New York City is known as the Big Apple, but the place where apples really originate from is Almaty, the former capital of the Republic of Kazakhstan. Apples weighing up to two pounds used to grow in the orchards surrounding the city and believe it or not, every apple you eat nowadays has its roots in this area. Before the city adopted its current name, it was called Alma-Ata, which means “the father of the apples” in Kazakh. The area of southeast Kazakhstan, where Almaty is located, is not only known for apples, but also for the Winter Universiade, which took place in Shymbulak this year, endless steppes of Central Asia with grazing horses, cows and sheep, mountain lakes surrounded by gorgeous fir trees and incredibly welcoming locals who greet rare tourists with a big smile and a Russian word or two.
From desert canyons to alpine lakes
One of country’s main tourist attractions, the Charyn canyon, is just a three-hour drive from Almaty. The river Charyn cut its way through the stony foundation many million years ago and it created this 50 kilometer long canyon about half as deep as the Grand Canyon in the US. Today, this is one of the most arid areas of the country where temperatures in summer reach up to 50°C. Tourists usually visit the area called “The Valley of the Castles”: stone creations here resemble watchtowers of medieval castles. Here, you can even stay overnight in a tradition yurt, a type of a round “tent” which was used by the Kazakh people when they still practiced nomadic lifestyle.
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We drive for another few hours until we reach a village called Saty, which is the starting point for visits to some of the most picturesque lakes in Kazakhstan. We visit Lake Kaindy, which formed in 1911 when a powerful earthquake turned part of the local river into an alpine lake. Some of the nearby fir trees got stuck in the middle of lake and they jocularly protrude out of it still today. Interestingly, the trunks underneath the surface of the lake are still alive and people dive here to take a look at this natural wonder. After some petty talk with three local boys we decide to go to a nearby viewpoint on the back of a horse. If one mostly hears Russian at the streets of Almaty, these boys speak Kazakh. Although they are only 15, they live away from their parents and offer horse rides to tourists to bring some extra income to their families.
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We wake up before sunrise the next day. Our itinerary for the day includes a hike to the alpine lakes of Kolsay 1 and 2. We can reach Kolsay 1 by jeep, but then we have to continue on foot for about two and a half hours to reach Kolsay 2. There, we meet a few Kazakh soldiers who check our documents. The Kyrgyz border is very close and tourists are no longer allowed to freely cross between the two countries through the mountains. But the soldiers are not very official. They show us how to catch trout in the lake and they even invite us to their camp, where they spend up to four months. They sleep in tents and cook in open fire, but I was too shy to ask about the toilet. One of soldiers asks me in Russian where I am from. Slovenia, I tell him. “From Ljubljana?” he asks. I am even more astounded when he lists all six republics of the former Yugoslavia without thinking twice. It seems that the socialist brotherhood does not die easily even in these remote areas.
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The Green Bazaar and my hunt for cheap yet useful souvenirs
The Green Bazaar is a market with fresh produce and the last attraction of Almaty that I can visit before I fly out of the country. I have a few thousand tenge (a few tens of dollars), which should suffice for a taxi ride to the airport and a few souvenirs. I am walking amidst piles of fresh fruits and vegetables, jars of honey, kilograms of ready-made Korean salads and other dishes (Kazakhstan has many Korean immigrants who arrived to Central Asia because of food shortage in the 19th century), giant pieces of raw meat, especially pork and horse meat, various electrical appliances, tons of Chinese clothes and a handful of ordinary minimarkets. I struggle to find a small shop with souvenirs. I am interested in soft slippers, but the prices are tailored to the western customers, so I decide to buy a few extra local chocolate bars instead. It is almost noon and my stomach starts to growl. I buy some pastry stuffed with chicken. There is no bench nearby, so I sit down at the edge of a sidewalk. And this is when I see him! An elderly man with a walking stick, who is selling his humble produce far away from piles of grapes and apples. He has two types of tomatoes, perhaps a few kilos of each, and about the same amount of pears. He does not have a stall to proudly show off his produce, he does not even have a chair to sit down. He is squatting next to his modest offer which is laying on a piece of carton, and waiting for customers. I collect the last few hundred tenge and walk over. With the broadest smile I can handle at the look of the miserly situation I look into his eyes and point to the pears. He quickly glances over the coins I place in his gnarled hand, generously seizes into the stock, and starts transferring pears into a bag I keep wide open. I almost close it when he gets a bit upset, making a gesture that I should let him fill the bag with some more fruit. I mumble that “spasiba” and walk away. A tear falls down my face before I even manage to get around the corner.
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Kazakhstan surprised me. There is greenery everywhere. I have never seen a city so full of tree-lined avenues as Almaty. The landscape in this part of the country changes rapidly from alpine meadows to vast steppes, desert-like areas, fir tree forests, mountain lakes and glaciers. But it was mostly the people and their genuine desire to help a stranger who surprised me. It happened many times that after exchanging only few words a local offered me his or her phone number and asked me call if I needed anything at all.
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