After leaving Kyrgyzstan, our train spent the night working its way west along the Kyrgyzstan-Kazakhstan border. At 5:20 AM our German train master came over the intercom with a jolly "Good morning!" wake-up call. Two minutes later he came back on, apologizing profusely because although he had stressed to us to set our clocks back one hour because of a time zone change, he himself had neglected to do so. "Please, sleep another hour," he pleaded.
Yeah, right. We both had been awake prior to his too-early wake-up call. In fact, Bob was in the shower during that 5:20 announcement. Sleeping on a train is not easy.
Notes from my journal written that morning: The view out the window as the sun rises is of the endless steppe covered in short yellow grass and occasionally punctuated by cattle, a road, or a barely livable dwelling. Power lines run incongruously parallel to our track, and sometimes a dirt road comes up alongside or traverses the track. Every now and then we pass through a small town. The houses we see through our window have livestock in the yard. Sometimes there is a small mosque. Just now we passed a dainty white one with a deep blue onion dome and four minarets, one on each corner. Every now and then we see a small knot of men staring at the train, standing silently with their hands in their pockets. Last night there were women and children watching us pass by, the children exuberantly friendly, calling out and waving. It is as hard for me to comprehend their life as it is for them to comprehend mine.
We came to the border crossing where we would leave Kazakhstan at 8:00 AM. Again the agents clothed in military uniforms or camouflage boarded the train and took our passports. Again a German shepherd drug-sniffing dog came through. We were through in record time, just 30 minutes, but we had to wait another 45 minutes until we could pull out of the station. I guess everyone has to wait their turn, even the American tourists.
Yeah, right. We both had been awake prior to his too-early wake-up call. In fact, Bob was in the shower during that 5:20 announcement. Sleeping on a train is not easy.
Notes from my journal written that morning: The view out the window as the sun rises is of the endless steppe covered in short yellow grass and occasionally punctuated by cattle, a road, or a barely livable dwelling. Power lines run incongruously parallel to our track, and sometimes a dirt road comes up alongside or traverses the track. Every now and then we pass through a small town. The houses we see through our window have livestock in the yard. Sometimes there is a small mosque. Just now we passed a dainty white one with a deep blue onion dome and four minarets, one on each corner. Every now and then we see a small knot of men staring at the train, standing silently with their hands in their pockets. Last night there were women and children watching us pass by, the children exuberantly friendly, calling out and waving. It is as hard for me to comprehend their life as it is for them to comprehend mine.
We came to the border crossing where we would leave Kazakhstan at 8:00 AM. Again the agents clothed in military uniforms or camouflage boarded the train and took our passports. Again a German shepherd drug-sniffing dog came through. We were through in record time, just 30 minutes, but we had to wait another 45 minutes until we could pull out of the station. I guess everyone has to wait their turn, even the American tourists.
