Kazakhstan

Crossed into Kazakhstan yesterday and began our local tours by hiking to Kaindy Lake, Kaindy being the local word for birch.  A stand of trees was submerged there when the lake was formed by an earthquake in 1910.  The treetops have died, but oddly enough the trees continue to live underwater, and have not died or rotted in the lake.

We spent some time learning from our guide about Kazakh marriage customs, which are historically horrifying, but currently rather interesting.  Until Kazakhstan became part of the Soviet Union, brides were generally acquired by kidnapping, with quite-young girls being grabbed from school by the prospective groom and his friends.  Once they were kidnapped, the girls’ families would not take them back, and sad stories abound, not only of unhappy marriages but also rejections, destitution, and suicides.  Bride-kidnapping has been outlawed for decades and would now mean serious jail time;  all brides must be of legal age and must fully consent to their marriage.  But because of its cultural significance, betrothed couples who are in love and engaged still go through the motions.  The groom and his friends will “kidnap” the bride, without warning her of the exact day, she will be taken to his parents’ house, his parents will go negotiate the bride-price with her parents (no long haggling sessions any more, though, as there were historically), then they hold the wedding and they all party together.  The bride — and remember, she is now happily marrying her freely-chosen husband — is still expected to cry a lot after being kidnapped, because that shows she’s a modest lady who will miss her birth family.  Our tour guide said her sister did a great job when she was kidnapped by her fiancé for their wedding as she managed to “cry like hell all day”.  All a bit odd to Western sensibilities!

Archery ranges are common here at roadside stops, and many archers we have seen (including our tour guide) are proficient.  This was at Sharyn Canyon, but by the time I hiked down into the canyon, and then puffed my way back up again, I doubt I could have pulled the bow without falling over.

Tonight we sleep in the city of Almaty, which comes as a welcome change from the mountains and steppes.  Our mini-bus stopped in a village today for picnic lunch supplies;  being always a bit suspicious of street food, I opted for supermarket yogurt with a bit of bread and cheese, but brave Geoff enjoyed a mixed beef-and-lamb kebab with raw onions and the local bread, from this very smoky street grill.