You might have noticed I don’t write too much about the actual city of Almaty on my blog. It’s great, but I been having too much fun in the mountains to reflect about the city very often. A colleague of mine, who is new to the city, has been exploring and eloquently writing about his first experiences here. I recommend checking out Cousin Dampier’s blog if you want to see Almaty through another foreigner’s eyes.
The city sweats. Faces are sweaty and people are sweaty and car seats are sweaty and the walls are faded from that kind of heat that makes it all sweaty. Almaty should be dustier than it is. The buildings have that wind-blasted quality about them, smooth yellow-brown cinder block mated with yellow-brown plaster. White is the trim of choice, setting the window frames apart from the muddied world behind them.
Even in the heat, people are out, walking, carrying bags. It is not packed-crowded, like New York. It is less busy than that, but just as unfriendly. Smiling is not the Kazakh way, yet because they don’t smile out of nature, they are friendlier than New York where people don’t smile because the mass of people is painful.
And then one day it changes. One morning I awoke with my blankets pulled up over my head, instead of thrown to…
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