Due to another visa snafu, I am forced to take my time driving through Kazakhstan. The Adventurist wasn’t kidding when they said, “traveling is for sissies” because The Mongol Rally is really not traveling. The rally is a beast of its own. It has its own needs, demands, and pace. Yearning for the finish line happens to the best of us.

By the time I parted ways with Lachlan in Samarkand, I had come to realize that it was easier for me to GO than to STOP. Having realized that I was never going to see all there is to see and comprehend each of the country in any real way, all I wanted to do was GO and get to the finish line.

Being forced to take my time driving up Eastern Kazakhstan on relatively easy roads meant I had a lot of time to contemplate random things.

Why are all the houses in Kazakhstan painted white and blue?

Why is there a crazy sub-division in the middle of nowhere? Who are they anticipating will come and live here?

There are only four houses in this town. Does that really constitute a town?

Why is there a scarecrow-looking mannequin in the middle of the road holding a cardboard fish sign? What do you mean you only have two dried fish to sell? Is it economically sensible to spend all day on the side of the road to sell two dried fish?

Why are there cows, sheep, goats, and horses everywhere, but finding a kabob is nearly impossible?


After spending night after night camping in the middle of nowhere, you start to wonder about the nowhere-ness of it all.

What does it mean to be somewhere?

Is the difference between nowhere and somewhere predominately defined by the sense of isolation?

Then you wonder about the road.

Wait. What happened to the good road. Where did it go?

Why am I on the bad road running parallel to the good road? How do I get over there?

I am about to conclude Act Two of this epic adventure. I have driven ten thousand kilometers across twelve countries and am about to take on the hardest part of the rally.

Stay with me and let’s see how it all unfolds.