principles of chess, which is very popular in Uzbekistan. Her woeful performance provided entertainment for passing tour groups outside our favourite café. We say ‘favourite’, but this was just the least grim in a very poor field... food options remain severely limited, and service is sullen at best. We eat a lot of tepid soup and dry bread, but have nevertheless both succumbed to bouts of ‘traveller’s diarrhoea’.

    If you have to be ill in Central Asia, we highly recommend Uzbekistan for it 👍
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  • Nukus

    Oct 11–12 in Uzbekistan ⋅ 🌙 12 °C

    Due to an odd timetabling quirk of the Uzbek train network, it was easier for us to catch a night train from Samarkand all the way across the country than to go to a neighbouring city. So after an uncomfortable 12hr ride (during which the man sharing our cabin said "why are you going to Nukus, there's nothing in Nukus"), we arrived in Nukus.

    There are two reasons to come here—and the first is not even in Nukus. You can catch a 3.5hr bus north to a graveyard of rusted, abandoned ships in the middle of the desert. This is the dusty remains of the Aral Sea, formerly the world's third largest lake, which was dried up in the Soviet era when the rivers that fed it were diverted to irrigate enormous cotton plantations. Now it is the world's newest desert. It's maybe the worst man-made environmental disaster in history. But since we were only spending one night in Nukus, and had barely slept on the train up, we didn't fancy a 7hr round trip and decided to skip this detour.

    What we *did* make time for was the Savitsky Art Museum. During the Soviet era (again), an artist/archaeologist called Igor Savitsky made it his life's mission to collect all the avant-garde art that was produced in the USSR, before it could be destroyed or suppressed by the authorities as 'degenerate'. Tucked away in a small, desert town on the edge of the Soviet Union, he built a collection of over 82,000 works which eventually came to be known as the 'Louvre of Uzbekistan' or the ‘Louvre in the desert’. We spent a couple of hours marveling at some of these strange and forgotten works, joined (inexplicably) by quite a large regiment of the Uzbek army.

    Dan is still suffering with food poisoning from a dodgy shwarma in Samarkand, so laid low in the afternoon reading and watching YouTube. Unironically, it was The English Patient and clips from Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares. Chelsea enjoyed a long walk around Nukus, surprised by how quiet it was on a Saturday afternoon - until she found the extremely bustling locals-only bazaar. She was also chased out of a garden that she’d made no especial effort to get into, a guard shouting ‘no photos’ as she beat a confused retreat. Nothing suspicious about the massive white palace in the garden that doesn’t appear on Google Maps, then, eh?

    The fencing they should have put round the secret palace has instead been deployed around two things: defunct labs for chemical weapons testing, and medical facilities treating basically the entire population. This region has extremely high rates of cancer, disability, and infant mortality because the Soviets weren’t hot on health and safety measures. The Russians built the fantastic train network across Uzbekistan (they even do high speed rail!), but they used it to transport and dump toxic chemicals all over the shop, just to see what would happen. Nothing good, obviously.

    Spurred on by the weak global economy, we decided to depress ourselves further by spending the evening updating our CVs and getting the ball rolling on our job hunt for January 🥲 If anyone would like to save us the hassle…
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  • Samarkand

    Oct 6–10 in Uzbekistan ⋅ ☀️ 23 °C

    Uzbekistan is one of only two 'double landlocked' countries in the world—it only borders other landlocked countries. Points for whoever names the other in the comments.

    It is the land of sand, the crossroads at which trading caravans paused on this particular Silk Road, trading war-horses east or silks and ceramics west. Today, people pour into the self-styled ‘cultural capital of the Islamic World’, Samarkand, seeking the awe inspired by 15th century mosques and madrasahs.

    Amir Timur (aka Tamerlane), was a ruthless strategist, who commanded the fourth largest empire in history, from modern-day Turkey to parts of China. Samarkand was the capital city he built. He loved chess (Dan bought a magnetic chess board in his honour), and was buried with his spiritual teacher in Gur-e-Amir, the ‘tomb of the emir’. This mausoleum is said to have inspired the Taj Mahal. The city was built up a couple of generations later (by philosopher king Ulugbek) as a centre for culture and learning, and his madrasa survives in the Registan, Samarkand's iconic blue square.

    In fact much of what draws people to Samarkand has been restored in the last century. The Soviets began the restoration of the crumbling mosques and the first post-independence president, Islom Karimov, poured in more money until his death in 2016. The name Samarkand means 'land of rich businessmen', and it is well on its way to returning to that status.

    Almost every woman in the city wears a long patterned robe, bought in the Siab Bazaar, decorated with geometric patterns, or pomegranates. Siab bazaar vendors hawk spices, nuts, halwa, and dried fruits, alongside ceramics, cashmere and silk scarves. And at regular intervals, there’ll be a man squeezing fresh pomegranate juice.

    This has been one of our bucket list locations for the year, so we were very excited to finally arrive. Dan celebrated immediately by eating bad street food within a few hours of checking in, and remaining bedbound with shivers and stomach cramps for the worst part of two days 🥲 Meanwhile, Chelsea spent most of the week drifting through the madrasahs and bazaars alone.

    On Dan’s recovery we partook of many samsas (Uzbek samosas), and enjoyed a wine-tasting. We're just about back in wine country, baby! It's been a long break since our last glass in Australia in January, and boy are we jumping back in headfirst. The tasting also included local ‘chacha’, a type of Georgian grappa at 60% ABV, and the pours were generous. Maybe too generous for Chelsea: Dan managed to get up to visit the Registan at 8am, while Chelsea needed a slightly longer beauty sleep. Role reversal!

    Next stop, an overnight train across the length of Uzbekistan. We haven't caught a train since Taiwan... Choo Choo! 🚂🚂🚂
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  • Dushanbe

    October 4 in Tajikistan ⋅ ☀️ 24 °C

    Just before arriving in Dushanbe, we stopped at a mountain pass market to get fresh pomegranate juice and sodas. We were mobbed by a small gang of hijabi girls who plucked at our sleeves and Chelsea’s hair—surprising as we have not encountered begging for months. Chelsea handed off her soda to one of the many urchins, and Dan was immediately hassled to be equally generous with his. Oops.

    Dushanbe itself was basically just a rest stop for us. We stayed two nights in a private room (pure luxury), and caught up on admin. On day two, we stretched our legs by wandering around the city centre, where all the national monuments are, including the Dushanbe Flagpole, which at 165m was the tallest flagpole in the world from 2011-14. The Tajik flag is the first of any country we've visited this year that has green in it, which seems like a good omen? The flagpole has since been overtaken in stature, but it's still the tallest in Central Asia, despite Tajikistan being the poorest of its neighbours. Eat shit Uzbekistan.

    Tajikistan has felt like the third chapter of a 6-week roadtrip, along with Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan, all of which we've toured in intense 4x4 vehicles since the start of September. The countries each have their own quirks and landscapes, but they also share a lot in common. The words for 'hello' and 'thank you' are the same across the region, despite different languages, they all have a strong disrespect for vegetables, and they are all full of unbelievably friendly and hospitable people.

    We'll do a longer review when we reach Turkey, so we can include the Caucasus countries in our comparison. But for now, we've just finished the slightly terrifying drive across the border into the last 'Stan in our trip, the slightly more developed Uzbekistan! More to follow...
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  • Pamir Highway (3)

    Oct 2–4 in Tajikistan ⋅ ☀️ 24 °C

    The third and final leg of our Pamir experience took us downhill to the more breathable altitude of Khorugh (2,200m, so still not exactly sea level). After the dusty tumbleweed towns of the high mountain passes, Khorugh (population 30k) feels like Paris. A little souvenir shop! A couple of statues! People wearing Adidas! Phone signal strong enough to buffer a modest JPEG!

    Back in Langar we met a young translator who claimed to be the son of the Chief of the Secret Service, and an international footballer, and that he had 15 girlfriends. Talking to him was like playing two truths and a lie. This bullshit artist insisted we stay with his family once we arrived in Khorugh, saying his father would be too busy to notice (pulling out dissidents’ fingernails no doubt). We casually failed to get his number, and stayed above an Indian restaurant instead.

    This was extremely exciting because, as any vegetarians will know, an Indian restaurant is one of the safest havens for meat-free menu options. Even their basic, underspiced dal came as a huge relief, although they did also offer us 'salty yoghurt lassi', which feels like a local hybrid only Central Asians could dream up.

    There's a reason Central Asian cuisine hasn't caught on as a global culinary sensation. Most dishes consist of tough, unidentified meat chunks in water, and dry, week-old bread. Sometimes the chef finds a single carrot and shares it between all the guests over a whole week. There is also lots of jam, inexplicably, even with the meat. So we've had to compromise our dietary morals a fair bit, and are looking forward to more variety in weeks to come.

    After Khorugh we trekked into the Bartang Valley, to spend a night in Jizev village, a remote mountain community only accessible on foot. Here we had a blissful, relaxing day by the river, reading and skimming stones, before a surprisingly delicious dinner of pilaf rice (called 'plov' in this region) with a fresh tomato salsa. They apologised for the lack of meat, although we were obviously delighted.

    We're now on our way down to the capital, Dushanbe, the terminus of our Pamir tour. The roads on this final stretch are well tarmacked, so we got to see how fast driver Salih can go when he's unleashed. Turns out, pretty fast, and he's very happy to take the racing line across either side of the road around blind corners 🥲 We've both seen him take surreptitious gulps of something from a small, unlabeled plastic bottle while he's driving—we've decided not to ask any questions.

    The last day of the Pamirs was also our last day on the Afghan border. For six days we’ve been able to look across the Panj river at small holdings, hovels and hamlets on the riverbanks in Afghanistan. Heading for the border crossing at the bazaar town of Ishkeshim, we spied across the river a motorbiker with a woman in full burkha riding pillion, and a cage of chickens on the back. Chickens ain’t going to sell themselves.

    We are shattered after over 1,700km through the Pamir mountains, Wakhan Corridor, along the Afghan border, three high altitude hikes, and many nights of shared dorms and snoring roommates. Time for a little R&R.
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  • Pamir Highway (2)

    Sep 29–Oct 2 in Tajikistan ⋅ ☀️ 17 °C

    If the first part of our Pamir Highway tour was about high altitude passes, the theme of the second section has been: 🇦🇫⛰️🏰

    🇦🇫: We've been driving along the Wakhan Corridor, Tajikistan's long southern border with Afghanistan. This was a thin strip of land ceded to the Emir of Afghanistan in the 1890s, to act as a buffer just a few kilometres wide between the Russian Empire (now Tajikistan) and the British Raj (now Pakistan). The border follows the Panj river valley, and the road on the Tajik side is a complete death trap. We are very grateful for driver Salih's experienced hand, even if he does sometimes send WhatsApp messages while navigating tight corners at the top of cliffs. It is also, however, the most stunning road we've ever driven. The austerity of the high mountain passes has given way to a much more vibrant river valley, and we're here just in time to see all the trees changing to beautiful autumn colours. The rocks that have been carved over centuries by the river Panj are striated like marble, and the gorge itself is vast and uncompromisingly jagged. Hard to capture in photos, but we've done our best!

    ⛰️: Along this route we've been on a couple of hikes, with the big one taking us to the viewpoint at the base of Mount Engels. Keen-eyed readers may notice a pattern in mountain names, as we previously went to Mount Lenin. There is also Peak Karl Marx nearby. Before Tajikistan's independence, the Pamir range included all the tallest peaks in the Soviet Union. The tallest (now known as Ismoil Somoni Peak) was previously called Communism Peak, and before that Stalin Peak 😳 the mountains also produce natural hot springs, two of which we've been able to visit in the last couple of days (#blessed). Extremely welcome after long hikes and limited showers.

    🏰: The Wakhan Corridor is dotted with military structures, ranging from ancient stone castles to crumbling Soviet outposts to modern checkpoints. We've visited a couple of of crumbling 2nd century forts overlooking the valley, had our visas checked by a bunch of soldiers, and seen countless stone bunkers for the modern Tajik military. This has always been an important geopolitical valley, and continues to be strategically important with Taliban-controlled Afghanistan right across the river for hundreds of kilometres. That said, at one of the castles a local man draped Dan in some traditional Afghan clothing for a photoshoot and kept saying 'Taliban, Taliban', as well as offering him a plastic Kalashnikov as a photo prop... so at least they have a sense of humour about it 🤷‍♂️
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  • Pamir Highway (1)

    Sep 26–29 in Tajikistan ⋅ ⛅ 4 °C

    Riding a yak is much slower going than riding a horse, and much harder to arrange, but it's undeniably more dramatic.

    It's day three of our adventure along the world's second-highest road, the Pamir Highway, which stretches through the mountain state of Tajikistan. This area is known as the 'roof of the world', with altitudes ranging between 3,000-4,500m, and mountain peaks reaching as high as 7,650m. The Pamirs are the third-highest mountain range in the world, after the Himalayas and nearby Karakoram ranges. Needless to say, it's very cold up here and very different to the bustling Asian megacities that have dominated our year so far.

    We're in a rare bubble of internet coverage this evening (which might also be the last one for a week), so here's an update on what we've been doing so far.

    Day 1: We left Osh along with our driver Salih and two fellow tour-mates, Dima from Ukraine and Marco from Italy. Driving south, we stayed the first night at the base camp of Mount Lenin—the second tallest mountain in both Kyrgyzstan AND Tajikistan (7,134m). We hiked to a viewpoint in the valley and back, before settling in our yurt for a bitterly cold night.

    Day 2: In the morning we drove to the Kyzylart Pass to cross into Tajikistan. Cigarettes and dollars exchanged hands and we didn’t even have to get out of the car. We’ve passed a few pitiable souls hitchhiking in brutal conditions— but the 4x4 is rammed, with each of us taking turns in the cramped middle seat and the coveted front. We spent the afternoon at Qarokul lake, at which point our driver Salih told us he would be going ahead to the next village since they were having a celebration for his son. Another driver would bring us to catch him up the next morning. This person also turned out to be the proprietor of not one but two inns, and local business man, Risvai. A man of many hats (or rather, one very tall hat, see photo). In any case, Risvai’s establishments are actual buildings with flush toilets and he even puts on hot water and electricity (though only between 7-9pm). Pure luxury. Chelsea has accrued favour with by curing his ‘gripe’ with LemSip, and we scored a space heater in return.

    Day 3: Risvai took us over the Ak-Baital Pass, the highest point of the entire Pamir Highway at 4,655m. This was truly alien territory. No trees grow here, only a scattered kindling of dry grasses, stubbornly scraping out a survival between bitter frosts and droughts. There is no green, only rust and ochre, huge scooped-out glacial valleys and dusty stone towers. It's a beautiful, barren scrapyard at the roof of the world.

    Descending the pass, we stopped in the small town of Murghab for supplies. It's hard to imagine how and why people have towns up here—when Chelsea asked Risvai what the people do for work, he said they work in the hospital or the school. We suspect more of them are in the agricultural sector than he let on. After Murghab, we continued to a yak enclosure, where we took our chance for a very sedate, 5-minute plod on yakback. This was a slightly unexciting novelty, but the pictures, backdrop and exclusivity more than make up for it.

    Lastly, we arrived in Alichur, the village where our original driver Salih lives. Here we were invited to join his family celebrations, with a huge spread set out on the floor. Per Central Asian tradition, he gifted each of us with a huge chunk of roughly-chopped lamb meat to take away in a plastic bag. We smiled and accepted... we now have to find a way to dispose of the meat discretely, despite our benefactor also spending every day with us for the next week.

    Hopefully we'll have another update in 3-4 days, if we can find signal or WiFi (unlikely on both counts). If not, expect a bumper update when we reach the Tajik capital on Saturday.
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  • Osh

    Sep 24–26 in Kyrgyzstan ⋅ ⛅ 20 °C

    [Accidentally left this one in drafts instead of publishing the other week! Here it is, a little late]

    Quick stop in the unremarkable town of Osh. This is our departure point for a much more exciting adventure for the next 9 days... 🤫

    We got here in a 12hr shared taxi from Bishkek, which is just as hectic as you might imagine. In Osh, we tried the traditional Kyrgyz drink 'Maksim', which was... awful.

    At the Kelechek Bazaar, we picked up some extra warm clothes, and were very tempted by all the military gear available. Somehow we managed to restrain ourselves from buying balaclavas, gas masks and knife belts.

    That's all for now. We may have limited signal until early October, so if you don't hear from us for a bit, assume we're having fun!
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  • Song Kul

    Sep 21–23 in Kyrgyzstan ⋅ ❄️ 7 °C

    ‘Don’t tell Chyngyz,’ we said to each other every half hour or so on this side quest. To get to the alpine lake of Song Kul, we took The Tank to places that Chyngyz—the car hire guy—probably would not approve. Song Kul lake delivered on all counts, but it was not without incident.

    After our big Aka-Kul hike, we spent a rest day in Jeti-Ogüz, where we tried to visit a sanatorium for a radon bath (apparently radioactivity is good for inflammation 🙃) but it was closed (wonder why?). Instead, Chelsea took an unplanned dip trying to cross a river, adding to her leg injuries from Japan. We gave it up as a bad job and decided to head back towards Bishkek. On our way we stopped and spent an afternoon reading on the beach at the famous Issyk-Kul, a huge geothermally-heated lake visible from space. The next morning we began our campaign on Song Kul, driving through old Soviet outposts still decorated with symbols of rockets, tanks and pictures of infrastructure (though without rockets or much actual infrastructure. They do still have tanks though).

    The thing about this region is that Google Maps isn’t very accurate. So we rely on Maps.me, which is supposed to draw on better data. It’s pretty good for hiking trails. What it’s not good for is distinguishing between ‘road’ and ‘dirt that someone once rode a horse across’. In consequence we blithely followed an increasingly vanishing path into the mountains and over a 3,400m pass. Dan took over the more technical driving in the mountains after Chelsea skidded the Tank out on one of the dirt tracks (and we had only paid for one driver, don’t tell Chyngyz). When it got even steeper and scarier, Chelsea bravely walked behind while Dan piloted, in case the car literally fell off the mountain. Don’t tell Chyngyz.

    On arrival in the camp on our first day, already gasping from panic and low oxygen, Dan informed Chelsea that in addition to the perilous paths we’d just traversed, we were also very low on petrol. We decided to ignore it and went for a swim (as usual, without telling Chyngyz). The lake was surrounded by smooth, flat pebbles, so Dan—like any responsible, self-respecting male—helped clear up the debris by throwing as many of them into the lake as possible.

    Our yurt camp was a rest stop for the popular horse treks, though we only rode for a morning, preferring The Tank’s horsepower to cover significant distances. We had dinner, played cards with friends from Ala-Kul, and star gazed, before returning to our toasty yurt. We were very smug with this situation when we woke up to snow and were the only people in camp not required to get on a horse. We did have to drive the Tank back to civilisation through the snow though. Don’t tell Chyngyz.

    We were also faced once more with the problem of getting off a mountain without much petrol. We grumbled through the icy pass on as little gas as possible, then rolled downhill from town to town trying not to touch the accelerator or brake pedals. Chelsea ran into every magazin asking ‘Spasiba, benzin?’ without any joy, so that eventually we covered about 70km with the Empty light on. Don’t tell Chyngyz.

    Later, to give Dan a break, Chelsea drove the highway and through Bishkek, which is largely roadworks and chaos. This gave her an opportunity to put her Joburg-taught defensive driving to the test, dodging sheep, horses, and nearly running down not one but two police officers in the rush hour traffic. Don’t tell Chyngyz.

    We were relieved to get the Tank back in one piece, and celebrated by painting her pink. Chyngyz bid us a fond farewell with exhortations to have fish and chips in his honour and much hand shaking (impressed by our unscathed return?). Stay tuned for more high altitude adventures and remember: whatever happens, don’t tell Chyngyz.
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  • Ala-Kul

    Sep 15–18 in Kyrgyzstan ⋅ ❄️ 10 °C

    This post is mostly a chance to show off some incredible photos and videos from our most recent stop, so apologies in advance for the FOMO you're about to experience (if you like hiking—if not, enjoy the schadenfreude).

    We've spent the last three days on a 45km trek through two national parks to the high altitude Ala-Kul lake, staying two nights in mountain yurts en route. It hasn't been entirely comfortable, but it has been exceptionally beautiful. And the challenge has made it even sweeter.

    On day one, we hiked around 13km and ascended 800m in bright sunshine to the first camp. As the evening closed in, it started raining, then marble-sized hailstones pelted down as it turned dark. Luckily we'd already reached the safety of the camp, but other hikers weren't so fortunate.

    We knew day 2 was the hardest hike, so we intended to get up early and steal a march. The alarm rang at 6am and it began hailing at 6.15. Opening the yurt, the ground was covered in ice, thick mist was blotting out even the nearby slopes, and it was bitterly cold. We held off for a bit, ate breakfast and left at 8am instead with most of the other campers, reaching the highlight—Ala-Kul lake—by mid-morning. It immediately began snowing, in between patches of warm sunlight, meaning we truly had every single weather type within 12 hours.

    Two American men ahead of us stripped off for a quick dip in the icy lake. Dan didn't like to be outdone by wimpy Yanks, so decided to jump in as well. Only afterward did we find out that they were in fact CANADIANS! If he'd known this, Dan might not have been so brave.

    [Side note: we tied the wet swimtrunks on the back of Chelsea's bag to dry, but they had disappeared by the evening—lost somewhere on the trail. A shame, but a heroic swansong for the trunks in any case.]

    Next, we climbed up a gravelly slope to the Ala-Kul Pass at ~3900m altitude, before a terrifying 45min descent down a steep scree slope on the other side. Chelsea is not too proud to admit that she descended on her hands and bum for a lot of the way down, like a terrified and very lost crab.

    Eventually, after 19km, having climbed 1,000m up and 1,400m down, we reached the 'hot springs' village of Altyn-Arashan where our second yurt camp was located. This hot spring was quite different to the Japanese onsen experience: more like a tin shed in a freezing field, which you can only enter for a half-hour slot. But it was actually very good considering it only cost us £4. A hot (sulphurous) bath after 8.5hrs of hiking is not to be sniffed at (not least because it’s quite eggy).

    Day 3 was just a 12km steady decline back towards town—basically a stroll in the park after the rigours of the day before. We're now back in Karakol, nursing aching limbs, and planning our adventures for the second half of our Kyrgyz roadtrip.
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  • Bokonbayevo

    Sep 14–15 in Kyrgyzstan ⋅ ☀️ 18 °C

    We're on the road again! We hired a new car in Bishkek, which is somehow even bigger and more powerful than the last 4x4. We are calling it the The Tank. Driving in Kyrgyzstan is fairly death-defying, so it's good to have something big enough that we can bully other drivers off the road when necessary. The road around Issyk-Kul was patchy at best seven years ago–now it’s being repaired, but that means driving through roadworks. We are grateful for The Tank all the time.

    Our road trip will take us all the way east to the hiking hotspot of Karakol, but on the way we have plenty of scenic stops, including an overnight in Bokonbayevo. This is a small town, most famous for traditional eagle hunting. We turned up at the meeting point coordinates, only to find that it was the house of a middle-aged woman, who just hopped into The Tank to direct us to the eagle location. She kept referring to Joanna Lumley as ‘Joanna’, having apparently become besties off the back of ‘Joanna’s’ Silk Roads series. Casual name dropping.

    The eagle hunter was a 19-year-old called Tamerlane (like the king), who showed us how Kyrgyz warriors traditionally trained and hunted with golden eagles and hunting dogs, as well as horseback archery. At one point he said enigmatically: "I must search for my father," before galloping his horse to the top of a nearby hill... it was very badass behaviour.

    Other highlights so far included a visit to the Burana Tower—an 1,100yo minaret in the middle of the steppe, which is the oldest in Central Asia—and a lunch stop in Barskoon valley, next to a giant carving of Yuri Gagarin's head (the first person to go to space).

    On our drive to Karakol, we passed a couple of European hitchhikers but couldn’t stop, and then felt bad about it. So to assuage our guilt, we decided to pick up the next hitchhikers that didn't look too insalubrious. The first was a local woman and her baby, which was absolutely fine. Emboldened, we then stopped for a middle-aged woman who turned out to be quite the passenger. She was desperate to communicate with us but had no English, so just shouted at us in fast-paced Russian for ten minutes without seeming to need much response. Dan pieced together that she was an Uzbek doctor (her miming skills leave much to be desired). When we paused in a traffic jam because some trees were being felled at the roadside, she frantically tapped our shoulders to encourage us to just drive AROUND the queue along the dirt. When we eventually stopped in Karakol to drop her off, she decided now was the time to launch another long diatribe instead of getting out of the car, when we were obviously blocking the entire road.

    10/10 hitchhiker experience, we look forward to more.
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  • Bishkek

    Sep 11–14 in Kyrgyzstan ⋅ ⛅ 22 °C

    After a long drive to drop Nash Mash back in Almaty, we were rewarded with a horrible 5hr coach journey with no air con, broken seats, and too little legroom. But despite the discomfort, we made it across the border into Kyrgyzstan! 🇰🇬 This is the only democracy in the region, and they take it very seriously here, which means more religious freedom and laidback police. Nice 👍🏼

    This has been a fairly uneventful stop, where we've had time to restock on supplies, buy some warmer clothes for autumn at higher altitudes, and stretch our muscles ahead of another big road trip. We went to Osh Bazaar to get more dried fruit and bags of pistachios, cashews, and almonds.

    We spent one day wandering around the city centre, and one day basking by the swimming pool at the hostel. This is the first swimming pool at a hostel we've seen since Southeast Asia—what a treat! It was a delight to spend a day by the pool and prepare our own meals. We haven’t cooked for ourselves in months, which feels deeply strange given that in our ‘normal’ lives one of us cooks every single day. Dan whipped up a pasta, the envy of the kitchen.

    Chelsea has visited Bishkek before, for a friend’s wedding back in 2018, and things have certainly improved since then. The roads are still terrifying and potholed, but more of them have tarmac, and it feels like a city on the up, with more cafes and development in evidence. The local Uber, called Yandex, works in English now (it didn’t 7 years ago), and there are more recognisable brands in pharmacies and stores. The theory is that the war in Ukraine is taking all of Russia’s attention so Central Asian states have more latitude to build relationships further abroad, most notably with China and Turkey. Bishkek feels like a slightly more Muslim, slightly less vibey version of Almaty, quickly approaching cosmopolitanism, though with worse roads and drivers (somehow) 😅 There’s much more of that to come though, as we’ve picked up a new 4x4 and headed out into the wilderness...
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  • Kolsai Lakes

    Sep 7–11 in Kazakhstan ⋅ ☁️ 20 °C

    From Charyn Canyon, we drove another 300km to the Kolsai Lakes National Park, the road mostly holding up. This was good luck, as Nash Mash had a dodgy front tyre by this point. We arrived mid-afternoon, and were met by a very industrious 13-year-old named Kausar, who welcomed us to the eponymous Kausar Guesthouse—she’s the only family member who speaks (some) English. We stayed with the family for four nights, hiking during the day and delighting the guesthouse children with our Uno prowess in the evening.

    The lakes in this region were formed during the 1911 earthquake that shook everything as far as Almaty and beyond, and caused rock slides that dammed up several valleys. Since then, the snow melt from the Tien Shan mountains’ has created new glacial lakes, which are gorgeously blue but impossibly cold. We discovered this after a sweaty 3hr hike to reach Kolsai II, where neither of us could manage more than two minutes in the water.

    Another highlight was driving up to Kaindy Lake, along the second worst road either of us have ever seen (Namibia still holds the No.1 spot). It’s so bad that many 4x4s without high enough clearance aren't up to the task—tourists have to rely on a fleet of ancient marshrutkas (grey Soviet mini-buses), which shudder their way up the ravine at vomit-inducing speeds. But we believed in Nash Mash, and we had paid for bulletproof car insurance, so we decided to brave it ourselves. And boy was it an adventure! This wasn't just a bumpy road: it was a world-class collection of rocks, occasionally visited by hallucinations of roadhood. It was like driving over a cheese grater. We brought a 6L bottle of drinking water with us; by the time we arrived, it had carbonated itself. And that doesn't even take into account the two ford crossings...

    The drive was worth it though, both for the adrenaline rush of driving through two rivers, and for the lake itself. The electric blue waters are punctuated by a skeleton army of dead spruce trees, which were drowned when the valley flooded in 1911.

    On our way back, one of the marshrutkas broke down, having flooded its engine with water in one of the crossings. Dan and a strapping Russian pushed it out of the way and we continued on, only for it to come barrelling past, apparently revived, before breaking down before the next river, blocking the road again. We waited and cheered when it coughed back to life, zooming away ahead of us. However, the third time it broke down we were not so patient, and it was a sweet sweet victory to sail past on the uphill and beat it back to the main road. We have truly embraced the Kazakh people's competitive, 'zero sum' approach to driving.

    This was a restful stop after a few long driving days, with landscapes more like Canada or Scotland than the desolate Steppes we drove across last week. Tolsya, the matriarch of the guesthouse, pressed some raspberry jam on us as we left, we suspect as thanks for keeping her youngest, Nurai, entertained—or rather, inverted (see photos for more).

    We’re now on a sweltering bus, with thankfully opaque windows, braving the Kazakh driving to the border. This wraps up our two-week Kazakh adventure... the next dispatch will come Bishkek, the capital of Kyrgyzstan.
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  • Charyn Canyon

    Sep 6–7 in Kazakhstan ⋅ ☀️ 29 °C

    Another one-night stop, this time at Kazakhstan's answer to the Grand Canyon, Charyn Canyon. This is the second stop on Kazakhstan’s ‘Golden Triangle’ of sights, including Altyn-Emel (previous stop), and Kolsai Lakes (next stop). Dan navigated some dreadful roads to get us to the canyon, and an even worse parking lot on arrival.

    Charyn is a massive geological feature in the middle of nowhere, with no towns nearby, meaning accommodation is very limited. We also know that it gets very busy during the daytime, especially on weekends, because it's doable in a long daytrip from Almaty. So we bit the bullet and paid for a glamping yurt right on the edge of the gorge, way over our usual daily budget, so that we could hike into the canyon early in the morning before the tourist buses arrived.

    We went for a sunset stroll at the top of the gorge, Dan practiced archery (and hit the target!), wrapped up with a brilliant evening in the yurt, listening to oud music, playing cards and making decent head way on a bottle of vodka that a nice man in Zharkent insisted we buy. In retrospect, a rogue call to sink half a bottle of vodka before a 5.30am wake up for a hike, but wake we did.

    The good news: the canyon is stunning. It's called the 'valley of castles' for a reason, with soaring towers and minarets of red, white and black rock, layered like cake and especially vivid in low light. So much so, it's a popular spot for wedding photoshoots and even music videos—we spotted one particularly intense clifftop dance routine (see video, which we may have ruined with our giggling). Luckily, the canyon is empty in the evening and early morning, meaning we could walk around at sunrise almost alone—it would never be possible in China! Plus, the inside of our yurt was cosy and had an incredible view across the canyon to enjoy in the evening.

    The bad news: they hadn't told us in the booking listing that the toilet and shower block didn’t actually exist yet. So we had to use bathrooms in the visitor centre, which were 200m away, locked up overnight, and rammed with tourists during the daytime. There was only one staff shower, shared between at least 20 guests, and with no lock on the door 🙃 Not ideal, especially for the price tag! Dan is currently making a fuss with the manager to try to wrangle a partial refund.

    All in all though, despite the bathroom debacle, a beautiful stopover. Now onto somewhere less expensive, but no less insane...
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