Saturday, 12 September 2026

 

Start: Almaty (KZ) 10:30

Arrival: Bishkek (KY) 18:30/19:30 local time

 

Total: 241 km

 

 

It's less than 250 km from Almaty to Bishkek, so after a leisurely breakfast we started out nice and slow. Slow especially, as we first stopped at a Kyrgyz som exchange kiosk in town that Sonia had found the night before online. As we had barely used any of our Kazakh tenge (you can pay by card everywhere) we exchanged most of them for som. Sonia hopped in to do just that, while I moved the car around the tiny "parking" whenever cars needed to get past. Which, luckily, was only twice.

 

The traffic out of Almaty was rather challenging. Traffic jams, highway lines obstructed by parked cars, people hitchhiking, selling stuff or just chatting to each other, trucks belching fumes and kicking up clouds of dust. I breathed a sigh of relief (and oxygen) when we had left the last houses of the city behind us.

 

Now I and my battered lungs could relax a bit. But it was still awfully stuffy in the car. "Please turn up the AC", I moaned, gasping for air. "Are you OK?", my sister asked, giving me a worried look. Usually when I'm behind a wheel, the answer is: yes! Now I said: "I think I need a very cold iced coffee." We stopped at a gas station and Sonia got out to organize the hopefully revitalising brew. I stayed in the car and soon felt like a naan inside a tandoor. My melting eyeballs locked in on the tables and chairs inside the gas station. That place was surely air-conditioned. I staggered toward it and almost collided with my sister at the door. "Here, drink", she said and guided me to a table. After one-and-a-half Starbucks Caramel, I felt more or less ready to continue the drive. After all, it was just a stretch of straight, empty highway.

 

Five minutes later, it was clear that I was not even up for that. I don't really remember stopping the car and changing sides with Sonia, but in any case, my sister drove us safely for the next hour, while I recovered from heat stroke. Yes, Sonia drove in Kazakhstan! I cannot express how grateful I was for her picking up the slack when the need arose.

 

 

Shortly before the border I asked Sonia to stop. We parked just off the road at a forlorn asbestos ruin and I got out to stretch my legs and breathe in some clean air. Walking around the car, I felt better by the minute. "Let's wash the windows", I proposed. "They are so very grimy." I got out a bottle of warm water and a kitchen roll and got down to business. In less than 5 minutes, we had given each window a new sparkle, and me as well, in the process. "I'm good to go again", I said and reclaimed my spot behind the wheel. I don't think Sonia minded overly much.

 

 

 

The road towards the border was, yet again, in great condition and wound through hilly lowlands and over one rather high windswept plateau. Below a picture taken out of a spotlessly clean car window.

 

 

At 15:15, we reached the border, which was, as always, a rather chaotic affair. It was right at the end of a small town square with people running to and fro and going about their business. There was a single line of cars waiting. We got in line, but it did not seem to move, and dozens of cars were speeding past us. Were they all cutting the line? Or was I in a newly created parking line? I ordered Sonia to go and find out. Turns out, the cars all made a left right before the border gate. Maybe this was the normal route into their town centre.

 

Sonia used the waiting time to get all our papers in order. She had every possible document at the ready, from insurance to car importation into the Belarus-Russia-Kazakhstan economic area. When we finally pulled up at the gate, the border guard told us that Sonia had to get out and use the pedestrian tunnel. As in: now, as other cars were waiting behind us. So she quickly grabbed her things and left.

 

The guard pushed a strip of paper into my hand and told me to drive on. I pulled up in the passport control area, locked the car and did as all the other drivers had done: gather at the only two (of 16!) booths that were open. Seeing that everyone else had filled out their strip of paper, I borrowed a pen and filled in my name and licence plate number. This I handed, together with my passport and car registration, to an employee hidden inside a booth. As the booth was built for drivers inside their car, it was very low. I half squatted to answer the few questions. Soon I was sent back to my car. I noticed that everyone else had left their doors and trunks open, to be inspected while they were away. Only I had locked mine, me being the conscientious suspicious Westerner that I am. That's how you learn things about yourself. At the next border, I'm sure to leave my car unattended and wide open. Not. Ever. Going to happen.

 

The inspection lasted all of 30 seconds and I was allowed to drive on. The next guard asked me for "Bumashka". Huh? Small piece of paper? Sorry, no idea what you are talking about. Shaking his head, he waved me through, towards the Kyrgyz checkpoint. Odd. Then a thought struck me: Not without my sister! I harrassed the poor guard: "She's not here yet. I'm not leaving without her." He looked at me: "She's in Kyrgyzstan already. Go!"

 

So I drove through a short stretch of no man's land. At the Kyrgyz gate, a guard waved me through. Just then, I saw my sister behind a window, gesturing at me. I stopped the car at the side and got out. What was she mouthing? The guard came nearer. "No stop", he repeated in English. I had understood him before all right. "That's my sister", I said and before he could think about bodily stopping me, I had run to the window. "No talk", he shouted after me. Huh? I ran faster. "What?" I shouted at Sonia. She formed an A4 with her hands. Huuh? She screamed: "I have the car documents!" Oh. Right. She had taken them with her. I shook my head. "Don't need them." They had only asked for the car registration, anything else they could probably see in their computers. I made do-not-worry signs to my sis, sprinted back to the car, said "Sorry" to the poor guard and drove on.

 

Only to wait in line once more. A good half hour nothing happened, then they opened the barrier, let 20 cars in all at once and we again ran to find an open booth. When I finally arrived at it in my plateau sandals, a cloud of local men already hung around it. I patiently waited. A middle-aged local woman arrived and shoved through the crowd. I inwardly shook my head at the cheek of it. But the men let her go first, then motioned for me to go next. Thoroughly embarassed, I stepped to the front. The passport control took barely 3 minutes, then back to the car where a guard threw a quick glance into our car and I was allowed to drive off. Which I did, very slowly, so as not to miss my sister, who waited just behind the barrier, ready to jump in front of the car in case I dared drive past her. Reunited again!

 

 

It was 16:36 for us, so actually 17:36 here in Kyrgyzstan. 100 meters in, I stopped at a street market with booths announcing OSAGO. I procured us a car insurance for 14 days for 1200 som. The guy selling it was nice, we chatted a bit in Russian. His young sidekick asked me twice if I wanted to buy a sim card as well. If you ask me, the answer is, by default, no. He didn't insist. After some thinking, I changed my mind. My normal plan from home includes Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan, but neither Kyrgyzstan nor Tajikistan. Might be nice to be connected on those mountain passes. "Does it work in small villages?" I asked. "Everywhere in Kyrgyzstan, of course", he claimed. Not so "of course". "In Germany, it sometimes doesn't even work on the highway." He nodded knowingly. "It works in Kyrgyzstan." He put the sim card in, checked the connection, gave me his WhatsApp number in case I ran into problems and 500 som exchanged hands. We were all set for this country! "Many probki to get into Bishkek", my new acquaintance warned me. "Lots of traffic jams everywhere in the world", I laughed, and drove off.

 

 

 

Only to get stuck in the mother of all traffic jams. Unfinished tarmac for quite a stretch of road, lines created out of nowhere by pushy drivers, lines leading nowhere and forcing you to push in. I felt like in Tirana in 2009. The good old days!

 

"There's the local drug boss trying to get in," Sonia said, when a white Hyundai Sonata with darkened windows moved dangerously close to my front bumper. Unless I want him to get in, he won't. He looked at me, an intelligent open look. Sweet guy. After a minute or so, the car in front of me moved a few centimetres. I did nothing. Local drug boss looked at me again, smiled broadly, mouthed a slow spasibo and pushed in. Made me all fuzzy inside. Such effortless confidence. That guy was dangerous. I grinned back at him and gave him a few more centimetres for comfort.

 

 

Now we inched forward on rough stones, half a metre below normal street level. Next to us, a work truck sprayed water on the unfinished tarmac. "What is he doing, he's spraying too widely", Sonia said, alarmed. He rumbled past us and our freshly cleaned windows were dowsed in a mixture of sand and water. What a mess! Ten metres further on, the truck turned around. "Oh no", we moaned, but yes, we got the full dose again. And a third time for good measure.

 

Meanwhile a Tajik car had passed our line on the right and created a whole new third line, moving in sync with me. A bit further up, the two original lines merged into one very narrow line. To be precise, the line I was in had to fight its way into the left line. With the Tajik idiot trying to ram in from the right. "We're being squashed", my sister said, alarmed. Not to worry. This was fun. Suddenly, a short honk from my left. I looked up. Local drug boss - who looked a bit like Ken Watanabe and was probably a law-abiding citizen in real life - gave me a warm laugh. He must have pushed into the left line earlier on. He motioned to the front. A 15 centimetre gap. I had given him less before. "One good deed deserves another", jubilated Sonia. I squeezed in, beamed at him, and noticed trouble to my right: the Tajik car was hellbent on pushing in in front of me. "You can't stop him", Sonia said, quite erroneously. I turned my wheels to the right, in his direction. He gave up. Good. I might not be very good at parking a car, but I'm great at playing chicken.

 

 

Once we'd left this chokepoint behind, traffic was moving faster but not much less chaotic. I moved into a sort of intersection, got stuck and the lights turned red for us. The cars to the left and right came at me full speed. "Go!" Sonia screamed, while I pushed the accelerator. We squeezed through between two cars, then a sharp left to avoid a suicidal pedestrian and we were on our way to our hotel. Where we found a parking spot right in front. After some manoeuvering (did I mention that I'm not great at parking?) I had stowed the car away, and in that exact same spot it would remain for the next two days.

 

 

We checked in, took possession of our room and set out again in search of food. Sonia had spotted an Italian place on Yandex Maps, barely 500 metres further up the street. Unfortunately, Bishkek sidewalks are not overly illuminated after nightfall. And they are not overly flat either. We carefully groped along, until Sonia took out her flashlight. I have a well prepared sister. We found the restaurant, hidden within an exclusive-looking sidestreet. A huge SUV parked next to the entrance of an apartment complex. "Six wheels", Sonia marvelled. "This guy must really be afraid of driving in Kyrgyzstan." "Don't forget the two backup ones on the back", I giggled. "And the two spare ones he probably carries in the trunk", Sonia volleyed back. We burst out laughing. Tension release. We'd made it into Bishkek!

 

We sat in the restaurant, had food while a pianist and an English orator rehearsed their set in the same room, and then went for a postprandial stroll round the block.

 

 

A cute little park with light fountains and two cool Stalinesque structures: a brutalist monument to celebrate who-knows-what and a tall Seven-Sisters-like building that we couldn't find on any map later. But we have it on tape, the place does exist!