"Junk" sellers populate the sidewalks leading to the Green Bazaar. There are soviet relics, Russian Orthodox icons, antique technologies and, of course, general "junk".
Sellers bundle up to stay warm for early-morning sales.
The newest addition to our cohort of guys and ladies at the bazaar - our pickle lady!
Kazakh street art in downtown Almaty.
It really feels like spring is on the way. Days are getting longer, and much of the snow is melting off rapidly. We've had bright blue skies and mild temperatures.
But no spring is complete without a freak snowstorm. Just in time for our 3-day weekend due to Women's Day, it dumped 6 inches overnight.
Nic and I decided to take advantage of the extra day and drive out of the city.
Houses along the highway sell fresh tandoori bread made in clay, wood-burning ovens.
This man leaves a house with a fresh stack of bread.
Because it was Women's Day, along with bread, wood, and coal sellers along the highway, there were also tons of flower stands. Flowers are the traditional gift given for Women's Day, and in Kazakhstan, they take it seriously. My students gave me multiple bouquets of flowers, as well as piles of chocolates (admittedly, I solicited them) as well as gifts of fancy lotions, a silk scarf, jewelry and various other luxuries.
Flower sellers along the snowy highway.
I love the brightly-painted village houses. Many of them have lovely adornments around their windows and interesting patterns in the wood that covers their homes.
We ended up off the highway (to our shock (sarcasm) there were no signs!) and were a little confused. We slowed down to ask a babushka standing on the road how we get to the next town. Turns out, she needed a ride there. So, she loaded in the back seat and guided us down back roads until we reached the town and the highway. Along the way, these woolly horses slowed down traffic.
Bundled up for daily errands.
So much of the joy of leaving the city is seeing the village life. On our way back to the city, Nic and I decided to stop for lunch at a shashlyk (grilled meat) stand that are interspersed down the highway. We usually look for the most hole-in-the-wall places and thought we had spotted one with a tandoori oven next to it. When we approached, they directed us to the nearby restaurant, a massive building. We defeatedly entered into a fancy dining room. We found one of the only tables open, near a large group dining at a table nearly overflowing with food. We took off our many layers. I felt out of place in my wool base layers, dirty jeans and hiking boots next to the women in dresses, made-up faces and high-heeled boots. Little girls in frilly, bright dresses and boys in vests and bow ties ran around the diningroom. As we have learned to expect, in no time modern dance music started blaring from huge speakers in the corner. Nic and I glanced at each other and rolled our eyes, and the ladies from the group got up and began to dance. Soon the children were there, and the grandma's were slowly lifting themselves from the table as well. The woman shuffled their feet and moved their hands the way Thai and Cambodian dancers do: thumb and forefingers gently pressed together while moving their wrists in undulating circles. Bottles of vodka and meter-long red roses dotted the table. Away from the city, the money, the attitudes of entitlement, we see the real beauty in this culture: friends and family coming together to eat, dance and celebrate, just off a snowy highway running through the Central Asian steppe.
