Farewell to Marat and his family
N 52°37'46.1'' E 070°24'58.6''
Day: 74
Sunrise:
05:41 h
Sunset:
9:07 pm
As the crow flies:
101.79 Km
Daily kilometers:
119.15 Km
Total kilometers:
9056.27 Km
Soil condition:
Asphalt
Temperature – Day (maximum):
28 °C
Temperature – day (minimum):
17 °C
Latitude:
52°37’46.1”
Longitude:
070°24’58.6”
Maximum height:
445 m above sea level
Maximum depth:
280 m above sea level
Time of departure:
08.15 a.m.
Arrival time:
6.15 p.m.
Average speed:
17.37 Km/h
We are having breakfast when the doorbell rings. “Is Alia coming this early?” I ask. Tanja gets up and opens the door. “Ah, hello Alinberg,” she greets the lawyer. “I have a little farewell present for you,” he says with a laugh and sits down at the table with us. “Here you go,” he says and hands me a large silver coin. “This is the official Kazakh coin for the Olympics in China. It should always remind you of our acquaintance. So that you don’t forget Kazakhstan and me,” he says. A little speechless, I marvel at the coin and thank him. “My friend Dastan will look for an apartment for you in Astana,” he changes the subject. “Do you think it will work?” Tanja wants to know. “But yes, definitely. Dastan is very reliable,” he praises his friend. The doorbell rings again. This time it’s Alia and the photographer. Then Marat and our landlord also come to help us carry all the equipment down. With the concentrated help, we have our stuff in front of the house in no time at all. Our road trains are quickly packed. The newspaper photographer shoots a few pictures again. Then we say goodbye. We shake hands and phrases are exchanged. I hug Marat and we thank him and Gauhar for their fantastic hospitality. “I’ll see you at the city limits!” shouts Alinberg as we finally let the pedal cranks circle beneath us again.
Tailwind drives us out of Kokchetav. In fact, Alinberg, his brother and his aunt are waiting for us at the end of the village. We give each other another friendly hug and leave this hospitable place behind for good. Barely two kilometers further on, a small motorcycle rattles along. It is Marat. “I just wanted to make sure you had found the right road to Astana,” he laughs. “Have a good trip and don’t forget us!” he calls and drives back again.
“That’s a cyclist up ahead!” I shout a few kilometers further on. Sure enough, a tanned man stops his bike on the other side of the road. “Adkuda? Kuda?” (Where from? Where to?) he calls out the common question. “Adkuda? Kuda?” (Where from? Where to?) we are just as interested as he is. “I come from the city of Omsk in Siberia. I wanted to see Borovoye. Are you going there now? It’s fantastic there,” he asks and says. We explain that we visited it by car yesterday. “How far is it from here to Omsk?” I ask. “500 kilometers. I’m already on my way back. Unfortunately, I don’t have too much time. I’d love to do what you’re doing. It’s a dream of mine. Maybe I’ll do a round-the-world trip in a few years. When you get to Siberia, you’ll be thrilled. It’s fantastic there. Lake Baikal in particular is really great,” he enthuses. “What have you got the axe for?” I ask, pointing to the tool on his carrier. “Oh, about the bandits. That way I can keep them at bay. Ha! Ha! Ha!” he laughs. “Hm, probably a good idea,” I say somewhat thoughtfully. Then we say goodbye again and drive off in different directions.
Thanks to the favorable conditions, we are making excellent progress. After 83 kilometers, we take a break on a newly built stretch of freeway. We spread our foil on the clean, still unused road surface and enjoy the biggest table you can imagine. Undisturbed, in the shade of some trees growing on the side of the road, we enjoy our meal and are happy to be on the road again. The route then continues through a lovely hilly landscape with many small lakes. Trees and forests are now increasingly replacing the expansive fields and offer our eyes a welcome change. Soon intoxicated by the pleasure of gliding over the new roadway, we are in high spirits. Just before the town of Makinsk, people offer preserved berries of all kinds, mushrooms, fruit, jam and wild honey. They have set up their simple stalls at the side of the street and are waiting for customers. We stop for a quick chat, buy a jar of honey and say goodbye again. We approach the village on a dirt track. It looks like the residents here have never seen long-distance cyclists from Europe. We are soon stunned and questioned. Three men drive ahead of us in their BMW to take us to a gastiniza. They organize a safe place for our bikes in the sauna, carry our luggage to our room and wish us a restful night. What kind of country is this Kazakhstan? Without a doubt a country with the friendliest people we have ever met on our travels.
