The country of Kazakhstan is located between Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, and assholes Uzbekistan. Why was I here? Well, I was on my way to my sister's wedding in Bedford from Beijing and decided to stop off in Astana for a few days. I had a jar of gipsy tears around my neck to protect me on my 2-day adventure of the nation's 20-year-old capital.
Although Kazakhstan is a glorious country, it has problems, too: economic, social, and Jew.
The city has only existed for 20 years since President Nursultan Nazarbayev decided to relocate the capital from Almaty to Akmola. I was 8 years old, fresh-faced, holidaying at Disneyland Paris, and coming to terms with starting Year 4. Since then Akmola has become Astana and I have become a stunner.
The reason why Nazarbayev moved the capital to Almaty was to reduce the possibility of separatism from the northern regions of Kazakhstan. Sure, the reason was logical, but beyond Astana there is merely grasslands and a former concentration camp, a really difficult sell for the travel brochure writers.
Straight off the plane I realised I hadn't packed accordingly. It was cold and I was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Prior to my arrival I was advised that a taxi from the airport to the city should cost no more than 1500 tenge. The driver tried to charge me 3000 so we settled on 1700, but as we arrived he demanded 2700. I tried to argue but I don't think I was ever going to win an argument with an angry Kazakh/Russian. I threw the additional 1000 tenge at him and told him to "fuck off". I think that was the shortest time from arriving in a country to telling one of the locals to fuck off, a mere 25 minutes or so.
After he sped off I worked out how much I'd been taken for a ride for. £2.28. That was it. I felt a little sheepish for how I'd reacted, but still, the bastard cheated me!
It was my first time to use an AirBnB and while the location and the price were very good the convenience suffered. I arrived in the city at 7am and it was chilly, the locals were dressed up in winter gear like it was January 28th rather than May 28th. My data wasn't roaming for some reason so I went for a walk to find a cafe to get WiFi. I didn't have much luck. I considered taking refuge in an ATM vestibule, but decided to continue my search. My quest resulted in defeat, so I took a rest in a children's play area.
Not how I had imagined spending the first few hours in Astana, chilling with a suitcase in the cold while on-looking parents thought I was a young Gary Glitter with a suitcase full of sweets and puppies. I found an Italian bistro that opened at 9am and ordered The Kazakh Breakfast, just the establishment that you'd expect authentic local cuisine.
I finally got hold of the AirBnB host and met her at 10am. She showed me to the room. It wasn't quite what I was expecting, I thought AirBnB hosts offered their spare bedrooms for guests, but not this girl, she rented out her bedroom. I curiously looked in the wardrobe to find it full, her trinkets were all around and then I hit the jackpot - the underwear drawer. I felt a bit awkward staying there, but don't get me wrong, I had a fantastic wank after going through her unmentionables.
Out in the city I took in most of the sights. It is a bizarre place where even in the city centre there are no people around. The atmosphere is surreal. A mere 25 years ago there was nothing here but grassland and now it's a big metropolis. The Kazakhs threw their oil money at the city and this is the result. It's very...gold.
I took a wander to The Presidential Palace. Then over to The Palace of Peace and Reconciliation. Here they practice equality of religions and I'm totally on board with this in that they're all equally ridiculous.
I got a taxi over to The Museum of the First President of the Republic of Kazakhstan where they pay homage to Nursultan Nazarbayev. The exhibits were 95% in Russian and Kazakh, which wasn't surprising, but made the visit totally pointless for me. There aren't many people who build museums in their own honour while they are still alive. It's a short list consisting of Joseph Stalin, The Kims of North Korea and John Terry and none of those who ego-maniacs make you wear shoe protectors to visit their halls of greatness. Just imagine being the most narcissistic among those people.
The following day I took a trip west to Kalzhir, a former Soviet labour camp which imprisoned family members of traitors to the motherland. Women were sent from all over the Soviet Union to the baron lands of the Kazakh steppe. These days the camp is surrounded by a township and the capital city is a mere 35km away, but at the time there was nothing but flat grassland. On the day I attended it was late May, but cold and extremely windy. I can only imagine what it must have been like to arrive in the middle of winter only to have dry reeds to sleep on to keep you warm at night. The minimum sentence at the gulag was 5 years for being guilty by association.
My AirBnB host came home on my final night accompanied by her boyfriend. In broken English he said "My girlfriend. Don't touch". Which was a bit strange, I'm sure it was meant in jest, but Kazakhs aren't particularly known for their comedic delivery. If he had said "My girlfriend. You can touch...NOT!" Then there would have been no confusion that he was joking.
I thought she had popped over to pick up a few things but she was actually staying the night which confused me as I was staying in her room. Was she going to join me? I thought I should invite her to share the bed, I am a gentleman after all. When I approached her she was clearing a space in the kitchen to settle in for the night. I was dejected. A hard, cold wooden kitchen floor is more appealing than sharing a bed with me. I returned to her bedroom and consoled myself with one final dip into her underwear drawer.
My time in Kazakhstan was over and I headed for the airport, although I was slightly hesitant flying just in case the Jews repeated their attack of 9/11.
My final purchase in Kazakhstan was a beer and some fermented camels' milk. I'm not sure why, but it was an impulse buy. The beer went down a treat as I waited in the departure lounge and the milk was saved for an in-flight taste.
We were 30 minutes in the air when I decided to treat myself. I learned something that day, that fermented camels’ milk will explode when opened. It went everywhere. On my jeans, on my chair and all I had was a solitary tissue to clean it up with. I tried to use my pillow as a substitute, but that didn't work. I took a crotch shot which looked like I'd had a romance explosion over Pamela Anderson.
I don't know if you've ever smelled fermented camels' milk, but it smells worse than you're imagining. After that ordeal I didn't fancy tasting it either. Probably the worst £1.50 I've ever spent and I had six and a half hours left of my journey to sit with a moist crotch.
Two days in Astana is more than enough. It's a bizarre place that was quite interesting to see and was worth the trip as I was passing though, but I wouldn't recommend anyone make a trip here with the sole purpose of seeing Astana. It’s a city in the middle of nowhere, which is most noticeable when you fly in and out. Beyond the city, you can see the vast Kazakh steppe which from the south extends 193km before you hit the nearest city. At 5ft7 big steppes scare me quite considerably.
I may return to the south of Kazakhstan to see the historical part of the country one day. I’d like to explore more of central Asia and the surrounding countries, despite them having inferior potassium.
But for now, I've got a wedding to attend. Catch you on the next one.
Although Kazakhstan is a glorious country, it has problems, too: economic, social, and Jew.
The city has only existed for 20 years since President Nursultan Nazarbayev decided to relocate the capital from Almaty to Akmola. I was 8 years old, fresh-faced, holidaying at Disneyland Paris, and coming to terms with starting Year 4. Since then Akmola has become Astana and I have become a stunner.
 |
| I can't help but feel they were putting words in my mouth. I don't even know what an Anatsa is. |
Straight off the plane I realised I hadn't packed accordingly. It was cold and I was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Prior to my arrival I was advised that a taxi from the airport to the city should cost no more than 1500 tenge. The driver tried to charge me 3000 so we settled on 1700, but as we arrived he demanded 2700. I tried to argue but I don't think I was ever going to win an argument with an angry Kazakh/Russian. I threw the additional 1000 tenge at him and told him to "fuck off". I think that was the shortest time from arriving in a country to telling one of the locals to fuck off, a mere 25 minutes or so.
After he sped off I worked out how much I'd been taken for a ride for. £2.28. That was it. I felt a little sheepish for how I'd reacted, but still, the bastard cheated me!
It was my first time to use an AirBnB and while the location and the price were very good the convenience suffered. I arrived in the city at 7am and it was chilly, the locals were dressed up in winter gear like it was January 28th rather than May 28th. My data wasn't roaming for some reason so I went for a walk to find a cafe to get WiFi. I didn't have much luck. I considered taking refuge in an ATM vestibule, but decided to continue my search. My quest resulted in defeat, so I took a rest in a children's play area.
Not how I had imagined spending the first few hours in Astana, chilling with a suitcase in the cold while on-looking parents thought I was a young Gary Glitter with a suitcase full of sweets and puppies. I found an Italian bistro that opened at 9am and ordered The Kazakh Breakfast, just the establishment that you'd expect authentic local cuisine.
I finally got hold of the AirBnB host and met her at 10am. She showed me to the room. It wasn't quite what I was expecting, I thought AirBnB hosts offered their spare bedrooms for guests, but not this girl, she rented out her bedroom. I curiously looked in the wardrobe to find it full, her trinkets were all around and then I hit the jackpot - the underwear drawer. I felt a bit awkward staying there, but don't get me wrong, I had a fantastic wank after going through her unmentionables.
Out in the city I took in most of the sights. It is a bizarre place where even in the city centre there are no people around. The atmosphere is surreal. A mere 25 years ago there was nothing here but grassland and now it's a big metropolis. The Kazakhs threw their oil money at the city and this is the result. It's very...gold.
 |
| That's the president's gaff |
The following day I took a trip west to Kalzhir, a former Soviet labour camp which imprisoned family members of traitors to the motherland. Women were sent from all over the Soviet Union to the baron lands of the Kazakh steppe. These days the camp is surrounded by a township and the capital city is a mere 35km away, but at the time there was nothing but flat grassland. On the day I attended it was late May, but cold and extremely windy. I can only imagine what it must have been like to arrive in the middle of winter only to have dry reeds to sleep on to keep you warm at night. The minimum sentence at the gulag was 5 years for being guilty by association.
My AirBnB host came home on my final night accompanied by her boyfriend. In broken English he said "My girlfriend. Don't touch". Which was a bit strange, I'm sure it was meant in jest, but Kazakhs aren't particularly known for their comedic delivery. If he had said "My girlfriend. You can touch...NOT!" Then there would have been no confusion that he was joking.
I thought she had popped over to pick up a few things but she was actually staying the night which confused me as I was staying in her room. Was she going to join me? I thought I should invite her to share the bed, I am a gentleman after all. When I approached her she was clearing a space in the kitchen to settle in for the night. I was dejected. A hard, cold wooden kitchen floor is more appealing than sharing a bed with me. I returned to her bedroom and consoled myself with one final dip into her underwear drawer.
My time in Kazakhstan was over and I headed for the airport, although I was slightly hesitant flying just in case the Jews repeated their attack of 9/11.
My final purchase in Kazakhstan was a beer and some fermented camels' milk. I'm not sure why, but it was an impulse buy. The beer went down a treat as I waited in the departure lounge and the milk was saved for an in-flight taste.
We were 30 minutes in the air when I decided to treat myself. I learned something that day, that fermented camels’ milk will explode when opened. It went everywhere. On my jeans, on my chair and all I had was a solitary tissue to clean it up with. I tried to use my pillow as a substitute, but that didn't work. I took a crotch shot which looked like I'd had a romance explosion over Pamela Anderson.
I don't know if you've ever smelled fermented camels' milk, but it smells worse than you're imagining. After that ordeal I didn't fancy tasting it either. Probably the worst £1.50 I've ever spent and I had six and a half hours left of my journey to sit with a moist crotch.
Two days in Astana is more than enough. It's a bizarre place that was quite interesting to see and was worth the trip as I was passing though, but I wouldn't recommend anyone make a trip here with the sole purpose of seeing Astana. It’s a city in the middle of nowhere, which is most noticeable when you fly in and out. Beyond the city, you can see the vast Kazakh steppe which from the south extends 193km before you hit the nearest city. At 5ft7 big steppes scare me quite considerably.
I may return to the south of Kazakhstan to see the historical part of the country one day. I’d like to explore more of central Asia and the surrounding countries, despite them having inferior potassium.
But for now, I've got a wedding to attend. Catch you on the next one.
