Almaty, Kazakhstan

It has been thirteen years since I last visited Central Asia. This region, and the world as a whole, have changed markedly during that time. 

Almaty is the largest city in Kazakhstan (2.5 million people) and the commercial and cultural capital of the country. Some things have certainly changed since my last visit in 2001. Although the city's infrastructure has developed greatly, including new highways, interchanges, bus lines, and a new underground metro, the volume of traffic is greater than ever. New skyscrapers, many with eastern flourishes, dot the horizon. Some things remain the same. Almaty remains a deeply green and lush city with beautiful parks and fountains. The Tienshan mountains add a stunning visual backdrop to the city. 

Orthodox church in Panfilov Park in central Almaty. Built circa 1904.

During my last visit, Kazakhstan was just emerging from the chaotic 1990s, coming to terms with an independence it did not seek. Unlike many other former Soviet nations, Kazakhstan did not seek independence from the USSR until the USSR had ceased to exist and no option but independence remained. Unlike most of the other newly independent states, Kazakhstan at independence had approximately equal numbers of ethnic Kazakhs and ethnic Russians, with Ukrainian, Russian-German, and other minorities leaving the Kazakhs as the minority in their own country. Sizable Slavic, Russian-German, and other emigration in the 1990s has left the Kazakhs as a majority, although Slavs still constitute nearly 30% of the population. Although the Kazakh language is prominent and official, Russian remains the dominant language in Almaty. 

Orthodox Church with Tian Shan Mountains in the background

Kazakhstan is an interesting window into the issues of identity that remain so very important in this region of the world. The expansion of Russian power to the south and east from the sixteenth century drew in hundreds of ethnic groups, large and small. In many areas, especially in Central Asia, ethnic identities developed quite late and often remained overlapping and interwoven with other religious and social identities. The movement of people during the Soviet era, intermarriage across ethnic groups, and the development of a "Soviet" identity for some made the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 extraordinarily complicated. The unraveling of the Soviet Union, which itself built on the 300-year-old legacy of the Russian Empire, left many people in very awkward places. I've met more than a few people in this region who really aren't quite sure who they are in terms of ethnicity. 

Soviet war monument in Almaty

In the past year, these issues of identity have taken on new weight and meaning, with immense human cost and geopolitical significance. Although the neat maps of Ukraine that show "Russian-speaking" and "Ukrainian-speaking" regions are helpful, they mask much deeper historical issues and torn identities. I see similar things here in Kazakhstan, where several Slavic people I've spoken to do not even know where their family came from. They are citizens of this Kazakh land and soil, feel no particular affinity for the Russia or Ukraine of their ancestors, and find themselves a minority in their land. Reactions to this reality vary. One man insists that he and his family have cast their lot with Kazakhstan, have learned the Kazakh language, and feel great affection for the ethnic Kazakh brethren. Another states that while he was born here and his family is here, he has little sense of belonging in what seems an increasingly "foreign" land (although he is quick to note that Russia seems just as foreign). 

"New" Almaty

It is always helpful to be reminded that lines on maps are very human constructs (and for that matter, fairly recent human constructs). As with most things human, they are not neat and tidy, but rather messy and broken. 

The beauty of the TianShan Mountains near Almaty

The Caucasus

Russia's sheer geographic vastness can allow for whole Europe-sized regions to pass mostly below the world's radar. The Russian south is one of these regions. Stretching east from the Ukrainian border to the lower Volga region, the Russian south includes the south Russian steppe and the diverse republics of the North Caucasus. These "autonomous" republics cluster along the northern slopes of the Caucasus mountains (which were most recently seen as a backdrop to the Sochi Olympics). The region is home to several dozen nationalities, speaking a number of languages from divergent language families. 

The region sits at the boundary of three great empires -- the Ottoman, the Persian, and the Russian. All three have influenced the region significantly, and their successor states of Iran, Turkey, and the Russian Federation continue to influence the region today. 

Just a few images of travels through several of these republics...

The Kuban River Valley - south of Cherkessk,
Karachay-Cherkess Republic

The town of Karachaevsk, with typical Caucasian mosque

View of Mt. Elbrus, on the Russian-Georgian border.
The tallest peak in Europe (18,500 feet, 5,600 meters)

The Terek River - central Vladikavkaz,
North Ossetia-Alania Republic

A rushing mountain stream
Mizur, North Ossetia-Alania Republic

Akhmad Kadyrov Mosque - central Grozny
Chechnya Republic

Grozny City - Chechnya Republic

A long wander in the Hermitage - St. Petersburg, Russia

St. Petersburg is one of my favorite cities. The historic center is a beautiful place, especially during the endless summer days when the sun sets after 11 pm. Perhaps my favorite thing about the city, however, is its history. Although a young city by Russian standards at just over 300 years, Petersburg has had a disproportionate influence on the world's cultural, artistic, and even political history. 

The Winter Palace, on the banks of the Neva River, is in many ways the cultural epicenter of this cultured city. The sprawling palace is one of four buildings that compose the State Hermitage Museum, founded by Catharine II in the mid-eighteenth century to house her growing collections of ancient and contemporary art. Additions by later rulers and a couple of the collections of two leading Russian collectors of French nineteenth and early twentieth century art have created one of the world's greatest museums. 

Below, a few images of the Winter Palace, as well as a few of the treasures found therein. 

The Winter Palace, viewed from Palace Square

The Jordan Staircase, the ceremonial entrance to the Winter
Palace and the main entrance to the modern Hermitage

The Malachite Room. It was in a small dining room off of this
that the Provisional Government surrendered to the
 Bol'sheviks in 1917. 

A typical gallery in the Hermitage

The Peacock Clock room in the "New Hermitage,"
designed for Catharine the Great

The world's oldest rug - from a Siberian burial sight - circa 400 BC.
Although the museum's collection of ancient Greek and Roman
art, and its modern European paintings, are not to be missed,
this exhibit of ancient Siberian artifacts from Tuva may be
one of the highlights of the museum.

Return of the Prodigal Son - Rembrandt - 1660s

Excavating the past in Hanoi and Saigon

While Saigon's cultural patrimony extends only to the nineteenth century, Hanoi bears considerable witness to an earlier era, and a culture influenced deeply by China. This is especially visible in the various pagodas and in the Confucian Temple of Literature, the city's crown jewel. Unfortunately, much of this cultural heritage was lost in the early years of French colonialism, as the newly arrived rulers sought to "modernize" the city. 

At the Confucian Temple of Literature, Hanoi

The belltower of the Temple of Literature, Hanoi

Temple of the Jade Mountain, Hanoi

Both Saigon and Hanoi contain wonderful examples of fin-de-siècle French colonial architecture, visible in government buildings, numerous villas (especially in Hanoi), Catholic churches, and the general streetscape of both cities. Both cities also have some wonderful examples of modern architecture and art nouveau from the late colonial era. 

The Saigon Post Office

The stunning Cao Bac Church in Hanoi

French colonial building, Hanoi

Neither Saigon nor Hanoi bear as much of a Soviet imprint as other communist-bloc cities. Hanoi's Ba Dinh Square echoes elements of Tienanmen Square and numerous plazas in Russia, etc. The Soviet-Vietnamese Cultural Palace and several war memorials also mimic Soviet architecture. 

Ba Dinh Square in Hanoi

War Memorial - Hanoi

Soviet-inspired government building

Saigon differs from its northern counterpart in that it has significant architectural legacy from the South Vietnamese independence period. Much of this shows a strong American influence and mimics some of the progressive architectural styles of the time. 

South Vietnam Presidential Palace, Saigon

1960s architecture - Saigon

Both cities are now experiencing a profusion of new buildings, including a number of skyscrapers and other striking modern buildings. In Hanoi, this seems to be confined largely to the areas outside the inner city, while Saigon is seeing much of this sort of development in the city center. 

The old and the new - Saigon

Hôtel de Ville and new towers, Saigon

In both cities, the various eras and styles sometimes bump up against one another in ways that are surprising. 

Ancient temple, war monument, jumbo-tron billboard - Hanoi

Vietnam-Soviet friendship monument - Saigon

The hammer and sickle flying over the Hanoi branch of Louis Vuitton

One Country, Two Cities

Vietnam's two largest cities -- Hanoi and Saigon -- were at one point both capitals of warring states. Although they are firmly rooted in a single, united Vietnam today, they maintain historical and cultural distinctives that are hard to miss. 

Saigon, a city of 7.5 million, whose names are steeped in historical meaning, is known officially as Ho Chi Minh City. Most locals seem to refer to it in all but the most exacting of senses as Saigon. It is Vietnam's largest urban center and is the economic center of the nation. It is a water city, as the Saigon river meanders through the area on its way to the South China Sea not too far away. It shares the typical hot, humid Southeast Asian climate with Bangkok, Singapore, and Jakarta. One writer says of the areas around Saigon "it is the kind of environment where if you leave your broomstick outside too long, it will sprout leaves." While I didn't see any sprouting brooms, it is a verdant and riotously green place. 

The Opera and the Caravelle Hotel - Saigon

If there is a symbol of Saigon, it is probably its motorbikes. Although car traffic is heavy, it pails in comparison to the millions of motorbikes that ply the left side of most streets in advance of car traffic. They are everywhere, many of their drivers masked by a handkerchief as protection against exhaust and bugs. One can't help but be impressed by this system, as it seems to move many more people about the city. It also makes a pedestrian's life slightly easier, as it is considerably easier to weave in and out of motorbikes than cars. I observed that motorbikes also serve as a handy place to sip coffee in the morning while reading a newspaper or taking a nap under a tree in the afternoon heat. 

Just a few of the millions of motorbikes in Saigon

Another enduring image of Saigon is its street food. I have rarely seen a more diverse or widespread street food scene. If there were a competition for the world's smallest restaurant, I would probably put serious money on the winner being in Vietnam. All along the city's broad sidewalks, ladies sell bowls of soup from small boilers, garnishing liberally with various toppings, before passing to the eager customers, who often eat while sitting on tiny chairs along the street. Others sell a combination of bread and rice noodles tucked into fresh baguette and garnished with herbs, chiles, and other accoutrements. Still others prepare various steamed dishes. I saw several people selling coffee off the back of a motorbike. Still other stalls employ motorbike drivers to deliver their wares. Driving a motorbike while carrying a tray containing two bowls of pho is a feat to be admired. 

Street food stalls in Saigon

Although unquestionably Vietnamese today, Saigon and its surrounding regions came only quite late -- in the eighteenth century -- under Vietnamese influence. Prior to this, much of central and southern Vietnam was dominated by the Khmers of modern-day Cambodia as well as the Champa kingdoms, a rich Buddhist-Hindu civilization heavily influenced by India. The remnants of this civilization are still visible in temples in central Vietnam as well as a fine collection of artifacts at the History Museum in Ho Chi Minh City. 

From the Champa collections of the Vietnam History Museum, Saigon

Hanoi, Vietnam's undisputed political capital, sits in the center of the north, 1,600 kilometer or 1,000 miles north of Saigon. Unlike its neighbor to the south, Hanoi has been at or near the center of Vietnamese culture for over 1,000 years, as evidenced by its numerous ancient pagodas and other remnants of medieval and early modern Vietnam. In modern times, Hanoi served as capital of French Indochina (the modern nations of Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos) as well as independent Vietnam (and for a time, North Vietnam). 

While Saigon is a city of business, Hanoi is a city of history, learning, and politics (with the latter ascendant in the post-World War II era). I am told that the speech of Hanoi people is more refined and polite, and the city unquestionably has a more elegant feel. It also differs dramatically in its climate, with winters being dry, quite cool, and foggy. 

A street scape in old Hanoi

While both cities share the grandeur of French colonial architecture, Hanoi appears to have preserved its history better. Although construction of new office towers, malls, and apartment blocks appears to be as common in Hanoi as in Saigon, the central city seems less disturbed. The elegant French colonial villas of the citadel region of Hanoi seem less threatened than their cousins in central Saigon. Hanoi also bears the unquestionably imprint of its being part of the Soviet bloc in the 1950s and 1960s, with numerous buildings that could just as easily be found in Moscow, Warsaw, Beijing, or Budapest. 

French colonial architecture in Hanoi

There is clearly a rivalry between the cities. This was at one time a chilling rivalry, as the victorious Hanoi sought to force the defeated southern capital into its systems of government and economics. In recent years, as Vietnam has opened to the world and embraced capitalism in actuality if not in theory, this rivalry has become more friendly. The cities are clearly interconnected, with flights joining their airports ever 30-60 minutes from early morning until late at night. Although the deep historical wounds in this nation and these two cities remain below the surface, they both appear to be fully caught up in the full-throated development that is contemporary Vietnam. 

Sri Lanka - a Study in Contrasts

The first time I traveled in South Asia in 2007, a colleague at the time insisted that I begin my travels in Sri Lanka "so as to appreciate it for what it is." This seemed odd to me at the time, and a bit annoying, as it made an already logistically complicated trip across the subcontinent even more complicated. Yet as I have returned to the "teardrop island" since, I have begun to understand the logic at work in his recommendation. Sri Lanka unquestionably shares much with its enormous neighbor to the north. Architecture, cuisine, and other aspects of culture blend in some ways with southern India. Yet much about this island nation is distinct. 

Perhaps first and foremost, Sri Lanka has been deeply influenced by Therevada Buddhism, which is almost unknown in India. This more doctrinaire school of Buddhism, which is also dominant in Thailand and Myanmar, was born here in Sri Lanka and remains deeply rooted here. Buddhism is deeply linked with the majority Sinhalese culture of the island, a linkage that has grown with the rise of religious nationalism in recent years. 

The beach at Negombo (from Wikipedia)

Despite the subtle (or at times not so subtle) narrative that "to be Sri Lankan is to be Buddhist," other religions thrive here as well. The Tamils, who comprise the second largest ethnic group, are predominantly Hindu, much like their more numerous brethren in the southern Indian state of Tamil Nadu. Although spread throughout the country, Tamils are concentrated in the northern regions of the island, closest to India. Conflict between Tamils and Sinhalese defined the civil war that lasted for 30 years in Sri Lanka's recent history, the wounds of which are fresh and, in some cases, festering. 

St. Mary's Catholic Church in Negombo (from the church's website)

Much like the southern Indian states of Kerala and Tamil Nadu, Christianity is also deeply rooted in Sri Lanka. The Catholic Church traces its roots to the Portuguese colonial settlements of the 16th century. As in other parts of Asia, the Portuguese often found fertile territory for their mission among fishing communities. Certain privileges were given to those who converted. The city of Negombo, where I have stayed this week, is majority Catholic, and home to a number of stunning churches set amidst the palm trees. Later colonial powers, the Dutch and the English, also left a religious mark in the form of Reformed and Anglican churches. It is not uncommon to come across Christians with Portuguese family names -- Perera, Fernandez, Fernando -- as well as Dutch ones. Many Protestant churches today hold services in three languages -- English, Sinhala, and Tamil. 

Dutch-built canal in Negombo (from TripAdvisor)

Perhaps most strikingly, Sri Lanka moves on a smaller scale. Although there are portions of Colombo that are crowded, you can't get away from the fact that there are more people living in severel Indian megacities than in the entirety of Sri Lanka. Although traffic jams during rush hour in cities, and the road to the second city of Kandy in the island's center is thick with traffic, this is not on an Indian scale. Although Sri Lanka is closer to the Indian subcontinent than Key West is to Cuba, this mountainous island has maintained a distinct culture, despite the long shadow of its massive neighbor.  

Being a Pedestrian in Yangon

A few months ago, I spent a morning wandering the streets of Amsterdam. I was reminded again of the pedestrians' paradise that city is. A bit later, I was in Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia, which is sort of the anti-Amsterdam, where I am told that car culture is so prevalent that most major roads lack sidewalks. Yangon, the largest city in Myanmar, is something else entirely. It has a lot of cars. It has an enormous number of pedestrians. It has a lot of sidewalks. And it all just kinds of flows together. 

Street restaurant in Yangon

I wouldn't put Yangon anywhere near the top of my list of "cities where I would never even think of driving a car." Compared to most of the major cities of India, Jakarta, Kampala, and Cairo, traffic moves in a fairly ordered way. The broad avenues of the city are generally marked with lanes and cars usually stay in them. Roundabouts, one of the many legacies of British rule, generally keep traffic flowing. There are theoretically crosswalks across these ever-flowing rivers of traffic, yet one has to gather either a significant amount of courage or a significant amount of fellow street-crossers in order to cross. It is not for the faint of heart. The fact that most people drive British-side cars when traffic flows in American style adds another level of fun. 

Yet it's the secondary and tertiary roads of the city where things get really fun. Although there are sidewalks, those in the city center and temple are are generally jam-packed with street food vendors, tiny restaurants, and hawkers of everything under the sun. So pedestrian traffic, as in much of the world, flows into the street, flowing amidst the traffic rather than at its side. Pedestrians, many carrying various wares for sale or recently purchased goods, weave in and out of the stalls at street side, unhurriedly moving out of the way of cars or trucks that toot their horn. No one is in a huge hurry. No one can be in a huge hurry. The one point where it seems to me that things get really dangerous is 1) when the aforementioned street vendors goods involve immense cauldrons of boiling oil or 2) a crazy person on a motorbike decides to wreak havoc on the whole ecosystem. The combination of (1) and (2) is, of course, the armageddon scenario. 

Flower market in Yangon