During my travels, I found the grand moments to be the least surprising. After all, they were part of why I set out. While the realities of these moments might have differed from my imagination, the experiences themselves were expected: I went to Botswana to see the Okavango Delta and then I did, even though it might have looked different from what I had pictured; I went to the Philippines to snorkel with Whale Sharks and then I did, even though I couldn’t have anticipated the feeling it evoked. These moments were undoubtedly fascinating, but their sober factual existence in my itinerary was predictable.
During my travels, I found the grand moments to be the least surprising... These moments were undoubtedly fascinating, but their sober factual existence in my itinerary was predictable.
For me, the most unexpected moments were the little ones. The arbitrary ones I never could have foreseen. The partaking in mundane local moments of a given people and country. Like playing board games at a bar with two young Kazakh women at 3am on a random weeknight in a frozen city in the middle of the steppe.
Let’s backtrack a little.
I had arrived in wintry Kazakhstan just after New Year’s without any specific agenda. The Stan-countries were a part of the world I’d never been to before and that was a reason fair enough. Arguably, winter wasn’t the most inviting season to stop by, but, considering that it is a large part of people’s year and life, it peppered my stay with a certain authenticity, I told myself.
Somehow, Astana seemed like the perfect stage for such surreal and arbitrary moments – a planned capital that had risen from the barren grasslands over merely two decades fueled by oil, its architecture looked somewhat peculiar and oddly arranged.
I had to get a new passport and so I set up camp in Astana (since March 2019 officially Nur-Sultan, named after Kazakhstan’s former president), the capital, for a couple of weeks. In order to get my papers in order, I needed some print outs, which meant trudging through the -30 °C winds to the nearest mall, where I had a hard time explaining my service needs. I asked around for a print store, but even Google translate couldn’t overcome the language barrier between me and various clerks. After some time, I spotted a printer in a small T-shirt printing stall next to the escalators and tried to explain myself, yet again, without success. That’s when Aida came to my rescue. The young woman struck up a conversation in perfect English, helped me to get my print outs and invited me to join her and a friend later that night.
So there I was, having drinks and playing board games with Aida and Ainam till the early morning hours, while we fired curious questions about local customs at each other and exchanged personal stories. It turned out that Aida had just started her own business and that Ainam actually lived in Prague and was in Astana to visit her family over the holidays.
Of course, meeting people while traveling doesn’t come as a surprise and neither does the openness and friendliness of most locals, once you’ve been out there for a while. So why was this night so noteworthy to me?
Taking the extra out of extraordinary, might sometimes leave you with more.
Years on the road can normalize these special encounters and moments, which lessens appreciation, but adds a certain beauty by assimilating eventfulness into an everyday travel life. Taking the extra out of extraordinary, might sometimes leave you with more. In a way, I’m sleeping the dreamy sleep of extraordinary travel routine. But every now and then, I wake to the almost absurd reality of a situation I never could have imagined and the vastly arbitrary nature of these instances bestows a surreal feel upon me. In these moments it just hits me: never ever would I have thought that one random night I’d be playing board games with two Kazakh women at a bar in Astana, but this is exactly what’s happening right now.
Somehow, Astana seemed like the perfect stage for such surreal and arbitrary moments – a planned capital that had risen from the barren grasslands over merely two decades fueled by oil, its architecture looked somewhat peculiar and oddly arranged. A bit as though a boy playing a board game by himself had rolled the dice once too often and scattered random structures all over the central section of the board – glassy and golden buildings, strange and overdone, not to say tacky.
The most prominent landmark sprouting from the snow was Baiterek Tower, boasting a golden sphere that overlooked the city and the presidential palace. Putting your hand in the golden handprint of now former president Nursultan Nazarbayev warranted good luck to the superstitious and was somewhat telling of the kind of president he was – corrupt and authoritarian according to independent observers. The wooden globe right next to the hand, on the other hand, seemed to tell a more cheerful and humble story about peacefully congregating world religions that formed a neighborhood of engraved metal plaques around the sphere.
In a way, I’m sleeping the dreamy sleep of extraordinary travel routine. But every now and then, I wake to the almost absurd reality of a situation I never could have imagined and the vastly arbitrary nature of these instances bestows a surreal feel upon me.
Over the next couple of weeks, I spent some more time with Aida and Ainam. One time, I accompanied Aida on a tour through her apartment building, where she knocked on dozens of doors to ask for pots, blankets and other material donations to support the dog shelter where she volunteered. Afterwards we went to the shelter, a giant former warehouse without any heating or insulation, rendering the inside just as unforgivingly cold as the outside.