After a completely normal night on a train, we arrived at Arys 2. The station impressed me. There were a few people offering food to passengers and a small building with an entrance but no exit. So I had to walk around the building, and there was Arys. First, I met a group of people standing around. The younger ones were happy to see a stranger (I was the only person to leave the train), and an older man came to shake my hand. At least four men had offered a taxi ride, but I wanted to walk.
On my way, I saw at least four traffic lights, some at intersections, whose status seemed to have been enhanced by this honor. Google Maps showed a few restaurants, but they had closed long before I, as a customer, could have saved them.
Near Arys 1, however, the situation changed; a few shops, a market, bakeries, and restaurants appeared. I went into a bakery and bought a kind of croissant, or at least that’s what the owner called it. I wouldn’t say buying was necessary; my backpack was full enough and I wasn’t that hungry, but it was another psychological phenomenon happening inside me: 20 meters away was a very colorful pastry shop with beautiful creamy cakes. Of course, I was attracted, but I resisted. And then there was the outsider with less fancy items—how could I not support this shop?
From there, Arys 1 was already visible, as was a more prestigious building than Arys 2, to which a park-lined avenue led. At first, I sat down to eat some food to prevent it from going moldy, but the thought of catching an earlier train drove me to the station.
Soon, the entire station staff surrounded me, and it became clear that only the evening train was running. Since I’d already arrived and there were “only” 10 hours left until departure, I asked if I could sit in the waiting area. Yes, I could. Then two police officers came over, shook my hand, asked for my passport and ticket, and warned me to be cautious around strangers (but I am the stranger!) and to protect my luggage. It was clear that there was no great danger, but what else could they do when a real foreigner finally crossed Arys?
The ladies in the office then offered me coffee or tea, and all conversations took place exclusively by phone. It was a very nice gesture, and I hope it wasn’t rude to decline the offer in a very friendly and cheerful manner, but I was afraid of getting into a long, awkward situation where we wouldn’t have anything to discuss, and that only digitally.
I wasn’t sure if they’d called the police, because I looked like an elderly, confused man stranded in Arys who might need help.
Every now and then, someone came into the waiting area, and a police officer came again and, after a phone call, took photos of my passport stamps and Ugandan visa.
After a while, I wanted to take a walk and asked the officer if I could leave my luggage somewhere. They were sitting in a large office, and a backpack in a corner wouldn’t bother them. However, they wrote that there was no luggage storage at the station. Instead, they said there was a restaurant inside and opened an unmarked door. Behind it was an elegant café. Shortly after my hearty breakfast, I would get something to eat again.
I ordered a cake that looked less classic and by that, I thought, could be a bit more authentic, and a tea. The waiter asked me something, and I said yes, but I should have said “Thanks, just the little one!” even though I was thirsty.
Because:
A few minutes later, the waiter came back, holding a beautiful wooden plate in one hand and a phone in the other, explaining that this was a traditional dish and that I was invited as a guest. I hadn’t yet finished my surprise, confusion, joy, and embarrassment when the other waiter arrived with a large bowl of clear soup and a similar explanation.
I asked Aruzhan via WhatsApp for a Kazakh “Thank you!” and she replied from Italy with “Rakhmet.”
Similar to yesterday, but different from yesterday, I had consumed too much liquid and, in this case, too much food. But like yesterday, I had plenty of time, so although it hurt, I was able to eat everything, and now were only six hours left until departure.
I wrote my name, contact details, and an invitation to Vienna on a piece of paper (it was the delivery information from the delivery guy in Urumqi), which made them a little happy. The owner approached me later, asked about my travel plans, and finally invited me to rest on his sofa. Well, the sofa was inviting, the invitation itself was inviting, but it was too much to accept. So I waited until the owner and his wife were gone, paid for my order, and left.
The sun and the temperature on the platform were inviting, so I sat down on a bench to write this.
The wait passed faster than expected, as the ticket inspector came and chased me to the platform for an incoming train. But before she could push me in, I found my ticket on my phone and it became clear that this train was going to Almaty, even though the order of stations on the screen showed Tashkent as the last stop and my real train would arrive at the expected time.
The train arrived, and the waiter from the restaurant arrived with a takeaway box containing another gift from there!
The train’s arrival was spectacular:
It was a carriage without compartments, and from every bed, one or sometimes two pairs of eyes stared at me. My seat was already taken, and it took several shunting operations before my two backpacks, the food, and I found a free spot.
The woman across from me started talking to me in a funny, flirtatious way, and everyone laughed. It went on like this for a while. So they knew my age, the number of children, and a few other details, and I knew that they were coming from Moscow to Tajikistan and would leave at the border.
There not only my new girlfriend (who got jealous whenever someone else used my phone for a “translation-talk”), but at least two-thirds of the train car was empty. Instead, the Kazakh border guard came, stamped our passports, and let their sniffer dog run free. I had to unpack my two backpacks until “my” official got impatient or had seen enough food and clothes, and I was allowed to pack everything back. After this overview I knew I won’t be able to eat everything before I get to Vienna, or I’ll have to start running again or doing something else more calorie-intensive.