674 
09/01/2016
Welcome to Almaty
It’s already late evening when I get off the plane. In the cold darkness I walk on the ramp to the arrival hall, which looks more like a run down post office than an airport. As I approach the immigration officer, what strikes me about her is the bold red hair and deep lines on her face. She must be over 50 and looks very angry. She goes through my passport and throws an irrelevant question to me, “ Why you have so many stamps? Why you travel?” I try to smile and answer but I am rushed out of immigration with a quick stamp.
The baggage belt looks old and worn out. The walls of the arrival halls are grey and lights are dim. Its not been renovated for years I guess. It is even smaller than a supermarket. Only two baggage belts and 6 trolleys for a plane full of passengers!! This is going to be fun. Those who complain about airports in India should visit Almaty. People are standing with no expressions. It seems very odd…very very odd. My fellow travelers, who are dressed in their Louise Vuittons, surround the baggage belt and Prada suits. It looks so funny. Worn out airport surrounded by designer wear. They all seem to be sad to return. As I cover my cold shoulders with a warm overcoat gifted by my mother in law in Lebanon, I look at my Asics and wonder if I will ever fit into this designer wear market! But then you never know…….
It’s dark as I step outside. My ride is waiting and Naomi and myself are whisked off into the darkness towards the hotel. I can hear Naomi chatting excitedly about my trip in the background, while as my eyes settle on what is passing by. Old run down cars are driving along side. Dark brick houses are lined on both sides of the road with naked trees. I soon realise that all houses look the same. Streets after streets of similar looking houses. Am I in maze? Maybe a loop? Or this is what it was like to live in the previous Soviet Union.
We stop at a signal and I notice that we are being watched by about 20 cameras. I wonder who is looking at us and why? How boring their job would be to sit in a small room look at life go. No excitement for them. The Gujarati in me wants to break into a Garba (traditional Gujarati dance) right in front of the camera! May be someone is watching and will be entertained………
As we arrive in the city, lines of low set dormitories in faded blue colour now replace the rows of brick houses. I see people standing on the road asking for a ride, I see women rushing home with bags of food, a couple holding hands and laughing as they talk and children playing on the sidewalk. The slice of middle class life looks just the same everywhere!
Far away in the distance I start seeing few tall buildings. It gives a feel of Gotham city. Al Farabi Avenue is the Manhattan of Almaty. I see lighted advertisements for Gucci perfumes and BMW. I can see the tallest building on the horizon -The Ritz Carlton, my home for next 11 days. As I pull into the drive way I am rushed into the plush hotel. I feel so out of place in track pants and running shoes. Lining up for the elevator I realise I am the most under dressed person. Today is the huge party in the hotel and all the social butterflies have dressed in their finest to face the shutterbugs. Kazakh women are beautiful! Full Stop! They all have lean tall bodies and carry themselves better than Naomi Campbell and are always dressed impeccably. I am wondering if my work will succeed here……..
Sometimes talent is lost among diamonds and Louise Vuitton.
