By Daniel Rozenblum

It’s right around when the flight attendant hands me a glass of cognac that I stop worrying about whether I’m getting kidnapped.

… But really – can you blame my skepticism?

For starters, I’ve barely been working with Eli for a month at this point. And now he forwards me some wild message from a mysterious travel agency about an all-expenses-paid press tour around Southeastern Kazakhstan? Yeah, right. Gimme a break.

And yet. As many times as I dismiss it as a “No way, no how, never gonna happen” impossibility, I can’t help but indulge the thought. Can’t help but respond to this wacky email chain. Can’t help but let my wanderlust gently whisper “What if?”

But – I’m not a journalist.

I’m not even a travel blogger.

I’m just some dude who sometimes writes things. I have absolutely no business being on a press tour in my own backyard, let alone freaking Kazakhstan!

This doesn’t stop them from sending me plane tickets – on a Thursday, it was. On Saturday, I’m on a red-eye from Boston to London. On Sunday, I’m fully reclined, drinking cognac in Air Astana‘s first class.

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Listen – I know what you’re thinking. At least, I think I know what you’re thinking. Because it’s what I was thinking back then and it’s what I’m thinking now.

This… Doesn’t happen.

It just doesn’t! You don’t email some guy who runs a podcast you enjoy and then a year later somehow end up in Kazakhstan.

You don’t hear a rumor from another invited journalist that the trip has been canceled… Only to receive plane tickets fifteen minutes later.

You don’t show up at your Heathrow gate to learn that your boarding pass is invalid – cue immediate panic – before receiving your new, shiny first-class ticket. Congratulations! You’ve been upgraded.

It. Doesn’t. Happen.

And yet…

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I want you to imagine your typical first-class passenger. He is, undoubtedly, a very important businessman with lots of money and responsibilities and places to be. He’s wearing a suit and polished shoes. He stores his briefcase snug under the seat in front of him. Like he always has.

All of a sudden, blasting through his peaceful oasis comes some scraggly 20-something with matted hair and a sweaty t-shirt indicative of the 24 hours he’s already been flying. He throws off his travel-worn backpack and plops into the neighboring seat like a victorious marathon runner. He smiles at Mr. Businessman and spends the next 20 minutes completely entranced with the seat-reclining buttons. Like a caveman who’s just discovered fire.

And then the airline starts bringing out the complimentary goodies. First, a round of light refreshments. Then some hors d’oeuvres*. Then a thick fleece blanket and fluffy pillow. A leather toiletries bag containing every amenity you’d ever need. Suckable candy. A four-course dinner menu. Noise-canceling headphones. A literal iPad equipped with music, TV, and movies.

(*I had to look up how to spell “hors d’oeuvres” which tells you everything you need to know here)

Once the alcohol cart comes out, the backpacker can’t help but laugh. Alongside, Mr. Businessman has neatly arranged all of his gifts into pockets and onto hidden surfaces that he knows by heart. And the kid? He’s sitting there giggling under a comical mound of stuff scattered on his lap, trying to make sense of it all.

So – when the attendant asks, I order the most expensive thing I can find. It’s not every day that the pauper gets to play the prince.

Sipping my drink, I find the optimal reclined position and put on some noise-canceled Fleetwood Mac to soundtrack this utter bliss. By the time I get everything off my lap into a semi-organized state, we’ve been flying for an hour. Mr. Businessman is fast asleep.

Now, allow me to come clean. Did part of this whole press tour deal include me writing promotionally about Air Astana? … Yes. Yes, it did.

Would I have done it anyway thanks to the sheer ridiculousness of everything written above? Unquestionably.

And we haven’t even gotten to Kazakhstan yet.

The city of apples. The city of mountains. The city of smog.

Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to give you a warm welcome to Almaty, the largest city in the largest landlocked country in the world. We’re so glad to have you!

Perhaps, though, the proper way to greet you would be the way they welcomed me: With a lovely Kazakh lady dressed in traditional garb standing right at the baggage claim exit, pulling a bright red apple out of a deep, woven basket.

Almaty, explains one of the trip leaders who seemingly materialized the moment our plane touched ground, is derived from the Kazakh words “Alma,” meaning apple, and “ata,” meaning father. So: Apple father. Hence, the “City of Apples” moniker.

As I munch on this apple breakfast in my post-double-red-eye deliria, she re-explains it to my flying companions who’ve finally retrieved their suitcases. One of them, Jonathan from London, has been by my side since Heathrow. The other three, from Paris, we picked up at a brief layover in Kazakhstan’s capital city: Astana.

Or should I say its capital city: Nur-Sultan. They renamed the capital after the country’s first president, Nursultan Nazarbayev, who just stepped down in 2019 after holding the title for all of Kazakhstan’s post-Soviet years since 1990.

According to a Kazakh friend of mine back home and a very quick Google search, Nazarbayev is denounced by many for ruling with an iron fist. Our pony-tailed tour guide Sergei, who’s just met us outside the airport, won’t quite bite that apple when asked. Without Nazarbayev’s leadership, he says, the country would be weaker; half of this enormous land-mass may be China’s by now.

That’s a typical Soviet-era spin, explains my own mother weeks later, having 35 years of life in the USSR under her belt. Perhaps so, but I don’t bring it up again; I’m not trying to bite the hand that’s about to feed me and feed me.

Much of the van ride into the city consists of Sergei giving less controversial background and vital prep for the week ahead, much to the chagrin of the underslept gears in my brain. As they creak and stall, trying to keep up, I peer out the window and audibly gasp.

Sure, the city has beauty in its own right – what with its wide, tree-lined streets. But nothing is quite as impressive as the majestic mountains towering over us. Like fortress walls, engulfing and protecting its crowned jewel. 

My old crappy iPhone really can’t do justice to the sunrise from my city-facing hotel window the following morning:

We actually go up to get the view from Talgar Peak that very afternoon. A gondola ferries us up to the top of Shymbulak Ski Resort, from where we get this equally picturesque shot:

If you’re wondering why you can’t really see Almaty down below, it’s because, well, you can’t really see Almaty down below. The blessing of the city’s wondrous mountain spine carries an unfortunate curse: restricted airflow. All the smog produced by Almaty’s many vehicles and factories covers the city in a hazy blanket. It’s an unfortunate side-effect of the region’s natural beauty, Sergei explains to me, just as jetlag finally slaps me dead in the face.

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But this trip doesn’t have time for my jetlag. 

From my first apple bite on, the next 96-some hours consist of catered, curated, carefully organized excursions. Maybe even too carefully organized. But we’ll get there.

For now, let’s keep things nice and simple. In fact, before we do anything else, let’s give you a quick tour of the place, shall we?

Picture this: Peaks, valleys, and everything in between

We’ve shown you the Zailiyskiy Alatau mountains, yes, but now look to their east. And keep looking as we drive that way another four hours or so. The omnipresent peaks that stretch endlessly along our road trip belong to the Tian Shan mountain range which acts as a de facto border with Kyrgyzstan and China. 

Had enough of the mountains? No problem! Let’s drive a few hours north, then, to catch a glimpse of Charyn National Park’s splendid canyon views. You probably weren’t expecting to find the Grand Canyon’s informally-dubbed “little brother” tucked away in central Asia, but here we are. We can even climb down and stroll through the “Valley of Castles” to truly appreciate the regal rock deposits.

A short drive away, we can change up the views at the “Lunar” Canyon of Charyn, so named for the occasional white hue that forms at the bottom of its clay mounds.

The distinct, wavy hills and relative lack of tourists, say our personal Jeep driver Rinat, make this canyon a favorite of locals:

If you’re craving something a bit more unique, let’s get Rinat to take us back towards Almaty so that we can pass Black Rock Canyon during sunset:

So the mountains are great. The canyons – magnificent. But if you want to insert yourself into a real-life screensaver, none of Kazakhstan’s treasures are quite as breathtaking as its lakes. Deep pools of turquoise and sapphire nestled away between white-tipped mountains with coniferous coats.

Even my sad disgrace of a phone can’t ruin the natural splendor of the Kolsay Lakes:

And here’s a little bonus for reading this far down:

Much of these spectacular formations can be credited to the region’s historical propensity for earthquakes and other natural disasters – none more so than Kaindy lake (pictured below). 

Once upon a time, this lake was a simple fertile valley, but some shifting tectonic plates had grander plans in mind. A 1911 earthquake induced a landslide that effectively transformed the gorge into a basin with no drain. The lake that has since formed from the accumulation of river and rainwater is now sprinkled with eerie Spruce-tree gravestones:

You can even see various plantlife still clinging to the dead tree trunks under the ice-cold water that keeps them from crumbling.

If you allow me to don my wide-eyed childish wonder for a second – it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

Hold your horses! I’ll have what he’s having…

All this moving to and fro has probably left you famished, hasn’t it?

I wouldn’t worry too much, though; thanks to our gracious hosts, meals here are frequent and plentiful. And when I say plentiful, I mean to say that our table spreads are consistently as spectacular as the Tian Shan.

More often than not, our group (now up to some twenty-five international journalists) is unable to finish even half of the traditional decadence offered to us.

What’s on the menu, you ask? Well, it’s not exactly a vegan- or gluten-friendly diet; expect a strong emphasis on meat dishes, unique dairy products, and binfuls of bread.

Under the meat category, lamb and beef are often present but it’s the Kazakh staple of horse that really makes a splash. Served in several forms – cold cut appetizer, warm entree, smoked sausage (a high delicacy) – their horsemeat tastes something like a tender variant of beef. It’s at times delicious and at times peculiar, though that may just be the mental block of eating horse coming into play.

In general, we should note that Kazakh’s traditional cuisine is an apt reflection of their rich, nomadic history. Thick cultural roots tie them back to Genghis Khan, the Mongols, and generations of year-long pastoral migrants who relied on foods that wouldn’t easily perish. As such, animals like horses were often used for their meat after providing transport and even milk.

Yes, horse milk, which still comes in the famous form of kumyc. Mildly alcoholic due to its fermented state, kumyc carries a distinctly sour, smokey flavor that has burned my throat on numerous occasions. For the purposes of our taste test, I’d (reluctantly) recommend shubat – fermented camel milk, which gives me the impression of liquidy kefir.

If you’re feeling particularly adventurous, may I suggest a stroll through the pulsating central heartbeat of Almaty: the Green Bazaar. Named for the faded teal color of its exterior, the Bazaar contains all the typical produce and bustling energy of an ex-Soviet city market… And it’s where you’ll find these lovely ladies stationed with their ominous bowls of milk:

My buddy Jonathan actually took science into his own hands and put together a more in-depth report of both milk products for the more curious among you.

And while the list of eccentric, questionably-tasting dairy concoctions doesn’t stop there (see: kurt cheese – dense, pasty balls of pure saltiness pictured on the table above), one of my fondest memories is of a thick,  delicious cow-milk cream made at a family farm in remote Saty village. They welcome us to their farmhouse for the dinner and breakfast bookending our second night, both of which I spend lopping gobs of cream and cherry jam onto kaursaki bread. All freshly homemade. 

I have no pictures. Because… I was extremely busy at that moment.

So there you have it – pools of dairy and plates of meat, often accompanied by rice (i.e. plov), stewed potatoes, or homemade noodles. The latter of which we actually watch a pair of friendly Uyghur women prepare:

The Uyghurs, while we’re here, are a centuries-old Turkic ethnic community that enjoys relative peace and acceptance under the Kazakh regime. I say “relative” because the situation isn’t nearly as tranquil beyond the mountain border in the Chinese region of Xinjiang.

Now, I’m in no way an expert on the sociopolitical goings-on of Western China. Nor am I in a position to comment in-depth on the persecution, forced labor, or imprisonment that Uyghurs face as a Muslim minority group there. But – these tragic realities of our nearby neighbors are impossible to omit, and acknowledging them feels like the least I can do in exchange for the warmth they showed me.

There’s Culture and then there’s “Culture”

Besides ogling nature and drowning in food, our itinerary calls for numerous cultural exhibitions akin to the Uyghur noodle showing. Always upholding the Kazakh hospitality they take so much pride in, locals everywhere shower us with performance after performance.

For instance, check out the local dances and Kazakh songs delivered by the Saty farm family:

… Or how about a musical museum showcasing a wide variety of dombra – the elongated, typically-two-stringed instruments you see here:

… Or an afternoon at a nearby “Ethno Village” composed of customary nomadic yurts, where we witness demonstrations of wool whisking, yarn spindling, flour grinding, acrobatic horseback riding, dancing, and more:

Listen – It’s certainly quite interesting and illuminating to get something of a glimpse into their ethnic culture. Sometimes you’ve got to check off the touristy boxes. And I’m certainly not one to complain about dressed-up Kazakhs handing me a bottle of wine and serenading me with dombras.

But… There’s something to be questioned about the authenticity of such a private concert. Or of a meal delivered in a yurt. Or of whatever this guy holding an eagle on a horse is supposed to be:

Point being: A lot of this is for show. And we know it!

Some of my companions can’t help but roll their eyes at this reality – Jonathan included. Anytime our agenda calls for any contrived theatrics, he can’t hide his British cynicism for such tourist baiting (and with good reason!).

As for me, I don’t have as much of a problem taking everything with a grain of salt and enjoying the Kazakhstan that they want to present; this week, I’m just lying back with my feet kicked up, glass of cognac firmly in hand. Wherever they take us, I’m along for the ride.

But – not clarifying this little asterisk on my trip feels disingenuous to you, dear reader. So, I’m making it. I’m not experiencing Kazakh culture nearly as much as I’m being shown it. And that’s okay!

In fact… Maybe it’s not just okay; maybe it’s actually a good thing.

Allow me to elaborate: The country clearly cares about its international perception. After all, a local tourism agency is flying us out here first-class to display their brightest gems and pamper us around the clock.

Now, you can see the glass half-empty and criticize their painting a superficial picture. Or – call me an optimist if you wish – you can appreciate their sincere effort to become a more enticing and accessible destination.

Oh, and there is absolutely a strong initiative to open the country’s doors wider. As evidence, here’s my favorite little tidbit of trivia: Kazakhstan’s primary language is, unsurprisingly, Kazakh, which has a unique alphabet consisting of Cyrillic letters (much like Russian, which is the nation’s other official tongue). Except here’s the thing – they recently passed a law to change the alphabet of this Kazakh language from Cyrillic to our familiar Latin!

Can we just pause for a minute to acknowledge what a colossal cultural and financial shift this is?! The simple renaming of the capital – Astana to Nur-Sultan – apparently cost the country millions. And now? Everything has to be redone: Medical documents, educational resources, street signs… You name it.

I’m not here to discuss the fiscal ramifications of such a decision. And if we were to ask Rinat during one of our long cross-country drives, I imagine we’d be met with a deep sigh, some raised eyebrows, and some pursed lips. But whether such a transition is worth the price, the subtext beneath it is clear: They want a more globally accessible Kazakhstan. (Or, should I say, Qazaqstan. Under the new Latin alphabet, “Q” will denote the hard “K” sound while “K” will represent a more phlegmy “Kh”).

So let’s step back and consider this as travelers. As digital nomads. Kazakhstan is an affordable location with beautiful scenery and rich culture that hasn’t been trampled to death by tourist foot tracks. A place still hiding behind the mystique of its sky-scraping mountains. A place committed to selfless hospitality that’s taking concerted efforts to win us over (just ask the tourist information center called “Visit Almaty” whose name is tattooed on billboards and roads across the city).

And… Isn’t that the kind of place we want to go to?

At the very least, I hope you keep it on your radar – that’s my only job here.

One last sip of kumyc before you go

In the very distant future, when I’m a highly successful Tony Robbins-esque motivational speaker touting the value of reaching out because you never now how far it can take you, this is the story I will tell. This is how far a simple email can take you: All the way to Kazakhstan.

I fell in love with their extraordinary nature. I gained probably ten pounds worth of food. And though I may have only immersed myself in their “Culture,” I left extremely curious about their Culture.

Certainly curious enough to bring me back one day.