As the sun went down on my second day on the train I steeled myself to step out into the night for the second time. This time I was buoyed by the social and fun day I'd had and was a little bit sad to be leaving the community that had developed in our carriage in these two days. As my arrival time approached, I sought advice from my new friends and local experts – Roman & the train guard.
They gave me all the usual warnings anyone gives about unknown or poor areas, particularly at night, which only served to heighten my nervous anticipation. The stop would be a short one, so I'd have to get off quickly. The three of us stood by the door as the rhythmn and pitch of the sounds and shakes said the station was near. Aralsk. Remarkably roughly on time after more than fifty hours from Moscow. It's so dark outside it's hard to imagine there is an 'outside'. Ready to leap off the train, primed by my 'advisors' words of warning and 24 hours waiting, I'm full of adrenaline and feel like a prize fighter about to enter an unknown ring and face and unknown opponent... or a bull, caged and about to be released!... I mime running like crazy and we all laugh.
Before the train has stopped, the guard opens the door and yells for a taxi... three middle-aged men scramble over the first tracks, two sets over from ours, and negotiate a deal.... Roman translates the agreement – 100 Rubles – and urges me to go with the successful bidder. As soon as the train stops I descend and scuttle over the tracks. I'm hesitant, because I'm not sure if someone will be at the station to meet me... there's supposed to be someone, but then I was supposed to arrive 24 hours ago. I glance around as I move and give myself a chance to spot someone looking for me, but no one stood track-side carries the body language I'm looking for and so I duck into the passenger seat of the battered Lada. His catch secured, my driver then wanders off to look for other passengers! His actions are met with vocal disapproval from other drivers and my train guard, so it's not long before he returns to fire up the aged engine and we rattle, shake and bounce out of the station grounds, into the night. The 'main' road is unlit and my driver seems more concerned on quizzing me in Russian and weaving around the numerous potholes than avoiding the oncoming traffic! Fortunately there's not a lot of the latter and we avoid any collisions. Young people appear to be out in numbers at the few cafe-bars scattered down the length of the road.
It doesn't take too long to arrive at the hotel and I leave him validating the Rubles of the fare in his headlights. The initially empty lobby is soon populated by three women of various ages, shapes and sizes, all of whom, it is rapidly apparent, have a limited grasp of English. I present my Sundowners Overland voucher that is supposed to be a kind of booking/payment receipt. It becomes clear that they don't recognise the voucher and they try to sell me a 4000 Tenge room... I protest – I've already paid for one! I need a room, but they don't recognise my receipt/voucher... what to do? We stand off for a little while, neither party budging or with much else to add to the debate mainly due to language incompatibility. One of them gets on the phone, speaks to someone on the other end and then hands me the receiver... I'm greeted by Sirik, the local fixer who had been at the station to meet me last night as he had the same bad information I had. Sirik fills me in on the hotel point of view – I hadn't turned up last night to take my booking, so they'd given away my hot water room and so now they only have cold water rooms available. Add to that the fact that Sundowners have not yet paid them for the room and their position now seems entirely understandable. The next problem is that I don't have any Kazakh currency! This is not for lack of trying on my behalf, but because Kazakh Tenge is not easily available outside the country. I need access to a bank tomorrow and so to secure me a bed for the night all parties agree to Sirik's plan of submitting my passport to the hotel owners until I have money to pay for the room. I'm nervous about my passport being off my person for the first time since my Finnish Rail lapse, but I have to trust them with it, and am led by the granny of the group up unsettlingly angled steps and down darkened corridors to my second floor room - 125 – identifiable only by the fact that she led me to it and my key opens the lock that could fall out at every interaction.
I have two single beds to choose from and after a bounce on each my first pick is relieved of pole position when an alien bug, reminiscent of the X-Files ones that crawl around under peoples skin, scurries over it! I'm unable to hunt it down and kill it, so I convince myself that I'll be safe enough in the other bed. Even at night it's hot, so I'm relieved to see I have a large air conditioning unit in the window and turn it on... some cool air comes out, but it sounds like I'm back on the train! The large noise makes me realise that my antics must be highly visible from outside. There are no street lights and I have big windows... I feel like an exhibit. I retrieve my head torch from my bag and use its light to guide my final maneuvering to bed... an experience that provokes comparative thoughts of The Blair Witch Project... unsettling mental images that are difficult to un-think, so I avoid looking in the corners and hurry to turn off my light. Thirty minutes or so later I trade temperature for silence, turn off the 'train', and try to sleep.
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