The entry to Kazakhstan was the easiest border yet; after stamping my passport they only wanted to glance at my Russian customs declaration form. A uniformed official smiled and said, “Welcome to Kazakhstan – our military is not interested in your vehicle.” Next I was cruising across the tan, griddle-flat landscape on paved but humpy roads. The first surprise was the number of Mercs, Audis and Beemers passing me. There was certainly some money in this country, or at least E-Z credit. I quickly made it to Semey, stopping only long enough to withdraw a supply of Kazakh Tenge from an automat, and at the next magazin re-supplied for a few nights of camping.

Outside of Semey I saw my first Kazakh cemetery, with tiny masoleums, towers, and fenced grave sites

From a distance these looked like tiny fantasy cities.

I was looking for a prime site where I could hole up for a day or two to attend to a few maintenance items on the bike. While the pavement snaked through a series of low hills, I took a random dirt road and found the spot.

In the morning after the first night, I set up a tarp for shade and at a leisurely pace knocked down a checklist of bike-related chores. First, a peek at the front brake pads told me that maintenance day couldn’t have come at a better time.

They were down to about a millimeter of material! I installed my spare set and bolted one of the worn ones to the tiny rear brake pedal to serve as an extension. I also removed the dash that had been crafted by my friend Randy (sorry, buddy – without the windshield it was flopping around in the breeze), fixed a flaky headlight switch, removed the Speed/RPM computer, checked the luggage racks for cracks, cleaned, lubed and adjusted the chain, and re-mounted the 12vdc outlet that had been installed on the dash. That evening, when the nearby hills to the west were silhouetted black by the setting sun I noticed a fox watching me, stock-still until he knew he’d been spotted. He continued across the ridgeline, stopping occasionally to make a statue’s silhouette, and finally loped further into the mountains disappearing among the brown bushes.

The following morning I woke to the sound of herders driving sheep across the hills, using shouts, whistles and SHWOOSHing sounds to keep their wooly, complaining herd moving in the right direction. I was more impressed by their small stout horses that kept their footing on the steep, rocky slopes.

Two days later I was in Almaty, ready for a shower and a visa for Uzbekistan. Almaty struck me as quite civilized, with amenities such as pedestrain crosswalks that are actually observed by drivers, garbage bins on every corner, and several ATMs on every street. Drivers were generally polite; one even honked and let me know that my turn signal was left on….now THAT was unexpected! I’d left my Central Asia guide and map in a hotel in Russia (wish I could blame it on sticky-fingered Mongolians, but this one was all me), so a friend looked up lodging options and via cellphone/SMS pointed me to the Kazzhol, a somewhat swanky and central hotel that was well over my budget, but a good place to clean up and research cheaper sleeping options. I felt out of place walking across shiny marble floors in dusty, clunky Tech3 riding boots, but the staff were English-speaking, the shower was hot and the toilet clean. Happy days! Two nights later I was at the Zhetysu, at 1/4 the price with shared bath, peeling paint and shady characters manning the “secure” parking lot. I was here for 6 nights while I secured a visa for Uzbekistan and replaced the stolen camera and MP3 player.

Just a few paces from the hotel was Zhibek Zholy, a pedestrian walking/shopping area with high-end clothing stores, dozens of cell phone dealers, coffee shops, restaurants, art galleries, and internet cafes. I stopped in a music shop and looked at the acoustic guitars, and in a fit of homesickness played a sloppy version of Blackbird, made worse by the fact that the staff closed the shop door and the place got very quiet as I mis-fingered a few of the double-stops. I asked if they would rent a guitar to me for the rest of the week, but nyet was the answer.

On the way to the Uzbek embassy I went through Panfilov Park and had a look at the Zenkov Cathedral.

The structure dates from 1904, and is built entirely from wood…event the nails! It is a functioning place of worship, and the inside is all candlelit brass and gold fittings, dark woods, murals and icons of saints, and reverential silence. I paid a small entry fee and received 4 slender candles to light at the many tables and sconces, but being a non-believer I wasn’t going to insult the faithful by faking a prayer. So I thought of the Christians that I do know and lit them up (the candles, that is) with the hopes that through the “G” network my positive thoughts would reach them.

Further east in the park is the somber war memorial. The cool, rainy day fit the mood of the sculptures.

Getting the visa for Uzbekistan consisted mostly of waiting outside in the damp cold with other applicants for hours. When my time came, the smiling consulate showed me the visa and asked for $155, a figure that was probably padded because I paid him directly without a receipt, rather than the cashiers. I was in no place to argue because by then I had an urgent need for a bathroom, and I think he knew it by my pacing, grimacing, and deeply furrowed brow. It’s always open season on tourists’ wallets.

On a brighter note I was also able to get new tires for the bike (nice German Metzeler Tourances), and replace the stolen camera and MP3 player. It was a pleasure to relax in Almaty for a few days, and I enjoyed the oasis of modernity after the wilds of Mongolia, but I was glad to saddle up, click into first gear and head south.