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This is our second issue of #Travelstories, featuring a powder trip to Kazakhstan. A trip co-hosted with Alpingaraget and Lumiversumi. This adventure delivered untouched snow in the remote areas of Sibiria.
Kazakhstan, with its vast territory of roughly 2.7 million square kilometers, encompasses deserts, glaciers, and endless steppe. It is a country where the landscape shifts faster than time zones. Formerly part of the Soviet Union, traces of that era remain visible in both architecture and everyday life.
We land early in the morning in Astana, reach the hotel around six, grab a short but much-needed power nap, and wake just after seven to throw together some kind of breakfast. The culinary standard is modest but functional. Soon after, we’re back in the car, heading toward Central Asia’s largest ski resort – Shymbulak, known for its competition history and classic mogul skiing.
That Shymbulak is considered the region’s largest resort.
A long gondola carries us swiftly from the edge of the city straight into the mountains. The ski area offers around 20 runs and roughly ten lifts, with varied terrain and elevation that gives the body its first real taste of what the journey has in store. The snow is firm, occasionally hard-packed, but more than enough to wake the legs on a pair of 114mm skis, before we move deeper into the mountain ranges where untouched snow awaits.
The skiing was not world-class to be fair, but what truly stays with you though, is the view. Jagged peaks rise all around us, while below, the vast city stretches out, home to nearly two million people. Through a thin haze, you can see all the way to the steppe, where the landscape slowly dissolves into desert. Despite the haze, the day is clear, the light sharp and crisp.
Shymbulak is an excellent starting point for a ten-day journey, but not a destination in itself. The resort clearly draws inspiration from the Alps: European restaurant names, familiar menus, and a crowd where the majority ride the lifts without skis, there for the views, the photos, or to see the eagle chained outside one of the restaurants.
To get closer to the real Kazakhstan, we leave this polished alpine bubble behind and head north instead, toward the small town of Ridder, roughly 1,000 kilometers away from Astana near the Russian border.
That’s where the journey truly begins.
One flight and two hours of violently bumpy bus ride from Astana lies Ridder. A small town in northeastern Kazakhstan, close to the Russian border.
We are here in November. In winter it can drop to -30°C, especially in December and January, but we arrive to a forgiving -10°C. Ridder is a snowmobile paradise for many. For us, it is a skier’s paradise.
The first day offers ski touring in the Altai Mountains.
We squeeze into the tail guide’s car and drive along a rough forest road cutting through the mountains. The road eventually leads to Russia, and almost every line we see through the window is a first descent. Ski touring here is not common. This is the playgrounds for wild boar and wolf packs, not human.
Eight of us cram into the car, eight pairs of skis strapped to the roof. The weight bends the rack slightly, pressing against the frame so the back door almost refuses to open. Eventually we spill out into the cold air, click into our bindings, and begin the slow climb through the forest.
After a kilometer owr two, we stop to peel off a layer of clothing. The tail guide lights a cigarette. There is something raw and honest about the moment.
It do feels like November, ski season kick off, The legs are stiff, unfamiliar with the steady uphill work, but the first turns erase everything. The snow is light, dry, almost weightless. It floats around us in soft clouds, reminiscent of Japanese powder.
And just like that, Ridder begins to reveal itself.
To be continued.
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