Four Weeks in Almaty, Kazakhstan

May 10

This trip was a long time coming. The last time I flew to Almaty, Kazakhstan to spend three months with my father was five years ago. Both of our lives had drastically changed following my trip. A few months after I left my father suffered a stroke and I had gotten engaged and subsequently lost my fiancé in a tragic accident. The following year was a complete mess. I planned on flying back to Almaty to see and take care of my father but he convinced me to postpone my trip. And so passed two and a half years before I finally booked a ticket to Almaty. At the time I was in Bali and the week I was to fly, the world plunged head first into a pandemic that would last two more years. I was physically barred from entering the country.

This past month I finally flew to Almaty, for an adventurous four week visit that would leave me rejuvenated and inspired. Since my last visit my father sold our family cottage - which became his primary residence and moved to a town an hour’s drive away from the city. With our other property in the city being leased, for the first time ever I became a tourist in my homeland. I found a beautiful furnished apartment in the heart of downtown and rented it for the duration of my stay. Following a 30 hour flight I was absolutely exhausted. My flight came in at 6 in the morning but instead of getting rest I settled into my apartment, took a long shower, drank a very large cup of coffee and decided I would try and stay awake until the night to reset my clock. Ambitious, but I pulled it off, managing to do a million errands before I finally crashed at around 8pm.

To refresh the memory of those who know me (or those of you who don’t), Almaty is where I spent the first ten years of my life. I grew up here. Over the years that I have been away the city had grown. Once a darling little post soviet era city - the hub of arts and culture of the country, Almaty has become a modern cultural gem, a blend of the old and the new with a little something for everyone. In the first days of January, just a mere six weeks before my trip the city was under siege - an unprecedented series of events that shook the nation to its core. What started out as a peaceful protest became a series of violent, destructive riots which saw parts of the city in on fire, vandalized, robbed and defaced. It had been reported that over 227 people had been killed. Back in Toronto I couldn’t sleep for 4 days straight, watching the news in tears wondering if my friends and family were ok. The President enacted a state of emergency and the Russian military was called in to help ‘clean’ the streets. My friends later told me how they were cooped up in their apartments and houses staying away from the windows for several days under a communications blackout. The street I now lived on had been lined with dead bodies just six week prior. It seemed surreal. This is not the Almaty I saw on the news. Just a month and a half had passed and although I could detect a certain stress in the air, the streets were clean, people out and about, hardly anyone talking about what happened, business as usual. I was relieved that somehow my homeland managed to avoid civil war. It was almost as of ‘Bloody January’ had never happened, if not for the charred Mayors office and what was left remaining of the President’s Almaty residence. Two historic buildings set on fire by insurgents in what many would call a coup attempt.

My friends and family thought I was crazy to fly to Almaty so soon after the events that took place in January, even my father advised against it. But I was happy that I made the trip. I was right, there was nothing to fear, the city authorities were working overtime to restore the affected infrastructure and the citizens’ morale. I met with old friends and made many new ones. I was invited to do a live morning show interview with Studio Tangy - on Almaty TV. It was my first television appearance in my homeland and it was very special. We chatted about my life and career and I performed my song ‘Lovers (Crash & Burn)’ on live TV. The rest of the day I spent writing out autographs to people I met while walking on the street who saw me on TV that morning. It was a very unusual and fun day.

A quick recap of the four weeks I spent in Almaty: my father and I visited each other and connected over many lunches. He gave me three beautiful bronze sculptures to keep for which I am very grateful. I had missed our deep conversations and a shared quirky sense of humour. My old friend Mathijis Olij encouraged my idea of organizing a poetry night at his Coffee Shop - Bowlers Coffee Roasters, and so we did it. It was a full house and a massive success. I discovered new contemporary art galleries and one of them Esentai Art Gallery is now representing four of my pieces, which I brought with me from Canada on a whim. We may do a show together in the future, on that I’ll keep you posted. I even managed to make a trip to Shymbulak, the beautiful ski resort up in the snow covered mountains of Almaty. Over the years it’s truly become world class and I had a bad case of FOMO watching all the snowboarders zoom down the slopes vowing to bring gear up next time. Nevertheless, we had a lovely lunch in one of the resort restaurants and enjoyed the views.

One of the most unforgettable experiences I had the honour of enjoying was the invitation to see a play at the Lermontov Theatre titled ‘Visits with Mr. Green’. My father’s friend was adamant that I see it because it starred Yury Pomerantsev, a national treasure. One of the nation’s favourite actors, at 99 years old he was still performing one play a month - a gruelling 3 hours, for audiences that watched him with baited breath. I sat there, on that magical evening and watched with tears intermittently running down my cheeks, one of the greatest performances I have ever seen from a man who had given his entire life to his art. At the end of the play he humbly bowed, pushing his young costar ahead as the theatre erupted in a standing ovation. There was electricity in the air. My heart felt like bursting inside my chest, it felt like I had been given a great gift … and simultaneously feeling regret. ‘For people like that, you wish you could give a few years of your own life … just so they could keep creating…”, were my words to my father’s friend as I left the theatre. Four days later snow fell overnight and I woke up to the news. Yury Pomerantsev had died. I witnessed the last performance of his magnificent century spanning career. I wept for this great man and in gratitude for having known his art for those brief 3 hours of my life where he managed to change my ideas of what an artist is and should be. What a gift and what an honour it was to see the maestro.

All in all my trip to Kazakhstan was a whirlwind of experiences. I cannot wait to come back. Thank you to all my friends old and new for making the trip such an adventure. I will leave you with some of my favourite snippets from my journey home.