Kellen Smetana
Almaty, capital of Kazakhstan until 1998 when the Kazakh president decided to build Astana, and Bishkek, capital of Kyrgyzstan, are separated by a mere 250 kilometers. They have also already taken over spots 1 and 2 in my list of favorite cities of the trip. I did not think the (few) Chinese cities we visited had much organic character (with the exception of parts of Urumqi and some of the smaller towns); for the most part, it felt like the Chinese government bulldozed all the old and made way for the modern, clean, bland new. Almaty and Bishkek have character. (Think Boston versus Phoenix – no offense to anyone living in Arizona).
Almaty
A very green, tree-strewn city at the base of the towering Zailiysky Alatau Mountains in Kazakhstan: my favorite city of the trip so far. It is also the final destination for much of the oil money from Kazakhstan’s Caspian reserves and it wasn’t difficult to spot this in the nice homes and cars.
Almaty, capital of Kazakhstan until 1998 when the Kazakh president decided to build Astana, and Bishkek, capital of Kyrgyzstan, are separated by a mere 250 kilometers. They have also already taken over spots 1 and 2 in my list of favorite cities of the trip. I did not think the (few) Chinese cities we visited had much organic character (with the exception of parts of Urumqi and some of the smaller towns); for the most part, it felt like the Chinese government bulldozed all the old and made way for the modern, clean, bland new. Almaty and Bishkek have character. (Think Boston versus Phoenix – no offense to anyone living in Arizona).
Almaty
A very green, tree-strewn city at the base of the towering Zailiysky Alatau Mountains in Kazakhstan: my favorite city of the trip so far. It is also the final destination for much of the oil money from Kazakhstan’s Caspian reserves and it wasn’t difficult to spot this in the nice homes and cars.
Zenkov Cathedral, Almaty
Leafy Almaty
Our sejour started rather annoyingly when we discovered we had to burn a day visiting the Migration Office to collect a stamp that proves we were in the country (in addition to the one they give you at the border…) or risk paying a huge fine upon departure. Say it with me: “bureaucracy is fun!” Fortunately we were able to put our elite queuing skills acquired in China into practice, elbowing shouting teenagers and boxing out old babushkas all clawing for the ultimate goal, a mouth directly in front of the clerk’s small window opening. Eventually it proved less of a hassle than we feared and we were on our way by midday. Ben returned to the hostel and I decided to spend the afternoon visiting David, owner of Stantours, an agency that helps with Central Asian visas, to ask him some questions about my upcoming visa deluge.
To get there, I took a “taxi.” In Almaty, there are official taxis with proper signs, but the cool thing is that any car on the street is a potential taxi. Just walk on the correct side of the road, stick out your thumb, and someone will pull over; you can quickly discuss the location and price, and if they are headed your way, it’s a win-win for everyone. So I figured I had to test the waters.
I stuck out my hand and was picked up by an old red Soviet car within seconds. We agreed on a price and sped off. Three minutes later he cut across two lanes of traffic to pick up another two riders. At first I was annoyed that he was continuing to operate before dropping me off, then I saw he was picking up a model-looking woman dressed to the nines and her young son. Fair enough. Parked by the curb, I could hear others passing on the street hooting and whistling as the two climbed in. I just looked up and quietly said hello. Very soon, at the driver’s persistent smiling emphasis, I found out she was one of Kazakhstan’s most famous musicians, a violinist, and she had just finished filming a television program, which explained the elaborate make-up and dress at 3pm. We had a nice chat about my bike trip and her performances in New York City before dropping the two of them off at some huge home. Afterwards, I got a good laugh out of the driver, who was grinning from ear to ear and decided to express this vocally by rocking out to Ace of Base for the remainder of my ride.
The next day was my birthday, and we celebrated with a trip to the Kyrgyz consulate. This again proved easier than expected, mostly because I pleaded with the clerk to pick up the visas same day. He inhaled about 10 cubic meters of air and proceeded to exhale slowly (while I glanced from him to the non-existent line behind me, and back to him several times) before agreeing. We also pieced together a city walking tour and fun night out with Henrik, the same Danish cyclist we had met in Urumqi, to cap the day.
To get there, I took a “taxi.” In Almaty, there are official taxis with proper signs, but the cool thing is that any car on the street is a potential taxi. Just walk on the correct side of the road, stick out your thumb, and someone will pull over; you can quickly discuss the location and price, and if they are headed your way, it’s a win-win for everyone. So I figured I had to test the waters.
I stuck out my hand and was picked up by an old red Soviet car within seconds. We agreed on a price and sped off. Three minutes later he cut across two lanes of traffic to pick up another two riders. At first I was annoyed that he was continuing to operate before dropping me off, then I saw he was picking up a model-looking woman dressed to the nines and her young son. Fair enough. Parked by the curb, I could hear others passing on the street hooting and whistling as the two climbed in. I just looked up and quietly said hello. Very soon, at the driver’s persistent smiling emphasis, I found out she was one of Kazakhstan’s most famous musicians, a violinist, and she had just finished filming a television program, which explained the elaborate make-up and dress at 3pm. We had a nice chat about my bike trip and her performances in New York City before dropping the two of them off at some huge home. Afterwards, I got a good laugh out of the driver, who was grinning from ear to ear and decided to express this vocally by rocking out to Ace of Base for the remainder of my ride.
The next day was my birthday, and we celebrated with a trip to the Kyrgyz consulate. This again proved easier than expected, mostly because I pleaded with the clerk to pick up the visas same day. He inhaled about 10 cubic meters of air and proceeded to exhale slowly (while I glanced from him to the non-existent line behind me, and back to him several times) before agreeing. We also pieced together a city walking tour and fun night out with Henrik, the same Danish cyclist we had met in Urumqi, to cap the day.
Kazakh WWII and Russian Civil War Memorial
Henrik, Danish cyclist and Kung Fu expert
Bishkek
Two days later we were in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan, another leafy green city at the foot of towering peaks. The stay started out well when the stout Russian neighbor to the hostel brought over homemade barley rum (mmm… just kidding) for everyone our first night there. I was nearly crying in laughter when he could not understand one of the British guy’s jokes and continually threw his arms up in fits of drunken anger. The next day an unsuccessful visit to the Uzbek embassy meant we had to stay the weekend (I wasn’t too opposed).
Saturday evening, nobody else was up for the local football (soccer) match, but I decided to go anyway. It was awesome. Bishkek’s second-tier team was playing a home game in the city’s large 30,000 capacity stadium. I arrived to find open gates and only about 900 fans; I think more people used to come to my high-school track meets. 800 of those fans were polishing off their sixth refilled plastic bottle of beer and the atmosphere was rowdie! This was only amplified during the thirty minute rain delay caused by another one of those wicked storms from the west. In the end, Bishkek came out victorious 3-0. An altogether fun evening; it’s always great to see how universally loved sports are.
Two days later we were in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan, another leafy green city at the foot of towering peaks. The stay started out well when the stout Russian neighbor to the hostel brought over homemade barley rum (mmm… just kidding) for everyone our first night there. I was nearly crying in laughter when he could not understand one of the British guy’s jokes and continually threw his arms up in fits of drunken anger. The next day an unsuccessful visit to the Uzbek embassy meant we had to stay the weekend (I wasn’t too opposed).
Saturday evening, nobody else was up for the local football (soccer) match, but I decided to go anyway. It was awesome. Bishkek’s second-tier team was playing a home game in the city’s large 30,000 capacity stadium. I arrived to find open gates and only about 900 fans; I think more people used to come to my high-school track meets. 800 of those fans were polishing off their sixth refilled plastic bottle of beer and the atmosphere was rowdie! This was only amplified during the thirty minute rain delay caused by another one of those wicked storms from the west. In the end, Bishkek came out victorious 3-0. An altogether fun evening; it’s always great to see how universally loved sports are.
Football!
Standing room only
This calls for another drink
Sunday, the three girls working at the hostel offered to show Ben, me, and our new Parisian friend Joel around the city. We spent the afternoon hopping between parks and landmarks, enjoying the beauty of the city and its local drinks – I’m finally starting to get used to kumys (fermented mare’s milk).
Bishkek tour group
Manas statue, Bishkek
The hostel here has been excellent; it’s a crossroads of trekkers and fellow cyclists from around the world. I may even partner up with a really cool British guy, Theo, heading west from Tashkent, Uzbekistan. As we wait for the embassy to reopen, I have also fit in some time to rest and work on the bike to prepare it for the massive Kyrgyz mountain ranges to come.
Not all fun and games
We’ll be back on the road soon and from stories circulating at the guesthouse, it should prove to be some more excellent riding (did you really expect anything less?).
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