Contrary to what many will tell you, they don't hate tourists here (I have probably stuck my foot in my mouth already but please make sure you check back for my inglorious display - hey, why take life so seriously? - when I write about getting past Turkmenistan, okay?). It's hard to fathom in the beginning but you just have to remind yourself incessantly that these countries in the region had only truly begun to open up not too long ago and old habits do die hard. Trust me, I had been trying to quit coffee for as long as I had my first cup at ten (not in the morning, but of age).
We were a bit lost due to not updated maps (damn you LP!) but passer-bys were helpful to point out the roads although you have to get used to listening / understand Russian spoken rapidly. Almaty wears the badge of new found riches unashamedly. Flashy Hummers, accountant uncles in their polished M-B while slicked up youngsters burning off their daddies' oil money in boom-boxed up BMWs. Women in lanky summer dresses and Sophia Loren shades. The colour of summer here is white and you see them all, in white skinny jeans, white tops, white bras, some not so well fitted white tops (think bra-spill), white see-through dresses, eye shadow and lip make-up in the same intensity. It's all out there and shown nakedly to the watchful eye. Many cafes and bars popped up in the corners of this grid-like town serving coffee and tea at the price to redeem the cost of their printing that very expensive looking menu. You'll get the usual must-see in Almaty if you look up any guidebook or websites. But do not be deterred to think that you can't get by without splashing cash. You can get decent lodging in the town centre, you just have to be patient and work by the ways of the ex-Soviet mentality. Admittedly our check-in lady was nice although my palm still hurt from the way she shoved the key into my hand. I guessed she was just... enthusiastic? The LP guides note that at times some places refuse foreign tourists but I guess this, like the map requires updating. We even go to change into a more quiet room since day two. No problem although the floor lady who looked like a fuming Dinara Safina that lost her No.1 ranking over and over again, tersely instructed us to hand over our towels and gave us what looked slightly bigger than a piece of toilet paper for bathing. This was blasphemy. So gently we had to "spaceeba" her a lot with gratitude when we were finally being given towels big enough to cover the modesty of sharing a 4-bed dorm between three people. Not bad!
We were a bit lost due to not updated maps (damn you LP!) but passer-bys were helpful to point out the roads although you have to get used to listening / understand Russian spoken rapidly. Almaty wears the badge of new found riches unashamedly. Flashy Hummers, accountant uncles in their polished M-B while slicked up youngsters burning off their daddies' oil money in boom-boxed up BMWs. Women in lanky summer dresses and Sophia Loren shades. The colour of summer here is white and you see them all, in white skinny jeans, white tops, white bras, some not so well fitted white tops (think bra-spill), white see-through dresses, eye shadow and lip make-up in the same intensity. It's all out there and shown nakedly to the watchful eye. Many cafes and bars popped up in the corners of this grid-like town serving coffee and tea at the price to redeem the cost of their printing that very expensive looking menu. You'll get the usual must-see in Almaty if you look up any guidebook or websites. But do not be deterred to think that you can't get by without splashing cash. You can get decent lodging in the town centre, you just have to be patient and work by the ways of the ex-Soviet mentality. Admittedly our check-in lady was nice although my palm still hurt from the way she shoved the key into my hand. I guessed she was just... enthusiastic? The LP guides note that at times some places refuse foreign tourists but I guess this, like the map requires updating. We even go to change into a more quiet room since day two. No problem although the floor lady who looked like a fuming Dinara Safina that lost her No.1 ranking over and over again, tersely instructed us to hand over our towels and gave us what looked slightly bigger than a piece of toilet paper for bathing. This was blasphemy. So gently we had to "spaceeba" her a lot with gratitude when we were finally being given towels big enough to cover the modesty of sharing a 4-bed dorm between three people. Not bad!
Public transport is so cheap and you should enjoy the walk at nights. The streets are well lit and I reckon there is no reason to succumb into the hassle of haggling with those non-licensed cabbies. And by the way, plov and the likes of food are sold in weight. One night, three famished backpackers decided to buy some cheap nasi briyani-equivalent for dinner and I suspected by the time we paid and brought the three boxes home, we had consumed all of it a total of just 2kg of rice and mutton, carrots and onions. That's why the next night was dorm-made salad and bread. Far cheaper than the 600T per pax last night and less suffering in the digestive tract.
Sitting outside in the night, we caught an accordion busker making his few coins. Cities, old or new, are always so much more romantic and pretty at night. Even the abandoned theatrics building opposite where we sat took on a twilight secretive look at the human traffic passing the busy streets into the night of another day to come. Almaty, in every sense, reveals a lot of character if you see beyond the glitzy display of money and power that we get accustomed to reading in novels. Should I get one wish for a day, I may ask for everyone to disappear for just 24 hours and I could photograph this town to really see the face behind the veil.
Until of course, coming to the bits of registering with the Migration Police was another matter. Technically under five days of visit, you didn't need to but tourists have been accorded a new assumption of the ever full pot of honey and gold. So the police tend to think that they could kill two birds with one stone by (1) pretending to be doing their job in civil obedience control and "ask to check your passport", and (2) fish off any money should their intimidation tactic manages to fool you into their charade.
Sitting outside in the night, we caught an accordion busker making his few coins. Cities, old or new, are always so much more romantic and pretty at night. Even the abandoned theatrics building opposite where we sat took on a twilight secretive look at the human traffic passing the busy streets into the night of another day to come. Almaty, in every sense, reveals a lot of character if you see beyond the glitzy display of money and power that we get accustomed to reading in novels. Should I get one wish for a day, I may ask for everyone to disappear for just 24 hours and I could photograph this town to really see the face behind the veil.
Until of course, coming to the bits of registering with the Migration Police was another matter. Technically under five days of visit, you didn't need to but tourists have been accorded a new assumption of the ever full pot of honey and gold. So the police tend to think that they could kill two birds with one stone by (1) pretending to be doing their job in civil obedience control and "ask to check your passport", and (2) fish off any money should their intimidation tactic manages to fool you into their charade.
Generally speaking, you greet these corrupted cops as you would with any cop - respectfully. But if the hustle turns dirty, you just revert to speaking Finnish and make a show of not understanding Russian at all. Never sign anything, never let them put their hands into your backpack or pockets. Coming to the registering our alien status, we decided that five days or not, we just didn't want any trouble / hassle as we leave for Uzbekistan once our visa application in Almaty is completed. Hence we entered a maze of roads and turns, passing museums and an ancient Russian Orthodox church to smells of roast chooks and freshly baked bread in bazaars, only in frustrated defiance we had to ignore and walk straight on to the office that served as nothing but a tiring end to a long journey and mindless treasure hunt.
The tiny building housed many anxious and highly strung people lining up in what looked like crooked snakes that got tunneled into one cashier counter. Anyone suffering from lack of oxygen is advised to try to open one of those rusty / dusty windows that probably looked like they had been amalgamated into place long before the CIS was formed. Hence began a long process of finding the right counter, getting the right form, trying to find someone kind enough to show you how to read Cyrillic and write the hotel's address in Cyrillic, lining again in one of those corridors, being grabbed by rude men because they accused you were jumping the line when they quickly cut through in front of you while agitating a lot of big mommas behind me by flashing a "government card". In the end I made it in once piece to pay for a really expensive blue slip that will keep me out of trouble with any encounter with the cops. I must say, that was a day that provided a lot of insight into what the locals had to deal with on a daily basis. Lines here, there, papers, forms, crooked officials and a lot of, pardon me for generalisation, but local men that just didn't understand the meaning of chivalry towards their own women. A lot try to threaten and use high voices while their other male counterpart just look on, with only the females speaking up and not taking this shit. As a tourist, no matter how frustrating it was, and it was incredibly irritating (I even supported the big momma and contributed a bit of my "didn't your mother teach you manners?" as the women rallied behind her to oust this despicable tyrant who tried to flash his useless government badge to cut the line), I empathise with the locals for living with this system. How long will it take to change? How many could escape long enough for it to change?
The best part of it? After hours of fighting for a piece of access, we were told to return four hours later to collect our passport. That night I slept like a log.
The tiny building housed many anxious and highly strung people lining up in what looked like crooked snakes that got tunneled into one cashier counter. Anyone suffering from lack of oxygen is advised to try to open one of those rusty / dusty windows that probably looked like they had been amalgamated into place long before the CIS was formed. Hence began a long process of finding the right counter, getting the right form, trying to find someone kind enough to show you how to read Cyrillic and write the hotel's address in Cyrillic, lining again in one of those corridors, being grabbed by rude men because they accused you were jumping the line when they quickly cut through in front of you while agitating a lot of big mommas behind me by flashing a "government card". In the end I made it in once piece to pay for a really expensive blue slip that will keep me out of trouble with any encounter with the cops. I must say, that was a day that provided a lot of insight into what the locals had to deal with on a daily basis. Lines here, there, papers, forms, crooked officials and a lot of, pardon me for generalisation, but local men that just didn't understand the meaning of chivalry towards their own women. A lot try to threaten and use high voices while their other male counterpart just look on, with only the females speaking up and not taking this shit. As a tourist, no matter how frustrating it was, and it was incredibly irritating (I even supported the big momma and contributed a bit of my "didn't your mother teach you manners?" as the women rallied behind her to oust this despicable tyrant who tried to flash his useless government badge to cut the line), I empathise with the locals for living with this system. How long will it take to change? How many could escape long enough for it to change?
The best part of it? After hours of fighting for a piece of access, we were told to return four hours later to collect our passport. That night I slept like a log.
Following day, going to the Uzbekistan embassy was relatively easy and applying for the visa was, vis-a-vis to Kazakhstan embassy in Urumqi, a breezy sit under the tree. Literally, the embassy build a shed around a tall Poplar and it provided a much needed shade from the frying heat. Silly me thought I should just wait for the door to open before enquiring on the "list" to put your name. Hubby reminded me that we have to think ex-Soviet to survive. So we went up to a guard with gold teeth and conspicuously showed our Malaysian passport. That was the perfect trap to secure their interest and curiosity. We got in to write our names. Waiting game began and once they fingered you to follow inside, you adopted this bowing stance while answering the probably, only English-speaking guard in situ and he took all your paperwork, photocopies and photograph. Stamp here, sign there, ask you to return next Tuesday or Thursday to "see if it is ready" and you should at this point grit your teeth and smile, thank him profusely and walk out. Oh yes, you need to shell out U$75 per pax on the day of collection. Now follow me, breathe in, breathe out... feel as if your body has no more weight, no more stress... breathe in, breathe out...
ps: Writing this now in the only wireless connection I could find around town after throwing away the LP 2006 map (so useless and not updated that it's only slightly more important than toilet paper... or not?) but it's been a day that was so sheer hot that it took all will to soldier on to look for the Repression Museum. Our walk took us down many streets and many broken enquiries with helpful locals who really tried to point us to the right direction. In the end, after a many rabbit hole, we discovered that the entire collection has been moved to Astana. I was disappointed as I liked to learn about the 1930s purging from the Stalin regime but solidifying my belief that it's the people that makes up for a lot of the city and here in Almaty, I say good on you guys, you're heading on the right track.
And of course I was pissed off with how Brazil played last night and I am pinning my voodoo doll on Holland really thrashing Uruguay - professional cheats!
And of course I was pissed off with how Brazil played last night and I am pinning my voodoo doll on Holland really thrashing Uruguay - professional cheats!
