Thursday 10 May
The day drags a
bit in our crowded train cabin. The young man travelling with the
young mother spends most of the day on his top bunk, listening to
music, or in the corridor, chatting to other people. The 4 year old
little girl is really good considering that she's stuck on a train.
She finds a toddler to play with; her Mum keeps a watchful eye on
her. I pass the time sleeping, reading, and typing up the blog.
We have cups of
tea (as usual there's the free boiling water from the coal fired
boiler; the water's a rather cloudy brown with bits in it.) We
gradually eat the provisions we bought in Tashkent. The train takes
8 hours to travel about 200 miles today. The snow capped mountains
are spectacular though – extremely high. The flat desert scenery
of yesterday has gradually changed to green undulating mountain
foothills; if it wasn't for the clusters of square houses,some in
poor state of repair, with their corrugated roofs, this could be
North Wales.
A man comes around
selling Kazakhstan simcards – Reg buys one so that he can download
his English newspapers as usual (and text Elaine his new number). He
needs to buy some more credit.
I've missed being
in touch with family since we left Khiva – it's only 2 days, but
seems longer since I was able text on Reg's phone, or email. We've
tried to text Elaine with Reg's phone, but the texts don't always go
through.
As we approach
Almaty we see what looks like a prosperous city – it used to be the
capital of Kazakhstan ( that's now Astana, so Reg tells me). There
are still lots of corrugated roofs, but many red tiled roofs and
Western-style houses too.
Finally we arrive,
hot, tired and desperately in need of a shower, at Almata 2 station.
As we walk along the platform a young man offers to carry the heavy
suitcase. Reg agrees as the way out of the station is over a high
metal pedestrian bridge, with loads of steps. The young man takes us
to a waiting taxi-driver friend, and is already putting our suitcase
in the back of his friend's car, when I say “How much?” Both
men pretend not to understand. I offer the suitcase carrier $1, he
demands $3, which I think is a bit steep; but Reg says “Just
pay it”. On reflection, our
large suitcase is extremely heavy, and it did save Reg carrying it up
and down all those steps.
We
show the address of the hotel to the taxi driver and again I say “How
much?” Surely every taxi
driver must know that phrase. Again the driver doesn't say anything.
We're exhausted and our luggage is already in the car. We get in,
and it's 10 minutes drive to our hotel. We have no way of knowing if
it really is the Hotel Turkestan
as there's no signs in English at all. Reg and the driver take Reg's
heavy backpack and my suitcase into the hotel, and Reg returns
smiling, saying it is the right hotel.
The
taxi driver says something in Kazak language. Now it's our turn not
to understand. He says “dollars”
and draws a “50” with
his finger on his car. Even Reg is shocked. I indicate to the
driver to follow us into the hotel. I ask the receptionist, who
speaks very little English, how much is reasonable for the 10 minute
taxi ride from the station.
“$10?” I
ask.
We
compromise at $15 (about £10) which is still a lot, but we're just
glad that's over, and we can go to our room and relax. It's on the
4th
floor, and has a small balcony, which looks out onto the road below,
lined with small shops and eateries and fruitstalls, with some ugly
industrial looking buildings behind – and behind that are the
stunning, majestic snow covered mountains.
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