The Shack...
I left Xhimpity early knowing that the next town, Kobda, is over 200kms down the road. I suspect I won't make it today, but that does not matter as I have a tent. After 80kms or so I see what looks like a cafe and stop to buy a drink and have a rest. I should have suspected all was not normal by the ramshackle exterior and semi derelict interior. The place is empty so I call out "Hello!" and hear a shuffling coming from one of the back rooms. A short rather disheveled figure appears, and looks a little surprised at the fact that a traveler had stopped at his cafe. I ask for tea and some food, he has tea and stale bread and gives me this. The tea was fine, so I took it and sat at the seating area outside to rest. He joins me, somewhat stinking of vodka, and asks what I am doing. After explaining where I am going and that I intend to camp he seems rather concerned and makes a barking dog noise and places his hand in front of his mouth and makes the shape of a dog mouth.
A few moments later a family stop in their car to rest. The father can speak a little English, and chats with the restaurant owner. He then speaks to me explaining that to camp could be dangerous as there are wild dogs on the steppe that could pose a threat. It is still fairly early in the afternoon, about 2.30, and ideally I would like to carry on. But I reflect and think that if the warning is true, it would be daft to ignore it.
The family leave and I stay. The outside seating area is covered and looks good to sleep on. My host takes me to the river where I can swim wash. He offers me his rag for me to borrow, I respectfully decline. We return to his shack and he cooks some food. This consists of very burnt frankfurters with even more burnt fried eggs. It is bloody horrible. I start to think that may be I should have taken my chances with the dogs. We both settle down on the outside sleeping area, I snooze, he reads. Occasional vehicles pull up, which meet with much hrrrumphing and groaning from my host. He has a cafe, it is just that he doesn't really have anything to sell. Anyway, I think perhaps that his hangover is starting to kick in. He did rather smell of stale vodka after all. And to be disturbed by passers by was not what he wanted.
Shortly before sunset he asked if he could have some money for the tea, "food" and the fact he was letting me stay for the night. I gave him some and this pleased him greatly. Beaming he rushed inside, put on his smartest shoes, came back out pointed towards Xhimpity and gave his throat a swift flick with his index finger. I was not too sure what this meant but deduced he wanted a drink. This flicking action would become familiar with me as I travel across Central Asia. He than darted off across the parking area in front of his cafe and waited for a ride. As if by a miracle within a couple of minutes a pick up truck appears, stops and gives him a lift, leaving me at his cafe.
I figure that it will take him a few hours to make the return trip. I also hope that no one stops, as explaining why I am here alone may prove a little difficult. For the most part I am alone, but after an hour or so two Turkish lorry drivers turn up, stopping for the night. We try to talk but do not get far, they inspect the cafe realise not much is there but thy are not too bothered. They are pretty self sufficient in their lorries, with food and cooking equipment and just need a place to stop for the night.
A while later my host returns beaming, clutching 3 bottles of vodka, more sausages, eggs and a big thing of UHT milk which he gives me. He fetches two glasses, pours himself a mighty glug of vodka an does the same for me. He downs his and pulls a very funny face. I sip mine and think "I am not going near this stuff, it's terrible!" and subtly pour it away when he is not looking. We return to the seated area. He pours more vodka for himself and me. I continue to pour it away. I am determined to keep a clear head for the morning. The lorry drivers join us and observe. I learn that they drive from Ankara to Bishkek, backwards and forwards through Georgia, Azerbaijan and Kazakhstan. I do not envy them. This is a bloody long drive and must come somewhat tedious after the umpteenth time.
About half an hour later another car pulls up. A middle aged man and a young woman step out. They join the four of us making 6 sat around our hosts little table. The young woman takes an immediate interest in me. And I do mean "Interest". This feels odd. I know I my animal magnetism is border line perfect, but this is strange. Almost immediately she presses up against me, puts her arm around me and gets very close. I am not comfortable. However I am very suspicious about what is happening, and soon my suspicions are proved correct. She whispers that she is having terrible problems at home looking after her family and for 5000Tenge we can spend the night together. I decline, I am not interested, just puzzled at how I came to end up this evening with a Kazakhstany alcoholic, prostitute and two Turkish lorry drivers as company. Part of me thinks I would have been better off with the dogs. Fortunately for me she leaves not so long after I decline, but makes sure that I take her phone number. I do and leave my phone on the table.
The evening is beginning to peter out. The lorry drivers retire to their cabs. I take out my sleeping bag. My host passes out next to me. I sleep. Ish. My host is restless. He thrashes about the place. I begin to miss the dogs even tho I have not met them yet. He rolls over and onto me. I am getting a little fed up now. I push him off. I miss the young woman! Anything but this. I move to a new location. He follows, and lies on top of me. I push him off again. He falls asleep. So do I. Later I hear a rustling and hurumphing, Sleepily (and later foolishly I learn) I ignore it. Dawn finally arrives.
With the sun up everyone else is up. The lorry drivers are making tea by their vehicles. My host is crashing about the place, attempting to burn eggs and sausages again. I drink the milk and notice that my phone is gone. I ask my host who immediately blames the lorry drivers. I know he has it but I don't fancy an argument or fight over a four year old rather worn pay as you go mobile that cost all of ten pounds when new. However I still feel angry at myself for leaving it on the table, but I also feel very glad that I slept with my wallet inside my sleeping bag. I start to pack and get ready to leave. My host offers me some eggs and sausages. I refuse, he also flicks his throat again. I shake and make swifter preparations for exit. I am glad when I leave.
The ride to Kobda passes with out incident. I reflect on the previous night, grumble to myself at my silliness over the phone but feel happy that I am back on the road.
I arrive in Kobda a few hours before sunset. Kobda seems to consist of two roads in paralleland very little else. I find a motel at one end of town and book in for the night. I am asleep by 8.45pm.
The Shack.
My host.
