Despite this, I’ve always been fascinated by these forgotten republics that line Russia’s southern border and, over the years, have taken every opportunity to explore the mysteries of the Stans — and the resulting journeys turned out to be fascinating, challenging and sometimes quite surreal.
The first came in 2015, when I was studying Russian in Siberia, I decided, in the blistering heat and raging humidity of an unusually hot summer to take the four-hour train ride south from Omsk to Petropavlovsk, Kazakhstan’s most northerly city. Needless to say, there was no aircon in the carriage and my abiding memory of the sweltering journey was being squeezed on a viciously hard seat with the conductor barking at me every time I tried to open the window, fearing that something might fly in — insects, foliage, rocks, birds, God only knows what!
So, my first steps on Kazakh soil were taken in a disheveled and dispirited state, completely bathed in my own sweat. Luckily, the acquaintance who met me at the station immediately whisked me away for a delicious and very authentic shashlik on the banks of the city’s surprisingly majestic river, the Ishim. Surrounded by greenery in a threadbare tent, we were served delicious juicy pieces of lamb on plastic plates and enjoyed Kazakh national music playing in the background. That was the moment — now dried off and with spirits rising — when I knew I was going to like this place.
It has to be conceded, however, that city life in northern Kazakhstan was not all that different from many similarly sized towns in Russia — except for the darker hair and more dusky and oriental appearance of the people. Everyone speaks Russian even though the national language is Kazakh, and the Soviet-style buildings offer a kind of uniformity that the Soviet Union was very successful at creating. I soon made the equally gruelling trip by car to Kazakhstan’s capital, Astana — the name of which, rather unimaginatively means "capital' - which is almost like a theme park full of strange architectural designs built over a desert wasteland. The peace pyramid made of glass, the egg-shaped National Archives, and the shopping mall shaped as a tent; these are just some of the borderline bizarre examples I encountered. My favorite fantastical building was the 100-meter-tall tower called Baiterek, similar to some kind of championship trophy which is illuminated in many different colors through the night.
Kazakhstan does, however, have one urban jewel in the crown — the endearing former capital in the South, Almaty. After a 19 hour train ride — I really was becoming a veteran of Kazakh travel by this point — I found myself at the foot of snow-capped mountains that encircle the city. The city has many high-points: the magnificent, 19th Century neo-classical Zenkov or Ascension Cathedral, which is the second largest all-wooden structure in the world. With its bright yellow facades and multi-coloured confectionary domes, it looks like it’s been transplanted from a children’s fairy story. Other highlights include the eye-popping soviet architecture of the Central State Museum of Kazakhstan, with its imposing brutalist pillars, poster-paint-blue roof and exhibits spanning everything from the launch of Sputnik — the Baikonur launch pad is nominally located in Kazakhstan, though is legally a separate sovereign territory- to Kazakh anthropological history and archeology. Still, the most mesmerizing feature of Almaty remains the one that first strikes visitors on their arrival: the surging, soaring, startling mountains. Having travelling from the completely flat city of Novosibirsk — I was mesmerized from the start and spent most of my time there in a trance, staring into the rocky distance.
Even so, nobody comes to Kazakhstan for the urban experience. The country boasts the largest steppe in the world, and its most dazzling stretch can be found in a place called Burabay National Nature Park, about 240 km north of Astana. The landscape there is crammed with lakes, hills, pine forests and the most stunning views. At the top of the mountain we discovered trees covered in small pieces of fabric, each one a "memory" or "keep-sake" left by those who made it up the mountain. For some reason, it stayed with me as much as the luscious countryside, a bedraggled Shinto-like shrine to those who had conquered the peak.
In the course of my Kazakhstan adventure, I decided to indulge my Stan curiosity just a little further and hopped on a short flight south to Bishkek, the capital of Kyrgyzstan. It turned out to be a place with quite an international feel, full of NGOs with people from all over the world trying to address the socioeconomic problems of the region. Unfortunately, I only had a brief, fleeting 24 hours and didn’t get to visit more than the capital. But for the entire time there, I was constantly asked — pestered, harassed even — as to whether I was on my way to somewhere called Issyk-Kul. This turned out to be Kyrgyzstan’s most celebrated attraction, visited by tourists all summer long. Translated as "warm lake', it is the world’s tenth largest inland body of water and, after the Caspian, the second largest saline lake. It’s also, I was told, unbearably beautiful, with snow-capped mountains bearing down from all sides, where hikers hike and campers often camp! No trip to Kyrgyzstan, it seems, is at all complete without a trip to Issyk-Kul. And so, folks, my trip was not complete. But I do hope to return there one day to see its mysterious blue depths and ethereal icy peaks.
A year after my first expedition to the Stans, I finally got the chance to visit Tajikistan, which I’d heard from friends was even more exotic than the others. On my arrival in Khujand (previously known as Leninbod), the second largest-city in the country, it quickly became apparent that the country serves up as much in the way of mountains and enticing eastern architecture as its brother republics. But Tajikistan seems to have evaded Russian influence to a much greater degree than the other Stans. It offers totally unique adventure options such as a jaunt along the breathtaking Pamir Highway, a paradise for hikers, trekkers, cyclists or just curious car-bound daytrippers. It snakes through the ravishing Pamir mountains and then surges onward and upward through a couple more of the Stans: Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, and Kyrgyzstan. Following it that far, however, requires some serious survival kit and a hefty 4×4; much of the highway is in disrepair, and it ranks right at the top of the world’s most dangerous roads. Other Tajik highlights include: the heart-stopping Lake Alexander (Iskanderkul) whose water is a luminous shade of cobalt blue (and must at least make up for missing Issyk-Kul) and Hisor Fortress, about 16 km east of the capital, built in the 16th Century as the residence of a Tajik courtier.
But for me, one of the greatest delights of travel is sampling the food. And in this respect, all of the Stans deliver in spades. This is the land of Plov. There is nowhere you can go to escape it. Essentially, as many will know, this is a very simple dish of rice, vegetables and some strips of meat or chicken. But this cannot do justice to the aromatic joy that a mere mouthful releases into the bloodstream through the gateways of the taste buds. And local versions bear very little relation to the bland counterfeit that passes as Plov in Russia and elsewhere. Here, it’s doused in oil, laced with spices and turbocharged with pure culinary passion. And in the Stans, the dishes themselves are almost less important than *how* they are eaten. In Tajikistan, traditional families will eat on the floor, with a table cloth laid out in the center and thin mattresses around for you to sit. Often men and women are seated in separate rooms for meals. Rather than giving each person a plate, they often place a large bowl or one or two bowls of Plov, a few plates of simple tomato, cucumber and onion salad, and their traditional bread called "non" in the center. Everyone eats from the same bowl, and sometimes you are not offered a spoon, so your ability to eat rice with bread will be tested to its limits.
Surprisingly, the national dish of Kazakhstan is actually not Plov — it’s another even meatier dish called Beshbarmak. Homemade dough is prepared into thin squares, these are then boiled in meat broth. It’s then placed on a plate with different pieces of meat — either lamb, beef or horsemeat. While the streets of Kazakhstan are full of statues of horses, it’s also an important part of the cuisine. I had never eaten horsemeat before and may, perhaps, have not been ready for the challenge. My obvious reluctance did, I fear, offend my hosts more than a little.
Getting to these countries is easy enough! There are direct flights from St. Petersburg and Moscow to Astana, Almaty, Dushanbe, Khujand and Bishkek, the largest cities in these countries. The Stans are beautiful places to visit. They're all so different from each other. It helps to have a local guide who can navigate you through the different tricks. I had a friend who rode his bike through Asia and enjoyed every minute of these countries out on the open road. Take a chance and experience something new!