To see what I could see

My flight arrived in Cairo around 11:45 last night. Passport control was painless once I had purchased the requisite visa. I had no checked bags, so I headed for the exit, where to my surprise a large crowd of baggage laden humans was simultaneously attempting to squeeze into a roughly 3 foot wide chute, at the further end of which stood one man. He flipped the pages of passports in a seemingly random manner, eyed luggage, said something that I think was “anything to declare?” and then allowed us through. It was a scrum, but despite the lateness of the hour, not too bad. I just pressed forward in the sea of humans like everyone else, and eventually I too was spit out the other end. I walked under the ‘nothing to declare’ sign, not sure what else was required. I just tried to look oblivious and clueless, neither of which was a stretch!

Then it was out into the arrivals hall, where I was approached numerous times about a taxi. For once I had succumbed to common sense and had requested a hotel pickup, mostly due to the late arrival time. I was almost to the door when I remembered to stop and get a sim card, which turned out to be a good thing. I went outside to look for my name on the signs held by various drivers, while continuously saying no to offers of a taxi. My name did not appear, so I got the opportunity to try out my new sim card. A few attempts later, I got hold of the hotel. They had tried to reach my via my Whatsapp, and not having made contact, the driver had left. They sent another, and I cooled my heels in the warm night, watching as the usual business of an airport carried on. It seemed like a long wait, and it was, given that all I could do was stand there. No reentry permitted, so waiting inside was not an option. I understood later why it took so long- the drive to the hotel was long even at that time of night with little traffic.

I’m safely ensconced in a slightly shabby hotel near Talaat Harb Square, and off to see what I can see as the city starts its day.

I have access to one of the Air France lounges while at the Paris-Charles de Gaulle Airport, which comes with fast, free wifi, now recognized as one of life’s essentials. I say that a bit in jest and also just a bit seriously. I’m doing some work while traveling, and I also do not have all my travel logistics quite nailed down. Plus I want to communicate with you lovelies.

I saw the Eiffel Tower on our approach to Paris, or what I think is the Eiffel Tower. But that’s as close as I’ll get, I’m merely transiting through.

I like traveling alone, for all the reasons I’ve already shared previously. However, it is not without drawbacks. Everywhere I go, my bags must go. No tripping off to the buffet line unencumbered for me, instead I look a bit like a human mule as I make my selections. It’s a worthwhile sacrifice, at least from my perspective. Those observing me might disagree. 🙂

“Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.” Anthony Bourdain

I find myself struggling to articulate the internal shift from this most recent trip. I’m not claiming a life changing experience, yet I am changed. It wasn’t one thing but more an accumulation of small experiences and events that moved the needle. Time will tell whether I actually learned anything lasting. I am reminded though, of the importance of going.

I learn a little more each trip about humility and my relative position in the universe, about acceptance of things as they are, and also I gain confidence in my capacity to solve the problems presented. My mind is opened and re-opened by seeing things from another perspective, and my faith in humanity is a little bit repaired by the spontaneous kindness that is given me by those whose works I’m passing through.

I am trying to keep my eyes open here on my home turf, to see it through the eyes of a stranger. I don’t really know what the value of that effort may be.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

. . . must end. So it is, although often what looks like an ending is a beginning disguised.

I’m back at work today, having returned safe and sound. Re-entry is always a challenge but this one feels natural in a way that vacations did not when I worked for someone else. Too soon to tell if I will make it through day one back at work without a nap though.

I woke to the sound of rain from my open windows today, so I started my day slow. I am on my way to the Green Bazaar, stopped for coffee and breakfast. Odd things about not knowing how things are done here: the restaurant staff greets you in English, and hands you a menu all in Russian, with no sense of the dilemma, then stands there ready to take your order before you have even cracked the menu open.

I’ve relied heavily on Google translate on this trip, for parsing a menu, for asking directions, for everything except the most basic ‘gde tuyalet’. In this screenshot I am conveying my special request to the hotel staff, who speaks English but this was too much. I ran to my room and got the phone and that was that.

The city has a European feel to it, with broad, shady pedestrian streets, play structures and water fountains for kids to play in, unexpected street art, and funky benches. It is clean and safe. Almaty also has the legacy of the old Soviet style of building in many places and the combination is interesting. There is a large bazaar here, and I wandered a while in it. I wanted to see other neighborhoods, but I have run out of days here.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

I got to the Metro this morning on my way to meet my bus and found it nearly empty. That made me realize it was Sunday [edit: it was really Saturday], and probably the trains wouldn’t run quite so often. But I made it on time anyway, to a row of large tour buses, with assigned seat #9 on one of them. I had misgivings about today’s plan. A three hour bus ride to anywhere isn’t at the top of my list. This ride was to see Charyn Canyon, reputed to be like the Grand Canyon in the US. I had hoped to spend the night there in one of the yurts or bungalows, but I’d left it too late, or else I couldn’t crack the code on the website. So a three hour bus ride, a few hours there, and a three hour ride back. Questionable, yes?

Everyone began the ride by keeping to themselves or to their own travel companions. Most seemed to be Kazakh tourists, with a sprinkling of Europeans. When we stopped for a rest break, I pulled out the bag of cookies I’d brought and offered them to my near neighbors, and that seemed to relax people a bit. The guide speaks only in Russian or Kazakh so I just wait and follow the cues of my neighbors as to what to do. Dinara, a woman who lives in Almaty, was kind enough to translate when we were to be back at the bus- one of those details you don’t want to miss.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

I may or may not have found a bookstore here with books in English. First I have a bit of work to get done, and then the reward of searching out two different possibilities. This is one of my favorite things to do in new (to me) places.

I’m not mapping uncharted territory, but it feels like that. Happy Friday to you!

Either Almaty has changed quite a lot in the past five years, or I have. Or I’m willing to consider the possibility of both.

Today as I walked in this beautiful, clean, shaded city, I could not believe it is the same place I visited for two partial days five years ago. I was so taken by the feeling that it was almost a different city (I double checked mentally more than once- was I here? Am I thinking of another place?), that I finally walked to the railway station, which is how I first entered the city, and went by the hotel I stayed in last time. Sure enough, some things have not changed. The central mosque still stands much as before, and the neighborhood surrounding it seemed not to have changed. But the rest of the city has gotten more than a fresh coat of paint. The metro looks and feels like it opened yesterday. I’m only seeing the center of the city, and I’m here for just a few days, so my view is incomplete at best. But for the things that I could go to and say “I was here” I would think I was in a different city.

I walked from where we got dropped by the van from Bishkek to the metro with a couple of other travelers- a young Texan who is going to school in Bishkek and her Belgian boyfriend. I often feel quite old when chatting with young travelers- my perspective and the way I want to spend my time has shifted somewhere along the way, and while I can remember being at their stage of life, I can’t be bothered with repeating it. Nevertheless, it was nice to make a temporary connection, speak and hear English, and then push off on my own again.

• 

• 

• 

• 

It felt that way about mid-day today. We started at 7:30. I had breakfast at 7, and Dalet and Hijmadullah (Irene’s guess at spelling the driver’s name) had eaten earlier. During Ramadan the morning meal is eaten about 3 am here.

• 

• 

• 

In the valleys we drove through in the first hour, there seemed to be another beekeeper with a group of hives about every 2 km. Some, like the one we stopped at, had a little hut. Others had a caravan or a yurt. The man we talked with was a friendly old Russian. He had many hives, and some chickens, including a little bunch of chicklets following their mama around in the grass behind his hut. I think we woke him when we stopped, but he chatted with the men and answered my questions interpreted by Dalet. He opened and showed us some of his hives. I could see his extractor sitting covered with plastic.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

We drove through valleys, snaking our way over passes and back down, and repeated this over and over. At one point we drove right into the mountainside- a 3 kilometer length tunnel built 100 years ago. I got a little nervous in that one.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

There were small stands along the road with a display of what was on offer- honey, food, gas, any number of things. Hijmadullah told me (via Dalet) that the families I saw in the yurts and caravans would have just arrived in the past couple of weeks. This is summer pasturage for the animals, with lots of green grass watered by the snow melt.

• 

• 

•