The diary of a Scot in Amsterdam

If everything is working properly, which I can only hope for since I lack the technical means to see for myself, it will be apparent from the map above that we have successfully reached Kazakhstan. I write from the luxury of a small but comfortable room in Hotel Sayakhat in Ural’sk, otherwise known as Oral (stop laughing at the back of the class, please).

In the last few posts I wrote of my worries about getting a hard time of it from the Russians at the border, but in the end they did not cause us too many problems besides a lot of delay while asking endless absurd questions (“How many kilometres from Voronezh to Saratov? Do you have any Russian cultural artifacts? How much did your bicycle cost?”), searching through our stuff, and even checking the contents of a USB stick in my bag. Finally they let us go, even chasing us away as we stopped for a quick sandwich in no-man’s-land.

The Russian and Kazakh checkpoints were not immediately adjacent to each other. To reach the Kazakh side, we needed to cycle to the summit of a hill.

What greeted us at the top felt more dreamlike than reality. The sun was shining, and as we reached the top of the hill, a vast panorama of rolling grasslands opened up before us. As we approached the gates of the Kazakh checkpoint, a man in a green uniform with an extremely wide hat approaches us, smiling, and greeted us in friendly English. It already felt like a whole new country.

The bureaucracy on this side took quite a bit less time, although not without the usual form-filling (in duplicate) and waiting in line at a series of small offices for things to be stamped. Each time, business was concluded with a very sincere “Welcome to Kazakhstan!” from the official who was dealing with us. This is the first border where we have been afforded such a courtesy.

Finally done with the formalities, we stopped for a coffee at the first café on the road. Here a busload of Uzbeks sat patiently in the sun for their turn to cross the border, many with very conspicuous gold teeth. We have seen more and more of these on our travels.

And of course, a new country means a few changes. No more Roubles, here they use Tenges (about 210 to the Euro), and the clock is yet another hour forward. In fact it’s two hours forward, but they don’t have summer time. So at the moment it’s just an hour ahead of where we last were in Russia, where they do put the clock forward in summer. In the winter, the difference will indeed be two hours. Quite confusing.

After this, we headed off again through the prairies, which began to look more and more like a film than anything from my own experience of real life. I saw a man on horseback herding horses (as you would herd cattle), and the slow, drifting, soundless movements they made through the shimmering grass seemed totally unreal, something which could not possibly be from this world, ghosts in the noonday sun. So this is Asia.

During the day-and-a-half that it took to reach Ural’sk, we passed through just one village. The road ahead will be even emptier, but what we have already seen has been itself quite a shock. I have the feeling that it is really getting to be quite a serious business now; we can no longer make rough guesses about how much water, fuel for cooking, and food we need. If we run out on the road, it could be days before we come across the next village. It is also becoming hotter and hotter during the day, meaning that we absolutely cannot go short of water.

But first, Ural’sk. Our visit here began with the usual extended search for a cheap hotel, which ended up not very cheap at all but at least less than all the others. This is probably because they are currently rebuilding it, meaning that it is necessary to dodge past men on ladders sawing plasterboard and pouring concrete on the way to the lift. But it is a nice enough place to stay and the breakfast is fantastic.

It seems that in just about every city we have stayed, I have ended up setting out on a quest for something which is difficult to find. In Saratov I spent about two days seeking and eventually finding a 1 hour charger for AA batteries. Here, amongst other things, I really wanted to find a small pair of Soviet-era binoculars, having had a go of a set belonging to crazy ol’ Grigori back in the Ukraine. Not just because they are cool, but for practical reasons too. Very often while cycling, I become very interested in things which are far, far away. This especially so since you can see such enormous distances without there being much in the way. It would also sometimes be handy to know if the small building in the distance is a shop, café, petrol station, or just an abandoned shed. Hence binoculars.

I asked the receptionist at the hotel, the only person around who could speak English, for advice on where I should look. She had no idea but said that her boss would take me to look around town.

So it was that I ended up in a car with the manager of the hotel and two other massive Kazakh blokes, driving around various antique shops. No luck with the binoculars, but we did see some interesting busts of Lenin and Stalin, war medals, icons, and suchlike. I am in any case grateful for their help. Better luck next time.

One very important task needed to be completed before we could leave town: just as in Russia, it was necessary to register our visa. Except that here, you must do it with the OVIR, a special sort of visa police.

I need hardly say that this was a massive pain in the arse, requiring no less than three visits and an extra night in the hotel before it was sorted. On the first visit, we were told that we must have a letter from the company we are “working” for (since we are here on a business visa). A few e-mails and a one day later, and this was duly arranged. But visit two was not the end of the matter, because of a mistake in the letter: it said that both myself and Astrid were German, which is of course nonsense. Another day and various e-mails, phone calls, and faxes later, and the problem was sorted. But not without costing a whole load of time, stress, and money. Sorry guys, but you need to get your act together a bit more if you expect anything more than the most determined foreign tourists.

Despite this, I already like Kazakhstan more than Russia. The people are more relaxed, more elegant, and surprisingly also very mixed. The majority Kazakh ethnic group are joined by plenty Russians, as well as many people who might as well be as western European as we are. Added to this are those who are perhaps of Indian, Pakistani, Turkish, or Armenian descent, and many more mixed folks of indeterminable origin. They could well teach us something about integration, given the ease with which all these people seem to get along. There may well be tensions under the surface, but I don’t see it.

Yesterday was Flag Day in Kazakhstan. The purpose of this holiday is to celebrate nineteen years of existence of the country’s distinctive blue and yellow sun-and-eagle flag, the symbol of its independence and emerging post-Soviet national identity.

We watched the formalities on the city’s main square, where some not-so-well-rehearsed soldiers paraded onto a podium, a brass band played, speeches were given, and diplomas were handed out to various meritorious individuals. While I usually dislike any sort of nationalistic outburst, the spirit of this one seemed very positive and non-threatening. A sort of touchy-feely-feelgood celebration of nationhood.

On our tour of the city’s hotels a few days ago, we passed by one which was much too expensive but which did have the unbelievable luxury of English-language newspapers to read in the lobby. I passed by yesterday morning to plead with them to give or sell me one, but this did not succeed. Instead, we spent a few comfortable hours in their restaurant reading them while drinking coffee, beer, and tea. This seems to be a very good way of enjoying the pleasures of a posh hotel without having to pay for a room, and is thus a practice which we will hopefully be able to repeat in the upcoming cities.

But these are some time away yet. It will probably take about eight days to reach the next, with not more than two or three villages on the way. This will be either extremely relaxing and peaceful, or very very boring indeed. I will explain which next time!