Midnight in the Kyzl-Kum Desert
KAZAKHSTAN | Saturday, 10 May 2014 | Views [141] | Scholarship Entry
It was my second day on the train, and the sun had set - I was thankful, as it's unfiltered glare across the flat plains of the Kyzl-Kum desert had been blinding. I was traveling from Almaty to Aral'sk, a half-abandoned port city in western Kazkhastan.
My plan was to visit Aral'sk and gather enough footage to finally complete my film, a documentary on the disappearing Aral Sea -one of the greatest environmental disasters in history. For the last two years, I had been filming fishermen on the sea and in the town, hoping to create a portrait of humanity amidst the disaster. This visit time would be different though -I would be staying for four weeks, and I was arriving in the middle of the night.
I had taken Kazakh rail before, and had observed how others would shuffle their weathered, overstuffed briefcases from their cabins into the walkway at least half an hour before their stop. To keep such a regulated schedule, trains in Kazakhstan only stay for a minute or two at local stops, regardless of how many people have to get on or off. Thus, any traveler is well-advised to prepare themselves and exit immediately, or risk missing their stop. No dallying about.
At half past midnight, half an hour before my arrival in Aral'sk, my backpack, tripod bag and a camera case were stacked in the walkway. Anticipating freezing weather, I'd put on my heavy parka and scarf. I stood in the hallway, looking into the inscrutable night.
Waiting for my arrival, my thoughts turned to my translator, located in Aral'sk. I'd been unable to contact her, and a fear gnawed at my stomach: would she be there? Without my translator, I was gambling with my life, and the whole project was a fool's errand. She had once told me how she wished to travel to Moscow, to get her daughter to a proper doctor.
The moment arrived -the squealing of brakes and the rattling complaints of carriages. From out the window, I saw the train station, floating like a candle in the dark. I gathered my heavy bags and rushed to exit, jumping from the icy metal steps just as others hurried to get on, pressing past me.
Ignoring the cab drivers in the sodium-lit parking lot, I walked towards Aral'sk. In winter, the chill kept the coal fire smoke close to the ground. It was like walking along the tip of a burning cigarette.
At half past one in the morning, alone, in the middle of the Kyzl-Kum, in the dead of winter, unsure of whether or not my translator could be found, I realized that I might be insane.
Tags: 2014 Travel Writing Scholarship - Euro Roadtrip
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