julian A anderson
Almaty - the dark city
Part one
At the end of 1991 the Soviet Union split into 15 countries and Kazakhstan was one of the first to declare its independence. A few months later I visited Almaty which was then the capital. It was just opening up to foreigners and two very different cultures came face to face. I still have no idea who came off worst.
Almaty was a typical former communist city, stunning 18th and 19th architecture sitting side by side with monolithic concrete buildings of the 20th century. Whilst Almaty is situated almost on the Chinese border, there were streets that would look quite at home in most European capitals. Most of the population is Russian but there were a few ethnic Kazaks to be seen in their colourful costumes.
I arrived at 5.00am after three long flights. It took me almost two hours to negotiate my way through the expected border controls before I could set off for the hotel. I have stayed in some pretty dire examples of ‘five star’ hotels that would not merit one in any western country, (that is what makes travel interesting) but this one neatly embraced both five and one stars in the same building. The lobby was covered in marble. Marble walls, marble floors, a vast expanse of cold pink stone that included the receptionist. My passport was taken away (expected) I was photographed (Not expected) and then taken to my room.
After sleeping for almost 24 hours, I awoke very hungry and made my way back to the marble palace and the biggest breakfast room I had ever seen. It was vast, two stories high and more pink marble. Perhaps memory may be playing tricks but it was big and was occupied by myself and a couple somewhere in the distance. The breakfast menu boasted a good choice but I knew from experience that this was probably not much more than window dressing. They did have orange juice (orange squash), tea, which is always good, blinis and finally toast - which never came. One of the more curious things about my stay was that toast was always on offer and never came.
Next time… a knock on the door brings embarrassment and a trip to Panfilov park.
I had been accorded CIP status (One down from VIP) and this meant I was given one of the better rooms that had previously been reserved for party members. The room was guarded by the keeper of the bath plug. In those days many Eastern European hotels had someone who looked after the guests on each floor. One of the ways they made money was to charge for renting the bath plug. My keeper was a woman who looked as though she was approaching her 60s but was probably at least 20 years younger. Suprisingly she spoke a little English and gave me a free rent of the plug. I think this was because the city heating had been turned on to welcome its Western guests.
In several Bond films, he begins his hotel stay by searching for bugs. I had been advised to do the same but nevertheless was very surprised to find that one of the headboard buttons was indeed connected to wire. The other thing that provided a stark reminder of where I was in the world was the radio. It consisted of a large box, screwed to the wall with no visible means of turning it off or changing stations. Fortunately it only seemed to work at certain times of the day.
