Blog de Kaz VI

It was no lesser philosopher than Paolo Nutini who once said "you put some new shoes on and suddenly everything's right". Well Paolo clearly doesn't buy his shoes from Astana's central bazaar. Here you put some new shoes on and suddenly you look even more like a homeless pensioner about to try and bluff his way into the local borsch kitchen. However since I had been wearing the same unfortunate pair of shimano cycling pasties for 27 days straight the change was an absolute necessity. I had two days to wander the capital's streets and I needed some sensible sightseeing footwear. By 10am yesterday morning I'd invested 5000 Kazakh groats in the cheapest and biggest shoes in the bazaar - a cross between merrill climbing shoes and those grey loafers your grandad might wear to church. It was money well spent. I was turning heads wherever I went and though the looks may not have been admiring, at least they weren't holding their noses and I was allowed to go about my business free of unsubtle air freshner sprays in my direction.

Even without the new shoes, no amount of shoe odour would have spoiled the sweet air of the capital to my tired nose. This was a destination I had been holding out for for the past week, the the biggest port that the tour de kaz would call at before its destination of Almaty. In order to fully appreciate the arrival I had left only a 100km hop down the autoroute which should have given me an afternoon to soak up the sights, get a good meal, recieve the President's congratulations etc etc. Unfortunately only 24hrs before I was to arrive, a round faced ex-colonel of the Red Army and veteran of the Soviet Afghan war had taken me to one side, thrust a glass of cognac into my hand and whispered the magic word into my ear.......Kokpar.

Kokpar is a traditional Kakakh sport played out over a 200m pitch with teams of 5 horse bound local lads. "Like polo" I hear you say. Well replace the ball with a goat's carcass, the goal with a tractor tyre and the pimms with fermented horse's milk and maybe you can compare the two. As I sat as guest of honour overseeing the warp speed attempts of saddleless horsemen to rip the 35kg carcass from each other whilst the locals howled approval like the steppe wolves I so feared, I found it difficult to believe they would go for this type of banter at Windsor Guard's club. Nevertheless it was an incredible, unforgettable spectacle and a real taste of the Kazakhstan I had so far only read about on the roadside.

100km is no more than 4 hours work on good roads so there is no reason why a good morning session of Kokpar should have slowed my progress too much. However, like night follows day, I was soon to discover that a game of kokpar is followed by a banquet in a yurt. As a distinguished guest, it was not a social convention I felt comfortable breaching despite the fact that the the relatively cyclist-friendly horse's milk had given way to a clear liquid I recognised immediately as the end to my dreams of making the capital. It was vodka o'clock.

I resolved to force a slow pace. There would be no unnecessary toasts and I'd try and keep to smaller measures. My attempts to boss proceedings lasted until the introductions.....beginning to my left, a former Soviet champion wrestler, the town's Mayor, a man they called Kalashnikov and a German proudly introduced as Sasha Adolfivich. Contingencies switched to the old student favourite of 6'un home (the rule that 6 pints and home on a bike is just about acceptable). I managed to stick to the rule though I'll leave interpretation of six (double vodkas) and home (100km down the equivalent of the M1) to the weights and measures committee.

After a harrowing ride into a head wind, uphill and mostly in darkness (and with BOB being attacked for the last 10kms by the local stray dogs) I made it to Astana.

There is much to say about this incredible city and I have encroached upon the time of those who have got this far enough already. This is the first attempt I know of to build a brand new capital since Peter the Great ordered St Petersburg in the early 1700s. However unlike Peter, President Nazarbayev has not used a straight blue print - he has not tried to produce a Venice of the Steppe or an ostentatious neo-classical theme park. The city that is taking shape south of the river is a grand, bold, visionary project, but it is uniquely Kazakh and for that reason I was very impressed. And I was not the only one. To look into the eyes of the Kazakhs who were wandering around the bizarre array of sites on offer - from the 90 metre golden egg in a nest "Bayterek" to the 75 metre Pyramid Palace of Peace and Harmony - was to see something more than just astonishment at the scale. There was pride, national pride. And it is not just the sightseers who are inspired by the President's vision of the city. Wherever I have been in Kazakhstan everyone has said I should visit the capital to see its wonders. There may still be debates about it's infrastructure and the environmental costs of trying to build something of this scale in the middle of nowhere, but if the intention was to give the post-Soviet Kazakh nation a city that breaks with the past, a city they could call their own, a city to be proud of, then those goals, in my opinion, are well on the way to being achieved. Moreover this may one-day become a worldwide must-see destination as there are those who think that once you've seen one temple/cathedral/stadium/ferris wheel you have seen them all, but where else can you see a white latticed tower crowned with a golden orb?

Like any city Astana has also allowed me to enjoy some well-earned comforts like a square meal and a comfy bed. These have been particularly welcome as the fatigue/hangover from the banquet and cycle have resulted in a feeling that the miles are finally catching up with me. My Mr Burns meets Littlest Hobo appearance was illustrated by a waiter last night who offered me a backroom table thinking I was a vagrant who he could sneak some bread to at a quiet moment. The beard may have to go.

So after two days in the new shoes it is time to don the shimanos again and hit the road. Body is rejuvinated and mind is eager to take on the last 10 day ride. However for Paolo's future reference I put some new shoes on, eat my own body weight in chocolate, have a couple of cheekies with Austrian Airlines hostesses, meet a 67 yr old Ukranian adventurer and relax in the Palace of Peace and Harmony and THEN suddenly everything seems to be right. Let's hope it stays right until Almaty.

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