VII. The long way home
And then it was time to go home. I left the Hilton and took a cab to the airport, where the most interesting check-in process I’d seen in a long time was underway with Air Astana. All I understood was that it involved a lot of queuing; one to get the boarding pass, then another to tag the bag, then another to actually drop said bag.
I was the only one with just a tiny backpack, which caused a bit of confusion, but eventually I was able to gain my boarding pass, pass a scrupulous document and security check and then enter an all-but deserted international departure hall.
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A couple of icy Tsingtao to celebrate.
As I drank my beers, serenaded by the bronchial rasping that came from the loos not far from the bar, I reflected on the trip. It definitely was the one where I’d felt the most isolated, the least able to communicate and, often, the most lost. I’m a gregarious person by nature and, while I enjoy my own company, I will admit that the atmosphere of fear-induced
omertà that hung above Kashgar had worn me down, but I was in no position to complain. I could only think at the Uyghur themselves to be feeling lucky about my position.
As I sat there in the bar I thought back at a scene from the Old Town. It was approaching midday, with that dry, heavy heat that requires a hammock and a siesta. I’d found a bench, somewhere in a small square. Adobe walls all around me, and an antique shop in front. A man – the shopkeeper – played a
qomuz, shoulders to the world and feet on the shop’s steps. On and on he played, a jam that lasted a good hour and a half, while I sat, transfixed, listening. He never turned, he never noticed me or anyone else.
It felt like a requiem for his community.
The bartender came and tapped my shoulder. “Astana”, she pointed. My flight was boarding.
KC288
URC-TSE
P4-KDB – Airbus A321
12:40 – 13:20
Seat 13C - Y
The promised A321 was there, fitted with Minions parasols. Classy.
On board, it was the usual Air Astana fare of great service, functioning wi-fi (for which I had the app!) and free food. I’ve flown Air Astana plenty of times, from London and regionally, and I always found consistently great. Plus, transferring at Nur-Sultan is always a breeze, even when it involves clearing customs.
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My next flight was, perhaps, the one I was waiting to the most: a domestic hop to Almaty, Central Asia’s most liveable city in my very personal view.
The flight was somewhat delayed, but I killed time by chatting with the bartender of the only café in the domestic hall, drinking Borjomi water (aka Stalin’s favourite, apparently) and watching the world go by. A bunch of Italian researchers boarded an Antonov-26 for a remote steppe town. A SCAT flight to Shymkent boarded and left. Then it was our turn.
KC854
TSE-ALA
P4-NAS – Airbus A321
15:35 – 17:15
Seat 40C - Y
Today’s A321 featured old-school seats and blue mood lightning which gave it a distinct 1990s-seedy-club feel. All it missed were the disco ball, a few strippers and the local heavyweights in suits drinking vodka.
Almaty welcomed me in the midst of a heat wave. I rode to the hotel, dumped the bag, swapped boots for flip-flops and duck-walked to Daredjani, the local Georgian restaurant, a place with outdoor tables and a liberal approach to the number of khinkhali served in a single order. A brief walk to digest, some more Borjomi, an ice cream and then it was time to call it a night.
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The one drawback of Almaty is that most flights arrive and depart at the weirdest hours of the night. Ukraine International is no different, with the added disadvantage that, due to political issues, their flight had to skirt around Russian airspace: straight over to the Caspian, then the Caucasus, then straight over the Black Sea, past Crimea and then north to Kiev. All this added at least one hour to the flying time and, ultimately, led to the cancellation of the service.
Almaty’s airport is perhaps the second drawback of Almaty. There was a plan for a larger terminal and, indeed, there is something that looks like it on the opposite side of the runway, but it’s never gotten past the status of abandoned skeleton. A quick Google search unveiled stories of shady deals, brown envelopes changing hands and so on; whatever the truth, the reality is that ALA’s international wing is a proper dump. See it to believe it.
Things improved a teeny tiny bit once the charters to Cyprus and Sharm el Sheikh got underway with their loads of families, but it looked a fairly full flight when we got on our buses – never ever seen an on-pier departure for UIA here – for the super-short hop to the 737-900.
PS538
ALA-KBP
UR-PSJ – Boeing 737-900
05:00 – 08:35
Seat 8C - Y
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Five-and-a-half hours on a 737 with very little to do are no fun, let me tell you. And, by that time, I was running low on things to listen to and to read. I got so bored that I even browsed the buy-on-board menu, although a hot meal (including chemical sausages) was served.
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Eventually we landed at Kiev’s Boryspil. I had memories of a new airport, grumpy workers, low prices and good food. The airport was indeed in good nick, the prices had gotten up, food quality had declined but the staff had grown a lot happier.
I had a self-made connection, given the paucity of transfers from Central Asia to London so had some 5 hours to kill before my BA flight to LHR (another route cut, by the way. I’m starting to think I’m cursed). The ultimate demise of this service wasn’t, at least for me, a surprise for I’d always seen it half full: today was no different, with the bottom ¾ of the A320neo absolutely empty.
BA883
KBP-LHR
G-TTNB – Airbus A320neo
14:30-16:10
Seat 23C - Y
The much-maligned Buy on Board was on offer and, from row 12 onwards, BA (like sister airline IB) has mounted Recaro slimline seats that don’t recline. These, too, are loathed over on the BA forum, with FTers ready to burn effigies of said seat and doing voodoo rituals over dolls with Alex Cruz’s photo. I even heard rumours of a crusade against Waterside. It’s therefore in hushed tones that I’ll admit to be a fan of these seats and of the lack of recline. Sure, an adjustable headrest wouldn’t go amiss but… nothing that a Mount Gay and ginger ale can’t fix.
And that’s pretty much it. Shortly after having drunk the dredges of the drink we aligned to Heathrow and, with an overfly of Windsor, came in to land at Terminal 5.
This is the end of my first trip report here. I hope you enjoyed it and that the lack of Business Class wasn’t too distressing. I also hope not to have ruined anyone’s mood with a story that, however sad, needs to be told (In my opinion).
I leave you with a few more photos from Kashgar, this time in B&W. See the link in the signature for more. Thanks a lot for reading.
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