What a wonderful day

When I woke up this morning, the first thing I wanted to do was buy water and something for breakfast, because I had missed the chance to go shopping the previous evening.

To my surprise, almost all the shops near my accommodation only opened at 9 a.m. I didn’t want to wait that long, and the only shop that was open didn’t sell bread. “Well, I’ll buy something on the way,” I thought. But things turned out differently once again.

By the time I finally set off, it was already 9:45 again, and the ride immediately began with a climb. Riding through the city, the road kept going uphill, and between the buildings I could see the snow-covered mountains to the south. Yesterday’s active recovery had clearly paid off — my thighs felt well rested again today. The route I was following seemed to include a detour to a viewpoint, so I also made a turn directly toward the south. I really wanted to take a closer look at the mountains I had already glimpsed from the hostel. But the higher the road climbed, the more I started to suspect that the two cyclists who had published this route online had also been searching for a viewpoint and perhaps never really found one. When the route eventually turned back on itself, my suspicion was confirmed. You could see the mountains a little between the houses and trees, but it was hardly a real viewpoint. I didn’t want to give up yet and continued a bit farther uphill. At some point, though, even I realized that this climb could probably go on forever. Looking back, I noticed that the TV tower — a tourist viewpoint — was actually not much higher than where I already was. I checked the map to see whether cycling up to the tower was possible, and it indeed seemed to be. Only about 150 meters of elevation remained, though first I had to descend a short stretch of the road I had come from.

On the way to the tower, I eventually reached a barrier guarded by a man in uniform. But right next to it there was also a very steep, unpaved path leading uphill to the right. Since Google Maps wanted to send me that way anyway, I decided to try my luck and struggled upward meter by meter. In some sections it was so steep that I had to get off the bike — and even then my heart rate was around 140.

Shortly before what was probably the highest point — though I already had a pretty good view farther below — a man spoke to me. I gestured that I was looking for a good viewpoint, and he held out his phone with the message: “Would you like me to open the gate here so you can see what it looks like behind it?” Naturally I had no objection, and he immediately did so. From there I had a wonderful view over both the city and the mountains, with the TV tower now very close by. The man also took a few photos of me, and then I was about to head back to the road. He introduced himself as Marat, and when I told him about my journey, he was thrilled and immediately wanted to invite me for a meal. I said that I still had a long stage ahead of me and should continue soon. “Then at least for a tea,” he replied. I agreed.

He invited me into his house, where I also met his daughter Camila, who studies medicine. From then on, she acted as translator, so we no longer needed our phones. My breakfast problem also solved itself, because along with tea there was bread and incredibly delicious homemade jam made from fruit from their garden. Marat even served me porridge and simply said: “It’s a pity you can’t stay longer, because I would have loved to cook the Kazakh national dish for you…” Camila added that it was very meat-heavy and probably not ideal for me anyway. But once again, this hospitality completely amazed me.

As I slowly started thinking about leaving, Marat insisted that I absolutely had to take some of his jam as a gift and asked whether one liter would be okay. I replied that considering the many kilometers still ahead of me, that was a bit too much. So besides the huge jar, he also brought out a smaller one that I could probably manage to carry. Even that one surely held about half a liter.

As Adrian from Zug — whom I had met in the Uzbek desert — rightly remarked, encounters with people like Marat are the most beautiful and most important part of this journey for me. Beautiful landscapes are wonderful too, but my strongest memories are these heartfelt encounters, whether with locals or with other travelers. Because of them, the world feels to me like a truly beautiful place full of kind people, even if many media outlets try to convince us otherwise every single day. That is why traveling feels like such a special privilege, especially in times like these.

The positive thoughts and the joy from this incredibly warm exchange with Marat and Camila accompanied me for many kilometers afterward in the form of an inner smile. Perhaps I will even see Marat again soon in Switzerland, because he is a businessman and plans to visit his business partner in Denmark in autumn — and from there, Switzerland is not very far away.

After more than 90 kilometers, I took a break — since leaving Almaty, the route had followed a rather quiet, tree-lined road with a gentle downhill slope — and there I made yet another acquaintance. A boy rode past me on his bicycle, saw me, hesitated briefly, and then turned around to talk to me. Zhasulan, who was 13 years old, was very interested in my journey, so we chatted a little using Google Translate. Then we rode together for a short distance, during which he mentioned that he lived in “Kasachstan.” That didn’t surprise me at all, though at the time I didn’t realize that there was actually a village with that very name here. We eventually said goodbye, and I promised to send him the photos we had taken, since I had saved his number.

About 16 kilometers before my destination, the quiet road came to an end and I returned to the toll road — essentially the highway. Once I arrived in Shelek, I first had trouble finding the hotel I had picked out, only to discover that it apparently no longer existed. So I moved on to option number two and managed to get a room there for the night — even though there was a “For Sale” sign hanging on the building, which was a bit confusing.

In the evening, I exchanged messages with both Marat and Zhasulan. The latter apologized for not speaking English and said he now wanted to study it diligently. He even apologized for not having had a gift for me. Incredible — back home, I have never apologized for not speaking a certain language, let alone for not carrying a gift for some foreign traveler. Different culture, I suppose — and it still deeply impresses me. About a week ago, I had been going through a somewhat difficult phase and was longing for China. But now I feel completely different. In the end, I will probably miss Kazakhstan too and certainly remember it very fondly. So all that remains for me is to fully enjoy these last days here.