The diary of a Scot in Amsterdam

At the end of the enormous bed on which I am sitting, a large fan constructed mostly of white plastic creaks and hums, subtly hypnotising me with its oscillations and constant monotonous drone. I remember a scene from the beginning of a film, Apocalypse Now perhaps, with such a device. This is indeed an appropriate coincidence, given the slow and ominous sense of foreboding which has hung over us here in Astana, although to echo an earlier comment here, there is perhaps something more akin to Kafka about our recent misfortunes.

The principle reason for our presence in Astana, the capital (since 1997) of Kazakhstan, was to visit the Chinese embassy in order to secure a visa for that country. Over a week later, we still do not have a visa, and it is by no means certain that we ever will have. But first to the beginning.

My main concern before arriving was that we would have difficulties in finding an affordable place to stay – this of course had been our greatest headache in Kiev, the last capital city on our route. In the event this was not a problem, with only the second hotel we came across being extremely cheap. We became a bit suspicious when we were asked if we wanted the room for just half a day, and also by the fact that there were few other guests besides young couples nervously adjusting their hair in the mirror before leaving. It would appear that the place is used mainly for “laisons” rather than for sleeping in. In our naivety we asked what time breakfast would be served, and received some surprised looks. In the end they did actually supply us with some fried eggs and coffee, although we moved all the same to a more comfortable hotel the next morning, which did not cost much more.

And now begins the tedious tale of the embassy.

After our success in obtaining a three-month Kazakh visa in the Ukraine on our own, despite being told by the experts at het Visum Bureau in Amsterdam that this was not possible, we were confident about being able to arrange things ourselves again here. To this end we had sought the address of the embassy on the Internet, and on Monday morning set off in search of it.

It was not there. In fact half the street was not there, since a new elevated highway is being constructed through the middle of it. In any case the street sat in the middle of a slum neighbourhood which did not really look like the sort of place that the Chinese would have their embassy.

Having dressed ourselves up very nicely for the occasion, we found ourselves covered in mud, sweating and frustrated in the morning sun. The second address which we had was not even on the map, and by this point it was clear that we were not going to find it by noon, when the embassy shut.

The next step was a quick visit to the nearest Internet café to check the address. I discovered a completely different address and a telephone number, which I immediately called. Needless to say the man on the other end could speak no English, but I managed to ask and understand enough in Russian to be sure that this was the correct street at least (I haven’t got the hang of the numbers yet), but that they would not be open for the rest of the day or indeed the next day either.

Later in the afternoon, we decided to go and look for it anyway, so as to avoid the same problem when it came to the next visit. It was then that we discovered that the address was not entirely correct – for at number 37, where the embassy was supposed to be, was just a building site.

Thankfully Astrid had spotted something that might be a Chinese flag in another part of the street, which turned out mercifully to indeed be the location of the embassy. Lesson 1 – don’t believe everything you read on the Internet. Or at least, take it with a huge pinch of salt.

Although I had been told (I thought) that the embassy was closed on Tuesday, I asked at the gate anyway (this was Monday evening). “Tomorrow morning” said the guard, confusing things. Before doing so he saluted me military-style, the first and only time in my life that I have been afforded such an honour.

So back we came the next morning, at which point it transpired that we were right the first time: consular division shut, come back Wednesday.

Another day later, and they were indeed open, but still we did not get in the door: we were told to go online, fill out the application form, and return with it. They would not give us a copy to fill in there and then. By the time we did all this (form only in Russian and Chinese), the embassy was of course once again shut.

So back we came on Thursday. Yes, that’s right, consular section shut today. Come back Friday. At least the security guard was a bit more helpful this time, informing us that not only did the form need to be printed out, but also filled in in typed letters – no handwriting. He gave us instructions on how to reach an office in the centre of town where a woman could help us, but when we got to the street, this office was nowhere to be found.

A few hours in the Internet café later, and we had the forms beautifully typed up and printed, ready for Friday morning.

So, visit number six, and we were finally let in the door. The woman at the desk took a brief look at our forms, and told us flatly that we could not in fact obtain a Chinese visa here without a formal invitation from a state-approved organisation. This was quite surprising since there is no such requirement in Holland, or indeed the UK as far as I am aware.

As can well be imagined, we became quite angry at this and spent quite some time arguing with her. Eventually her colleague asked us to sit down at the long table in the middle of the room with him. Nervously, in the best English that he could manage, he explained patiently that they were very sorry but that these were the rules and that they could not help us here. Of course I was very angry and disappointed, but I still appreciate that he took the time to do this.

We had at this point spent five days in Astana, and were very depressed and de-motivated by the situation. We had been very patient and very determined, and it had got us absolutely nowhere.

Back at the hotel, it was time to consider the options. One of course was to say “screw China”, but that would mean a drastic shortening or massive re-planning of our trip. And I hate giving up on things. Finally, I did what I probably should have done much earlier, and called the British embassy, expecting to be laughed at or told to stop wasting their time.

In fact, the guy I spoke to was incredibly helpful and understanding, giving us all sorts of advice which would have been very useful earlier, and promised that he would call back when he had spoken to a colleague in Almaty. This he did, giving me the name and number of a travel agency who could arrange something called a “shopping visa”. This company were not directly able to help, but gave me the details of another who did; for about €60, they could arrange everything.

As another option, Astrid called het Visum Bureau, upon which I had earlier poured so much scorn. She asked if it would be possible send our passports to Amsterdam with DHL, get the visa done there, and have them sent back to us here by the same means. Also possible, but very expensive.

So now we have two options, which is two more than on Friday morning. Things are looking better already.

The company who can arrange us a visa here are based in Almaty. We had not originally planned to visit there, but for a number of reasons, we have changed our plans. Firstly, because that part of the country is said to be very beautiful. Secondly, because we still have a month-and-a-half left on our Kazakh visa. And thirdly, of course, because there should hopefully be a Chinese visa at the other end – 1200km away.

Meanwhile, we have had a week to enjoy the comforts of a shower and bed, not cycling, and seeing the sights of the Kazakh capital. Admittedly we have not really been in the mood to do much of the latter, but all the same paid a visit to the Baiterek on Tuesday, the huge flower-shaped tower in the heart of the new centre of the city.

The view from the top is quite impressive, especially in the way that it demonstrates the oasis-in-the-desert nature of Astana: beyond the building sites stretches flat virgin steppe as far as the eye can see.

The Baiterek (“Tree of Life”) stands proudly at the centre of an immense area of new development, with gleaming office blocks, immaculately manicured floral borders, an enormous mosque, and an equally enormous home for the president of Kazakhstan. There is yet more being built on every free space available, a phenomenon which has seen Astana more than double in size since it became the capital twelve years ago.

This is all very impressive, but it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Of course encouraging foreign investment is a good idea, but the amount which has clearly been spent here seems quite excessive in a country in which the majority of people do not seem to have running water or modern sanitation. Indeed something of a personality cult has built up around Kazakhstan’s first and thus far only president, Nursultan Nazarbayev, with his face on billboards everywhere and many of his wise sayings engraved onto public monuments. His birthday is a public holiday, and there is even a proposal to rename Astana after him.

Although such a state of affairs can seem absurd, uncomfortable, or even repulsive to Western sensibilities, I should at least put it into context. Kazakhstan is doing a lot better than many of its near and not-so-near neighbours, and not just because of its oil wealth. Despite possessing a highly ethnically-mixed population, it seems to have largely avoided the kind of tensions which have plagued Pakistan and of course Afghanistan, while at the same time being a much freer society than Iran or China. To have done so whilst at the same time developing for the first time in modern history as an independent country after the fall of the Soviet Union is quite an achievement.

But all the same, it appears that Nazarbayev is trying to secure himself a place in history on the back of Kazakhstan’s natural resources. But you cannot buy respect from the rest of the world with a few shiny buildings, while great numbers of ordinary people live quite deprived existences in the far-flung rural corners of the country where most foreign visitors never go (but we have). Of course as a Westerner it is perhaps quite arrogant of me to say so: we have already had our Victorian age, where the rich built palaces as the poor lived in squalor. But it would be nice if the developing world would learn something from our bad example.

Kazakhstan is clearly busy developing a national identity. a task which is not so straightforward given its history and current state. The official state language is Kazakh, although Russian is far more widely spoken, and the Russian media dominate. Proposals to replace the Cyrillic alphabet with the Latin one, thus shaking off a vestige of colonialism, have stalled. And while the country is nominally Muslim, the habits and clothes of most people indicate more of a Western-leaning, secular mainstream. And there is plenty of beer consumed.

All of this is not so surprising given its location: Russia to the north, China to the east, the Islamic world to the south, and Europe to the west. It really is a crossroads and an important middle ground between the most influential cultures of the modern world.

Aside from its shiny new buildings, there is one phenomenon in Astana that I must mention – the traffic policemen. The road network of the capital is totally inadequate to cope with the volume of traffic, and so at rush hour (and at some places at all times), policemen are placed in very precarious positions right in the middle of crossroads. They each have a little illuminated baton, which they swirl very deftly with one finger in circles so as to indicate which lane can move. Simultaneously, they make a variety of signals to the rest of the traffic with the other hand, which I have been unable to decipher. The whole set of continuous movements is quite a performance, an immaculately choreographed dance for one in the middle of the highway.

As may be expected in a capital city, Astana has many large and expensive hotels. We have been visiting a few of these (just for tea and coffee, unfortunately), partly in search of English-language newspapers, but also as a sort of short, sharp burst of luxury to combat the frugal existence which we have recently been leading and will shortly once again embark upon.

Among these is the Rixos President Astana, quite the poshest hotel I have ever been in. Tea cost €5 (quite a lot here), and came served in a silver pot, with a little silver jug of warm milk, both brown and white sugar in more silver containers, and a platter covered with nuts, raisins, and little cakes. For more money than we could possibly afford, it was also possible to order sushi, and next to each of the comfortable sofas in the lounge was a polished wooden rack on which to hang your suit jacket. There were marble statues everywhere, as well as boutiques selling, for example, €10000 jewel-encrusted mobile phones. I was surprised they even let us in the door.

But unfortunately a cup of tea was indeed as much as we could afford there. We have being enjoying instead the more modest comforts of the “Hotel Delight”, which has been more than enough luxury for us. Today, it’s back on the road. We will head south-east for Qaraghandy, whereafter we will enter some quite mountainous countryside, and perhaps even some desert regions, before arriving in Almaty in a little over two weeks time. Only then will we have a better idea about what will happen next – to China, or elsewhere if that doesn’t work out. It’s quite nerve-wracking but exciting at the same time.