End of the Road -2

My stream of consciousness continued that morning (7:43am), as I thought back on what has been truly remarkable, and unlikely, expedition. By all rights, it “should” have stopped long ago.

It is already an amazing achievement what I and the team have done over the last two years.

I remember restarting the ride in August 2020 and wondering if I was going to be able to get beyond Germany. The world seemed so uncertain. It seemed like Europe was on the brink of another wave of lockdowns. I remember Austria being advised by the FCO (as it was then) as “All but essential travel”, and wondering if I would have problems crossing the border. I remember Hungary and Ukraine closing their borders, leaving my way ahead blocked. I had to improvise, and go through Slovenia and Croatia instead. Even then I didn’t know how I would continue. Then Ukraine opened back up, but to get there I had to go through Moldova, which was closed. With government support, and the assistance of friends, I managed to cross through.

But even in Ukraine, the way ahead was unclear. I had hoped to cycle through Russia to get to Georgia, however Russia’s land borders were closed (though I could have flown from the UK to Moscow and then travelled back to the border). Instead, by this point, Turkey had opened up, and I got a ferry across the Black Sea.

But even in Turkey the way ahead was blocked. Syria was a no-go, obviously. Iraq was tempting but ultimately foolhardy and in the wrong direction. Armenia’s border was permanently closed with Turkey. And there was no way I could get a visa for Iran.

That left Georgia, which was also closed to outside travellers. This was the beginning of a series of diplomatic interventions that enabled the onward progress with the trip. After an introduction to the Georgian ambassador in Ankara (thank you Martin and Ceren!) I was granted permission to cross.

Even at that point, there was no clear onward path: Russia was still closed and so was Azerbaijan. But again, out of the woodwork, help came. Giorgi, the Georgian ambassador, alerted his Azeri counterpart in Tbilisi, and after meeting him in the Azerbaijan tourist centre in the Georgian capital, we gained his blessing to enter Azerbaijan.

But what next? I really wanted to cycle through Iran. But despite my best efforts, any chance of a visa was categorically denied.

The only realistic option was taking a ferry across the Caspian Sea to Kazakhstan. However, Kazakhstan’s borders were also closed. By chance, the General Secretary of the Kazakh Cycling Federation saw an instagram post by the Azeri Cycling Federation about Bristol2Beijing, and they  offered to help. Yet after a month of waiting in Baku for my Kazakh visa, I began to despair. I remember beginning the application process for a Russian visa (now open) – to cycle round the Caspian Sea (long, hot, and uninhabited) – before eventually I was granted a visa.

After another two weeks of waiting for a ferry, I arrived in Kazakhstan.

Although I had an Uzbek visa, the only land border available to me was freight-only. However, I had to try and get across. If I couldn’t, I would have been in big trouble because my Kazakh visa was due to expire in days. The next border crossing was thousands of kilometres away.

I arrived at the border and was told by the Uzbek border guards that I couldn’t cross. I argued, I sweet-talked, I pleaded. No, no, no. It was looking desperate. Would this be where my journey ended?

I made a call to the British Embassy in Uzbekistan, to see if they could help. Ten nerve-wracking minutes later, Tim called me back to say the Uzbek government said there shouldn’t be any problem; apparently it was the Kazakhs who weren’t letting me through. Face-saving nonsense, but Tim’s intervention was enough to get me through the border.

When I was riding in Kyrgyzstan toward the Tajik border, I was riding on a prayer. I had been waiting for my Tajik e-visa to come through for over a week, and I was fast running out of time. I had calculated my cut-off point for the latest I could enter Tajikistan. I set off from Osh for the Tajik border without a visa. It had to come in the next two days. It didn’t come on the first day. All day long on the second day, I checked my phone, wobbling, as I cycled over a 3,600 metre pass, solo. No luck. I descended into Sary-Tash, my place of rest for the night, and on the downhills I was already thinking how I would return to Osh. I would find a lorry or truck and make my way back to Bishkek. Time was up, and I didn’t have a visa. In the dark, at 9:30pm, on the outskirts of Sary-Tash, my phone picked up connection again and an email came through. My Tajik e-visa!

The next morning I cycled to the border. Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan had had several skirmishes over the previous few months, and no Kyrgyz or Tajik nationals were allowed to cross. No one knew if foreigners could cross; I had got conflicting, though mainly negative advice. The Kyrgyz border guard flatly refused to allow me to cross. “The Tajiks won’t let you in,” he said. I said that I had been told they would. But truly, no one knew at this point. This was completely unknown, uncharted territory. No one was trying to cross the border at this time, I was the first and only one. I stood my ground. For over an hour. Two hours. And watched as the border guard almost came to blows with another man trying to cross the border.

All smiles in the end with my Kyrgyz border guard.

Eventually, with severe misgivings and words of warning, he let me through, and after an exhausting two hour climb up a stone and dirt track, at 4,000 metres, I reached Tajikistan. Would I be turned back? Or forced to camp on the freezing mountain whilst waiting for a decision? No, the border guards there welcomed me, offered me tea, and even a place to stay the night. Nervous in case they changed their mind about letting me in, I thanked them, and carried on, elated. I had done the impossible – once again. I was in Tajikistan!

And then came crossing the Pakistan-Indian border. At this point I didn’t even have an Indian visa, and they weren’t issuing visas. We had tried in London with no success. Thanks to Tom, we had a connection with the Indian Embassy in Islamabad and Tom had managed to arrange a meeting. The Deputy Ambassador, a former doctor, met me and after I told him my story and what I was hoping to do, he promised to assist however he could.

I became the possessor of the only six month, double entry tourist visa in 2021. At the Wagah-Atari border, the Pakistani border guard almost refused to stamp me out of the country. “I know what will happen,” he told me “they aren’t allowing anyone through the border, they will send you back to me and I will have a huge problem.” I assured him many times that they would let me through.

Eventually, like a parent going against his better judgement, he stamped my passport. The monumental Wagah gates opened up before me – the first traveller in 18 months to cross – and an hour later I watched all the pomp and ceremony and nationalism of the strutting soldiers at the flag-lowering that evening.

“YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” Well, actually…

Bangladesh – where do I even start? It took six weeks for the government to make their mind up and issue me a visa. My Bangladeshi friend, Neda, later told me she couldn’t believe I’d been given a visa – all her other friends had been rejected and they were flying in. But even at the border, the Indian border guards almost didn’t let me cross. “No tourist visas allowed,” they primly told me. I assured them I had been given permission by the Bangladeshi government, and had a letter (all in different fonts, with a cut and paste signature) to prove it. Amazingly, this did the trick, eventually and I was allowed through.

So now, back in India, with a state border ahead, I feel I should be able to cross this, this small hurdle, but maybe I can’t. And what difference does it really make? Another 200km further east, when over 3,000 kilometres remain beyond that, across China.

Because that is the big missing part. China. China, which – unlike every other country – will not make exceptions, and is still pursuing their zero covid policy. And because of this, my unlikely, remarkable, run of border crossings seems at an end.