Searching for Flamingoes in Kazakhstan
Oh, the hopes, dreams, and fears we have when we come to Kazakhstan.
Some foreigners dream of riches, adventures, finding love…or flamingoes. Not the pink plastic ones we associate with trailer park decoration or 1950’s salt and pepper shakers but the real bird. A real brine shrimp and algae eating bird with legs ready for success in any long legs contest.
Yes, it appears that all flamingoes are pink. Recent evidence says they have a relationship with grebes. Could that be? A relationship with grebes, those small, dull grayish-black creatures floating around in numerous locations around the world, likely to eat their own feathers? Now there’s a handy, sustainable food source. The connection with flamingoes…only science can explain.
I cannot say that my dreams included any of the above but when I learned that flamingoes, the birds most Americans connect with Florida, vacationed in Kazakhstan, I wanted to see them.
Kazakhstan is not considered among all birders as a “must go” place on their bucket list. They may be surprised to learn that near Korgalzhyn village, a couple of hours southwest of the country’s capitol. The country’s first biosphere and UNESCO heritage nature reserve cites more than 300 species. Lapwings, seriously endangered, summer there, too, in the more than 200 lakes.
On a September Saturday morning two weeks after I landed in Astana, more recently renamed Nursultan, I began my flamingo search. Likely the birds had already moved on to their next stop near the Caspian Sea but maybe, just maybe, one or two would be lingering.
With a daypack to get me through a night, I boarded Bus 10 at the Central Bus Station. Showing the Russian translation for the word Korgalzhyn, I bought a ticket for the next bus…think minivan with dark blue velvet like curtains, more seats and people stuffed onto them than the manufacturer would claim…going in that direction.
Soon the flat steppe was clearly visible as we left Astana’s fanciful architecture behind us. Ahead lay wide expanses of what teenagers would call “nothing”, just space and bumpy roads. Cuddled next to one another with knees sometimes touching the passenger facing us, we stared straight ahead. Conversation was nil. Only occasionally did we stop to dispense a passenger going where, I could not imagine, as neither a yurt nor any other structure was in sight.
Three hours later the driver pulled off along the side of the road as we entered a village. All the passengers gathered their few belongings and exited the van. I remained in my seat until the driver motioned that this was the end of the line. I squinted through the van windows. No shops. No signs. No people. Nyet. Nothing.
It took little acting to exhibit my most dazed look.
The driver spoke no English. I spoke no Kazakh or Russian. Traveler’s sign language had to suffice.
I flapped my arms up and down (bird) many times. I circled my eyes (binoculars), tilted my head to the left while I folded my hands (sleeping), overlapped my arms, and pointed to the bus, while saying Astana. I wanted to see the birds, stay overnight, and return the next day to Astana. Surely anyone would understand my antics, I hoped.
Back in the bus he put me, stupefied as he was about what to do with this non-Russian speaking foreign woman. Turning off the main road, we careened through mazes of tiny unkempt alleys. I reminded myself I really should tell someone when I go off on such adventures but it was too late then. He parked us in front of a two story house, disembarked. I remained in the van wondering what would happen next. Could this be the last time I would be seen alive if I went inside the house? Where might he take me next? Soon he returned with a woman who spoke enough English to understand me.
Minutes later he deposited me…likely a relief for him…on Bibinur and Marat Alimzhanov’s doorstep or I should say yurtstep, given their antique yurt. Thus began a wonderful experience.
The UN Regional folk gave them the highest award in 2012 for homestays. In addition to the authentic yurt (used only for viewing), complete with carpets and antique items, their five room wooden lodge slept at least ten comfortably. Hot showers, an indoor bathroom, a large flat screen television refreshed travelers. In the dining building, Marat, a music director could give an impromptu concert while Bibinur served the best beshbarmark I’d had in Kazakhstan. 5000 tenge for an overnight stay and three full meals then. A good deal made only better by the incredibly warm welcome from this family.
“Flamingoes left”, they said.
The family arranged a driver who took me over the steppe to one of the many nearby lakes where other birds happily flocked. A Kazakh family relaxed and fished. The sunset inspired. I could have stayed much longer.
Since that wonderfully fateful day of following what I wanted to do with few clues about how I would do it, I have returned several times. Visiting the museum across the street, walking the village roads, and connecting with a Kazakhstan different from Astana, retreating there from urban life, I found peace and contentment.
Only years later did I see the flamingoes but in a different location.
On another visit, one evening alone in my room, thinking about how the coal heating system worked there — -yes, I do think about such things — Murat knocked on my door. “Time to go” he said in broken English. News to me that any excursion was planned for a dark wintry evening.
Within minutes, he, Bibinur, their teen daughter and others with their American guest were piled into two cars and headed toward another house. Snow higher than the cars were on either side of the narrow road as we measured our destination. There we were treated to an even larger dinner than our enormous lunch, complete with the usual vodka and singing.
Did I understand all that was happening? Was I weary and wanting solitude? No and yes but am I thankful I had this and other opportunities with with this wonderful family? More than absolutely yes. Finding riches in spirit, adventure on the steppe, and love from a Kazakh family is more than one can hope for anytime.
Perhaps I should search for flamingoes in other locations.