The essence of travel is to move forward. The direction is sometimes risky, the schedule not quite mastered, but we are moving forward, at all costs. This state of mind allowed us to cross the border between China and Kazakhstan. Our first foot outside of China. Our own beginning of adventure. It started before crossing the border since, for several weeks, all our questions about this crossing had remained unanswered.
We left our hotel at 8 a.m., confident. The hotel owner apologizes for his ignorance. According to him, buses from Yining to Khorgos leave from the bus station every half hour, but no further information. Go for the bus station! At the counter, we are kindly sent back to buy the tickets directly on board the coach. What car? That’s another question and to another officer, of course.
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So here we are looking for said bus. The corollary of movement is expectation. We are always aiming for a goal, but in order not to miss the slightest opportunity to seize the opportunity to go from point A to point B, we sometimes have to know how to wait. On the lookout. By dint of prowling around buses and drivers on a cigarette break, we end up having the information. One of the minibuses is leaving for Khorgos. At the sight of our passports, the driver understands that he will be quicker to buy the tickets himself (with his identity card) to avoid unnecessary administrative delays.
So here we are on board with a dozen passengers for Khorgos, without really knowing the details of the next stage. It is also not very clear, since, in the middle of the journey, we are asked to change buses. We are finally let go in a street of Khorgos, indicating a taxi to take to reach the border post.
Here we are. First indication of an exit from nearby territory, the signs are in Chinese and Cyrillic. A small gathering of silhouettes offering us to exchange also announces the proximity with the country next door. We are at the bus station, which sells tickets for some Kazakh cities. No bus to Almaty, you must first go to Jarkent and from there take another vehicle to get to the economic capital.
Once again, waiting. No schedule announced. We’ll be called when the time comes, we promise. After an hour, the team is back in working order. Chinese, Kazakh and Uighur travelers settle on board an old bus with sleeping berths. Ten minutes of road later, it is necessary to descend again, to unload the luggage, the great moment has arrived, we cross the Chinese border.
A few hundred meters away, you can make out the much less imposing Kazakh building. We have to wait again for the bus to reach this second checkpoint. The Kazakh customs officers are a little surprised by our group, without lingering too long. New buffer, new territory, new stage. Central Asia is ours.
After an hour drive, we arrive at Jarkent bus station. It’s 4 p.m. and the buses for Almaty have already left. Not sure of finding a hotel in this town of 50,000 inhabitants. After some negotiations, we opt for carpooling, which takes us three hours later to the Kazakh metropolis.
And there, it is the jump in space. Europe suddenly seems so close. The wooded streets of the city centre, the café terraces, the faces as Asian as they are European… The families too, who can be seen strolling in all the parks of the city, are so many small details that contrast with China. The environment looks more familiar, but we can’t talk and often get questioning looks.
We feel that Almaty is a place of passage, in these confines of Central Asia. We meet Russians, Uzbeks and Chinese, of course. These do not escape us. We listen to their sounds and a little feeling of familiarity comes back to us when listening to them. This sometimes leads to unexpected situations, like these twenty minutes of cable car where we are propelled official interpreters of two Chinese businessmen, decided to get to know a young Kazakh student. One of them doesn’t hesitate to shout at my 11-year-old son and slip him a “Tell her she’s pretty”. He arranges to meet her at his booth at a trade show the next day. We will never know if she was tempted by the proposal.
The crossing of the Uzbek border contrasts with its comfort. In our compartment, a first officer comes to check our passports and ask a few questions about our movements, before putting a rubber stamp, using the bulkhead for support. Five minutes later, it is the turn of the Uzbek authorities to carry out the check.
