Charyn Canyon and Black Canyon, located near Almaty, Kazakhstan, bear a striking resemblance to the Grand Canyon in the United States. The terrain is rugged, layered with sedimentary rock formations, and covered in a fine dust that clings to everything. The colors shift between shades of red, brown, and gray, depending on the sunlight. The canyons were carved over millions of years by the Charyn River, which still flows at the base, creating a stark contrast between the dry cliffs and the narrow strip of water below. The hike is a round trip of about six kilometers, leading through winding paths and steep drops before finally revealing the river at the end. The sight of the water after the arid trek makes the journey worthwhile.

The trek begins at the edge of the canyon, where the path descends sharply into the valley. The dust is thick, and the air is dry, making the hike feel more strenuous than the distance suggests. The rock formations tower overhead, some jagged and others smoothed by erosion. The Black Canyon section is narrower, with walls that seem to close in, while Charyn Canyon opens up into wider vistas. The trail is well-marked but uneven, requiring steady footing. Along the way, there are few signs of vegetation, just occasional shrubs clinging to the rocks. The silence is broken only by the wind and the occasional echo of voices from other hikers.

For those who prefer not to walk the entire distance, UAZ minibuses operate between the canyon’s viewpoints and the river. These Soviet-era vehicles are rugged, bouncing over the unpaved roads with little comfort but reliable efficiency. They save time and energy, especially in the midday heat, though they miss the gradual immersion of the hike. The minibuses drop visitors near the river, where the landscape softens slightly. The Charyn River is narrow but fast-moving, cutting through the rock with a clarity that contrasts the dusty surroundings. The water is cold, and some visitors wade in to cool off before heading back.

The canyons are best visited in the early morning or late afternoon when the light enhances the textures of the rock and the heat is less intense. The entire experience is stark and unembellished, a reminder of how erosion shapes the earth over time. The hike is not particularly long, but the environment makes it memorable. The UAZ minibuses provide an alternative, though walking allows for a slower appreciation of the terrain. Whether trekking or riding, the end result is the same—the sight of the Charyn River, a quiet reward in the middle of the desert-like expanse.

Kolsay Lake, nestled in the Tian Shan mountains of Kazakhstan, takes on a unique appearance in winter. The lake, usually a deep blue in warmer months, freezes partially, leaving a striking contrast between ice and water. We trekked down the wooden stairs leading to the lake, stepping carefully where the surface was half-frozen. The ice had formed intricate patterns, while the remaining water reflected the overcast sky. The air was crisp, and the silence was broken only by the occasional crack of shifting ice. It was a quiet, almost surreal experience, standing at the edge where solid met liquid, watching the slow movement beneath the frozen layer.

The walk along the trees lining the lake added to the experience. Snow-covered pines stood tall, their branches weighed down by the winter’s touch. The path was narrow, with occasional clearings offering unobstructed views of the frozen expanse. The stillness of the scene made it easy to lose track of time. There were no crowds, just the occasional traveler stopping to take in the view. The cold was sharp but manageable, especially with layers and the knowledge that a warm drink awaited later. The combination of frozen lake, snow-laden trees, and mountain backdrop created a scene worth absorbing slowly.

Sipping hot coffee while gazing at Kolsay Lake in winter is an experience that lingers. The steam from the cup rose in the cold air, adding to the quiet pleasure of the moment. The lake’s surface, partly frozen and partly liquid, changed subtly as the light shifted. Shadows from the surrounding peaks stretched across the ice, creating shifting patterns. It was the kind of place where time felt irrelevant—where sitting for hours, just watching, seemed entirely reasonable. The simplicity of the moment, with no need for conversation or activity, was its own kind of luxury.

For those who enjoy cold, quiet places, Kolsay Lake in winter is worth the visit. The trek down to the lake is short but rewarding, and the walk along the trees provides enough movement to stay warm. The frozen-and-thawed state of the water makes it visually interesting, different from both fully frozen lakes and those untouched by ice. It’s a place that doesn’t demand excitement but offers stillness instead. If given the chance, returning with a thermos of coffee and no schedule would be the best way to experience it.

Almaty’s food scene serves as a testament to its historical role as a crossroads between Europe and Asia. During my stay, I sampled restaurants representing vastly different culinary traditions, all within this single Central Asian city. The journey began with Kazakh cuisine at Navat and Rumi – two establishments approaching local flavors from different perspectives. Navat offers an unfiltered, traditional experience, while Rumi presents a more refined take on similar culinary foundations.

The exploration continued with regional specialties at Daredzhani for Georgian fare and Bitanga for Ukrainian dishes. TomYumBar introduced authentic Thai flavors to the mix, expanding the Asian representation beyond Korean options available at Mogo&Go. For Western palates, Honest Coffee delivered a proper English breakfast, while Nedalka provided reliable Italian fare. This culinary diversity speaks volumes about Almaty’s ability to absorb and maintain distinct food traditions from various parts of the world.

What struck me most was how these restaurants varied in their execution of authenticity. Some, like Daredzhani and TomYumBar, seemed committed to preserving traditional preparation methods, while others like Nedalka adapted their cuisine slightly to local tastes. The Korean offerings at Mogo&Go managed to balance authenticity with convenience, serving as a quick but genuine taste of East Asia.

The ease with which one can experience such varied cuisines in a single city reveals much about Almaty’s character. From the hearty Central Asian staples to delicate Thai flavors, from European breakfasts to Eastern European comfort food, these dining options collectively paint a picture of a city comfortable with its multicultural identity. The restaurants serve not just as places to eat, but as living evidence of Almaty’s historical and contemporary connections to different parts of the world.

India has incredible destinations—from the Himalayas to the backwaters of Kerala. But getting there is often half the battle. Flights get delayed, roads are unpredictable, and popular spots are overcrowded. For an extended weekend, I’ve started looking at places outside India that are just a short flight away (under four hours from Delhi) but offer something entirely different. Almaty, for instance, feels like a hidden gem with its alpine scenery and Central Asian flavors. Nepal, though close, has a distinct culture and trekking routes that don’t feel like a repeat of Indian hill stations. The novelty isn’t just in the place but in how effortless it is to get there and immerse in something unfamiliar.

The problem with domestic travel isn’t the lack of options—it’s the predictability. Goa is great, but after a dozen visits, the charm wears thin. The same beaches, the same crowds, the same menus. Meanwhile, a three-hour flight to Tbilisi or Bishkek drops you into a world where the architecture, food, and even the air feel different. These places aren’t necessarily better, just less familiar. There’s a thrill in navigating a new city where Google Maps struggles, where you order food by pointing at a menu, and where no one assumes you’re a local. India has this too, but the logistics often kill the spontaneity.

Another advantage is the lack of commercialization in some of these destinations. Places like Sri Lanka’s east coast or Uzbekistan’s Silk Road cities haven’t been overrun by Instagram tourism yet. You can explore without a checklist, stumble into local eateries, and not feel like you’re part of a conveyor belt of tourists. In India, even lesser-known spots are quickly commercialized—homestays turn into resorts, quiet villages become “eco-tourism hubs” with inflated prices. The charm fades fast when every experience feels staged.

I’m not dismissing India—it’s home, and nothing compares to its diversity. But for a quick break, the convenience of a direct flight to a place with a different rhythm is hard to ignore. Maybe it’s the appeal of the unknown, or maybe it’s just the relief of not having to plan around bad roads or overbooked trains. Either way, until domestic travel becomes more seamless, I’ll keep sneaking off to these short-haul escapes.

On a recent flight from Almaty to Delhi, I noticed a significant number of elderly passengers accompanied by family members. Many appeared to be traveling for medical treatment, likely in Delhi or Gurgaon, where several hospitals specialize in elective and chronic care. This is not uncommon—India has become a preferred destination for medical tourism, particularly for patients from Central Asia, where treatment costs are higher or specialized care is less accessible. The affordability of high-quality healthcare, combined with the availability of English-speaking doctors, makes India a practical choice for those seeking procedures ranging from cardiac surgeries to orthopedic treatments.

Medical tourism in India extends beyond emergency care, covering elective procedures that may not be urgent but significantly improve quality of life. Many non-resident Indians (NRIs) also return for treatments not covered by insurance abroad, such as dental work, cosmetic surgery, or joint replacements. The cost difference is substantial—procedures in India can be a fraction of the price compared to Western countries, even after accounting for travel and accommodation. Hospitals in cities like Delhi, Mumbai, and Bangalore cater specifically to international patients, offering packages that include visas, airport transfers, and post-operative recovery stays.

For patients from Kazakhstan, the proximity and direct flight connectivity make India a convenient option. The medical visa process is straightforward, and many hospitals have dedicated international patient desks to assist with paperwork. The cultural familiarity, especially for those from former Soviet states where English is not widely spoken, also plays a role—Russian-speaking staff and interpreters are often available in major hospitals. Additionally, the reputation of Indian doctors, many of whom train or practice abroad, adds to the confidence patients have in seeking treatment here.

The trend of medical tourism is likely to grow as healthcare costs rise globally and India continues to invest in medical infrastructure. While the primary motivation remains cost savings, the quality of care and shorter waiting times for surgeries also contribute to the decision. For patients from Kazakhstan and other Central Asian countries, India offers a balance of affordability, expertise, and accessibility that is hard to match elsewhere.

On a recent trip, I met a group of travelers who had visited over 60 countries each. They weren’t just ticking off destinations but comparing experiences—how public transport worked in different cities, the nuances of local etiquette, or the way food changed across borders. What struck me was how they spoke about travel not as a checklist but as a way to absorb the world. One of them, an Indian traveler, mentioned how he no longer cared about hitting an arbitrary number of countries by a certain age. Instead, he focused on staying longer in fewer places, learning bits of the language, and understanding daily life. It was refreshing to hear because travel, at its best, isn’t about stamps on a passport but about how those places leave a mark on you.

There’s a growing trend among Indian travelers to set goals like “30 countries by 30” or “50 before 50.” While having goals isn’t bad, it often turns travel into a race rather than an experience. The people I met had moved past that. They stayed in hostels not just to save money but to meet other travelers and locals. They ate street food not for Instagram but because it was where flavors felt real. One of them mentioned how spending three weeks in a small town in Vietnam taught him more about the country than hopping between five cities in a week ever could. The difference was depth—choosing to engage rather than just pass through.

Travel should influence how you see the world, not just where you’ve been. The best conversations I had with these travelers weren’t about the most beautiful beaches or the tallest buildings but about the small things—how strangers helped them when they were lost, the way a local family shared a meal, or why a particular city’s rhythm felt different. Those are the details that stay with you long after the trip ends. It’s easy to get caught up in counting countries, but the real value comes from letting places change you, even if just a little.

I’ve started to rethink my own approach to travel. Instead of rushing to see everything, I want to slow down and let experiences settle. Meeting those travelers was a reminder that the best journeys aren’t about how far you go but how deeply you let the world in. There will always be more places to see, but the ones that matter are the ones that linger in your mind long after you’ve left.

When traveling in Kazakhstan, one of the most convenient apps I used was Yandex Go. The app offers a slick user interface, high reliability, and excellent availability, making it better than Uber or Ola. What stood out was the affordability—rides were noticeably cheaper than in India, partly due to lower fuel prices but also because of efficient pricing models. The cars were well-maintained, often better than what I’ve experienced with ride-hailing services elsewhere. Beyond taxis, Yandex Go also supports food delivery, competing with other apps like Glovo and Wolt. The seamless integration of multiple services within a single app made it a practical choice for daily needs.

One challenge for non-Russian and non-Kazakh speakers is the language barrier, as most drivers and app interfaces default to Russian or Kazakh. However, Yandex Go’s built-in auto-translate feature worked surprisingly well, allowing smooth communication between riders and drivers. The app also provides clear fare estimates upfront, minimizing surprises. Unlike some ride-hailing platforms that fluctuate prices aggressively during peak hours, Yandex Go maintained reasonable rates, even during high-demand periods. The reliability was consistent—wait times were short, and cancellations were rare, which isn’t always the case with similar services in other countries.

Beyond transportation, Yandex Go’s food delivery service was efficient, with a wide selection of restaurants and quick turnaround times. While Glovo and Wolt are also available in Kazakhstan, Yandex’s integration with its taxi service made it a more versatile option. The app’s design is straightforward, prioritizing functionality over unnecessary features. Payment was hassle-free, supporting both card and cash transactions, which is useful in a country where digital payment adoption is still growing. While Indian cards did not work as they were not compliant with RBI, other cards worked fine. The overall experience was smooth, reinforcing how well-designed regional apps can outperform global giants in their home markets.

For travelers visiting Kazakhstan or other regions where Yandex operates, the app is worth downloading. Its combination of affordability, reliability, and multi-service functionality makes it a strong choice. The language support, while not perfect, is sufficient for basic navigation. Compared to Uber or Ola, Yandex Go felt more optimized for local conditions, offering better cars and more consistent service. If you’re planning a trip to Central Asia, having Yandex Go installed will save time, money, and unnecessary hassle.

During my recent trip to Kazakhstan, I encountered something entirely unexpected – the widespread popularity of Bollywood music. This cultural connection became apparent almost immediately upon my arrival in Almaty. While exploring the city during day tours and rides with Yandex Taxi drivers, I noticed a recurring theme: Hindi film songs playing through car speakers and local establishments. What struck me wasn't just the occasional song but the consistency with which Bollywood music appeared in everyday Kazakh life. In each cab ride, drivers would often have playlists featuring familiar Hindi songs, playing them with an appreciation that suggested more than passing interest. When I asked about their music choices, many drivers shared enthusiastic responses about their fondness for Indian cinema and its soundtracks, revealing a deeper cultural connection than I had anticipated finding in Central Asia.

The musical preferences I encountered reflected a specific era of Bollywood, primarily centered around films starring Shahrukh Khan rather than contemporary releases. These songs from the 1990s and early 2000s seemed to hold particular significance for local listeners. One driver explained that films like "Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge" and "Kuch Kuch Hota Hai" had been immensely popular in Kazakhstan during his youth, with their soundtracks becoming part of the cultural landscape. This wasn't a recent trend but rather a continuation of decades-long appreciation. The music appeared to evoke a sense of nostalgia among many Kazakhs, similar to how certain genres might trigger memories for listeners in other parts of the world. The preference for this specific era of Bollywood music suggests that cultural exports often become frozen in time within receiving countries, preserving the moment when that influence was at its peak.

Perhaps the most surprising encounter came during a ride with an older taxi driver who, upon learning I was from India, excitedly shared his lifelong admiration for Zeenat Aman. He explained how he had grown up watching her films in the 1970s and 1980s, and still considered himself a devoted fan. This conversation revealed the historical depth of Bollywood's reach into Kazakhstan, spanning multiple generations and eras of Indian cinema. The driver recounted how Indian films were among the few foreign entertainment options available during the Soviet era, creating a unique cultural bridge between these geographically distant regions. His enthusiasm wasn't isolated – throughout my stay, I met several people in their 50s and 60s who shared similar stories about growing up with Indian cinema as a window to a different world, long before globalization made international entertainment readily accessible.

This unexpected cultural connection represents a compelling example of India's soft power and its subtle but significant influence across borders. Without formal cultural diplomacy efforts or major commercial investments, Bollywood music has managed to create emotional bonds with audiences thousands of miles away from its origin. What makes this phenomenon particularly interesting is how organic it appears – not the result of marketing campaigns or strategic cultural exports, but rather genuine appreciation that has sustained itself across decades. The persistence of this interest, especially in an age where global entertainment options are abundant, speaks to something distinctive about the appeal of Indian cinema and its music. This musical connection serves as a reminder of how cultural expressions can transcend geographical, linguistic, and political boundaries, creating unexpected points of connection between people with otherwise vastly different daily experiences. The Bollywood soundtrack playing in Almaty taxis represents more than entertainment – it's evidence of how art forms travel, transform, and become integrated into distant cultural contexts in ways their creators might never have imagined.

Media portrayals often paint entire nations with a broad brush, creating perceptions that rarely match reality when we travel and meet people face-to-face. My recent experiences in Kazakhstan challenged many preconceptions I held about Russian people, revealing a warmth and kindness that contradicts common narratives. During my time in Kazakhstan, I encountered several Russians who demonstrated genuine hospitality and a willingness to connect despite language barriers and geopolitical tensions. These interactions serve as important reminders that humanity transcends politics, and personal connections often reveal truths that headlines cannot capture.

One particularly memorable encounter happened during a hike down from Kok Tobe, a mountain overlooking Almaty. As I made our descent, we met Gahlym, a Russian man who stopped his car and offered us a ride for the last kilometer of our journey. Despite neither of us speaking each other's language fluently, we managed to communicate using Google Translate. The conversation was halting but meaningful. What struck me most was something Gahlym said that transcended our linguistic limitations: "We are all human beings. We should help each other in any small way we can, regardless of the violence and war around the world." This simple statement, delivered through the imperfect medium of machine translation, carried profound weight. It demonstrated how ordinary people often hold values that rise above geopolitical conflicts and media portrayals.

This wasn't an isolated incident. Throughout my stay in Kazakhstan, Russians I encountered consistently displayed a helpful nature and genuine curiosity about foreign visitors. In markets, when I struggled to communicate with vendors, Russian shoppers would often step in to translate. At restaurants, Russian patrons at neighboring tables would offer menu recommendations or help explain local customs. These small gestures accumulated into a powerful counternarrative to the often one-dimensional portrayal of Russians in Western media. What became increasingly clear was that the Russian people, like any group, cannot be defined by their government's actions or international headlines. The individuals I met were kind, thoughtful people who valued human connection and exhibited the same fundamental desire to help others that exists across cultures.

The gap between how nations are portrayed in media and the reality of their people is a universal phenomenon that affects how we perceive the world. My experiences in Kazakhstan reminded me that traveling with an open mind allows us to discover the humanity that connects us all. The Russian people I encountered demonstrated that kindness is a universal language that transcends political boundaries and cultural differences. Gahlym's simple act of giving strangers a ride and his profound statement about human connection serve as reminders that beneath headlines and political tensions, people generally share common values and desires. This understanding doesn't diminish real global conflicts or excuse governmental actions, but it does highlight the importance of separating ordinary citizens from the policies of their leaders. As travelers and global citizens, maintaining this distinction allows us to build meaningful connections across cultural divides and recognize our shared humanity.

During my recent visit to Kazakhstan, I had planned to visit the popular Kok Tobe mountain attraction in Almaty, known for its panoramic views of the city. What was intended to be a straightforward tourist experience turned into something much more authentic due to a simple miscommunication. I had booked a Yandex Go taxi to take me to Kok Tobe, expecting to arrive at the cable car station that would transport me to the mountaintop recreation area. Instead, the driver took me directly to Kok Tobe village, a residential area located on the mountainside – not the tourist attraction I had in mind. The driver dropped me off at what appeared to be the highest accessible point by road and when I realized the mistake and asked him to take me back down, he refused. This was notably the only unpleasant interaction I had with a local during my entire stay in Kazakhstan. Standing there, somewhat stranded and initially frustrated, I had to quickly reconsider my options.

This mishap, however, transformed into an unexpected opportunity to experience Kazakhstan beyond the typical tourist perspective. The village of Kok Tobe offered a glimpse into everyday Kazakh life that most visitors never see. The houses were modest, practical structures built along the sloping terrain of the mountain. Children played in yards, residents went about their daily routines, and none of it was staged or modified for tourism. The air was cooler at this elevation, and the silence was notable compared to the city below. As I began walking, I noticed small gardens where residents grew vegetables, clothing hanging to dry in the breeze, and the occasional curious glance from locals probably wondering why a foreigner was wandering through their neighborhood. I started taking a path that seemed to lead downhill, hoping it would eventually connect with a main road where I could find transportation back to the city or to the actual Kok Tobe attraction.

The walk down from the village turned out to be one of the highlights of my trip. The path offered stunning views of Almaty that rivaled those from the official observation deck. I could see the entire city spread out below, with its mix of Soviet-era buildings and modern developments, all against the backdrop of the vast Kazakh steppe extending to the horizon. The snow-capped peaks of the Tien Shan mountains provided a majestic frame to the scene. The trail itself was rugged and clearly not maintained for tourists – rocks, occasional mud patches, and wild vegetation lined the way. I passed a few local residents who nodded politely but seemed unsurprised by my presence. After about thirty minutes of hiking, I reached a road where I was able to get another taxi to take me to the actual Kok Tobe cable car station. The driver of this second taxi was friendly and curious about how I had ended up in the village, and we chatted about Kazakhstan and its rapid development in recent years.

When I finally reached the official Kok Tobe recreation area, with its restaurants, souvenir shops, and amusement rides, it felt notably different from the village I had just left. While the tourist area was well-maintained and offered excellent views and facilities, it lacked the authenticity of my accidental detour. Tourists from various countries posed for photos with the Beatles sculpture, rode the Ferris wheel, and browsed through souvenirs. The contrast between this sanitized tourist experience and my walk through the actual village was striking. Looking back, that miscommunication with the Yandex driver led to a much more memorable and genuine experience than I would have had otherwise. It reminded me that sometimes travel mishaps can become the most valuable parts of a journey. By accidentally stepping off the tourist path, I was able to see Kazakhstan not just as a destination but as a place where people live their everyday lives, far removed from the curated experiences designed for visitors. The unexpected hike showed me both the physical landscape and the human landscape of Kazakhstan in ways that a standard tour never could have.