When I had planned out the bigger outlines of my itinerary to Southeast Asia and back, I decided I would not come back exactly via the same route as on the outward journey. One reason was that I didn’t feel like doing the Transsiberian twice on the same trip; the other was the idea of taking a bit of a shortcut through Asia on my way back to Europe. And that’s how Kazakhstan came into the picture as a part of my itinerary back to Belgium. I have to say I owe a lot to The Man in Seat 61 for being able to find out about all these options.
The weird international train connection from China to Kazakhstan
The train to Almaty only departs twice a week from Ürümqi. In other words, this was a crucial train connection that I could not miss if I wanted to make it back home in time before New Year’s.
When I arrived at Ürümqi train station very early in the morning before sunrise, I found it to be heavily secured, with military guards as well as a barbed wire perimeter installed around it. I wasn’t sure whether I should find this worrying or reassuring. As previously mentioned, I knew I was not in the safest part of China. Nevertheless, I entered without any problems and taking the train was no more difficult than it had been in other Chinese train stations.
Once on the train, I was on familiar territory and assumed it would be smooth sailing from there, especially once we would have crossed the border. But of course, nothing was further from the truth. The sun had risen but it was still morning when the train came to a halt in an undefined train station that seemed to be situated in the middle of nowhere. I was made to leave the train with my luggage, together with the few other passengers that had decided to take this international connection. As long as I wasn’t certain that everybody had to get off, this was rather unsettling. Nobody there spoke English, so I couldn’t understand any explanations that were given. Therefore I just started telling other people my final destination. When I noticed they were all going to Almaty as well, I relaxed. I still had no damned clue of what was going on, but as long as I stuck around these people, I figured things would be alright.
There was something strange and unsettling about the train station: aside from being huge, it was entirely deserted. We were led into an enormous waiting hall and then… we waited. I had no idea whether this was normal, but at some point a considerate fellow passenger passed me through to somebody on her phone who spoke English and explained that we had to wait here until the late afternoon, before getting back on the train. I never found out why.
There was something strange and unsettling about the train station: aside from being huge, it was entirely deserted.
The train station turned out to be even more unpleasant from the outside. I left it with a woman who decided to go and look for food in town with her teenage daughter and offered me to accompany them. It was cold and there was a layer of snow, but more remarkably, there was a huge fence around the station, topped with barbed wire. The big entrance gate had to be unlocked for us to get out. As soon as we did, we were standing in an empty street, in the misty middle of nowhere, an actual ghost town lurking on the horizon.
We had to walk for at least twenty minutes before arriving in a little inhabited town, where we entered a random tiny restaurant and had some sort of breakfast. Everything about this whole situation was alien but I just went with it. Sometimes, a place or situation is so unfamiliar, weird and alien, that it acquires a thin layer of ungraspable and incomprehensible beauty.
Somehow, I was glad to be back in the waiting hall of the deserted train station, where sometime in the afternoon, my passport was checked out a first time. We were finally allowed back on the train and the border crossing was soon after that. Apart from the border officials not understanding where Belgium even was, it was a rather smooth procedure. Going into Kazakhstan meant turning the clock back two hours and switching from Mandarin back to Russian. I distinctly felt like I was edging closer to Europe.
Visa trouble in Almaty
My biggest priority once in Kazakhstan was to obtain a Russian transit visa. Without that, it would be impossible to continue my overland journey back to Europe. This had been impossible to arrange back in Bangkok, like I had done for my Chinese visa. I had already contacted the Russian consulate in Almaty via email, but they were not super helpful or responsive.
The first hurdle involved finding a printer. It took me some time to figure out that I needed to fill out a specific form, that I had to bring to the consulate. Losing time for lunch didn’t help, especially when I found out that I couldn’t print at the hostel. I had to go back into town to find a different solution. When I finally walked into a business where people were gaming on local computers and where they had printers, I was told they did not print anymore after a certain hour.
I walked back out, filled with despair because this meant that I would not be able to make it to the consulate in time. It was closed on certain days and they needed a certain amount of time to process the visa application. I had already booked my trains to make it to Moscow in time, in order to arrive back home before the end of the year. The only way I could actually take the train to Moscow, was with the Russian transit visa.
At the hostel, I explained my problem to one of the staff members, who was so helpful as to lend me his phone in order to call the Almaty consulate to see if there was anything I could do. The person who picked up the phone was harsh and said they couldn’t help me. It almost crushed me. Was I really going to have to give up on this?
The hostel guy said: “There is a consulate in Astana as well. Maybe they can help you.”
And he passed me his phone again. This time, I got a friendlier reply.
“If you can be here by tomorrow no later than 17:30 with all the required documents, we will get your visa ready for the next day.”
Which would be just in time for my next train with no extra day to spare. This meant that I had to reschedule my train ride from Almaty to Astana, which was a bit stressful but the friendly and super helpful people of RealRussia made it happen.
The person who picked up the phone was harsh and said they couldn’t help me. It almost crushed me. Was I really going to have to give up on this?
All that I had left to do in Almaty was to walk around and visit the city. It was hard to enjoy it fully since I had the unresolved visa issue hanging over my head, but I still managed to stop and appreciate what the city had to offer, especially since the temperatures, although not super high, were extremely bearable after the rough freezing cold of Ürümqi.
An unexpected last hurdle in Astana
17:30 was the time by which I absolutely had to make it to the consulate. My train arrived in Astana barely an hour before that and so the first thing I did when I walked out of the station, was saying yes to the first taxi driver coming towards me. I told him where I was going and eagerly thrust my luggage into the trunk, not only because I was in a hurry but also because it was freezing cold. As soon as we drove off, I noticed the dashboard indicated -29°C.
It was a rather long ride, through endless depressing soviet neighbourhoods that all looked similar to one another. We were getting to the more modern part of the city as time was ticking away. I had my documents ready and when we finally arrived at the consulate, it was only a couple of minutes shy of 17:30. The gate was closed but I rang the bell and was answered by the parlophone. I said I came for my visa application. The woman on the other end replied: “Sorry, we closed at 17:00. You will have to come back some other time.”
While I felt my heart crumbling in my chest, I reacted, almost crying: “But you said on the phone I could come until 17:30! I really need the visa tomorrow!”
For a little while, there was no reply. Then the parlophone cracked and the woman asked if I had all the required documents. I confirmed and she said: “You can come in.” The gate opened and I almost ran inside, handed all my documents over at once and was told I should come back the next morning to pick up my visa.
When we finally arrived at the consulate, it was only a couple of minutes shy of 17:30.
It was with a sigh of relief that I stepped back into the taxi that had been waiting for me. But the taxi driver had a little surprise in store for me, as if all this had not already been stressful enough.
When he dropped me off at my hostel, there seemed to be an issue. At first I thought it was about the payment but I finally managed to understand that he wanted my phone number. I assumed he wanted to drive me around the next day as well, which was unnecessary for me. He insisted and since I had a full bladder, was hungry and extremely cold, I just gave him my number already and then went into the hostel. I was so glad to be in the warmth of my room that I had already forgotten about the incident, when suddenly the guy texted me on WhatsApp. My Russian may have been bad, but not as bad as not to understand that he was making a very indecent proposal. I immediately blocked him and alerted the hostel staff. They reassured me by saying that there were cameras installed everywhere outside the hostel and they would not hesitate to call the police if needed.
This must have been one of the only times during my entire trip where I actually felt a bit unsafe. Luckily, the perverted taxi driver never showed his face again.
The skies were of the brightest blue when I went to the consulate the next morning to pick up that precious, precious Russian transit visa. Euphoric as I was, I indulged in the sunshine and did not care for it being -30°. It was December 23rd, I walked around in the fascinating modern part of the city of Astana, and I was bound to get on a very, very long train ride to Moscow the next day. It was a huge step towards completing my adventure.
A 55 hour long Christmas train ride
Often when I talk to people about this overland trip that I took, taking trains from Belgium to Southeast Asia and back, a surprising amount totally understands my love for riding trains and taking longer rides on them as well. The slow travel, seeing the landscapes, sleeping and eating on the train… It does indeed sound nice. However, there is one constant as to the limits people have with this: nobody understands how I made it through a 55 hour long train ride spread out across three days.
However, if you’ve read through this post as well as the previous one, it might be a bit easier to understand that at this point, I was just very happy to be taken along by this single train for thousands of kilometers, effortlessly chipping away at a huge chunk of what was left of my journey, without having to be rushing around arranging things and be stressed out over visa problems. It was like a three day breather in the hectic episode that had been my return from Asia to Europe. During this time, I listened to music, enjoyed the snow-filled landscapes, ate supermarket snacks and instant noodles, slept in twice and read four books. I had left Astana on December 24th in the morning and got off the train in Moscow in the afternoon of December 26th. Having spent Christmas entirely on the train, where I was not confronted with all the Christmas festivities in the cities, also made it easier for me to accept that I was not celebrating it at home with my family.
And so at the end of the longest train ride of my entire journey, of my entire life really, there I was: back in Moscow. Back in Europe.
Next story:
How my journey ended
More overland travel stories:
From Belgium to Albania without flying
From Thailand to China: the unlikely overland route through Laos
A tough path to Hanoi, my home away from home
From Moscow to Beijing: life on the Transsiberian train
Morgane's Travel Tales 
3 thoughts on “How my overland travel mission almost ended in Kazakhstan”