Day 18

The bus ride takes its toll on unsuspecting travellers

Saw a bit too much of Astana than we wanted today. I had checked out the bus routes online and found a selection to get us from home to our gathering and back again. So when we got on one of the intended buses, it decided to head north and keep going for about 45 minutes. We were then kicked off the bus and had to stand at minus 10 ^oC for about 15 minutes not knowing what was happening next and there was almost nothing in the local area. Of course I had not dressed appropriately for that having expected only a few short walks between the bus and our destinations. We tried phoning the university, but they did not know where the number 18 line ended. We then jumped on another 18 bus, but it was far smaller and older than the first so all the windows were frosty; I presume that the driver’s window was clear, but I cannot swear to it. Sensory deprivation only added to our anxiety. We couldn’t communicate with the conductor effectively, but after 30 minutes a kind lady took pity on us lost, tired and hungry Brits and eventually we got off back where we started near the gathering. A short while later we found a better bus and our home.

The children were fantastically well behaved, not having eaten anything, going past lunchtime with only a Polo mint to keep them occupied (thankfully not shared!). But rather emotionally draining as we couldn’t guarantee whether the bus would ever head back into the city or push on towards Chelyabinsk.

It was probably the tiredness, but I was not too happy with an old lady trying to ensure that Kyria was well wrapped up on the bus. I am sure she meant well, but I was more concerned about making sure we made it back home before nightfall. Still, the teenagers on the bus practising their English and bumping into someone who studied in Malaysia (and therefore spoke good English) made up for it on the final leg. How difficult is it for foreigners to visit the UK? I recall being on a train and the conductor not having any patience with some foreigners; not that I could have helped. My heart went out to them at that time. I am sure some Kazakhstani’s heart went out to us in our plight. Do feelings need to turn into actions otherwise we’re left with well-meaning ineptitudes? Do incomplete actions really help, even if our heart is in the right place? Having the full care package at the right time and in the right place must be such a rarity that one is compelled to partake. Remember the Samaritan.

Can we stretch 3 weeks to 3 months? And 3 months to 3 years? We’ve all warmed up and ready to find our beds. It’s a start.

Ray