Turkistan, November 18
Door: rikdegoede
Blijf op de hoogte en volg Rick
18 November 2011 | Kazachstan, Astana
It takes a while to cross a continent, especially Asia, the biggest continent of all. My last entree was in Zhanaozhen. I left that town in the morning of the 14th, to arrive in time at the railway station of Mangishlak, from where I took a train to Atyrau. I arrived in the afternoon the next day, only to take another train on to Aralsk. I spent the afternoon in that desolate town, catching another train onward to Turkistan, where I arrived yesterday morning.
I met some wonderful people, watched the steppes flow by and stopped for a day in Aralsk, a former harbour on what used to be the Aral Sea. Spending three days and nights in a train makes you feel awefully dirty at first. You're always wondering if the other passengers think you stink. Well, until the second day. On the third day you tend to forget it anyway. Besides, the other passengers were happy to sit and talk with me, drinking tea or sharing some bread or cakes. On the train from Atyrau to Aralsk, an older Kazach Russian engineer, Yevgeni, spent a day teaching me Russian grammar. How nice, I'm really able to say more now, almost as much as back in 2005. Unfortunately, unlike western Kazachstan, Russian is a disappearing language in the southern part of Kazachstan. So it appears I learned too late. Maybe better to start learning Chinese now.
Anyway, I found a hotel with a working shower here in Turkistan (it works, at least, between 9 and 10 in the morning and 5 and 6 in the evening). You really get to appreciate such small things: a shower, a warm meal, a warm bed (with a pile of blankets, no luxury as the heating isn't working). About that meal: I had a nice dish of plov (spiced rice with beef, carrots and raisins) today. Plov is the same thing as Indian pilau or Persian pilav. And if I'm lucky, I may catch some samsa (stuffed pie) or manty (dumplings) later. I'm unsure about beshbarmak though, the national dish. That's minced horse meat with noodles.
About Aralsk: the place struck me as rather desolate. It used to be a thriving fishing town in 1921, when it got heroic status from Lenin, because the ishers shipped tons of fish to relieve the famine in Russia. The cause of the current misery was a Soviet irrigation project in Uzbekistan, used for a megalomanic cotton plantation scheme. This took so much water that the rivers dried up. As a result, almost the entire inland Aral Sea disappeared. A new, big dam across the desert is now refilling a minor Kazach part of the former sea, but it hasn't yet reached Aralsk. People are selling smoked fish everywhere though, I took that for a good sign. There is a museum about this sad ecological disaster, but you have to search hard for it: it's entrance looks like a small storage building. Inside, three people in museum uniforms were glad to show me around. After the museum I walked to the former harbour, where some old ships are placed on pedestrals and painted over in bright colours. It doesn't quite help to make the place less gloomy, with all the crumbling cranes nearby.
About Turkistan: well, it's another dusty town, except for the 14th century mausoleum of sufi saint Kozha Akhmet Yasaoui, built by the cruel conqueror Timur the Lame. Its azure blue domes rise above yellow bricks and finally give me a wonderful feeling: I have arrived in Central Asia.
I met some wonderful people, watched the steppes flow by and stopped for a day in Aralsk, a former harbour on what used to be the Aral Sea. Spending three days and nights in a train makes you feel awefully dirty at first. You're always wondering if the other passengers think you stink. Well, until the second day. On the third day you tend to forget it anyway. Besides, the other passengers were happy to sit and talk with me, drinking tea or sharing some bread or cakes. On the train from Atyrau to Aralsk, an older Kazach Russian engineer, Yevgeni, spent a day teaching me Russian grammar. How nice, I'm really able to say more now, almost as much as back in 2005. Unfortunately, unlike western Kazachstan, Russian is a disappearing language in the southern part of Kazachstan. So it appears I learned too late. Maybe better to start learning Chinese now.
Anyway, I found a hotel with a working shower here in Turkistan (it works, at least, between 9 and 10 in the morning and 5 and 6 in the evening). You really get to appreciate such small things: a shower, a warm meal, a warm bed (with a pile of blankets, no luxury as the heating isn't working). About that meal: I had a nice dish of plov (spiced rice with beef, carrots and raisins) today. Plov is the same thing as Indian pilau or Persian pilav. And if I'm lucky, I may catch some samsa (stuffed pie) or manty (dumplings) later. I'm unsure about beshbarmak though, the national dish. That's minced horse meat with noodles.
About Aralsk: the place struck me as rather desolate. It used to be a thriving fishing town in 1921, when it got heroic status from Lenin, because the ishers shipped tons of fish to relieve the famine in Russia. The cause of the current misery was a Soviet irrigation project in Uzbekistan, used for a megalomanic cotton plantation scheme. This took so much water that the rivers dried up. As a result, almost the entire inland Aral Sea disappeared. A new, big dam across the desert is now refilling a minor Kazach part of the former sea, but it hasn't yet reached Aralsk. People are selling smoked fish everywhere though, I took that for a good sign. There is a museum about this sad ecological disaster, but you have to search hard for it: it's entrance looks like a small storage building. Inside, three people in museum uniforms were glad to show me around. After the museum I walked to the former harbour, where some old ships are placed on pedestrals and painted over in bright colours. It doesn't quite help to make the place less gloomy, with all the crumbling cranes nearby.
About Turkistan: well, it's another dusty town, except for the 14th century mausoleum of sufi saint Kozha Akhmet Yasaoui, built by the cruel conqueror Timur the Lame. Its azure blue domes rise above yellow bricks and finally give me a wonderful feeling: I have arrived in Central Asia.
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19 November 2011 - 21:32
Ilona:
Hoi Rik,
Ik moest even bijlezen maar ik ben er! Het is wel vreselijk koud bij jou zeg!!! En het eten......je zal wel slank terugkomen!!
Met onze meiden zitten we volop in de sinterklaassferen. Vandaag hebben ze voor de tweede keer hun schoen mogen zetten. Helaas heeft Floor er niet veel van meegekregen omdat ze wat ziekjes is. Dagelijks schuiven we aan bij Diewertje Blok met het sinterklaasjournaal.
Veel plezier nog! -
19 November 2011 - 22:59
Hanny:
o, wat mooi, die blauwe koepel, en wat groot!! Mooie heldere lucht bij Aralmeer. Goede reis verder (op naar de paarden?)
ga zondag bij tante vergrotingen v d stenensamples brengen. Ben benieuwd.zal foto's van oma met boek mailen als ik tijd heb. gr, mamma -
20 November 2011 - 16:40
Paul:
Ha Rik,
Na het lezen van je verslagen de atlas erbij gepakt om te zien hoe je precies bent gereisd en waar je nu zit. De stad Turkistan in Kazachstan schepte even verwarring, omdat ik het ten ornrechte associeerde met de staat Turkmenistan. Zo zie je maar weer, jouw avonturen zijn goed voor de geografische kennis van de lezers. Je schiet al aardig op, de hoge bergen zitten eraan te komen. Ik lees dat je bij Centraal Azie een fijn gevoel krijgt. Heeft dat te maken met de architectuur of de hele cultuur en de wijze hoe mensen daar leven en met elkaar omgaan en misschien ook met hoe ze op westerlingen reageren? Dat hoor ik nog wel een keer van je.
Hier gaat alles goed. We zijn van de week naar een optreden geweest van de zanger van de Editors die met vier andere muzikanten de openingsact bij het Crossing Bordrefestival in Den Haag voor zijn rekening nam. Jolien had ons getipt. Was erg leuk.
groetjes Ineke en Paul -
25 November 2011 - 07:41
Rick De Goede:
@Ilona: ja, als ik in de spiegel kijk herken ik mijn normale postuur inmiddels weer een beetje en mijn wangen zien er ook dunner uit :-)
@mam: nog niets ontvangen, of misschien ligt dat aan de verbinding. Is de brief aan tante al aangekomen? Gestuuurd uit Kiev.
@Paul: nee, was meer bedoeld als dat ik he fijn vind eindelijk ergens te komen. Zo lang reizen terwijl dingen hetzelfde blijven geeft het gevoel dat je niet opschiet.
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