almaty? more like a stranger’s nightmare

just landed in almaty after a 12-hour flight and immediately broke my laptop charging in a café that rejected me for being too loud. i’m sitting on a stool that’s probably seen more sweat than souls. weather here is nine point two twos, which is basically earth’s way of saying ‘give up.’ i just checked and it’s nine point two twos right now, hope you like that kind of thing. the rain hasn’t stopped since monday, and the ground feels like a wet sponge trapped in time. if you’re a fan of pavement that refuses to dry, high five. if not, side-eye everyone in line for coffee.


this place is a maze of old Soviet secrets and questionable air quality. my hostel’s sauna chamber still smells like someone’s expired socks. someone told me that the street food here tastes like regret if you’re not careful. i heard that the hostel downtown has bathrooms that smell like last week’s laundry. definitely not asking for proof.


nobody here speaks english unless they’ve recently abandoned their feared status as a mute frog. my neighbor’s cat is running a black market in stolen pens. if you get bored, the ural mountains are a short drive away. someone claimed they’ll find you a yurt with a fully functional toaster. i’m skeptical.


for real advice.check out the yelp page for the café i’m fibbing about. they’ll tell you it’s a 10/10 for existential dread. or tripadvisor because they’ve got a map showing the best places to camp near the river. but tread carefully-someone warned me that the local bars serve tap water. like, literally. no filters. no shortcuts. just tap water and you.

this blog post is currently 78% regret and 22% questionable life choices. if you’re here looking for curated perfection, you’re in the wrong place. i’m here because a dusty laptop told me to. now i’m sweating into a cup of coffee that’s half juice. the map? it’s down here. you’ll use it when you decide you actually want to exist in this place.

ps. the definitions of ‘home’ are blowing up here. ask a local. they’ll probably explain it in terms of a fridge full of pickles or a bench that’s been there since the 80s. cheers.

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