Welcome to Kazakhstan
First thing in the morning, we caught a bus - not exactly the right bus - but the conductor told us where to get off and where to walk. Half a kilometre later we were at a bazaar with a marshrutka stand. 20 cents later we were crammed in a tiny Daewoo van heading for the border.
The border was busy, but unproblematic. Ollie accidentally stated that he was taking more money out of Uzbekistan than he brought in. The officials didn't care - we got our stamped forms and were off to the Kazakh side. A beefy bald soldier stopped us and asked where we were from, then whisked us through as he proceeded to hassle a crowd of Uzbek babushkas for bribes.
On the other side, a crowd of begging kids surrounded us. I thought I'd give them some peanuts. Bad move. Very bad move.
Another marshrutka, $2.50, for the 100km to Shymkent. This country is beautiful - kilometres of rolling green hills and in the distance the snow-capped Alteau Range.
Shymkent is rather chaotic. First of all we're attacked by a horde of taxi-drivers in full feeding frenzy: "Brat! Mercedes! Gdzie vam nada?!" We find the bus ticket office. 3 pricings - front, middle and back of the bus. We get the cheapo then find the luggage storage and walk to the bazaar. Decent size bazaar - mostly clothes. We have a bowl of plov with bread and tea for $1 each in a place made of plastic stapled to a wooden frame and a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Killer. The people here are very different from the Uzbeks. In fact, it almost feels like Mongolia, with the heavy bone structure and the asiatic features and fashionable Korean clothes.
The centre of town is rather Soviet - straight streets, green trees and a huge MIG suspended above a hill over a mosque. We walk through another bazaar and buy some cherries. The meat section is the best, with flies crawling over everything. One woman is selling fish from Sweden, she chastises my vegetarianism, trying to sell me a chicken.
We walk back to the bus station. I find a babushka sitting at a stall with big containers and bowls on top of them. I decide to 'have a bowl', not knowing what the hell is inside the container. Highlight of the day - fermented milk and rice soup. Her dried fermented cheese balls are also great.
At the bus station we find that there is a time difference between Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan - the hard way : we've missed our bus. The arsehole at the gate refuses to give us a refund, to the bafflement of the woman who sold us the tickets in the first place. But we have no time for arguments, there's a bus in another part of town in 15 minutes.
We buy tickets and find out why the back seats cost less - the hard way : you can't open the windows, the ceiling latches are broken and the aircon doesn't work. It's like a sauna. The Russian guys in front of us take off their t-shirts. 4 hours later there's a break at a restaurant. We hang out with a bunch of orthodox priests and Nurhan - a pro-boxer who beat Kosta Zhou in 1981 in amateur league, and who shall be fighting in the World Championships.
After 13 hours on the bus we get to Almaty. It's surprising, but I'm still able to sweat.
The border was busy, but unproblematic. Ollie accidentally stated that he was taking more money out of Uzbekistan than he brought in. The officials didn't care - we got our stamped forms and were off to the Kazakh side. A beefy bald soldier stopped us and asked where we were from, then whisked us through as he proceeded to hassle a crowd of Uzbek babushkas for bribes.
On the other side, a crowd of begging kids surrounded us. I thought I'd give them some peanuts. Bad move. Very bad move.
Another marshrutka, $2.50, for the 100km to Shymkent. This country is beautiful - kilometres of rolling green hills and in the distance the snow-capped Alteau Range.
Shymkent is rather chaotic. First of all we're attacked by a horde of taxi-drivers in full feeding frenzy: "Brat! Mercedes! Gdzie vam nada?!" We find the bus ticket office. 3 pricings - front, middle and back of the bus. We get the cheapo then find the luggage storage and walk to the bazaar. Decent size bazaar - mostly clothes. We have a bowl of plov with bread and tea for $1 each in a place made of plastic stapled to a wooden frame and a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Killer. The people here are very different from the Uzbeks. In fact, it almost feels like Mongolia, with the heavy bone structure and the asiatic features and fashionable Korean clothes.
The centre of town is rather Soviet - straight streets, green trees and a huge MIG suspended above a hill over a mosque. We walk through another bazaar and buy some cherries. The meat section is the best, with flies crawling over everything. One woman is selling fish from Sweden, she chastises my vegetarianism, trying to sell me a chicken.
We walk back to the bus station. I find a babushka sitting at a stall with big containers and bowls on top of them. I decide to 'have a bowl', not knowing what the hell is inside the container. Highlight of the day - fermented milk and rice soup. Her dried fermented cheese balls are also great.
At the bus station we find that there is a time difference between Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan - the hard way : we've missed our bus. The arsehole at the gate refuses to give us a refund, to the bafflement of the woman who sold us the tickets in the first place. But we have no time for arguments, there's a bus in another part of town in 15 minutes.
We buy tickets and find out why the back seats cost less - the hard way : you can't open the windows, the ceiling latches are broken and the aircon doesn't work. It's like a sauna. The Russian guys in front of us take off their t-shirts. 4 hours later there's a break at a restaurant. We hang out with a bunch of orthodox priests and Nurhan - a pro-boxer who beat Kosta Zhou in 1981 in amateur league, and who shall be fighting in the World Championships.
After 13 hours on the bus we get to Almaty. It's surprising, but I'm still able to sweat.
posted by nekonote1903 at 12:18 pm
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