Saturday/ Sunday 13 May
The taxi arrives at 10.15 Saturday evening to take us the short drive to Almaty 2 station. We asked the hotel to arrange the taxi in view of our previous bad experience; we paid the hotel for the taxi (400 tehre) about £1.70, plus their arranging fee of 300 tehre, about £1.30.
As soon as we have driven off in the taxi, the driver makes a "give me money" gesture, by rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. We guess immediately this is a con, as it's most unusual to be asked to pay for a taxi until the ride is completed. We say, "The hotel's already paid you." (We were sure they had, as the receptionist went out to the taxi, as we emerged from the hotel lift),
The driver keeps saying he wants 500 tehre, which is about £ 2. We keep telling him he's been paid. He doesn't give up. As usual, we're vulnerable English. We're on our way to the station, and all our luggage is in the taxi. We wouldn't put it passed him to drive us somewhere else and make us miss our train. Reg gives him the 500 tehre. It's not the money, which is only £ 2, it's the principle - he's already been paid. I feel angry and upset that we're, excuse the pun, being taken for a ride. Perhaps too it's in the back of my mind that we paid the incoming taxi driver, when we arrived, $15 dollars - about £10 - when he should have had only £ 2!
At the station, we stick to our usual plan; I wait with all the luggage while Reg goes off to check our platform number. When Reg returns he tells he was approached by a young Kazak (in his 20's), who brandished a 500 tehre note at him and said,
"You American? You give me money!"
Reg retaliated, " How about you give me money?"
The young man slapped Reg's hand and turned angrily on his heel. So our memories of Kazakhstan aren't the best at this point, although one or two incidents have shown there is humanity and kindness about - the young man who helped Reg put on his phone credit, for example. Also, we get a more balanced view of Kazakhstan people later in our train journey.
Luckily, on the train journey, we've been allocated bottom bunks; it's about 11.15 pm - the train is due to leave at 12 midnight. We can't make up our beds yet as we're waiting for our plastic bags containing our clean bedlinen. We settle in as best we can - it's easier this time because we're here first. Our 2 cabin sharers turn out to be two Kazak ladies - neither speak any English. One is quite outgoing and friendly, the other keeps out of our way as much as possible.
The outgoing lady has lots of luggage with her, in those huge red and blue check bags that you can buy in the £1 shops in England. A great many people in Kazakhstan use these bags for their luggage, and for carrying stuff they intend to sell. We manage to fit most of the outgoing lady's luggage under the seats - our huge suitcase is under the seat at the window end of the cabin, sticking out into the aisle.
The quiet lady has only one small bag with her. She climbs onto the bunk above me when the train moves, about midnight, and we doesn't climb down until about 1.00 pm the next day. I marvel at her camel-like qualities. I'd have been bursting for the loo.
We sleep on and off, and in the morning, we have a quick wash in the basin in the toilet cubicle - well, a dribble more than a wash - there's no plug in the washbasin. The floor is wet, but it doesn't stink like the toilet from hell on our previous journey. And thank goodness, the toilet seat hasn't got that ruffled urine-collected plastic covering on it. Not only that, the carriage guard seems to be a conscientious type, and we think he's keeping a closer eye on the toilet cleanliness than the previous guard.
The train stops for 1 and a half hours at a station. Reg gets off and buys a half a cooked chicken, because the cooked Polish type sausage we bought before we boarded the train smells off, so we throw it away. We eat the chicken for lunch with bread and butter, Pringles, bananas and apples. It all tastes really good.
We're expecting to reach the Kazakhstan border at about 3.30 - 4.00 pm. At about 1 pm, a Kazakhstan official (where did he come from?) looms large in our cabin entrance. He says "Passports, passports" to us, then, having looked at these, he says a spiel in Kazak.
"Sorry, we don't understand."
"Where are immigration forms?"
"Immigration forms? We didn't have any. We weren't given any. We had them for Uzbekistan, but not Kazakhstan."
"No immigration forms? " The official disappears, and returns with a form to show us.
Reg and I both shake our heads. "No, we didn't have them. We weren't given them."
Another long spiel in Kazak.
"Sorry, we don't understand," we say. The guard turns to leave.
"Ok?" says Reg, hopefully.
"No, not ok!" retorts the guard, and off he goes, with our passports. We don't see this particular guard again.
We're now on tenterhooks about what will happen when we reach the border. We've been given Immigration Forms for China, which thankfully are in Chinese and English, so we know what we're writing. We're now nearly at the Kazak side of the border. Reg is trying to get a signal on his phone, so that he can look up the number of the British consul, just in case. What can the Kazakhstan border guards actually do, we wonder? We have all our correct visas - surely they can't stop us entering China, just because of some immigration forms that someone apparently forgot to give us.
At the Kazak side of the border with China, our fellow cabin sharers leave the train with all their luggage. An immaculated dressed young senior-looking official comes to our cabin, holding our passports, and again asks us about immigration forms; we explain once again that we weren't given any. The official goes away, and a few minutes later the train guard comes and asks us to get off the train - we think, to talk to the Kazak guard about our forms, or lack of them.
It is for that, but in fact everyone is getting off the train, because as at the Poland/Ukraine border, the Chinese railway lines have a different sized gauge from the Kazak ones, so the "wheels sets" under the carriages have to be changed from Kazak ones to Chinese ones. The carriages all have to be lifted up to do this. This takes a couple of hours.
The immaculately-dressed senior-looking Kazak official inspects our passports yet again, in front of us on the platform, then speaks in Kazak to his colleagues. Once again we plead that we were never given Kazakhstan immigration forms to complete. Suddenly the guard smiles and says,
"It's ok. Ok. Don't worry. It's fine."
Reg and I nearly melt with relief. Then we follow the other passengers into the cool air-conditioned waiting lounge of the station, where we wait for the wheel sets to changed.
Back on the train, our luggage is completely turned over, inside out, by a Kazakhstan customs official. He is however polite and friendly and all is in order. Also he looks under the carpet in our cabin, around the window, under the seats.
Soon the train grinds into action again, and before we know it we're on the Chinese side of the border. This time a Chinese woman official goes through our luggage again, even to the extent of looking at our travel books. She picks up my bible & puts it back. She's polite and speaks good English. Then a strip of paper (like litmus paper) is run over the bunks and in all the nooks and crevices of the cabin. She tells us all is ok.
The train eventually moves off, and it's lovely to spend our 2nd night on the train on our own in the cabin. The train arrives in Urumqi (ooo-roo-moo-chi), China, soon after 9.00 am Chinese time. We're suddenly 2 hours ahead. Our faith in Kazakhstan has been restored to some extent - but we're glad to be in China!
The taxi arrives at 10.15 Saturday evening to take us the short drive to Almaty 2 station. We asked the hotel to arrange the taxi in view of our previous bad experience; we paid the hotel for the taxi (400 tehre) about £1.70, plus their arranging fee of 300 tehre, about £1.30.
As soon as we have driven off in the taxi, the driver makes a "give me money" gesture, by rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. We guess immediately this is a con, as it's most unusual to be asked to pay for a taxi until the ride is completed. We say, "The hotel's already paid you." (We were sure they had, as the receptionist went out to the taxi, as we emerged from the hotel lift),
The driver keeps saying he wants 500 tehre, which is about £ 2. We keep telling him he's been paid. He doesn't give up. As usual, we're vulnerable English. We're on our way to the station, and all our luggage is in the taxi. We wouldn't put it passed him to drive us somewhere else and make us miss our train. Reg gives him the 500 tehre. It's not the money, which is only £ 2, it's the principle - he's already been paid. I feel angry and upset that we're, excuse the pun, being taken for a ride. Perhaps too it's in the back of my mind that we paid the incoming taxi driver, when we arrived, $15 dollars - about £10 - when he should have had only £ 2!
At the station, we stick to our usual plan; I wait with all the luggage while Reg goes off to check our platform number. When Reg returns he tells he was approached by a young Kazak (in his 20's), who brandished a 500 tehre note at him and said,
"You American? You give me money!"
Reg retaliated, " How about you give me money?"
The young man slapped Reg's hand and turned angrily on his heel. So our memories of Kazakhstan aren't the best at this point, although one or two incidents have shown there is humanity and kindness about - the young man who helped Reg put on his phone credit, for example. Also, we get a more balanced view of Kazakhstan people later in our train journey.
Luckily, on the train journey, we've been allocated bottom bunks; it's about 11.15 pm - the train is due to leave at 12 midnight. We can't make up our beds yet as we're waiting for our plastic bags containing our clean bedlinen. We settle in as best we can - it's easier this time because we're here first. Our 2 cabin sharers turn out to be two Kazak ladies - neither speak any English. One is quite outgoing and friendly, the other keeps out of our way as much as possible.
The outgoing lady has lots of luggage with her, in those huge red and blue check bags that you can buy in the £1 shops in England. A great many people in Kazakhstan use these bags for their luggage, and for carrying stuff they intend to sell. We manage to fit most of the outgoing lady's luggage under the seats - our huge suitcase is under the seat at the window end of the cabin, sticking out into the aisle.
The quiet lady has only one small bag with her. She climbs onto the bunk above me when the train moves, about midnight, and we doesn't climb down until about 1.00 pm the next day. I marvel at her camel-like qualities. I'd have been bursting for the loo.
We sleep on and off, and in the morning, we have a quick wash in the basin in the toilet cubicle - well, a dribble more than a wash - there's no plug in the washbasin. The floor is wet, but it doesn't stink like the toilet from hell on our previous journey. And thank goodness, the toilet seat hasn't got that ruffled urine-collected plastic covering on it. Not only that, the carriage guard seems to be a conscientious type, and we think he's keeping a closer eye on the toilet cleanliness than the previous guard.
The train stops for 1 and a half hours at a station. Reg gets off and buys a half a cooked chicken, because the cooked Polish type sausage we bought before we boarded the train smells off, so we throw it away. We eat the chicken for lunch with bread and butter, Pringles, bananas and apples. It all tastes really good.
We're expecting to reach the Kazakhstan border at about 3.30 - 4.00 pm. At about 1 pm, a Kazakhstan official (where did he come from?) looms large in our cabin entrance. He says "Passports, passports" to us, then, having looked at these, he says a spiel in Kazak.
"Sorry, we don't understand."
"Where are immigration forms?"
"Immigration forms? We didn't have any. We weren't given any. We had them for Uzbekistan, but not Kazakhstan."
"No immigration forms? " The official disappears, and returns with a form to show us.
Reg and I both shake our heads. "No, we didn't have them. We weren't given them."
Another long spiel in Kazak.
"Sorry, we don't understand," we say. The guard turns to leave.
"Ok?" says Reg, hopefully.
"No, not ok!" retorts the guard, and off he goes, with our passports. We don't see this particular guard again.
We're now on tenterhooks about what will happen when we reach the border. We've been given Immigration Forms for China, which thankfully are in Chinese and English, so we know what we're writing. We're now nearly at the Kazak side of the border. Reg is trying to get a signal on his phone, so that he can look up the number of the British consul, just in case. What can the Kazakhstan border guards actually do, we wonder? We have all our correct visas - surely they can't stop us entering China, just because of some immigration forms that someone apparently forgot to give us.
At the Kazak side of the border with China, our fellow cabin sharers leave the train with all their luggage. An immaculated dressed young senior-looking official comes to our cabin, holding our passports, and again asks us about immigration forms; we explain once again that we weren't given any. The official goes away, and a few minutes later the train guard comes and asks us to get off the train - we think, to talk to the Kazak guard about our forms, or lack of them.
It is for that, but in fact everyone is getting off the train, because as at the Poland/Ukraine border, the Chinese railway lines have a different sized gauge from the Kazak ones, so the "wheels sets" under the carriages have to be changed from Kazak ones to Chinese ones. The carriages all have to be lifted up to do this. This takes a couple of hours.
The immaculately-dressed senior-looking Kazak official inspects our passports yet again, in front of us on the platform, then speaks in Kazak to his colleagues. Once again we plead that we were never given Kazakhstan immigration forms to complete. Suddenly the guard smiles and says,
"It's ok. Ok. Don't worry. It's fine."
Reg and I nearly melt with relief. Then we follow the other passengers into the cool air-conditioned waiting lounge of the station, where we wait for the wheel sets to changed.
Back on the train, our luggage is completely turned over, inside out, by a Kazakhstan customs official. He is however polite and friendly and all is in order. Also he looks under the carpet in our cabin, around the window, under the seats.
Soon the train grinds into action again, and before we know it we're on the Chinese side of the border. This time a Chinese woman official goes through our luggage again, even to the extent of looking at our travel books. She picks up my bible & puts it back. She's polite and speaks good English. Then a strip of paper (like litmus paper) is run over the bunks and in all the nooks and crevices of the cabin. She tells us all is ok.
The train eventually moves off, and it's lovely to spend our 2nd night on the train on our own in the cabin. The train arrives in Urumqi (ooo-roo-moo-chi), China, soon after 9.00 am Chinese time. We're suddenly 2 hours ahead. Our faith in Kazakhstan has been restored to some extent - but we're glad to be in China!
Glad to hear you weren't going to get into trouble for not having the forms!
ReplyDeleteI'm looking forward to seeing photos when you both get home!