A second day in Almaty & a night at the ballet.
It’s my second day in Almaty and I’m already falling in love.
I spend part of the morning looking up cultural activities in the city. There’s a ballet in the evening that looks interesting, but after a few unsuccessful attempts at buying tickets online I decide to buy them at the theater. It’s not far away and it gives me an excuse to get out of the house and find a cafe for breakfast.
I let the cashier pick out seats for me, not knowing what the theater looks like inside. From the seatmap it looks relatively small and I’m sure all the seats are good.
The cashier asks me where I’m from and tells me she has a sister in New York, in Brighton Beach. She talks about how nice it is there. I counter with how nice it is here.
I through the park next to the theater, stopping by a monument to Mukhtar Auezov, a writer and playwright known for The Path of Abai, an epic novel about the life of poet and educator Abai Kunanbaev, honored with the Lenin Prize in 1959.
Reading a description of the novel puts me in the mind of Miklós Bánffy’s The Transylvanian Trilogy. That series of novels described the moral decline of the Hungarian nobility, opening a fascinating window into the society of the time. The Path of Abai looks like it offers similar insights into Kazakh society in the second half of the 19th century and it jumps to the the top of my list of next reads. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to find an unabridged translation into English online.
On my way back to the apartment I stop by Nedel'ka for a coffee and a croissant. It’ll become an almost daily ritual that I use to get out of the house after a morning of writing; seeking a coffee shop in which to write postcards and read, hoping to find my favorite flat white.
Kristina speaks English and comes by to take my order. She was born and raised in Almaty and loves the city, it’s mix of historical and the modern. She apologies for her poor English, but it’s fantastic. She tells me she only knows cafe English, what would you like to order, etc, but it’s untrue, she has a greater grasp than she lets on.
She asks me if I’m a photographer and I say yes, but I’m still figuring it out. She strikes a pose when she sees me taking candids and we exchange Instagram handles so that I can send it to her later.
In search of more postcards I walk south towards the mountains and up the hill to Tartpa, a small shop selling illustrated postcards and hand-made souvenir items. It’s in a small shared space with a coffee shop, a clothing store, and a jewelry store and I love the vibes once I step in. I’m tempted to get another coffee, but try to limit myself to one. There’s a photo shoot going on in the far side of the room and it feels like a cool place to sit and chill with a good book, though the seating areas are limited.
I continue walking south towards Republic Square to see the Independence Monument. I’m already out and about and might as well make the most of the afternoon. Unfortunately, the area around the monument and square is closed off for renovation, blocked by tall metal sheeting. I lift my camera up over my head in order to take a photo over the barriers that have been erected around the site. From the photo you’d never know it was a construction site.
Walking back home I stop by a fruit market and pick up some mandarin oranges and bananas and rest up before heading to the ballet.
After the sun has set I step out once again, catching the fading sunset from the alley behind my building. The rain that has been falling off and on has stopped and I’m excited for the tour I’ve booked tomorrow. I had chosen the dates partially because they were some of the few that were available, but also because the weather forecast calls for clear skies.
Walking back through the park I stop to take a photo of a bronze sculpture of the Kazakh director, actor, and screenwriter Shaken Aimanov. He sits in three-quarters profile, arm raised on the back of the bench as if welcoming you to join him.
The ballet is Juno and Avos, set to the music of the rock opera by the same name, written by Alexey Rybnikov from a poem by Andrei Voznesensky. There are no programs and there’s no synopsis give and so I piece together the story from what I can see.
The piece is named after two ships headed by Russian explorer Nikolai Rezanov. The libretto is based on Voznesensky’s “Avos!” which takes as its insipration actual events of 1806 surrounding the love story of Nikolai Rezanov, a Russian nobleman, and Maria Concepción Argüello, the daughter of the Spanish governor of Alta California José Darío Argüello.
Without context, I manage to piece together some of the story, understanding that a sea voyage is involved and there’s a love story, though I think there’s a rival that doesn’t seem to be. There’s also a seemingly religious aspect to the story that I don’t quite understand until I read about the story later.
In 1806 Rezanov sailed to California to obtain provisioning for Russian settlements in Alaska. There, he fell in love with Maria. They were engaged, but to marry a Catholic Rezanov had to obtain the Emporer’s permission. On his way back to St. Petersburg, he fell ill and died in Krasnoyarsk in 1807. Maria would not believe the news until 1842 when she was given a detailed account of Rezanova’s deth by Sir George Simpson, after which she took. vow of silence and lived in a monastery in Monterey, California, until she died.
It’s a beautiful theater and the seats are great. I thoroughly enjoy the performance. I also love the outfits worn by the ushers. In general, I find Almaty a very stylish city, which is one of the many things that really endears me to it.
I walk home after the performance, passing Fika and other shops and restaurants that I add to my ever-growing list of places I’d like to try. I stop by Toimart, a grocery store a few blocks from my apartment, to stock up on sundries for my stay, fulfilling my usual list of eggs, yogurt, bread, and granola.
I stop by the frozen foods section and to find an assortment of dumplings available for purchase. I’m tempted, but can’t decipher what any of the dumplings are. In 2010 I spent about six weeks in the Balkans. With that and the time I spent in Russia I had just about managed to be able to sound out Cyrillic, but have since lost what little grasp I had. Though even if I had retained that, I wouldn’t know what the words mean. I need pictures. 🇰🇿
