Finally leaving Almaty and heading up to Astana, where the game is. By train.
Why are you going by train and not flying? ….. An adventure? Safari in Africa is an adventure. Train to Astana is not an adventure: Taxi Driver number three
I suppose he has a point. But that’s the beauty of travelling, getting to see different sights, having different experiences, meeting new people. I’m sure the train is something Kazakhs take for granted, but it’s an adventure for us.
The adventure started before we had actually got on the train. Our train was on platform two. There was already a train on platform one. When I say ‘platform’, I mean where the train stops. There’s no raised platform to help you get on the train, you have to climb up, with all your luggage. And the ‘platforms’ are just tracks next to eachother, with no obvious way of getting to them. Well, it’s not obvious because there isn’t a traditional way. We had to climb up onto the train on ‘platform’ one, then out the other side and walk across to ‘platform’ two and climb up onto that train.
I’m not sure how long the train was. You couldn’t see the end of it due to the curvature of the earth.
Our tickets said carriage eighteen, but they were adamant we were actually on carriage fourteen.
We had left the booking of the train to Posh. She would only complain we got it wrong if we did it. She’s a bit of a micro-manager, according to Becks. The trouble was, the website was in Russian, so she struggled a bit. The only Russian word she knew before this trip was ‘Smirnoff’. She hadn’t learned ‘Vegetariansky’ or ‘Trotsky’ (diarrhea) by then.
By the way, the Russian for ‘thank you’ is pronounced ‘spazeebo’ and in Kazakh it is pronounced ‘rachmet’. Locals will love you if you just throw that in.
So anyway. As we board the train we are not entirely sure what sort of cabin we have. Posh thought she had booked a four-birth cabinsky. Turns out it was two, two-birth cabinskys. So no jolly games of cards or hide and seek, but at least we had some privacy.
As the train pulled out we gaze out of the window, marvelling at the weird and wonderful train stock we pass. It’s a trainspotter’s wet dream.
Fun fact. The first train ever to run on tracks was invented by Richard Trevithick and ran from Merthyr Tydfil down to Abercynon, in 1804. It’s weird to think that 221 years later, there isn’t a country in the world that does not have a train network. It’s a shame Thomas Haringdon’s* invention of the flushing sit down toilet had not spread as far (*it is a myth that Thomas Crapper invented the toilet, but he did have the first plumbing showroom, hence the common usage of the phrases ‘crap’ and ‘crapper’ (you’re welcome)).
Soon the rail yards turn to industrial areas, before turning into steppes (neverending grassland, rather than the 90s pop band).
We get excited as we spot a herd of wild horses kicking up a dust storm as they charge down a hill that is on the steppe, but doesn’t have steps.
Then we go to the bar, which conveniently, is in the next carriage. It is standing room only. It’s beginning to feel like Wales Away.
We chat for a bit with some young Welsh speaking lads, then take our drinks back to our cabin. Then a stewardess tells us we can’t drink alcohol in our cabin. We apologise, then close the door to avoid nosey staff.
The scenery scrolling past the windows is the main reason we caught the train rather than the plane. It is fascinating, but to be honest, a bit samey after a while. We admire the scenery for an hour or so, then go back to the bar. Or the restaurant car. to be precise.
They have some interesting looking veggie options on the menu, just not actually in the kitchen. We end up with salad and potato dumplings. And booze. I have a beer whilst Megan and Posh argue over a bottle of wine – for some reason their glasses are different sizes. Or maybe Posh’s glass is just futher away Ted.
Clive and Bryn from North Wales spot us and say hello. They have only been ‘in the country’, as they used to say in ‘the Nam’, a few days but have done almost as much as us. Their technique involves missing out days on the piss in Russian punk bars and hiring e-scooters and electric bikes instead of walking.
Once they have found their own table, Richard and Maria stop by to say hello. Like I said, its beginning to a lot like Wales Away. That’s the beauty of these trips, you can bump into people you only ever see in foreign countries in bizarre places – like an overnight train in Kazakhstan – and treat it as perfectly normal. Richard plays for the Wales fans team. Bizarrely I recall the first time I met him. It was in Budapest. Hungary were fielding a ‘fans team’ that included ex-professionals, whilst Wales were fielding a team of, well … fans. I have a photo somewhere of him having a fag break in the middle of the game. Although I recall the strangest thing about that game was the referee’s daughter running around the pitch holding his hand. At least, I hope it was his daughter…
Anyway, we swap war stories for a while and they wander off to do their thing. The bar only takes cash so we can’t spend all night here, so we head back to our cabins to chill. By this time the sun has gone down, so we can’t actually see the steppes scroll past the window. We close the door so nosey staff can’t see our beers, and pull out the ‘beds’. Basically two shelves with the thinnest of mattresses on, and a blanket. I draw the short straw and have to go for the top bunk. Im reasonably sober, so I can cope. Trying to climb the dodgy ladder would be a nightmare pissed.
And so begins an ‘interesting’ night. It’s the hardest mattress I’ve ever slept on. I’ve slept on softer park benches. And the track doesn’t appear to be as smooth as we are used to in the UK. It’s like sleeping on a washing machine.
I can sleep anywhere, so it doesn’t really bother me. In the morning the rest of the gang have matchsticks holding their eyes open and have a ‘thousand yard stare’.
Apparently there were two ten minute stops at stations. Smokers climbed off for ‘fresh air’ and had to fend off old ladies trying to sell them smoked fish in the middle of the night.
At last we are in Astana, where the game is.