Part VII

When we last left our hero, he was stuck in the Almaty Airport up Sh*t Creek without a paddle! I was at an absolute loss of what to do. Not only did I have to figure out the immigration side of things (the piece of paper missing from my passport), but I also had to figure out a whole another air route. I was at a crossroads. I debated which to try to undo first, the airline problem or the immigration problem. Since airline tickets were not difficult to get I figured it was best to try and solve the immigration problem.

The first step to unwinding this mess was to stop in at the hotel where I’d spent my first three nights, Hotel Kazhol (which by the way if you’re ever in Almaty, AVOID AT ALL COSTS!!!). I thought somehow they could and would help me out of this jam. Instead, I was met with the typical Soviet attitude of indifference. However, they did provide me one key nugget of information; had I arrived in Kazakhstan via airplane rather than train, I would’ve received the magical piece of paper. Because I never received the piece of paper this meant it was my sole responsibility to register. Somewhere on the visa it laid out the law, but the wording was so obscure I never fully understood it.

Now, I had to gather proof of registration from each hotel during my stay. The first hotel, Hotel Kazhol, was willing to provide me a certificate proving I had stayed for three days. However, I also needed to provide official documentation of my stay in Astana for two days. This was impossible since I had already left. Due to my failure of not registering in Astana, I had in simple words violated Kazakh law. Again, I was panicked! Suddenly I thought maybe the American Consulate could help me! With no time to spare I hopped in a taxi and went straight to the Consulate.

Once there, I asked an official if I could speak with the Consulate General or at least someone who could help me. He said the Consulate General was out all week but that he could put me through to someone who may be able to help. A woman with a thick Russian accent answered the phone. In simple words she told me I was on my own, the US Consulate could not help and I needed to visit the immigration police. Before she hung up the phone she said, “by the way, you better hurry, they close at noon and tomorrow is the weekend. Therefore, each day you are unregistered you are fined $50.”

Panicked I raced out of the Consulate like a bat out of hell and scanned the horizon for any sign of a taxi. NO LUCK! I knew every second counted toward leaving Kazakhstan or staying for a lot, lot longer! As I stand out in the cold, miserable, pelting rain I frantically wave my hand in the air hoping someone would stop! Three cars, four cars, five, six, seven, and eight went by until… one guy in a beat up old Lexus stopped. I would negotiate later but right now I told him I needed to get to the immigration police.

Finally after what felt like the thrill ride from hell we arrived at the immigration office. There the officer told me that I needed to write out a report. After what seemed like endless hours of filling out paper work and talking to numerous officials, it came down to having to pay a $100 fine for not registering. I hated to part with $100 but it was a small price to pay to get out of Kazakhstan. Once I paid, I had to hand over my passport for processing.  Only problem, it would not be ready for another five hours. I knew I had no other option but I still felt panicked leaving my passport for such a long time.

My Soviet style room!

Till then, I would return to the airport hotel and get some rest. At 3:30 Dan would come back to drive me to the immigration office for the big event, the 4 PM redistribution of passports. Walking back to my room without my passport in my pocket, I felt naked and incomplete. I knew there was no reason to worry but then again I’d had had that feeling before and look where I was!

I met Dan outside at 3:30 and after what seemed like never ending traffic we got to the immigration office right on time. I walked into the building and it was packed with immigrants from all over the different “Stans” waiting anxiously for the 4’o clock hour when passports were handed back. The tension in the room was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. I felt like I was in college again waiting for the professor to hand back the results of that key final exam!

The MAGIC Registration Certificate!!!!

At last the clock hit 4:00 and out from a small room emerged several officers with boxes and boxes full of passports. The officers proceeded to their stations to hand back passports. My anxiety was off the map, get my passport back and it was adios Kazakhstan, don’t get my passport back I may as well start looking for places to live in Almaty. As the officers sat down at their stations a Tsunami of people started rapidly moving toward them. My driver Dan pushed his way through the crowd and got my passport back. I was thrilled, I mean beyond thrilled, it was as if I had just won the Power Ball lottery or the Super Bowl. If there had been a soundtrack to the day, Queen’s “We are the Champions” would have been blaring at full blast.

With my passport safely back in my custody we headed back to the hotel. When we pulled up I thanked Dan and offered to pay him $70 even though we’d agreed to $50 (after all he had helped me get my passport back and got me there and back in one piece). He angrily refused the money and told me I owed him a whopping $150. Ten minutes went by and we were no closer to a deal. I knew I had to play hardball! I told him, “either you take the $50 right now or you get nothing”. He still would not budge! Finally, VERY GRUDINGLY Dan took the $50, but not without parting words! He angrily called me a faggot, an asshole, a cheat and every other insult he could lob at me. His final words to me were “if I EVER SEE YOU IN THE CITY AGAIN I WILL…………..” gesturing angrily with his fist like he’d kill me. With those kind words he spit at me and drove away.

Although I was leaving the next day (Thank God!), I was still pretty traumatized by all that had happened with Dan. As I walked down the shabby hallway of my Soviet hotel each bump, thud and shadow sparked absolute terror in my heart! Maybe Dan was back to exact his revenge on me? As I peaked around the corner I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw it was only a hotel maid cleaning rooms at a late hour.

Departures Area!!!

The next morning I returned to Almaty Airport with my GOLDEN piece of paper tucked away nicely in my passport. I fearfully approached the immigration counter and handed over my passport. The woman looked at my vitals, my visa and did not even turn to the page with the magical piece of paper! I could not believe it! Had I just been in a different immigration line they may have never even looked for it, thus saving me change fees, a whole new ticket, and years worth of stress. Oh well, the only thing that mattered was I was leaving Kazakhstan!

Thanks for reading! I’ll be back later with more stories of fun and adventure in the “Stans”. Спасибо за внимание!

FINALLY! Finally, I leave Almaty!