By
Algis Kalvaitis
I'm in Almaty, KZ; on my way to Bukhara
and Samarkand, UZ. Maybe Kyrgyzstan if there is time. Outside,
in the courtyard of our Soviet style apartment block, two
guys swear at each other in Russian, which will probably be
followed by reprimands from the neighbors, more swearing and
some angry driving. Hopefully, no shooting.
This is the wild east. Not so wild here in Almaty, but I
have heard that you have to carry a gun in other Kazakh towns.
I call it wild because of the people that this place attracts.
This city is a magnet for characters of every ilk. After the
fall of the Soviet Union, many of the Russians remained along
with the native Kazakhs and exiled Koreans. The Germans, who
were deported here by Stalin, have mostly left and there is
little trace of their brief history here in Central Asia.
I call it the wild east because of the wild mix of ex-pats,
too: State dept. employees, NGO workers, Fulbright scholars,
free wheeling, free-lance British reporters and business people
eager to share in the potential riches that the nations' stores
of raw materials provide. Even the most banal personal history
sounds exotic against the backdrop of Central Asia.
The ex-pat mix combined with the unusual demographic of the
country creates a unique melange of characters that is evocative
of a "carnival" to use the Soviet critic Bakhtin's
concept. In other words, it is a place where identities are
not always well defined and potential for a kind of Emersonian
self-invention becomes feasible, if not obligatory.
To the south are enormous peaks that could rival those of
Switzerland. The Tian Shian mountains that extend into China
and are part of the same range (I believe) of CNN fame. Somewhere
to the south, past Tajikistan, is the Hindu Kush, while to
the north of us is the seemingly endless Kazakh steppe. Just
outside the city the altitude increases suddenly, yet the
meeting of steppe and mountain occurs imperceptibly.
The population here is Muslim nominally, unlike their more
devout neighbors, the Uzbeks. Inside Uzbekistan I will try
to find some trace of the Silk Road. My cynical self believes
that I will find some neon sign bearing the name and a dozen
stalls selling Tamerlane souvenirs, but I have heard the opposite
is true. Next week, I shall see. More later. Dobry Viecherom....
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Algis Kalvaitis is pursuing
masters' degrees in architecture and urban planning at the
University of California, Los Angeles. He writes occasionally
for Inversion while surfing, stressing and building intricate
cardboard dioramas of the Smurf Village. Visit his Web site
at: www.bol.ucla.edu/~akalva/
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