The old cliché goes that the first impression is the lasting one. So it's hard to describe the way I feel about Kazakhstan right now. In most ways I like it, but the city's flaws are so glaringly obvious that it makes it hard to avoid them. The streets are poorly maintained, there are building materials lying around pretty much everywhere, people seem to spend more on their cars than they do on their houses. I could go on and on, but I don't see this as anything essentially bad. It's just one of those totally incomprehensible places that while lacking in order more than makes up for it in soul.
The only part of the plane journey from Gatwick to Kiev that can be remarked upon is its total unremarkableness. Equipped with baggage and linen suit, I started my journey with a sense of complete apprehension. So many questions filled my head, so many worries. As soon as I arrived in Kiev, however, the apprehension started to subside. Even if I was only in the airport, the ancient Slavic city somehow got into my head and calmed my nerves with her soothing song. That and the three beers helped somewhat, too.
The flight to Karaganda was certainly more eventful. Sitting in front of me was a friendly if somewhat drunken Russian who showered me with duty-free cherry brandy. After failing to get any sleep, I arrived at Karaganda Airport at 6:15 in the morning (an hour behind schedule) and was greeted by Kazakh immigration officials. Naturally they had about a thousand questions for me which given my Russian was not an ideal situation. Thanks to the help of my new drinking buddy and an English-speaking customs official, I was let into the Glorious Republic of Kazakhstan! Hail Nazarbayev.
From there on it was a taxi-ride into the centre of the city and my new home.
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