Through the Horizons. Part 1. Escape
My fears after this incident that I wouldn't be allowed to leave the country and would be taken away like that guy multiplied, and my fear increased by tens of times.
It was our turn to approach the designated spot and approach the border booth. We lined up in the queue, and since I had the highest chances of sharing the same fate as the guy from the previous car, I stood at the end of the line.
Vitya approached the window first and handed over his passport. The border guard asked where he was going and with whom, mentioning the driver's name. The border guard looked up and saw all of us standing behind Vitya. He told us to call that driver over and stepped out of the booth, took out a cigarette, and lit it. When our driver approached, the border guard asked him:
Who are they?
Pointing at us.
They're my friends.
What are you saying, and what are their names?
Our driver stopped resisting and just lowered his head. It was easier for us to remember one of his names than for him to immediately grasp four new names. Now the border guard shifted his focus to us.
And where are you all headed?
Various versions of where everyone was going started pouring out. Someone said they were going to uncles and aunts, someone to grandmothers and grandfathers. I probably had one of the best stories: I said I was going to Kyrgyzstan for a mountain hike, and I had all the necessary gear that I could show if needed. After everyone finished their stories, the border guard erupted and started expressing his thoughts loudly, almost shouting.
After mobilization started, everyone abroad suddenly had grandmothers, grandfathers, and distant relatives who urgently needed visiting! What are you telling me here?!
After his verbal tirade, my fears and anxiety increased even more. The border guard clearly vented out everything that had built up in him throughout the day, turned around, and silently returned to the booth, and we lined up again. I also took my place at the end of the line. The guys presented their passports, answered one or two questions, got their stamps, and walked back to our car, which had already passed the inspection.
And now the moment arrived when it was my turn. My heartbeat accelerated, my wrists trembled slightly, and a lump formed in my throat that I tried to swallow before approaching the window. Gathering my emotions, I greeted and handed over my international passport. Although an internal passport would have been sufficient for crossing the border, my passport had a stamp indicating that I was subject to military service, which could raise additional questions.
The border guard didn't respond to my greeting or even raise his eyes to me, not asking a single question. He simply scanned and flipped through my passport, stamped it, and returned it to me. I just said "thank you" and, with my heart pounding a million beats per minute, returned to the car where my fellow travelers congratulated me on successfully passing the border. But I still couldn't relax because I had lingering concerns related to the Kazakh border.
In some Telegram chats, unpleasant individuals wrote that Kazakhstan intends to soon close its land borders due to a large influx of people. Such news circulated throughout the following week, and occasionally, unpleasant rumors surfaced, but nobody knew how reliable they were.
We set off towards the Kazakh border. After passing the barrier, we caught sight of a new queue, which was not the only one. It began almost immediately after crossing the barrier.
It was nearly nine o'clock, and we stepped out of the car to breathe in the fresh night air and stretch our legs. There were three queues, unlike at the Russian border. The first one was for trucks, the second for cars with Kazakh license plates, and the third for cars with Russian license plates. Since we had Armenian plates, we were instructed to join the queue with Russian plates. This meant that we would have to wait for a long time, as the queue was probably 3-4 kilometers long.
I informed the guys that I would take a short walk and try to find Misha and the others who had agreed to give him a lift. I was curious about how they were doing and if everything had gone well for them. I walked about one kilometer but couldn't find them.
My search was interrupted by a phone call from Kolya, my fellow traveler. I picked up the phone, and he spoke very quickly and excitedly.
"Leha, where are you? We're heading towards the border through the Kazakh queue. Catch up with us."
I don't think I've ever run as fast as I did that day. I ran for about two kilometers, maybe slightly less, panting but managed to catch up with them.
Our car was second in line after his brother's car. I hopped inside and found out what was going on. The brothers who transported cars had managed to arrange with the border guards to pass through this queue, bypassing all the other cars with Russian plates, for a symbolic fee.
There were many dissatisfied people, even a Kazakh car that arrived after us tried to squeeze in earlier. But the bribe had already been paid, and the border guards themselves didn't allow it to pass ahead of us.
We waited for about half an hour until we were given permission to proceed. And there it was, the final step to cross the border. The document and vehicle inspection procedure with the Kazakh border guard went smoothly, faster, and easier. As soon as we entered the territory of Kazakhstan, a loud cheer erupted in the car from everyone present. Thus began not a chapter, but a new book in my life titled "The Traveler."
September 25st.
The guys agreed with the driver to go to Almaty for an additional 2500 rubles per person. However, for me, it was enough to reach Uralsk, the nearest major city in Kazakhstan near the Russian border, that night.
While crossing the border, I contacted my friends Masha and Andrey, whom I had recently met during my first visit to Kyrgyzstan. Andrey helped me find accommodation for the night by providing me with the contacts of his friends who had crossed the border a couple of days ago.
I was dropped off near a cafe at a gas station where I arranged to meet Andrey's friends. I connected to Wi-Fi and messaged them that I had arrived at the designated spot. The guys were no longer there; they had called a taxi for me to take me to their place.
The car arrived quickly, and it was some old DEO model. I put my belongings in the trunk, sat in the back passenger seat, and noticed a woman wearing a hijab sitting next to the driver. From their conversation, I understood they were husband and wife. In about twenty minutes, they drove me to my destination. It was already past one in the morning. I was greeted by Andrey's friend, Pasha, with whom I had been corresponding.
Their house had only two rooms, a kitchen, and a living room. They paid quite a large sum for such a modest house, but due to the high influx of tourists, property prices had skyrocketed. Besides Pasha, there were about seven other people living in the house. They all worked for the same company in Tolyatti.
Pasha offered tea and cookies, to which I gladly agreed since I was quite hungry, and having something to eat would be helpful. The guys retreated to one of the rooms to discuss something. Pasha stayed with me, keeping me company. I shared a bit about myself and how I met Andrey.
After the tea, Pasha showed me to the second room with a folding couch and told me I could sleep there. There weren't enough beds for everyone, of course. The guys slept on mattresses they had laid out on the floor around the room. I had a neighbor on the couch, and there was another person on a mattress in the opposite corner of the room. There was no shower in the house, so I freshened up using the sink and went to sleep.
In the morning, I set out to find a place to buy a phone case, exchange money, and, of course, get a SIM card since I couldn't activate the SIM card I bought yesterday evening after crossing the border. It turned out that it was impossible to activate it without the SIM card box, which I, of course, threw away without realizing it would be needed.
I found a shopping center where I could find almost everything I needed, except for a favorable exchange rate. I left my passport with the girl who was processing the SIM card and followed the map to locate the nearest bank branch to exchange money. The first bank branch I entered turned out to be closed. The second one was open, but they didn't exchange rubles. I plotted a route on the map to another bank branch and set off on my way.
On the way, I had a conversation with an elderly Slavic-looking woman who asked me who I was and where I came from. We started talking, and I told her what I was doing here and where I was heading. She said she was also going to the bank to exchange tenge for rubles and offered to help each other. I decided not to refuse such an opportunity, and it would save the grandma from going to the bank. We completed the exchange at the rate shown on the internet. After thanking her and saying goodbye, I turned back towards the shopping center to retrieve my passport.
Having completed all my tasks, I called my brother on WhatsApp. After chatting for a couple of minutes, I told him that I had left the country and was currently in Kazakhstan. My brother asked me what I would do and what my plans were. Besides the small plan of reaching the city of Zhitiqara, where Masha and Andrey are currently located, I didn't have any other plans yet. I asked my brother not to tell anyone in the family about my departure for now because I planned to tell them myself when the right time came.
After ending the conversation with my brother, I called my sister. Our conversation revolved around the same topic as with my brother. I also asked her not to mention it to anyone for now, and my sister and I agreed that it wasn't necessary to directly tell our mother about my departure. My sister said she would talk to our mother about it and lead her to the decision that it would be good if I did leave. It was a reasonable approach because I wasn't ready to confess my departure to my mother yet and didn't know how she would react to it.
Upon returning, Pasha said that he had an acquaintance who could help me find temporary accommodation, and he gave me Igor's contact information. The guy was also from Russia, and he left on the first day after the mobilization announcement. He quickly found good people who could assist those who were hastily leaving the country. Thanks to Igor, I met Dasha, who allowed me to stay with her so that I could think about my next steps.
My mind was in complete disarray, with thousands of thoughts intertwined. The only thing I understood was that I should start saving money because I didn't have remote work, and I also had no idea where I would be heading or how I would proceed.
In addition to me, there was another guy named Artem in this apartment. He had been living here for a couple of days, waiting for his flight to Armenia. Dasha told me about places and things I could find, and she mentioned that there was hot water available. It was the best news for me today; I had already started to miss hot showers.
After freshening up, Dasha, Artem, and I went for a walk around the city and stopped by a local sports store. I wanted to check the prices of backpacks and other supplies in case I decided to hitchhike, as the idea had been lingering in my mind. To my surprise, the backpack shelves were almost empty, and there wasn't much to choose from. I decided to check in another city when I moved on.
On our way back, we got hungry and stopped at a place known for serving the most delicious shawarma in Uralsk. After having a snack, we headed home to rest. Since Artem and I had planned to go to the Centralized Service Center (ЦОН) early the next morning, the local equivalent of the Russian MFC, we needed to obtain a document there in order to apply for a bank card.
September 26st.
We woke up half an hour later than planned, and when we arrived at the Centralized Service Center (CSC), there was already a queue of more than 150 people standing outside in the cold. As it turned out, there was another queue inside the building, accommodating an equal number of people as the one outside. After 15 minutes, a notebook reached us with over three hundred names of people who were ahead of us in the queue, and they implemented this system. The queue was moving very slowly, and after about half an hour, a man came out of the building to whom you could ask your question.
A crowd of people gathered around him, and as far as possible, they took turns asking their questions. After 15 minutes, we managed to ask our question and received a not-so-optimistic answer. The task we were waiting for would take at least three more days, which neither Artem nor I had the time for.
Artem is leaving tomorrow, and I'm heading towards Zhitikara the day after, where my hitchhiker friends Masha and Andrey live, whom I mentioned yesterday.
I've already started thinking about where I'll go after Kazakhstan and in which country I can stay the longest and find a job in the restaurant business.
I remembered my first visit to Goa, India in 2019. It was a wonderful nine days, although I injured my foot in the middle of the vacation, and it only worsened by the end of it. Upon returning home, I had to undergo surgery due to an infection in my foot. However, this situation didn't spoil my impression of India; instead, it ignited a desire to visit remote and non-touristy places in the country.
In the evenings, I read information about the countries in Southeast Asia, the climate, ticket prices, and accommodation. After deciding to choose India, I started filling out the application for a five-year visa. After a couple of hours of leisurely completion, I finally managed to independently finish filling out the application and proceeded to make the payment. I couldn't pay the fee with my Russian bank cards, and I hadn't obtained a Kazakhstani one yet. I had to postpone this endeavor for more favorable times.
September 27st.
Artem left in the morning, and my day was dedicated to planning how I would get to Zhitikara. There were no bus tickets available, and the train wasn't suitable either because it goes through Russian territory, where border guards inspect documents. In the Telegram chats, there were already reports of cases where people were removed from the train. I didn't want to take any risks, so the only option left was to find a car through Telegram channels heading in the direction I needed.
The whole day was spent searching for a car because everyone was traveling to Almaty and didn't want to take passengers halfway. The price for such a service was astronomical, of course. However, I managed to find a car for tomorrow to the city of Aktobe, which was 470 km away from Uralsk, for one and a half thousand rubles. It was the best price available at that time and in the direction I needed, from where I could try to find a bus to Zhitikara. So, I didn't waste any time and started packing my things in the evening, making sure not to forget anything.
September 28st.
Morning came, and I was ready for the next stage of my journey. By 10 o'clock in the morning, the car arrived, I said goodbye to Dasha, and set off on my way to a new city called Aktobe. While I was in the car, I had time to search for accommodation. I didn't know where I would stay or if I would find anything for the night because even a week after the announcement of partial mobilization, there was utter chaos in the chats, and housing prices remained astronomical. After a few hours of unsuccessful searching for accommodation, I finally received a long-awaited message from some guy.
Hello, can I help you?
Hello, is it about accommodation?
Yes.
Is it in Aktobe? What's the price?
Are you a girl or a young man?
I'm a guy, alone.
How should I address you?
My name is Alex, and what's your name?
I'm Timas. You can call me Tim for short. We have a two-bedroom apartment. We're students. There are three of us, and we can arrange ourselves in the living room while you'll have the bedroom. There's a double sofa in the room. If you want, there's a bathroom you can use. We'll also provide food and drinks, don't worry. As for the price, I don't know. Let's talk about it in terms of what you're willing to give, whatever you can afford. I just want to help people.
I agree to any accommodation conditions, even if it's on the floor. It doesn't matter to me. I'll arrive in Aktobe at 6 o'clock in the evening from Uralsk. And in the morning, I'll be looking for a way to continue my journey. I just need to know how much money to offer you… Around 5-6 thousand tenge?
Well, if you're willing, we'll be waiting for you.
I'm willing.
Regarding the price, as I said, whatever you can spare.
Alright, thank you so much. I can be driven to the address. But I'll be there around 5-6 in the evening.
Address: Toleu Aldiyarov 6, Sazdi District.
Thanks again.
Alexey, sorry for the silly question. But could you tell us a little bit about yourself so we know who we'll be spending the night with? How old are you, where are you from, and so on?
I'm 29 years old, divorced. I'm from Moscow, lived there for 10 years, worked in the restaurant industry as a waiter, bartender, and manager. Originally from Crimea.
That's all good, we'll be waiting.
While we were driving, I spotted a couple of sports stores and a bus stop in the city of Aktobe, where I definitely needed to stop by.
As promised, I arrived at six in the evening. Timas, a tall Kazakh guy of average build, greeted me and helped with my belongings by taking one of my backpacks.
When I entered the apartment, I was greeted by two more guys, Arthur and Baubek. Arthur is not tall and slender, while Baubek is of the same height as Timas but more athletic. It's evident from all of them that they are native Kazakhs.
They fed me and served tea, just as they promised. I shared my little story and what is happening at the borders. I talked about my future plans, my thoughts of traveling to India, but for now, I haven't resolved the issue related to visa payment. The guys said they study at a medical university, and I immediately understood that there must be Indians studying there who could potentially help me with visa payment through their card. I asked the guys if they could introduce me to the Indian students, and Timas said that tomorrow they would take me to the building where the Indians study and introduce me to someone who can assist me.
By 10 o'clock in the evening, we were still sitting, chatting, and getting hungry again. Arthur and I went to the nearest shawarma place. When we entered, it was packed. With that many people at this hour, it was evident that the food was really good. We ordered four shawarmas and two two-liter bottles of Coca-Cola. I paid for the order, thanking the guys for providing me accommodation. With our order in hand, we returned home to the guys.
After finishing the shawarmas, we continued our conversation. The guys told me that they are being evicted from this apartment due to an increase in the number of tenants and rising rent, which they cannot afford. Arthur said he would move back to the dormitory, while Timas and Baubek would rent a one-bedroom apartment for the two of them. I was surprised by the behavior of the apartment owners, but the guys were still willing to help people like me. Before going to sleep, I took a shower and went to bed in the bedroom they gave me, while the three of them slept in the living room.
September 29st.
The next day, Arthur helped me to get to the building where the Indian students study. First, we went to the guys who had a class. Arthur went into the classroom and asked the professor when there would be a break so that I could talk to the guys about my visa payment question. He granted permission but said we would have to wait for about half an hour, and to avoid waiting in the corridor, we could sit in his office.
We entered a small office opposite the classroom, with a model of the human body in each cabinet and posters detailing the organs of the human body. Overall, it was quite an intriguing read.
As soon as the class ended and the guys were free, we approached them, and I began stating my request.
Guys, I need help with paying for my visa to India. I was told you could assist me.
We are not from India, but from Pakistan.
Oh, I apologize. Have a good day.
Same to you.
Pakistan and India have had a long-standing armed conflict between them, but it is mostly on the political arena. Outside their countries, Pakistanis and Indians interact with each other normally. Even in India, I have heard from Indians that Pakistanis are good people, and these wars mostly benefit politicians.
After that, Arthur and I headed towards the Indian hostel, but before we reached the hallway, we bumped into a guy who was already in his final year, and Arthur was certain he was from India. So we approached him and introduced ourselves. His name is Jim. He was slender, of average height, wearing a suit and shoes. You couldn't immediately tell he was a student; he looked more like a young professor.
I'm planning to go to India, and I need help to pay for the visa.
Yes, of course, I can help.
Arthur hurried off to his classes when he realized we had found the right person. Jim and I tried a couple of times to pay for the visa using his card, but unfortunately, it didn't work. After that, he told me not to worry and invited me to go with him. Leaving the building, we headed to the hostel where his compatriots lived. The slight drizzle outside didn't seem to want to stop.
At the entrance of the Indian hostel, we were greeted not only by a 55-year-old Slavic-looking female guard but also by a multitude of mixed scents and aromas of spices. The guard was so surprised to see a white person in the hostel accompanied by an Indian that she bombarded us with numerous questions: who, where, why, and what for? While answering her barrage of questions, I also faced a flurry of inquiries from passing Indians who stopped to ask my name, where I was from, and what I was doing there. I was fortunate to have Jim with me. He did his best to help me fend off these questioning people while simultaneously calling up all the guys and asking if they or their relatives had an AXEL bank card.
In the span of an hour, we attempted to make the payment more than a dozen times, but all our efforts were in vain. I never found out the reason, but it seemed that I didn't need a 5-year visa to India after all.
I thanked everyone who had participated and apologized to Jim for taking up so much of his time, and he apologized in return for not being able to help me. I saw how much he wanted to assist me, gathering more and more of his fellow countrymen to my cause, even approaching people who were just passing by, and they all tried their best to help me. It was very heartwarming, and it seemed that such gestures could only happen in India.
After bidding farewell, I headed back to the apartment to collect my belongings and say goodbye to the guys. I walked through half the city to "Sportmaster" to check the prices of backpacks, being confident that they would have them in stock. However, just like in Uralsk, the shelves with backpacks were practically empty, and the one-hundred-liter backpack didn't suit me. Although all my things would fit in such a backpack, and it would be easier to move around with one sturdy backpack instead of two smaller ones.
While strolling through the shopping center, I searched for transportation to Zhitikara and thanks to Instagram, I learned that my friend and former colleague Maxim was currently in Aktobe. We used to work together at the "Pino" restaurant in Moscow near Patriarshiye Prudy. I met up with Maxim at the food court in the shopping center. We exchanged stories about our recent days and how we crossed the borders.
Maxim managed to leave the country only on his second attempt because he wasn't allowed to exit due to a small debt. He had to return to the city to settle that debt before heading back towards the Kazakhstan border. I couldn't even imagine the emotions he must have experienced. His further plan was to fly to Saudi Arabia for work and then go to Brazil for a while.