Day 1 - ALMATY At last, due to sheer exhaustion, I dozed off. But just for a second as the bumpy landing woke me right up. "Perfect," I muttered under my breath. I was feeling cranky due to lack of sleep, a sore neck and painful nose. I hoped and prayed that they would have a hotel room for us this early so I could climb into bed and get a few hours' sleep. Our three and a half hour flight from Baku to Almaty was uneventful. Uneventful in the way that there was no food, no drinks, and no service of any kind except prerecorded messages on the PA system that were hard to understand. I did wonder if there was a pilot on board. There was a large Kazakh in the seat in front of me - that much I knew. I also knew how much hair he had on his head as most of the time his head was virtually in my lap. But it was over now so I eased out of my chair, shook his dandruff off my trousers, and stretched my legs and arms to limber up in preparation to tackle the immigration line-ups. I hate lining up at immigration, especially in countries in the developing world, because these countries don't believe in queuing. They prefer using times like this to practice rugby scrums. And I hate contact sports. So I have developed a habit that annoys the one who wants her partner to be perfect in every way. You see, I'm kind of a laid back man; I take my time even when we go for a fast walk. No, no, that is not the annoying part. The annoying habit of mine is that whenever we disembark off a plane, I'll do a few exercises to loosen my limbs and joints, especially my hip joints and legs and then I will quickly walk, almost run, to the immigration desk. She often shows her annoyance at this by saying, "We spent hours in flight, so why rush now?" As it happened, I was the first person at the immigration desk and was taking some deep breaths to control my breathing as I presented my passport. Sitting behind the desk was a strange looking Kazakh who was so big that I thought he was standing up while he was still seated. He had thick, crew cut, black hair, a square jaw and bushy eyebrows that were almost joined in the middle, like a goon from the moon. "Visa application?" he growled, flicking my passport back to me. "But-," "Over there," he interrupted sharply, pointing towards a desk by the far wall. "Sir, if you would-" He frowned and his eyebrows merged to form an angry-looking, thick unibrow. He stood up and I fled towards the wall. I picked up an application form and started filling it out while cursing under my breath as other passengers had started to swarm around the immigration desk. The one who doubted my belief in Buddhism sauntered to where I was standing. "What're you doing? We already have visas in our passports." "I know but that jerk wants me to fill out an application for a visa. If I wasn't tired, I'd have taught him a lesson he wouldn't have forgotten for a long while." "Calm down, Tiger," she mocked me. "Did you tell him that we have visas?" "I tried, but he is much bigger than me." "Come," Lady Authority herself instructed. I collected my filled-out application and followed her. I don't know what it is about her aura but she can part crowds with her elbows. The huge immigration officer noticed her and waved her to the front of the horde. The people parted, as no one wanted to upset the immigration king. She gestured to me and I pushed my application form under his big nose. "Passport with visa page and not the application," she whispered to me. I ignored her. I had gone through the trouble of filling my visa application form out and by golly, I wasn't letting my effort go in vain. He looked at my application as if it was a test paper. Triumph! I looked at my wife and whispered, "See, we do need an application form. You better go and get one. I don't want you to be holding us up." She did what she was best at-she ignored me. "You did not fill out your visa application correctly," his voice boomed so everyone could hear him. "Why? What's wrong?" I whimpered. He pointed at a question with his thick index finger. "For the question 'In case of emergency notify', you put down, 'Doctor'." "In Canada, that is where we go in an emergency," I said politely. I half turned to my wife and said in an inaudible tone, "It was a silly question anyway." "For 'Next of kin', you wrote down 'Doctor' again," he shouted. "You are supposed to write the name of your next of kin. Maybe your wife." "I have," I answered smiling broadly. "She's a doctor." He ground his teeth and my wife tenderly took my passport, opened to the page where the Kazakhstan visa was and, placing it in front of the officer, gently tapped it with her bejeweled index finger. "Ah." The big guy smiled showing all his advance-whitening Colgate scrubbed teeth. "No need for application." And he stamped both our visas and waved us through. As we walked towards the carousal to collect our suitcases my wife shook her head and I defended, "I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen. Honestly." We waited for our luggage. It was pitch dark outside, several hours before sunrise. The Almaty International Airport, the largest international airport in Kazakhstan, is located 10 miles northeast of Almaty, the country's largest city and the commercial capital. Interestingly, it has been reported that more people leave than arrive at this airport-about 8,000 more. The mind boggles. Not where do these people go but why? It kind of sets the stage to arouse one's curiosity, doesn't it? Oh, come on. I know you're wondering too. It also begs the question-does the government know they are losing their citizens? Or perhaps they're under the misconception that some of their citizens are on long holidays abroad. Suddenly, my wife pointed to our two large suitcases which were heading towards a black hole and about to disappear from the moving belt. I plunged myself into the crowd surrounding the moving belt and then lunged, grabbing the suitcases and dragging them off the conveyor belt. This resulted in only minor collateral damage-one bump on a head, two crumpled up toes, and a bruised leg. Gesturing with her index finger, she who is always calm instructed me to follow her. With sleepy eyes, I stumbled into the arrival hall looking for our guide. There was only one guy holding a placard with a name written on it. The name read: Palaghat Kolungode Vishwnatha Narayanaswamy. The good news was that it was an Indian name so I could have easily hijacked the guide and the ride to the hotel. The bad news was that it wasn't my name. Thank God. Just to be sure I tilted my neck to one side and tried to read the name in full while my whole body was leaning heavily to one side. My fair lady nudged me and whispered, "Stop it or you might get a slipped disc." I bet when Shakespeare said, "What is in a name?" he wasn't thinking of South Indian names. Standing a few feet away from the placard guy was a tall, well-built, dark-haired woman keenly watching the passengers coming out of the arrival doors. I squinted my eyes and noticed she was holding a regular size envelope like one we would normally use to send a letter. What is a letter? Well, a letter is what we used before text messages and emails arrived. Ask your parents. Anyway, out of curiosity I approached her; I couldn't believe it when I saw what was written on the back of the small envelope she was holding. It was my name scratched out with a pencil. We introduced ourselves and she smiled. "My name is Begaim Rasulbaeva. I am your guide." "Real nice to meet you, Begaim. Do we have a hotel this morning? Could we get a few hours' sleep?" I showered her with my questions. She played with her ponytail and answered, "That would be fine. Today is a rest day anyway. You know to rest from your long journey." "Thank you," I said with a sigh of relief. "But I don't need the whole day. It was only a three and a half hour flight." "Of course, but others are coming in today and two of them are from the States." "Others?" I questioned. She smiled. "Yes, there are two brothers from India and they are coming in a little later this morning. And there are two ladies from the States who will be arriving around noon. You're in a group of six." "So we have a free day today?" I asked the obvious, wondering why my wife would book a group holiday. Perhaps at short notice, that was all she could get? "Almost," Begaim responded. "I'll come around later today and give you an introductory talk on the history of this country and tomorrow we will have a full day of sightseeing." We climbed in a minibus with 12 seats and I relaxed and tried to close my eyes when I heard...
