All Good Things Must Come to and End...

[COLOR="Navy"][SIZE="4"]Sunday, August 17- a day for endings- sweet endings, and just as much a day for sweet beginnings. It would be the last we’d see of our beloved Kazakhstan; for how long, we don’t know. Perhaps forever. How can one put into words the feelings of leaving a place that they’ve called home for almost 10 years?? Where friends who are persecuted in body and spirit must stay behind and carry on every day of every year; a country where we’ve given so much of our hearts and souls, and were leaving large chunks of both behind?

Let me just say, that to grieve on that level, and yet, also enjoy the swelling anticipation of what is in store for us next, is quite an intense dichotomy; confusing and exciting all wrapped up into one tidy package. Allow me now to being this journey of transition, as best I can, through story and pictures; hopefully, I can capture some small glimpse into our hearts, and take you along for a compelling adventure from East to West.

And so it begins. The day dawned bright and HOT! Weatherunderground told us it would be a broiling 117 on this day of our departure, so naturally, I wanted to start out with one last run before our friend came to pick us up. Well, not really. I didn’t want to. But I really felt like I needed to get my travel jitters and nervous energy out, as well as sweat out any impurities built up in my system for oh, say, the last decade. It was HOT- at 6:30 AM.

I still maintained my pathetic 15 minute mile, (I just found out today that LeeAnn’s son can do a 5:12 mile- I think I choked on my coffee right there in the church lobby.) and got back to the apt. just in time to shower and load up the last minute things into our bags. Our last soggy Cornflakes were consumed, and we rejoiced that by this time a week from then, we’d be feasting on any of our choice from a AISLE FULL of cereals. What rapture it was to realize that our normal repertoire of cheese toast, fried eggs or cornflakes was about to explode with possibilities!!

Oddly, as we were eating our soggy cornflakes, we also lamented that we were hearing one last morning call to prayer- a sound that had become as familiar to us as the trains crashing and clanking all night long. We never tired of hearing the imam’s melody in the distance, as melancholy as it often is. And then we heard another familiar sound outside, the honking horn of our ride. Time to load up, lock up, and leave.

The 40 minute drive was silent, each of us wallowing in his own thoughts of what we’d likely never see, hear or smell again; sights that we knew intimately and called home. The local mosque- beautiful in its own right...



The wide open steppe- lovely in a stark sort of way...



A Soviet-style restaurant that holds a mystique known only to the older generation...



A cheesy "ancient site" they've put up to add to the interest of the road leading to the airport.

and at last the airport itself- a lonely outpost only few Westerners know about, and even fewer ever see....


Only small planes can travel here. They are expanding the runway, but oddly the money keeps disappearing and “running out”. Hmmmm….. I wonder where millions can go and only a few feet of new runway get laid down every couple of years. Yes, I’ve become quite cynical in my days on the steppe. I cannot help it. We had far too many friends surviving barely on bread and tea 3 meals a day, and yet see many rich families building enormous mansions and going to Dubai for weekend trips. Do what you will with that.

We unloaded, said a teary goodbye, got into position to go through the passport/document check, and made our friendly greetings to the official whom we’ve gotten to know somewhat over the many trips to and from the airport. Strange how those random thoughts of “this will be my last…” pop into your head as you make this kind of transition. I distinctly remember thinking, “this is likely the last time I’ll speak Kazakh for a very long time!” So odd that it can be both a relief, and leave a hole, all at the same time. Our turn came and we stepped up. One passport after the other, until he got to Mike’s. “You know, you don’t have a stamp here on your registration paper.” “We didn’t know we needed one. This is the Immigration Dept.’s problem.” “Well, actually, it’s going to be your problem in Almaty.”, he says. “You really NEED this stamp.”

Well, there you have it. Our first MAJOR hassle. Drama. Problem. You fill in the blank. Any of them work for me. How LARGE of a problem this would be we didn’t know. Fine? Detainment? Jail? We just didn’t know! Options? We had few, but it was time to initiate emergency action plan A. It was our only one. What did we do? How would it all work out?? Could we get this confounded stamp in 30 minutes?? Find out next time, and until then,

Have a Magical Day!