Kazahkstan

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The world is based on discrepancy, we talk about man world’s. while we travel by trucks  through this endless deserts, we see the signs of the road in cyrillic alphabet which was probably a discrepancy on the greek and latin alphabet. we see the mosques and we think that Islam was a disagreement with judaism and cristianism , each new religion renounces from the old ones and in the same way the nationalism make its own justification, that’s the price for diversity: dissent.

The Kazakhs are neither a cannibal tribe nor  the bullshit of “Borat”, instead they are people halfway between russians and chineses living in the eighth biggest country in the world enjoying the benefits of gas and petrol on the steepes of Central Asia, in fact they are the most prosperous country of the “Stans”

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the flag at the checkpoint, that is how they write it.

We got in through the back door after camp in the border checkpoint at the Kyrgyz side in the Karkara valley. As we got in , the landscape showed us a different skin comparing with what we used to see the last couple of months. here there are only dry low hills less spectacular, comparison target is too high and Kazakhstan suffer it in its own flesh.

We got to Almaty tired about travel through 4000 meters, where rain, wind and extreme hot and cold could happen within 10 minutes of difference and the continues deja vu of find a russified city after another.

In our weakness we took any sing of comfort as hard as we could like scared cats, just a sin to the eyes of who dictate travelers values against wi-fi and fast food. we still keep vices and sedentary needs rooted in us, perhaps that’s why we did not go out from the hotel despite Almaty being a pleasant city without chaos, clean and with mountains at the backyard. poor little girl, we treated her like a occasional lover, without care.

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one of the drivers who took us through the Kazakh desert.

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the Karashyk river was our home for one night.

We left hitch hike instead we took a train for get out from the city on te way to Turkestan where we saw a small Samarkand and the same day we walked out the city to the west where we decided to start to hitch hike again .

A muslim guy stopped with his car for drive us 5 kilometers until the small river where we camped that night, he offered us money 5 times and we rejected it, the last one he literally throw us the money and ran away so we could not give him back. it was the end of ramadan.

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Really ? are you from Argentina??? (Turkistan, press conference at the supermarket)

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this family saw us passing by and wanted to give us this watermelon, unfortunately was too heavy for our backpacks.

we understand we are part of a chain and the money went to someone who really need it more than us.

That night we camped behind a truck parking.

We felt it again, if there is such a situation to see a lady with no face holding a torch , that is taking a shower at the desert with  only a plastic bottle as a shower. Liberty is not at the indepence of a country, is in the simple things, a coffee sitting on the backpack beside the road , to decide each night if would be better to sleep by the river or by the tree, such things seems to the nothing face of liberty.

Subimos en Kyzylorda, acampamos en Aral y fuimos juntos hasta Aktobe en la frontera con Rusia donde nos reaprovisionamos antes de cruzar.

Mihail and Timur, an Ukranian and a georgian, drove us through more than 1000 km in 2 days across the country and we only saw a desert similar to Patagonia and we remembered our working days in Argentina when we travelled every week from Buenos Aires to the south with the small difference that here there was camels and horses running around. we are on the way to Russia, our plans have changed in five minutes after someone told us the ferry from Kazakhstan to Baku, Azerbaijan, is very erratic and only god knows when departs.

We jumped in at Kyzylorda and we camped in Aral, then we went together to Aktobe just 70 km away from the border with Russia where we got some food for the next days.

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Timur, the faithful spirit of the georgian people. his belly is big as his heart.

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la pequeña Samarkanda en Turkestan a 500 km de Almaty. este lugar formo parte del imperio de Tamerlan.

The next day we went out from our tent to breathe the air of the russian morning and the only truck in the parking area was the Timur’s truck, the georgian. Someone said that when you travel you represent in some ways your country, your people, your culture. Perhaps the only parameter available in thousands of kilometres to see and got the idea about how a southamerican looks like would be you. Timur was just right the georgians are, we know it well. we hope Ukrainians will not be as the ukranian truck driver.

Anyways we enjoyed and suffered one more time of the truckers world between perfums, old fashion pop music, messy schedules and loneliness as always we climb the three steps from beside the road, it does not matter the flags, they are a universal stereotype that join the same characteristic independently of their beliefs or culture and thanks to them we go far …very far away.

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