When an invite from the Gran Fondo World Tour landed on our desk, asking us to take part in the Gran Fondo Kazakhstan Tour of Zhetysu, there was no doubt about it: this was a trip that we couldn’t miss out on. As Borat would put it, what an exceptional opportunity for ‘cultural learnings.’ What follows is a tale of rehydrating with vodka, doping with milk from camels and mares, burning steppes, karaoke, and more.

Cultural Learning number 1:

Oktoberfest, G-Wagons and seven rivers – why did Borat even go to the USA?

People say that the person you really meet when you travel is yourself. Even though you may well meet ‘different’ people in foreign places, you’re essentially on the lookout for confirmation of your preconceived ideas. Right? With stereotypes and Borat to blame, I’m already envisioning my trip: weary communist high rises, Borat’s sister will probably show up, the steppes will probably blow me away with their expansiveness, disco music everywhere, and cars being pulled by donkeys. It’s like coming to Germany for the first time and expecting to see everyone clad in Dirndl and Lederhosen, drinking beer for breakfast. Oktoberfest, that’s Germany, right?

The ‘Cultural Learnings’ kick off at Moscow airport, where I’m met by Dani Buyo, the general manager of the Gran Fondo World Tour. He gives me an impromptu crash course in Kazakhstan and its cycling scene. He’s in charge of the ten World Tour events across four continents, in which the respective male and female series’ winners take home 10,000 euros each. Asia, according to Dani, is where cycling has its greatest untapped potential. In this context, Kazakhstan is a place that holds a lot of relevance for him. He tells me how he spent three years living in Almaty, Kazakhstan’s biggest city and our destination, working on a project to develop Shymbulak, Central Asia’s biggest ski region. This line of work left Dani with the right contacts in his phone book in order to stage a mass participation cycling race with the regional authorities. That started three years ago, laying the roots for the current budding amateur cycling scene in Kazakhstan. Until this point, cycling just hadn’t been accessible – you were either pro, or watching from the sidelines. An amateur scene like we know in most European countries simply hadn’t entered the nation’s conscience.

Almaty City is in the south of Kazakhstan on the border with China and, while it’s no longer the country’s capital, it remains the cultural and financial centre. But for those who thought Kazakhstan would still be cut off from Western civilisation then think again. I see more (and more frequently pimped-up) Mercedes G-class cars in this city than in my hometown of Stuttgart, which Mercedes also call home. Almaty has a thriving city centre with street artists and buskers lining the crowded pedestrian streets and it’s the kind of place you’d happily while away some hours. Judging by the number of the Italian and European-style restaurants, western cuisine and culture are held in high esteem. The clientele emerging from the Gucci and Prada stores don’t show any disdain for the many fast food chains either; the unlikely coupling of high-end and fast food isn’t so unusual here. Just next door there’s a shimmer of glamour emitted by the Ritz Carlton Hotel, where oligarchs, business people – and us, of course – enjoy lunch with a view over the city. With snow-capped mountains to the south and enormous lakes and the steppes in the north, Almaty City is a big draw for outdoor lovers, who descend on the region to explore.

The region of Almaty is also called Zhetysu (hence the race name: the Tour of Zhetysu) and it literally translates as ‘seven rivers.’ All these outdoor lovers – us included – have clearly landed on Go; there are cowboys (real ones!) and wild horses in the steppes, snow leopards in the mountains, lizards in the canyons and golden eagles on the arms of the nomads. In fact, the vibes are so Wild Wild West that you wonder why Borat ever felt the need to go travelling.

But back to the beating heart of Almaty City. As soon as we’re settled, race organiser Serik Turdaliyev joins us for a ride, escorting us out of the city’s heavy traffic towards the Tian Shan mountain range in the south. We ride past Medeo, the world’s highest (and one of the most famous) ice skating rinks en route to the mountain town of Shymbulak where steep gradients (20% plus!) await us. Trailing us in the traffic for safety is Serik’s driver in a pick-up truck with warning lights. While there isn’t much overt aggression in the traffic, there’s a very lax approach to the rules (at least for some people). Certain car registration plates, apparently come with a dose of extra freedom, allegedly thanks to the president.

The disparity between the rich and the poor of Almaty’s 1.8 million residents is hard to overlook, but there’s a general sense of contentment that overrides any potential animosity. With such quantities of oil and gas under their feet, the quality of life is, broadly speaking, high, and Almaty is one of the most multicultural cities I’ve been to, with more than 120 languages spoken within the city limits. It’s a long way from Astana with its achingly new skyscrapers which claimed the title of capital city in 1997. With its eponymous sponsorship of a certain pro team, there can’t be many cyclists that are still in the dark to its whereabouts. But ask any Almaty resident and they’ll tell you how the people smile less up in Astana, and that life isn’t half as pleasant as it is in the south.

That’s it for social studies today, kids. Let’s race, baby!

Cultural Learning number 2:

Kaz Vegas, the race, and ‘Where is Borat?’

On the eve of the race we make our way to Taldykorgan, where the two-day Tour of Zhetysu is based. As the race website is only in Russian and Kazakh and my knowledge of these languages is fairly limited (top tips for Kazakh for Beginners coming soon!), I’m still not sure what lies ahead.

It’s an exciting drive to the race venue. From Almaty we head north eastwards to Kaz Vegas, a highway lined with casino after casino, with names derived from Sin City. It’s all very Wild Wild West. Think pin-straight, desolate highways, an endless horizon, huge reservoirs with snow-covered mountains, and herds of horses on the steppes being rounded up by cowboys. The only elements that don’t fit the image are the newly built toilet blocks with their cryptic gender portrayals. Even a quick glance behind both doors isn’t enough to clarify the matter: both squatting toilets are equally as shit. Hold your breath, we’re going in.

Despite scorching temperatures predicted for race day, there’s an almost obligatory Kazakhstani sauna session that evening. It’s hot.

Race day begins with a half-hour opening ceremony, led by the mayor, ministers and other officials in front of us 300 riders. At 14.30, it gets serious. The sun is at its brightest right now and the tarmac is burning. It’s 30° in the shade – except the shade is a slither of respite inside the Pepsi tent, which is blasting out Balkan pop. Once again, I’m reminded of the logic of the Spanish siesta.

There’s an assortment of riders making their way onto the course, with everyone from a 10-year-old kid on a mini road bike with no bar tape right through to a 72-year-old. Some even have SUVs as support cars. Where else would you see an oligarch line up alongside a school kid?

Dani’s words resonate again: ‘Don’t expect the Nove Colli; Kazachstan is different.’

The route goes over a beautiful Kazakh steppe – as expansive and empty as you’d imagine. We go 20 km up it and 20 km down the other side, and then back the way we came. My motivation diminishes at the same rate as my water supplies in this heat. Had I really come to Kazakhstan just to ride the same swelteringly hot section of road multiple times? I ask myself, knowing how to respond and letting my inner optimist take over: No, you didn’t even come here for the race – you came to experience Kazakhstan, so relax and enjoy the moment.

On the side of the road I find something that immediately quenches my thirst, meaning that despite my poorly planned water management, I make it to the finish. Once there, I’m led into a yurt, desperately thirsty and over-heated. Fortunately the authentic yurt has been built so effectively that inside it’s refreshingly cool. I’m sat in front of a veritable feast, with warm tea and camels’ milk inside a bottle of Coca-Cola. According to eyewitnesses, Borat has also been spotted here on occasion.

Admirable: while I’m in indulging in this feast, event promoter Dani Buyo is doing the rounds in the support car, making sure that the remaining riders out on the route have sufficient water and encouraging them onwards along the final stretch. In his opinion, too many races overlook the riders at the back of the field. Perhaps it isn’t intentional when they start dismantling the course once the winners have crossed the line, but it isn’t cool. He’s insistent that it’ll be different here; the slower ones have made arguably the greatest effort and therefore deserve respect.

Cultural Learning number 3:

Nastrovje. Kazakhstan for the win!

Shower, cool off, dinnertime. We’re off to a fashionable 5-star hotel at the invite of one of the race’s sponsors, Exante. Before anyone has even cleared their throat for a traditional pre-dinner speech, I’m warned that the entire evening may well consist of speeches and toasts. Any thought of a hearty recovery meal are quashed and forgotten.. First up are the race organisers and the sponsors, then it’s the turn of the international guests – me included. Shit. Dmitriy Muravyev, an ex-teammate of Lance Armstrong from his RadioShack days, volunteers to interpret for me… Surreal. See for yourself below.

The second race day consists of a criterium around an industrial estate on the outskirts of Taldykorgan. I roll down to the race start with the previous day’s winner, Jonas Orset from Norway, who seems motivated and keen to compete. It all gets rather confusing as we arrive. Over dinner I’d picked up on snippets of conversation regarding alterations to the race rules, allegedly so that a Kazakhstani would emerge victorious. I couldn’t work out if it was true or not, but now that we were at the start, the timings and order were so indecipherable that it verged on chaos. Fortunately, neither of us are too late to churn out the fast and flat laps. Jonas goes full-gas, but it’s a rider from Team Kazakhstan who occupies the top step of the podium. Congratulations! The presentation is once again a formal affair with many officials in long gowns taking care of proceedings.

Cultural Learnings number 4:

The best way to learn Kazakh

After an hour’s sleep I’m on a plane back to Germany. Saying goodbye seems harder than usual. Still a little drunk on the heady mix of experiences,, the new friendships, and perhaps the previous evening’s three bottles of whiskey, I try to take stock of the experience. My preconceptions about Kazakhstan had been way off the mark (although if you decided to look hard enough, you’d probably find a few truths). Just like Sacha Baron Cohen, I’m the one who has to kill off Borat. I had wanted confirmation that my assumptions about the country would chime with reality, but that’s a dangerous mind-set with which to travel. I wouldn’t be the first to hunt down validation of preconceived ideas instead of getting to know the real culture.

You’re looking for something new, but you just find the old. You’re looking for your self, but you won’t find anything. Even taking a 6-month sabbatical won’t help you here if you have this mindset; it’ll just confirm that you’re still unhappy with your previous lifestyle.

But the greatest thing about Borat is that the Kazakhstanis don’t look at you like you’re mad, or get offended if you raise the subject. In fact, they even break out into a smile. The way that the western world has created a view of the East is both mildly amusing and distinctly tragic. Going there with an open mind is the only way to really see it. Having an idea is good, but face-to-face, unbiased experience is even better.

Cultural Learning number 5:

And what did you learn from that?

Bravery pays. Those who dare to do something, or go somewhere with an open mind, will be astonished by just how many friendships can be cemented, how many views clocked up, and the new experiences that form part of a trip. Fear of the unknown will be eradicated in an instant, and you’ll spot similarities despite any cultural, lingual or physical differences. Oligarch or school kid, everyone rides a bike and everyone wants to have a good time.

Huge thanks and muchas gracias to Dani and Рақмет to Serik; I’m already looking forward to a repeat visit to this amazing country. It’s great to see how a few individuals can follow their initiative to create something of this sort. The riding scene in Almaty City is on a huge upward tangent, with a big number of cyclists meeting for training rides and vast improvements to the city’s bike infrastructure. A lot of European cities could take cues from this work.

So, what’s the best way to learn Kazakh? It’s simple: accept whatever invite comes your way. Not just for dinner with the Wilier distributor and two brand new friends from the race. Pick an Aperol Spritz instead of a Coca-Cola, and then order three bottles of whisky. Don’t venture into an evening with Arkadi, the Kazakhstani importer of Wilier, and presume it’ll be a quiet one. However, I was bit slow on the uptake with that point and it wasn’t until we’re on the way to the karaoke bar that I realised… That’s probably the moment in which I learned Kazakh… at least, for that night anyway.

This article is from GRAN FONDO issue #010

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Words & Photos: Robin Schmitt