Kokpar and Carnivores

Shymkent has a longer history than any other major Kazakhstani city, nearly all of which grew out of 18th and 19th century Russian forts. Since the city is located in the far south, it had more historical connections to the Silk Road khanates and emirates based around cities like Bukhara, Samarkand, and Kokand, whereas nomadic regions in the rest of Kazakhstan urbanized much later. This distinction is made clear by the architecture of Shymkent. While not spectacular, it clearly lacks the level of Soviet influence that can be found in 20th century concrete creations like Karaganda.

Shymkent is fairly infamous in Kazakhstan and is frequently referred to by its nickname, "Texas". It is located in the heart of the most conservative and tradition Kazakh region in the country. The city has a reputation for violence and machismo, although in my brief experience all the locals were quite friendly. Deserved or not, its notoriety is such that my host sister refuses to travel there for fear of being bridenapped. In any case, Kazakh guys are rather territorial about their women, so keeping your distance from Kazakh girls would probably eliminate about 80% of potential problems in Shymkent.

(The Shymkent Hippodrome)

From a mental standpoint, Shymkent was a huge breath of fresh air. The city was in full bloom, which was a welcome sight after the frozen bleakness of winter in Zhezkazgan. The bustle of people out and about, the green grass growing in parks, and the leaves that had appeared on trees were practically a novelty to those of us who came from more northerly climes. For most, the main draw of Nauryz weekend in Shymkent was the rare pleasure of socializing with real, live Americans. That was hardly the only appeal to the trip, however -- on Nauryz itself was the fascinating display of traditional Kazakh sports.

(Some guy spending his holiday getting a good whipping while on horseback)

On Sunday we awoke to a dreary sky and the threat of rain. Nonetheless, by late morning we made our way towards the outskirts of the city and the local hippodrome. While there was indeed a large horse-racing track, the stadium itself consisted of bench seating built into the side of a hill. Above the seating was an endless row of food. Plov, doner kebabs, shashlyk, and well...not much else, but there was plenty of those three. On the field there was a series of competitions. First, was a traditional two-horse race between a male jockey and a female jockey equipped with a whip -- both in traditional dress. Essentially, the guy had to ride as fast as he could to avoid the girl's whip. In many cases the guy got away relatively unscathed due to the speed of his horse or the pity of the girl, but one poor sap got absolutely pummeled.

(Kazakhs would almost love tailgating, but the lack of table would be a total dealbreaker. It's too bad, because they do love their grilled meat -- although they don't deviate from shashlyk)

This activity gave way to a strange wrestling-on-horseback competition. Two men on horses circled each other and attempted to drag the other out of the saddle with their barehands. It sounds strange, but imagine a human thumb war on horseback. These guys were pretty tough and most of them acquitted themselves well (by my standards, at least) by managing to balance on a horse despite nearly impossible angles.

(Two Kazakhs grapple for the upper hand in a horseback wrestling match)

Finally, the horseback-wrestling crowd dissipated and gave way to the main event -- kokpar. This is a traditional Kazakh (and Central Asian) team game played on horseback. Instead of playing with mallets and a ball like in polo, they play with a dead goat carcass. Naturally. Teams would work together to toss the carcass into a round goal that seemed to be about 50 yards apart. Faceoffs are conducted by placing the carcass on the ground and guys have to swoop down and grab it without falling out of the saddle. Most of the game featured a scrum in the middle with about 10 horses running into each other as each team fought for the goat. Since the field was very large, it was tough to get a insightful view into how scrappy those scrums really were, but considering they were fighting over a dead goat, we can imagine that it would really bring the blood fever out amongst the players.

(One of many rain-drenched scrums)

The rain eventually dispersed the crowd when the skies really opened up. I hate to admit it, but I proved to be a fair-weather kokpar fan and abandoned the game after about 30 minutes. Truth be told, after the absurd novelty of kokpar, it became a little repetitive. Nonetheless, I have no regrets about spending most of the afternoon at the stadium.

(If you look closely, you'll see a man in yellow leaning down to grab the goat carcass in this faceoff)

The Pre-Wedding Wedding

In Kazakh culture, one wedding isn't enough. My host sister's wedding will take place on Saturday, but according to local tradition, the celebration begins a week early. This event is roughly transliterated as a toi and it is largely like any other Kazakh party: many tables and way too much food. We sit down and eat and then we get up to dance, and possibly play a silly game. This is followed by more sitting down and eating and more dancing. Lather, rinse, and repeat. Kazakh parties are very structured and while they are interesting for cultural reasons, there is always a clash that stems from my discomfort at sitting down all the time, and Kazakhs discomfort at the fact that I might be standing.

The overarching theme of the toi seemed to be a sending-off party hosted by the bride's family. While members of the groom's family were present, relatives and friends of my host family came from Zhezkazgan, Satpaev, Karaganda, Astana, Almaty, and Balkhash. As the night drew to a close, tears were shed, and my host sister walked off with her future husband and his family. While they won't be officially married until Saturday, she is gone from our house for good. It is apparently tradition for the bride to live with her future in-laws for a week before moving out with her husband after tying the not. Living with in-laws for a week before a marriage is not the typical American's idea of a great time, but this tradition seems to be entrenched and unquestioned in Kazakhstan.

Seven hours is a long time for any social function. The toasts regress from eloquent to brief as the vodka and cognac flow. To make a long story short, in the final hour various Kazakh men tried to:

1. Convince me to come to Balkhash, effective immediately
2. Marry their daughter
3. Convince me that rap was actually invented in Kazakhstan

I also got a nice wet kiss on the cheek from a portly guy who seemed overjoyed at the sight of everyone and everything. I'll post pictures after the wedding next weekend.

Shymkent, Turkestan, and a Glimpse of Green

(Welcome to the south. Apparently they are one-humpers in Kazakhstan when it comes to their camels.)

When we awoke on the train to Shymkent, the view out the window seemed to be of an entirely different country. Fertile green fields, blooming trees, and the mountains in the distance served as a reminder that the icy slush of central steppe was a world away. Clearly, South Kazakhstan Oblast was a far cry from the snowy, blustery weather we had encountered in Zhezkazgan only a day before.

(A view once shared by a bloodthirsty Genghis Khan. If Otrar was ever impressive-looking, Genghis certainly did a number on that.)

After spending two days relaxing and catching up with volunteers from all over the country, many of us journeyed to Turkestan, a small city located a few hours northwest of Shymkent. Our first stop was ruins of the ancient city of Otrar. Otrar emerged as a trading hub about 1000 years ago, but was decimated by Genghis Khan in 1219 and in the fashion of the Mongol invasion, the population was killed or enslaved. It nonetheless was rebuilt some years later and re-emerged as commercial center and continued its association with violent Central Asian leaders when Tamerlane died of a cold on a visit in 1405. Eventually, the city died out as the Silk Road lost importance and the irrigation system broke down. Today, all that remains is a low-rising dusty hill that has been partially excavated in a UNESCO project.

(The mausoleum of Khwaja Ahmad Yasavi in Turkestan)

After wandering through the grounds of Otrar, we once again boarded the bus and headed to the city of Turkestan. The ride through this section of the country was just as flat as anywhere else, but this region seemed to be slightly arable, unlike the arid central steppe. Turkestan was a sleepy town outside of the bustle around its main attraction, the mausoleum of Khwaja Ahmad Yasavi. Yasavi was an important figure in the spread of Sufism in Central Asia and one of the earliest known poets in a Turkic dialect in the 12 century. His mausoleum was built by Tamerlane at the end of the 14th century.

(Attractive architecture in Kazakhstan? Who knew?)

Turkestan is really the only place in Kazakhstan with much religious history. In fact, the nomadism of the steppe combined with the regions proclivity for earthquakes has left little visible history at all. I was glad to see the city while I had the chance. The Turkestan trip, however, was merely a prelude for Nauryz festivities in Shymkent.

Striking South

During the last two weeks, Drew and I logged over 60 hours of travel time on trains and buses in a big loop through southern Kazakhstan. The occasion was a confluence of two events. Nauryz, a major Kazakh holiday, was immediately followed by a Peace Corps conference in Almaty. For years, volunteers in Kazakhstan have taken advantage of this and organized big gatherings in Shymkent, the hub of southern green belt. Shymkent, Kazakhstan's third city, is considered to be the most Kazakh city in the country. Since it lacks both the cosmopolitan nature of Almaty and Astana and the Soviet feel of places like Karaganda, I am apt to agree.

Unsurprisingly, the journey itself was just as interesting as the destination. In order to save time, we decided to take the vaunted Zhezkazgan-Kyzylorda bus. If you look at a detailed map of Kazakhstan, you will see a road spanning the 450 km between these two cities. To be clear, this is a "road" and not a road. In addition to the horrified warnings issued by locals about this bus, I had plenty of other evidence to know what awaited us. The ride itself didn't disappoint.

(The guys on the bus while the girls were using the "bathroom". By that I mean they were going behind the bus for privacy and peeing on the road. Sometimes, it's good to be a guy.)

As we left at 8am on a Wednesday morning, a light snow was falling in Zhezkazgan. Since I chose not to bring my heavy coat to the sunny south despite the desperate pleas of my host family, this was a little unpleasant, although the bus itself was warm enough. This bus was not a regular charter bus, but a 70s-era Soviet claptrap that looked more or less like a miniature grey schoolbus that was held together with duct tape, string, and prayers. We were very concerned by the fact that we could only buy tickets on the day of departure, but fortunately this was not a problem as there were only 12 passengers out of a possible 16-18.

(The view was pretty consistent the whole way)

There is nothing between Zhezkazgan and Kyzylorda. For about 450km, there are no cities, no towns, and no villages. There are only a handful of what can only be described as homesteads. It must be a bleak existence, so far from anything; these dwellings must be among the most isolated in the world. There is little traffic on the road and by my judgment we passed only about 10 vehicles going in the other direction. However, that's not to say that the few residents in the area can't create a commercial opportunity from the road. About three hours before we arrived in Kyzylorda, we stopped at "the cafe". It's a hell of a place -- five or six outbuildings with goats wandering here, there, and everywhere.

(The "cafe". It's a lot nicer inside than it looks, seriously. I also highly recommend their goat lagman soup; additionally, the vodka that they served was honestly the smoothest I have ever tasted. Go figure.)

For almost the entire 10 hours we were on the bus, we were bouncing around like pingpong balls. For the first few hours the bumpiness was curbed by the fact that the road was frozen solid, but as we progressed south, the ice gave way to mud and the conditions worsened. For a few hours the driver was literally weaving back and forth across the road, avoiding lumps of mud, in what had essentially become an obstacle course of dangerous ruts. Right about halfway through the trip, we had a small problem:

(An unfortunate situation when you are about 200 miles from the nearest town)

The bus got stuck in a rut and went over the embankment into the snow. Fortunately, the ditch wasn't deep enough for us to flip, which would have made the story significantly less funny. In all, it took us about 30 minutes to get the bus back on the road. The process involved shoveling snow out from under the bus, ripping up shrub brush to use as traction under the tires, and then pushing. We pushed the bus away from the road to flatter ground, where it could slowly turn around and pick up enough speed to get over the embankment. Thankfully, it was simpler than we initially anticipated -- the guys on the bus worked with an efficiency that suggested that it wasn't the first time they've dealt with such a problem.


Upon our evening arrival in Kyzylorda snow was falling once again, which I found disconcerting, but fortunately it was the last snow I saw. We had planned to spend the night in the city with other volunteers, but we had made friends with a Kazakh guy and a Russian girl on the bus who were also continuing on to Shymkent, so we took a late train. In classic Kazakhstan style, the train was sold out, but the Kazakh guy "knew people" in Kyzylorda and we somehow managed to procure tickets.

By 9am the next morning, our motley crew pulled into the station -- 25 hours after departure from Zhezkazgan. For the record, that's making great time.