Around the Caspian Sea

Initially, our plan was to travel through Azerbaijan after Georgia and then take a ferry from Baku to Aktau, Kazakhstan. Unfortunately Azerbaijan has kept its land and sea borders closed for entry since the Covid pandemic. Interestingly, you can still fly into Azerbaijan without restrictions and exit via land or sea, but you cannot enter through a land or sea border. The reasons behind this decision seem illogical, unless you consider the nature of autocratic regimes.

As a result, we are now left with the task of riding around the Caspian Sea. One option is to head South through Iran, but obtaining a Carnet de Passage for the vehicles is costly, and having a US Passport might complicate obtaining a visa. Consequently, we have no choice but to take the northern route through Russia.

Day 41 - Stepantsminda, Georgia to Kizlyar, Russia

This morning, there was a hint of nervousness regarding the process and duration of entering Russia. However, before tackling that, we decided to take a climbing route to visit the Tsminda Sameba Church. The viewpoint from there was simply incredible.

In an attempt to avoid long queues at the border, we set off early, but to our dismay, we discovered a significant number of people already present. Fortunately, as motorcyclists, we were able to bypass most of the car lines (trucks had a separate lane). The process on the Georgian side was relatively swift, but on the Russian side, there was a flurry of activity with officers and passengers stepping out of their vehicles for inspections and trunk searches. An officer directed Dirk and me to separate lines.

Passport control went smoothly for me. The young woman officer in charge of the search was very nice and only requested a brief opening of a couple of bags. She even provided me with baby wipes to clean my hands, which had become dusty from opening my bags. Everyone we encountered was polite and professional. Almost no English though. I gathered that I needed to obtain a Temporary Import Permit (TIP) for the motorcycle. I made my way to a small building to collect the necessary paperwork, but there was already a substantial queue. It took me quite a while just to access the English versions of the documents. In the meantime, I lost sight of Dirk, although his motorcycle was still there.

After filling out the paperwork, I returned to the window. Many of the same people were still waiting. The window remained closed, opening briefly only every 20 minutes or so. It took hours before I finally had the opportunity to submit my papers to the only person capable of accepting them in English. She glanced at them, but noticed some missing information, which meant I had to make corrections and endure another waiting period.

At long last, I spotted Dirk, who informed me that he had been escorted to a different building for a special interview, in what looked like a beaten up cell, for about an hour because of his US Passport. Fortunately, they had a translator present, but it was still a stressful experience, especially since they had complete access to his phone. Nonetheless, everything was sorted out.

During the extensive wait, we encountered a few fellow riders, including a Czech, a German, and a group of three French individuals. I did my best to assist them in any way I could. Altogether, crossing the border consumed a whopping seven hours of our time!

Once we obtained the necessary insurance, we resumed our journey, but by then it was already close to 4 pm. The sensible choice would have been to stay in Grozny, but we were determined to make up for lost time and decided to push forward. Unfortunately, the town where we intended to spend the night had no available accommodations. Dirk suspected that they simply didn't want to provide us with a room. It was now getting dark, and we found ourselves unsure of what to do. With no access to Bookings.com, we relied on a Google search, which listed a single hotel in a town 1.5 hours away. We took our chances and rode on poorly lit roads blinded with inadequately adjusted headlights. It was an exhausting experience as we scoured the way for the "Гостиница" sign (Hotel) along the way. We only found one, and once again, they were unwilling to accommodate us.

Finally, in Kizlyar, we stumbled upon a hotel that welcomed us with open arms. The elderly couple who owned the establishment were very nice (no English though) and the man even drove us to the only restaurant open at that time of the night. We could have has a (long) walk back but he insisted in waiting in the car while we were having a quick dinner to take us back to the hotel!

Tsminda Sameba Church - Stepantsminda, Georgia

View on Stepantsminda, Georgia

We spent hours glued to this small office

Someone is looking at us 😄

Day 41 - 340 km

Day 42 - Kizlyar, Russia to Atyrau, Kazakhstan

The contrast couldn't have been more striking between the majestic mountains we had just left in Georgia and the monotonous roads we were currently traversing, constantly remaining below sea level. We had anticipated that taking the detour around the Caspian Sea would mean enduring long, uninspiring rides through a tedious setting, so we weren't taken aback. The flat, sandy, and arid region of Chechnya we found ourselves in was far from picturesque.

We made a conscious effort to adhere to traffic rules, as the last thing we wanted was to encounter trouble with the police, who were plentiful in the area, alongside countless surveillance cameras. However, there came a point when we "had to" overtake a couple of sluggish trucks in a no-passing zone. That's when we spotted the police car and an officer motioning for us to stop. The process was seamless: the officer took our documents and instructed us, one by one, to sit in the passenger seat of the other officer's car. Despite his lack of English proficiency, he made it clear what had occurred and that everything could be resolved if... He displayed a pre-written number in the corner of a paper: "5." Playing dumb, I handed him 500, and he became animated. I then offered him 1000, but he still seemed unsatisfied. Attempting to stand firm at 2000, he swiftly snatched my third 1000 bill, and it was settled. Next, it was Dirk's turn to pay the same amount.

$36 each may not seem like much compared to what we would have paid in the US, but when contrasted with the $24 we paid the elderly couple for their great hotel room, it was infuriating to perpetuate corruption. However, it wouldn't be Russia without such an episode .

The road segment just before Astrakhan ran parallel to the Volga River delta, which flowed into the Caspian Sea. It became even more apparent that the tributaries were filled with sturgeon when we passed by caviar processing factories on the opposite side of the road. The scenery improved significantly with all that water surrounding us. Eventually, we reached a toll booth for a floating bridge that stretched across the river. Composed of individual metal sections connected by large hinges, the bridge undulated as we rode across, with water splashing through the cracks where the sections met. In the middle of the bridge, we encountered a person operating two sizable water pumps, transferring water from somewhere back into the river. It didn't exactly instill confidence.

Crossing the border into Kazakhstan proved relatively easy, although Dirk still had an episode on the Russian side when they saw his US passport. On the Kazakh side, everything was much more relaxed, and it felt like a breath of fresh air. There is no village between the border and Atyrau, which meant we would once again arrive late tonight. Nevertheless, the road was in good condition, and despite the flatness of the scenery, it was lush and with minimal traffic. Cows had returned to the road, but we also spotted numerous herds of horses and a few goats. Our biggest surprise came when we encountered freely roaming camels! It was remarkable how different things were on this side of the border.

However, this idyllic moment came to an abrupt end when we encountered a deviation leading to a dirt road. The landscape was barren at that point, and the road itself was dusty and extremely rugged. We maneuvered our way around potholes, overtaking cars and trucks. Initially, it didn't seem like a big deal. Yet, as time passed, we found ourselves still on that dirt road feeling as though we had been traveling on it for an eternity after a long day. In reality, the rough dirt section lasted for over a hundred kilometers, finally concluding at dusk.

Dirk, just done with his "donation"

The floating bridge

gave this nice chap the honor of putting the Kazakhstan flag on my bike 😎

This is the insurance "office" where we struggled with a drunk agent to finalize the right information on our our document!

First vision of a Kazakh cemetery. The “bathtub” shape allows flowers and plants to grow inside

Day 42 - 730 km

Day 43 - Atyrau to Beyneu , Kazakhstan

The last day of our detour around the Caspian Sea was characterized by flat sandy deserts, straight roads, and intensifying heat. There isn't much else noteworthy to report. However, we did have a memorable encounter with a large herd of camels led by a camel shepherd, as well as a few others freely roaming the desolate landscape.

Upon our early arrival, we took the opportunity to clean our bikes, oil the chains, and adjust the tire pressure. As usual, curious locals approached us, brimming with questions.

After dinner, while we were back in our room, recording our day's experiences, a knock on the door startled us around 10 pm. I opened it to find Nicolaï standing there, inviting me, as a fellow rider, to join him, Ivan, and Pavel for beers and food downstairs.

Though we had planned for an early night, we couldn't resist meeting new riders. Nicolaï, Ivan, and Pavel were three riders from Moscow, cruising on BMW 1250GS motorcycles towards Samarkand. Their warmth, hospitality, and generosity were beyond imagination. They had purchased food and drinks, and despite having already enjoyed a satisfying dinner ourselves, they placed plates in our hands, and we all shared the feast. Nicolaï spoke English fluently, Pavel's was okay, while Ivan only knew a few words. Nevertheless, an immediate connection was established, and we spent a fantastic evening together! Eventually, it was time for vodka and the "Russian rule", which dictated that vodka should always be accompanied by food. Yeah, more food for us .

We saw other camels than these ones wandering on the road and some were really huge!

The peanut gallery

They made sure that we would eat (again) and drink (more) 🥰

Pavel, Nicolai and Ivan. Amazingly kind people!

Day 43 - 440 km

Day 44 - Beyneu, Kazakhstan to Nukus, Uzbekistan

We had such a fantastic time last night that we've decided to ride together with our newfound Russian friends today. Our departure was set for 9 am, so it was time to clear our heads of the remnants of vodka. We connected our intercoms and embarked on our journey as a unified group. We steered clear of sensitive political discussions but unanimously agreed that ordinary people are generally kind everywhere, and it's absurd how power-hungry politicians sow hatred among people who have never even met.

Before long, we arrived at the border with Uzbekistan. I find these border procedures utterly nonsensical. It felt like a sadistic "treasure hunt" game orchestrated by bored soldiers. To leave Kazakhstan, for instance, we had to obtain a piece of paper with five stamps on it. Some stamps were granted with a mere glance, while others required lengthy waits. And all this was just to exit the country! Why did they even bother?

Regardless, with Nicolaï's invaluable assistance in translating and directly addressing their inquiries, everything became much easier. The officers couldn't fathom why anyone would embark on such a journey. I wished my attempts to learn Russian had yielded better results, but alas, they were not successful.

On the Uzbekistan side, we encountered the same nonsensical bureaucracy, with a mix of friendly officers and one particularly irritating individual. He borrowed my camera, attempted to squeeze his head into my helmet (which was too small for him), and settled for trying my gloves instead. Then he decided to climb onto Dirk's bike and nearly toppled over onto a nearby car .

But now, we were officially in Uzbekistan! After purchasing insurance, we quickly grabbed lunch and I had the pleasure of discovering plov (pilaf rice), an Uzbek specialty, as well as ayran, a refreshing blend of yogurt/kefir and water, which provided much-needed relief from the scorching heat.

Although we had entered a different country, the landscape remained barren and desolate. It was a desert as far as the eye could see. We encountered no signs of civilization—no houses, animals, or trees—for a staggering 250 kilometers. The road itself was in deplorable condition, causing our bikes to endure constant jolts and vibrations. We attempted to divert onto a nearby new road under construction, but it was blocked and not suitable for use anyway.

Suddenly, in the middle of nowhere, we stumbled upon a café. It was barely recognizable, except for a couple of trucks parked outside. Locals were dining on "platform-beds" with low tables perched on top. We were so happy to get some fresh water!

However, we hadn't come across a single gas station, and the ones we eventually encountered were exclusively for liquefied petroleum gas (LPG), as the majority of vehicles in Uzbekistan ran on it.

Finally, we reached Nukus—a modern city compared to everything we had seen thus far. The evening turned out to be one of the most enjoyable and memorable experiences we could all recall, with the festivities carrying on until 3 am for the last of us.