Children playing in the crowded aisle.
We didn’t get much sleep on our last night in Shymkent. We luckily were able to switch to the cheaper room at the hotel next door. There wasn’t a sauna but there was a shared bathroom where the women’s room door didn’t seem to ever properly shut, unfortunately neither did the door to our room. At around midnight, Bobby tried to get out of our room to go to the bathroom and we were trapped inside. We tried so hard to shut the door that we then couldn’t open it again. It was a good ten minutes of panic of jostling the key and the door handle to get it open. We were ready to get our army knife out and start unscrewing the door hinges. We didn’t bother to force our door shut fully after that.
We were planning on leaving at 4:45 am in order to get to the train station since we weren’t sure of what the taxi situation would be. After a few moments of standing outside in the dark a black car pulled over to us. Any car in Uzbekistan was a potential taxi so we just assumed it was similar practice here in Kazakhstan. I asked for the railway station and he gestured with five fingers (for 500 Tenge hopefully) which was reasonable enough and we got in. Driving around the deserted streets in a car that isn’t officially a taxi was un-nerving for a moment. Of course the map failed to include the part of town with the train station so we couldn’t follow our direction on the map. Then, every so often, we would see cars that had the illuminated taxi sign and I would wonder if we maybe should have waited another few minutes to get an official cab. The driver actually got us to the train station in very good time and we were much earlier for our train than we anticipated, I think lack of sleep made us paranoid.
Our bunks were a tight squeeze.
After sitting on the platform for nearly an hour, the dark green train with the Red Soviet star finally approached. We scrambled over to where our carriage was and forced ourselves on board, crushing little old ladies and children alike in efforts to reach our bunks. The train was so full, we were only able to get 3rd class bunks and it seemed that even every bunk in this class was sold out. It reminded me a lot of the trains in India, even though the trains we took there were never more than an overnight ride while this one is 24 hours. There were so many people in the car (apparently loved ones that are not traveling like to board the train also to say goodbye) that we had to scramble into our little cubbies immediately to avoid being crushed. The bunks are actually more like coffins; we were completely unable to sit up. When I ungracefully clamored up to my coffin, I dragged my luggage with me and placed it by my feet and Bobby did the same leaving his bags by his head. One of the conductors passed and began to yell at Bobby in Russian, which of course we didn’t understand. He then swats at Bobby’s feet and made it clear that shoes on the bed are a no-no. This same conductor then came by to rent us the linens for the trip (250 T) and we made our beds and went to sleep.
Eat, eat! Two families fed us well.
By the time I woke up, I was ready to escape my coffin and went out to locate the two most important things of a long trip, the toilet and food. While cautiously stepping over people to try to get to the other end of the car, our conductor friend gestured to me something like “where are you going?” I asked “restoran” and he then gave me a funny look, somewhere between disgust that I expect there to be a restaurant car on the train and pity that this silly girl has no food for the next 24 hours and shook his head no. We had expected there to be some kind of food available on the train. We did bring some bread, salami, and cheese but not enough for three meals for two people. When I returned to our bunks, the couple sitting below us offered me some food, which I declined because I didn’t want to put them out. The next thing I knew, they were passing a phone over to Bobby and they had an English speaker on the other end to translate. The person explained that they want us to eat with them (no option for yes or no) and so we did. They had some tea, bread, and bishbarmak (boiled mutton, fat, and flat noodles) that I identified immediately which seemed to please them. I was grateful for their generosity of sharing not only their food but also the bottom bunk, which is more spacious and one can sit upright.
Baby Islam taking a break from causing mischief.
Later on, Bobby left to look for the toilet and then I heard him speaking English to someone. I popped over to see what was going on and found him with a young couple with a small child and another four people who were in the same section. We began talking to them and then more food comes out; tea, candies, fried dough balls which I swear they appetizingly referred to as ball-sack, and our first introduction to fermented mare’s milk. The mare’s milk was interesting; sour milk with strange golden clusters (we guess congealed fat?) and I thought it tasted like barley or a grain. Our new friend noticed that I had come over in my socks and the next thing I know, a conductor (who is conveniently our friend’s cousin) presents me with a pair of disposable slippers as a gift. We stayed with our adopted train family for a while watching the antics of the two toddlers in our section, Aisha and Islam. Islam was probably about a year old but I noticed he didn’t wear any diapers. His mother toted a plastic bowl with a lid that she would put between her knees and then place bare-bottomed Islam on her lap and make hissing sounds. She would then lay him down (to air dry I suppose) and then cover the bowl and place it under their bed until the next time. Islam just loves his little red bowl. He spent a good deal of time playing with it, pushing it around and picking it up. Islam even picked it up and brought it over to the other passengers and proudly lifted the lid revealing his morning’s efforts. Nobody seemed to mind having a bowl of urine placed on their beds and would just glance inside and ooh and aah. He then tottered over to me with his red bowl and placed it in my hands; I thanked him and then placed it back to where I saw his mother keeps it. After our adventures in food and children’s potty training, a stop approached that was famous for fruit and I took that as an opportunity to escape the hospitality for a while and take a nap.
After awkwardly squeezing into my coffin, Bobby dashes to me saying that he had a close call with the police because he was taking pictures. Before he even has a chance to tell me what the picture was of, two police officers approach him along with the conductor who doesn’t care for us and more scolding in Russian commences. They demanded to see the pictures and Bobby began flipping through the images. They were gesticulating to delete and Bobby would cry “that wasn’t even taken here!” It wasn’t until the train was starting to leave again that the police officers got off and I learned which photo caused all of this trouble… it was a picture of plov. I would have guessed that only Uzbeks would so jealously guard plov, not Kazaks.
The scandalous picture of plov that caused the police to chase Bobby.
The rest of the train ride passed comfortably enough since we now had enough friends to visit on lower bunks. We were disappointed when we first learned that we had the crowded 3rd class bunks but has we been in a higher class we wouldn’t have had the same interaction. Our new friend even offered us to stay in his home in Astana if we didn’t find a place to stay. The people were truly so kind and hospitable, they will certainly be the most memorable part of this trip. Well, that and the fermented mare’s milk.
