Coming to Turkmenistan

Turkmen Flag

Ok…so just where in the world is Turkmenistan? Unless you are involved in the oil/gas business or are a hardcore international affairs wonk like me, you probably have no idea where Turkmenistan is. No worries, when I told people I was traveling to Turkmenistan, I was met with a lot of blank stares and weird questions like my trainer who asked me if Turkmenistan was located in the Southern Hemisphere? Try again; you’re just off by an entire hemisphere and 10,000 some miles. However, this comes as no shock since Americans hardly know where Canada is located! In answer to the question, The Republic of Turkmenistan is at the western end of Central Asia aka The Silk Road and just north of Iran. Their neighbors are: Iran (south), Russia (only by sea), Kazakhstan (Borat’s home), Uzbekistan and finally last but not least our 51st state, Afghanistan….The Republic of Afghanistan! 

I landed in Turkmenistan early Halloween morning after a quick hop across the Caspian Sea from Baku, Azerbaijan. I knew Turkmenistan was a bureaucratic nightmare and sure enough the moment I walked off the plane the hassle began! As I approached the Passport Control window, I heard the guard yell “NO, BAААААNNNNK!!!”. I was like..…BAAANK, what the hell was he saying? Finally it dawned on me he said “BANK”, but with a heavy accent!!! Ok message received, go to the bank window just a few feet to the left of passport control and pay some type of bullsh*t fee. However, I wondered why I needed to pay anything when I had paid for my visa (an entry document, not a VISA card) in advance. Oh well I thought, this is Turkmenistan, not The Cook Islands (where I’d traveled the year before), so “When in Rome, do like the Romans do”! I grudgingly paid my $12 phantom visa fee and proceeded to baggage claim, which oddly enough was not in the usual place like most airports. Instead it was located behind two wide doors that looked as if it was the entrance to an operating room. I entered the  operating room baggage claim and there she was, my bag sitting there alone in a big empty room! Once I exited baggage claim, waiting for me was my guide and driver. In order to enter Turkmenistan I had to hire a guide for the duration of my trip.

Statue of Turkmenbashi

After arriving at the hotel at about 2:30 AM I went straight to bed. Luckily I woke up later that morning refreshed and ready for a full day of sightseeing around Ashgabat, the nation’s capital! As we zipped down the wide streets of the capital I felt a tinge of déjà vu…as if I had somehow been there before! Hmmmm…. a city in the middle of the desert, countless lights, over the top water features the size of Mt. Everest, and shiny glass/marble buildings… Just where had I seen this before? Oh yeah…. LAS VEGAS!!! I really doubt Ashgabat would want to be labeled “Sin City”, but it was an irresistible comparison!

Turkmenistan Ministry of Education

Anyway....the buildings and city itself were amazing! Two of the most interesting landmarks that came to my attention were, The Ministry of Education and The Ministry of Oil and Gas building. Usually such sights would trigger nothing more than a yawn, however these two were exceptions. The Ministry of Education was in the form of..........wait for it........a book! And, The Ministry of Oil and Gas was shaped like.........a lighter!

Ministry of Gas and Oil

Our whirlwind city tour concluded at a small nonchalant café in the city center. There we would meet up with “The Barber from Mary (a city in Turkmenistan)” for lunch. Sounds pretty formal eh? Nah, we were just meeting my tour guide’s good friend, Marud, who worked as a barber in Ashgabat, but was from the town of Mary. He had heard my guide had an American client (me), so he was very anxious to come by and practice his English! Although he only knew a few phrases, words, etc… he seemed determined to impress me. I would give him an A+ for effort! After all it is not easy to learn a foreign language, just ask me….. I’ve studied Russian for over 20 years and I still have my moments. 

Sunset over Ashgabat

Lunch was quite good plus “The Barber of Mary” was treating us all to lunch. What could be better than sitting around with good company, enjoying a warm late Autumn day and eating delicious Russian/Turkish food! It didn’t get any better until………the kamikaze flies showed up! Suddenly out of nowhere came several flies one of which took a kamikaze dive-bomb straight into my delicious pelminy (a Russian dumpling) soup. There he swam helplessly, eventually succumbing to a tidal wave of sour cream brought about by my spoon. My appetite quickly vanished!

After more sightseeing around the capital, my first day came to a close! I thanked my tour guide for the great day out in Ashgabat and went to my room for some r&r. I flipped through the channels on my TV and nothing looked interesting. The channel lineup was the usual assortment of channels you’d find, like: BBC News, Euro News, a Russian news channel that you could barely make out and some other boring government station all in Turkmen. Then my remote stopped on the Turkmen version of MTV aka Channel 5 Turkmen Owazy. I thought about changing the channel, but there was something about the music videos that just sung to me (no punt intended)! Maybe it was the sheer amount of dogma and propaganda in the videos depicting Turkmenistan as some modern utopia, where everyone lived so happily and loved their dear leader! Unfortunately, not being a speaker of Turkmen or Turkish, I could not understand anything; nonetheless I felt I got the point, as propaganda knows no borders! Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more stories about my time in Turkmenistan. Спасибо за внимание!

Turkmenistan's current President!

Geography

FYI. Maps of Russia and the Caucasus region.

Map of Russia and where it stands in the world

Caucasus regional map

Russia, buyer beware

Russia is an incredible nation that covers an area of over 10 million square miles, 10 time zones and stretches from the shores of the Baltic Sea in Europe to the Pacific Ocean in Asia up to the Behring Sea right to the tip of Alaska (insert Sarah Palin joke here). The Russian Federation is full of incredible jewels such as: The Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg, Red Square in Moscow, The Kremlin, The Volga River, the wooden churches of Kizhi up north, and of course the crown jewel of Russia, St. Basil’s (the cathedral with the multi-colored onion shaped domes)! However, there are places you should avoid unless kidnappings, murder, land mines, and civil disorder are your cup of tea!

The number one place to avoid is the war torn republic of Chechnya. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the predominately Islamic republic declared independence from Russia, triggering not one, but two very bloody civil wars. Even though tensions have abated it is still considered dangerous due to spontaneous violence, kidnappings, and murders. Most foreign governments advise against travel to Chechnya plus the government forbids most all types of travel there by foreigners. Travelers should also beware of visiting the southern republics of Dagestan (which has taken Chechnya’s place as Russia’s battle zone), and Ingushetia (next door to Chechnya), all of which carry the same risks as visiting Chechnya. 

Although Chechnya has been the epicenter of fighting for over a decade and a half, the rest of Russia has hardly been immune to terrorism. Since 1996 there have been over 654 deaths from 18 different terrorist attacks by pro-Chechen forces, mainly in the nation’s capital, Moscow. The city suffered one of its most tragic events when in October 2002 a group of 40-50 terrorists stormed a crowded theater taking 850 people hostage. Tragically of those 850 people taken hostage, 129 were killed.

The bad blood between Russia and the people of the Caucasus is nothing new dating back to the late 18th century when Russia started to expand its empire throughout the region. Though the history is complex and spans over three centuries, the best way in my opinion to try to understand it is to read the classic 19^th century novel, Hero of Our Time, by Russian author and poet, Mikhail Yurivich Lermontov. I have read this novel several times in both Russian and English and am still stunned by the near exact parallels to today’s situation.     

In reality, these places make up only a tiny portion of this ginormous and beautiful nation. Most areas are very safe and full of welcoming people! So, now that I’ve pointed out the dangerous places in Russia, look for a more positive blog entry coming soon detailing where you should visit, especially if you are a first timer! Thanks for reading! Спасибо за внимание!

My First Time!!

The first time……………….we all remember whom it was with, where we were, and how it happened. I remember my first time as if it was yesterday! It began on a warm early July day and I was just a young, naïve Bellevue High School freshman. I was hesitant at first, feeling great angst, doubt and unrelenting anxiety. As I stepped into the smoke filled hallway…there she was before my young innocent teenage eyes in full color, the lady I had dreamt of and sacrificed so much for………………………………..Mother Russia! It was love at first sight!!

My Fist Picture of the Soviet Flag

It was a near surreal feeling to have finally landed in the Soviet Union, better known in my childhood as “The Evil Empire”. However, looking around Moscow Sheremetyevo Airport, people looked far from “evil”, in fact they looked downright humble. As we exited the arrival hall we saw a sign reading “Bellevue High School USSR Tour”. The man holding the sign was our tour guide for our two-week adventure through the Soviet Union, Vasily. Vasily was an interesting guy, he was tall, had gray hair with a giant white streak through it and spoke softly.

 However, there was nothing soft about him as he laid down the law to our group the moment we entered the bus. Shortly after welcoming us to the USSR, he launched into how the Soviet Union had two ways of exchanging currency: one you could do it through a bank and two you could it exchange through the black market. The difference was the black market gave the consumer a MUCH better deal but came with a big risk in that it was illegal. He bluntly warned us young kids that if  “you choose to get yourselves into it (the blackmarket), then you can get yourselves out of it”. So, I guess black market exchange was out of the picture. Oh well!

Shopping "Where, what to buy"

When we arrived in the USSR, the Soviet economy was in a nosedive and everything from consumer goods to basic food was scarce, making for a bleak life. Although, there had been a number of different reforms implemented through the years, mainly: Glasnost’ (meaning openness) and Perestroika (re-building), President Mikhail Gorbachev’s government was holding by a mere thread. Due to the scarcity of goods people were forced to wait in line for hours, many times only to reach the front of the line to find nothing! Whenever people saw long snaking lines outside of stores a certain mob mentality set in; people assumed there must be a magical “pot of gold at the end of the rainbow” line. Alas, usually it was stale bread or day old chicken meat.

Red Square, Savior Tower

The first several days of our trip consisted of sightseeing around Moscow where our group visited Red Square, St. Basil’s (the famous cathedral with the multi-color “onion shaped domes”), The Kremlin, the famous shopping street Arbat (once home to many famous Russian authors and poets) and many other well-known Moscow landmarks. In 1991, Moscow was far from its current 2013 incarnation of glitz, glamour, and clogged streets. Rather, it was mostly a grey, drab, Soviet styled city dotted with Stalin era/Soviet gray buildings and old pre-revolutionary (1917) landmarks.

On day four, we drove to the Moscow suburb of Zelenograd meaning “Green City”, where we would stay with host families. Everyone was excited to meet his or her host families. I was a bit nervous but nonetheless looking forward to the intense experience of culture and language immersion! As we exited the bus standing in front of us was a big crowd of Russians, giving us teenagers the feeling as if we were rock stars. We were matched with our respective host families, mine were a couple who had three daughters and lived about four miles down the road in a three bedroom flat in the 10^th region (each city is divided into small numbered regions).

Blocks of apartments in Zelenograd

When we arrived at their apartment I was instantly treated to Russian hospitality where I was showered with gifts, given a lavish dinner and treated like a Tsar. The next few days were spent touring the city, discussing Soviet vs. American life while sitting around the kitchen table, and just hanging out. Everyone was so fascinated by what I had to say, mainly due to the fact that unlike today where American culture saturates daily Russian life, in 1991 people just did not know that much about American life besides what they’d heard from the heavily censored Soviet media. In Soviet days there were only two daily newspapers, Pravda (meaning “truth”) and Izvestia (meaning “news”) prompting Soviets to joke that there was “no truth in Pravda and no news in Izvestia”.

Before I continue I want to clarify some terminology that may confuse readers. When I refer to “Soviet” I mean the people and republics of the former USSR, which included the 15 republics, now all independent nations. When I refer to Russians, I am referring to The Russian Federation and its citizens.

After several days of full cultural and language immersion, it was time to say “до свидания”/good-bye to my host family. With heavy hearts we hugged goodbye, promising to keep in touch. The mood on the bus was melancholy with everyone quietly reflecting on their time with their host families. 

Our next stop was Domodedevo Airport in South Moscow for an afternoon flight down to the Central Asian city of Tashkent, the capital of the Uzbek SSR (Soviet Socialist Republic) and sister city of Seattle. Our teacher handpicked the destinations to give us a general survey of the diversity of the Soviet Union.

Domodedevo Airport (try saying that five times) was in the spirit of most Soviet buildings, drab, grey, concrete and devoid of life. However, nobody cared much about the building rather everyone wanted to compare all their cool souvenirs they had collected along the way like old Soviet military watches, military hats, fury Russian hats, matryoshka (nesting) dolls, Soviet banners, posters, etc…  

This photo got double exposed.
However, you can still see the Il-86 we flew on

We stepped on to the runway and standing in front of us was a massive wide-body Soviet jet, an Ilyushin 86. After a couple of delays and what must’ve been a 45 minute taxi to the runway we were finally airborne. Service was basically non-existent; the stewardesses disappeared for long periods of time only to re-appear during our descent into Tashkent. Aeroflot truly lived up to its nickname of “The Flying Gulag (Russian prison)”. 

Grateful that we had made it to Tashkent in one piece on the “Flying Gulag”, our euphoria was quickly replaced by the grueling heat that hit us! Stay tuned for the next episode of my “First Time” coming soon to a computer, mobile device, tablet screen near you! Till then, thanks for reading! Спасибо за внимание!

Domodedevo Airport 1991

A dog begging on Arbat Street

A typical Soviet grocery store in Moscow, 1991

In The Beginning: A prequel to my travels

Russian language has always been considered one of the most difficult languages in the world to learn. Mind you, there are many other languages like Chinese, Sanskrit, and other Asian languages, which are likely even more difficult, however Russian holds its own.

For nearly 25 years I’ve been studying this crazy hard language and still feel I have yet to even scratch the surface. Whenever I tell people I am fluent in Russian, inevitably the next question(s) are as follows:

A. Why did you decide to study Russian?

B. Did you learn it from your parents?

C. Are you a Communist?

I always respond to the questions by stating that I learned Russian from my father, a KGB double agent spy who met my Mom while serving time in a Russian Gulag (prison) for being an enemy of the state. Actually………ummmmmmmm…none of that story is true……however, it sounds pretty sexy!

The Old USSR Coat of Arms

The truth to the matter is that my father never knew a word of Russian besides “da” and “nyet” and he never was a KGB spy or a prisoner in Siberian Gulag. Instead he was a humble well-loved high school chemistry/physics teacher in a small town outside of Seattle. However, to his credit, he loved to read spy novels in his free time. So, I suppose you could say he was a wannabe “KGB spy” in his heart. And, no I am not a Communist, but I’ll admit I am a liberal, which I guess makes me a Communist in the eyes of some Americans.

That brings us back to question “A”, why did I start studying Russian? I started studying because every other summer the Bellevue High School Russian class planned a trip to the Soviet Union. I had always dreamt of traveling to exotic lands when I grew up, so a trip to the Soviet Union fit in nicely with this goal.

In anticipation of a trip to the Soviet Union and enrollment in Russian 1, I bought every Russian phrasebook I could find. I studied all the books and to enhance my language experience I affixed stickers to different pieces of furniture in my house. Even 20 years later, my Mom is still scraping fossilized stickers off of furniture.

Although I had started studying Russian on my own, Russian language class was still a year away. In the meantime I had to take 8^th grade Spanish. I tried to master Spanish but we just did not click. After a tumultuous several months, our relationship ended rather bitterly with my receiving a big fat F…as in fail!

When the day finally came to discuss my enrollment at Bellevue High School with my counselors, I instantly mentioned I wanted to take Russian. They examined my transcripts and saw a GIANT glaring, huge red flag screaming at them, an F in Spanish!! No way were they going to permit me to commit academic suicide and take Russian. After trying to coax me out of this “horrible feat”, they finally compromised, two weeks max and if I wasn’t excelling, it was lights out on the Russian experiment! In fact, they already had an alternate class lined up for me when…I mean “if” I decided to drop out of Russian.

I badly wanted to prove the counselors wrong, plus I was determined to visit the Soviet Union that summer! I knew it would not be an easy task to pass Russian after bombing middle school Spanish. I figured I would take one year of Russian, get a decent grade, go on the trip and subsequently drop out of Russian the next academic year. 

However, something funny happened between August 30^th, 1990 (my first day of Russian) and June 30^th, 1991 (the day we departed for the Soviet Union), I actually started to really become interested in the language, the culture and the people! In fact, on my very first unit exam, I received an A! Sure, maybe it was a fluke, after all a broken clock is always right twice a day. Nonetheless it was a solid start.

The Russian Alphabet

The two-week deadline came and went and what do you know I not only was still enrolled in Russian, but receiving all A’s! How could someone be passing Russian with all A’s after they flunked Spanish? I guess it was that drive to get to the Soviet Union, yet it still shocked just about everyone including my Russian teacher!

As the months passed by, I continued my mastery of Russian, which I credit to my sheer will, my teacher, and of course my parents who always believed in me. But, a little known weekly Russian Language learning series on our local education channel called “Let’s Get Acquainted” or "Давайте Познакомимся" is what really laid the foundation for my language skills. The series was aimed at Russian language learners and featured a set of short stories focusing on a certain topic, i.e. travel, Soviet/Russian history, culture, etc… And, like clockwork, every Friday night (as most of my peers were out getting drunk and partying) you could find me glued to my TV watching an hour’s worth of “Let’s Get Acquainted”.

Let's Get Acquainted Beginning

To this day I still enjoy watching “Let’s Get Acquainted” (even though I’ve watched each episode at least ten times) and learn something new every time! In fact, three years ago, I planned an entire trip to Uzbekistan based upon an episode of the series. 

Stay tuned for the next installment of my Russian language experience and the prize of going to the Soviet Union in the summer of 1991. Till then, thanks for reading!

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!

Part VI

My Soviet Hotel

As I stand out on the balcony of my crappy, Soviet Airport hotel, I could see the storm clouds thickening and the beautiful night slipping away before my very eyes. I was still in a sky-high mood and always have loved a good storm, plus tomorrow I’d be heading to the crown jewel of Russia and Ukraine, The Crimea (an area north of Turkey on The Black Sea, renowned for its sub-tropical environment and health spas). And, furthermore I’d survived two of “The Stans” in one-piece……………….so I thought………..

My night was ok; the bed was typical of all the beds I’d slept on in Kazakhstan, harder than the hardest slab of concrete. I awakened early that morning and was greeted with an absolute downpour of rain complete with thunder and lightning. Luckily, the airport was right across the street, so I would not have to walk very far in the nasty weather. I gathered my belongings, packed up my backpack and dragged my heavy bag (which checked in at about 50 lbs.) down several flights of stairs!

Almaty Airport

I leisurely walked across the street and entered the airport only to be met by the usual consortium of taxi touts, who in thick Russian accents asked me if I “need taxi”. Just a slight digression here, there are two types of taxis in Kazakhstan, one type official and the other…not so official, otherwise known as gypsy cabs. The unofficial taxis are just any old guy with a car who picks up people hailing a cab. The advantage to the gypsy cabs is that their rates are highly negotiable and they’re usually everywhere. Anyway, I gruffly told the taxi drivers NYET or NO!

After waiting what felt like forever, I finally reached the ticket counter. The agent looked over my passport, issued me a boarding pass and then checked my bag telling me to next proceed through customs. Luckily, there were no problems getting through customs, however I was absolutely wasted from getting up at the God-awful hour of 4 AM for an 8 AM flight to Istanbul (in order to get to the Crimea). Luckily, if I could just survive customs and immigration, the Turkish Airline business lounge awaited me on the other side. I just couldn’t wait to sit down and it didn’t matter if it was in a business class lounge or on the floor, my endurance was fading.

Immigration Line

Anticipating little to no problems, I gladly presented my passport to the immigration official, a stern looking Kazakh woman. She looked at my passport once, then again, flipped through the pages hurriedly, examined my Kazakh visa, flipped back to the front page where it shows my lovely picture and all my vitals, and then flipped back to my Kazakh visa. I’d been through customs in about 30+ different nations, so I considered myself a pro at this. Normally flipping through one’s passport is all just part of the process, trying to psych out the traveler and mess with their mind a bit before they give you the stamp and wave you through. However, this was different………and I was starting to get a bad feeling, no I mean a very horrible feeling. It had been FIVE VERY LONG minutes before she uttered the words in English………….”where’s your paper”……………. I had absolutely no idea what the hell she was talking about and politely asked, “what paper”. She said something in broken English like “immigration paper”. I still had no clue, but was not quite ready to push the panic button, yet… Then………….what felt like a ten-hour ordeal, she muttered in English “sorry, no can go through”.

Whoa, whoa…. wait I said in an escalating panicked voice, “what do you mean, no go through”? She said, “You have to get paper to get out of nation”. I had absolutely no idea what the hell she was talking about and assured her all my papers were in order. She threw my passport back at me and in simple words indicated that there was no way in hell I was getting out until I dug up that piece of paper. I had no clue what to do; I had never received this piece of paper when I entered Kazakhstan.

I stood there frozen in absolute panic and shock as I heard the boarding call for the flight to Istanbul. I had to make this flight, after all my bag had been checked and I had a connection to make! I begged and pleaded with her, but she could’ve given a flying f*ck. Out of sheer desperation I tried things the old Soviet way, a bribe! I laid down one $100 bill yelling “TAKE IT, NOW LET ME OUT”, only to have her scream back at me, “Sir, I don’t want your money, now GET OUT!!”

I refused to leave! I screamed at her to let me the f*ck out (I know not a good idea but I was out of my mind panicked!!!!). However, for a brief moment it looked as if there was a ray of hope. She got up from her station and left with my passport to talk to a superior. I was guardedly optimistic that I may just make it out of this cluster f*ck! Maybe the superior would say “let him through, no point in keeping him around”. She returned, my heart was about ready to jump out its chest and then she threw my passport in my face and said “NO”!  I protested more, begging her to let me out! NO LUCK! I even stated that my mother was dying and that I needed to return to the United States ASAP. Although my mother was not dying, when I phoned her back home to tell her what had happened, she nearly did die of stress. Playing the sympathy “my Mom is dying, let me go” card did not win me any points and ended with her nodding to a military/airport guard to drag me away.

The tall Kazakh/Mongol looking guy approached me, put his hand on my shoulder and literally dragged me away kicking and screaming. Images of the infamous drug smuggling movie, "Midnight Express" started to flash through my mind. I was sure, I'd end up in some Kazakh prison camp or at least in a holding room deep inside the airport.

Luckily Kazakh gulag and/or holding room were avoided! In the end I'd missed my flight, gotten booted out of customs and was up Sh*t Creek without a paddle. However, the sliver of good news was that I managed to get Turkish Airlines to unload my bag; so at least my bag would not end up in Ukraine. Cold comfort as I not only missed my flight, but because the ticket was on United Airlines Mileage Plus and the rules stated once I started any part of my trip, the reservation was unchangeable.

So, in the spirit of the old 1970s Batman shows, “will our hero be able to escape Kazakhstan”, “can Steve get the prized little piece of paper” and “just who the hell is Dan the taxi driver”????? Tune in next episode for, another installment of Steve’s Kazakh Adventure, Part VI!!! Thanks for reading!