Kazakhstan - March 2010

Looking for a ski resort with a difference, one where more likely to run into Anna Kournikova than Kylie Minogue, where a shot of vodka rather than a hot chocolate is more likely to get you down that black run and where beshbarmak (boiled horsemeat) is the apres-ski dish of choice when its -24C then Chimbulak in the Tien Shen mountains just outside Almaty is the place to go.

Almaty, city of freezing fog on the southern edge of the Siberian steppe may not sound like the place for a weekend but this is party central of central asia and has some of the best skiing outside the Himalayas.

Early March it’s just starting to become bearable, with temperatures hovering in the high (or should that be low) minuses. The city itself is modern and pleasant with wide tree lined boulevards and impressive if austere buildings dating back to the time it was the capital of the vast country of Kazakhstan before post independence it was moved lock stock and oil barrel to Astana 1500km north.

With not a Borat in sight the Intrepids faced off the unsmiling immigration officials at Almaty airport, sporting the silliest largest brimmed Russian army hats, (this may have something to do with the Japanese designed terminal being in the shape of Kazakh hat). Eschewing the delights of soviet era hotels we head for the holiday inn on the northern edge of the city. Newly built in the past 3 years it provides a comfortable base from which to explore the city and reach the ski area at Chimbulak 40mins away above the freezing fog.

The first evening is spent getting acquainted with the city, buying scarves and gloves and coming to grips with a taxi system which enlists just about anyone who has a car. Not having a word of Kazakhi or Russian among us it’s difficult to get around but with smiles, a bottle of vodka and some help from LP we soon find a great restaurant serving traditional food in great surroundings. Plates of beshbarmak, horse on stick and plates of roast goat are washed down with kumys, fermented mares milk. Its snowing a little when we emerge and set off in search of the fabled nightlife of Almaty. First stop is Soho, a sort of cross between a pub and nightclub beneath a nondescript apartment building, and thronged with expats, Koreans, Russians and central Asians. Resembling the inter galactic truck stop where Skywalker meets the Woki, its populated with people from every ethnicity all bumping and grinding to a local band belting out very passable interpretations of the Eurythmics' Sweet Dreams. Groups of girls hog the tiny dance floor with, in universal tradition, the guys around the edge. Its all very free and friendly with member of the intrepid party doing their bit for world peace and international cultural understanding aided by a few tequilla shots.


Saturday the fog outside is as thick as that in our heads, and we can’t see across the street but undeterred, after battling with the ATM we negotiate with the owner of a minibus to take us to the ski area. Communicating by means of a dictionary he finally realizes that we intend a day in the mountains. Halfway there as we climb through the suburbs we suddenly emerge from the fog into bright sunshine and clear blue sky, with snow clad peaks all around. Passing a massive ice skating arena we reach the village of Chimbulak which is rapidly transforming itself into a major skiing venue in time for next years Asian Winter Games.

Ski hire is efficient and friendly, with top of the line skis and boots available for $15 per day although the lift pass system takes a bit of working out and we decide to hang on until the afternoon ticket which runs 1pm to 4.30pm. The slopes are wide, well groomed and relatively uncrowded with minimal lift lines. Despite the limited number of lifts (5 plus one tee bar) they are efficient and give about 1000m elevation with a choice of open piste or runs through the trees, as well as lots of waist deep powder for those who prefer skiing which is more akin to wading.

It’s warm in the sun, the runs are quite long and fast (by Australian standards) and the cafés at the base offer good pizzas and cold beer. Whilst it may lack the range and variety of Whistler or the sophistication of St Moritz, it’s a lot of fun with spectacular peaks and scenery. Riding on the chair lifts we converse with Russians, Kazakhs and the occasional European working in Almaty, but virtually no tourists.

Evening is spent back in Almaty, this time at an incongruous Germanic restaurant with the staff dressed in lederhosen and lots of sausages and cheese are consumed with gusto.

Sunday dawns crisp and clear unlike some of our heads and we are back in the minibus, this time with the owner's daughter as translator and climbing up through the forests to the ski village. We pass along the top of a vast stone embankment across the valley but with no lake dammed behind it we take it to be a monument to futile soviet engineering but which we later learn is actually to protect the city from avalanches, hence the warnings not to stop. Knowing the ropes by now we are quickly suited up and back on the slopes from some exhilarating but not too challenging skiing. It’s the sort of place where in a couple of days you become familiar with most of the runs, but because they are wide and open you can start to sit back and enjoy. We are not sure we would come here for 2 weeks at a time but as a different place, with beautiful snow and an interesting cuisine it certainly beats a wet weekend at Perisher.

In the evening we find an Uzbeki restaurant, which becomes really lively with lots of singing and dancing, no western cover band here, just lots of locals who delight at the party of tourists tucking into the horse on a stick and getting stuck into the vodka. A great evening is had by all, with fortunately no skiing in the morning.

Monday is sunny and warm, well +5C and we walk around the city in tee shirts, first off at the splendid yellow and white rococo wooden cathedral in the centre of Panfilov park and visit the superheros of Almaty, a massive bronze sculpture depicting the small band of Kazakh soldiers who became the saviours of Moscow from the Nazis in the second world war. Next we walk to the green market but because its national women's day it's closed apart from flower sellers selling tulips. Tulips, like apples we learn come from Kazakhstan and spread via Turkey to the west. Although displays of tulips are understandably less prevalent than in Istanbul (the half metre of snow and slush may have something to do with it,) everyone is carrying bunches so there must be lots of greenhouses nearby. We check out the pedestrian shopping mall with a street market with traditional paintings of traditional Kazakhs in their nomadic yurts with their traditional horses, families and traditional land cruisers. We are told we are the first tourists they have seen this year and vow to come back the following year.