"What are you doing here? This is the arse of the world!" Sam, one of the few English-speaking Kazakhs we meet on our journey, barks at us with the naivety of a 17-year-old. For the first time that evening, the excited horde of adolescents around us falls silent, eager to find out why they have volunteered to come here. Sam is the only one of them who will be studying after the summer holidays and has made it out of Priosersk, a small settlement on the shores of Lake Balkas. In Soviet times, Priosersk stood for rocket research, with a barrier in place of the town sign. Today, dilapidated barracks and a deserted avenue lined with missiles and tanks bear witness to the Cold War and the collapse of the USSR.
Sam wears a jumper with the name of his boarding school on it and hands his friends cigarettes in a suave manner, even though he doesn't smoke. He belongs to the country's elite. But only a few benefit from the boom that uranium, oil and gas are bringing to Kazakhstan. We don't fit in, and our answer to Sam's question even less so: "Surfing", we say with an endeavoured casualness, as if we could prevent the group of young people from instantly declaring us a mixture of Martians and the mentally deranged. The fact that we had only set off 24 hours earlier from the Aral Sea, some 1600 kilometres away, comes as no surprise to anyone. The relationship to distance seems to be different in a country the size of Europe and the population density of Greenland.
Surfing", we say with an endeavoured casualness, as if we could avoid being instantly declared a mixture of Martian and mentally deranged by the group of young people.
Borderline experiences instead of boundless freedom
We also had to learn this lesson painfully. Instead of boundless freedom, the vastness of Kazakhstan often brought us borderline experiences. The hunger for the unknown soon gave way to the hunger for a warm meal and the idea of discovering untapped surf spots seemed increasingly crazy against the backdrop of erratic wind forecasts, huge distances and bad roads. Of course, the real answer to Sam's question couldn't just be "surfing". Rather, it was about a kind of surfing first ascent.
But the journey to the Aral Sea was an impressive reminder that you can't reach the summit of a seven-thousand metre peak in flip-flops and without a mountain guide, and that a strenuous ascent doesn't automatically have to be followed by a descent in fresh powder.
Expedition Aral Sea
We start our trip in Almaty, the former capital of the country. Its basin location in the middle of snow-covered mountains lends a certain charm to the noisy metropolis, but above all an almost unbearable smog. The Kazakh population mostly uses their plastic waste to fuel ovens, barbecues and cookers. We all too readily discard our initial plan of a night of "partying in Almaty" and instead work through our list in record time: a four-wheel drive pick-up, a SIM card with data volume for navigation, minimalist camping equipment - that's all we need for two weeks of independence.
With every metre we move away from the urban jungle towards the Aral Sea, the air gets better, the traffic thinner and the landscape more desolate. We still trust the wind forecasts on the internet and, driven by a promise of 30 knots, we ride for almost a whole day. At least - at a swimming pond we pass on the way, the evening breeze is enough for a slalom session and a few strokes with big freestyle equipment. In the town of Aralsk, a sad remnant of the "old" Aral Sea, we are also greeted by four wind forces.
Instead of replenishing our supplies, we head straight for the lake, as it is only early afternoon and the water is within reach by Kazakh standards. While Aralsk was once located directly on the lake that gave it its name, today it is about 30 kilometres as the crow flies from the water's edge. Elsewhere, the decline in water is even more drastic. Overall, extensive cotton farming during the Soviet era caused the lake to dry out over an area the size of the Netherlands.
Life expectancy of 42 years - Nuclear bomb tests have destroyed Kazakhstan
The arms race of the Cold War and the environmental policy of the planned economy have left scorched earth everywhere in Kazakhstan. Over 500 nuclear bombs exploded in the north-east, underground, above ground and in the atmosphere. On an island in the Aral Sea, which now lies dry, the USSR's largest B-weapons tests were carried out. Life expectancy in the region is still 42 years today. Back then, it would have been easy to evacuate the sparsely populated land around Semipalatinsk so that nobody would have to suffer. But why do that when you can test the consequences of massive radiation exposure and new medical developments for free?
Cotton cultivation on the only tributary to the Aral Sea was also carried out without any consideration for the environment. The cotton processing industry requires a lot of water - around 20,000 litres of water are needed from the cultivation of cotton to the production of a pair of jeans. Due to the ruthless environmental policy of the Soviets, all agricultural pesticides and cotton processing chemicals also found their way into the lake unhindered, making it unusable for fishing for a long time. However, at least the northern part of the lake is now considered to have recovered, and we see fishermen in the region again and again. However, an uneasy feeling remains.
Driving in Kazakhstan: no signs, no roads
There are no official routes to the lake, let alone signposting. The fact that the road network has not been adapted to the changing coastline over the decades has less to do with convenience than with the aforementioned water quality.
Google Maps doesn't give us a route for the seemingly short journey to the water. On a map, we find a very thinly marked road that ends just millimetres before the water. Relying on our off-roader, we follow the road, the only one marked as such on the map in the entire northern part of the Aral Sea. After 80 kilometres, the bumpy dirt road ends in a fishing village, beyond which it runs in the sand. Several tracks lead off, we are spoilt for choice. We continue in the right direction, but there is no sign of water. As dusk falls, we finish our first attempt to surf the Aral Sea and pitch our tent in a breathtaking setting on a former island of the lake, which now rises a good 50 metres above the salt desert.
At sunrise, we are woken up by the wildly flapping tarpaulin and the depressing sight of a flat rear tyre. After changing the tyre, it seems too risky to continue without a spare wheel, food reserves or mobile phone network, so we head back to Aralsk in a gale-force wind - a good decision, as another tyre loses air on the way there.
A horde of children besiege the windsurfers like Martians
The next day we set off on our third attempt towards the lake with new provisions and supposedly good tyres. It's windy. When we suffer our third puncture halfway along the route, the situation turns into a social experiment. We'd been travelling to the Aral Sea for days, had hardly slept, eaten little and hadn't even seen the water. If we turned back now, it would mean the end of the Aral Sea mission, as our schedule in Kazakhstan was tight and each of us was eager to leave the Aral wasteland for the lush green east of the country. We decided to carry on, because compared to the previous days, we would at least have enough supplies for several days and a long hike in the event of another breakdown.
When we get our third flat tyre halfway to the water, the situation degenerates into a social experiment."
Hours later, as we stand by the water of the Aral Sea, the wind has died down. But it's not about surfing any more. The lake lies mirror-smooth in front of us, while the clouds are reflected in the water as far as the horizon. It's a magical moment, but it doesn't last long. Full of euphoria, we pitch our tent on the shore of the lake. As I get on the SUP board for a lap, I am suddenly surrounded by a horde of bawling children whose fathers have gone fishing on the lake. Adi, who is trying to take photos with his drone from the shore, is just as besieged. Within a very short time, the dwarf gang has hijacked his freestyler, lowered it into the water without a deflation screw, crashed his drone and sunk it in the lake. At the same time, two other gang members try to start our car. I prepare an educational lecture from the water, but resign myself on land in the face of the shining children's eyes, who probably only rarely get to see Martians like us. As darkness falls, the gang of dwarves has disappeared, but the mosquitoes have arrived.
There are so many of them that we flee into the car to cook, which quickly turns into a steam sauna. Outside, a wild herd of cows roams around our tent. We can't help but laugh. In the calm, we pack our things the next day. What a shame, after all the exertions none of us would have spurned a surf session, especially as the wind forecast was promising. Two hours later, back in Aralsk, it's blowing from all cylinders. We ignore the old fishing legends that tell of waves up to seven metres high on the Aral Sea and don't turn back.
Polish salt shakers
On the way to Lake Balkash, we meet a Polish tourist who is travelling by bike. He tells us about a valley near the Chinese border where the wind was often so strong that it forced him to dismount. Yes, there is a lake there too. We prick up our ears and check out the topography of the place. Everything looks like the perfect thermal valley: hills on three sides, a wide plain on the other, all orientated north-east, the prevailing basic wind direction in the Kazakh summer. During our research, we stumble across an article on the internet: The original name of the lake translates as "wind lake". According to the article, the wind speeds there often reach hurricane force.
There's no stopping us and we're already on our way south-east. When we arrive at the lake, rain clouds obscure the sun - not a good sign according to our knowledge of Lake Garda. The water is as smooth as glass, although on land we expect wind forces of three to four, typical of Kazakhstan. Adi dares to take a ride with his slalom equipment and is rewarded. He flies over the water, the wind outside seems to be stronger than expected. After a skidding fall, he abruptly steers back to the shore and leaves the lake with his face contorted in pain. The mystery of the strangely smooth water surface is solved when Adi cries out for water like a man dying of thirst and rubs his eyes. We wonder whether it would have been nice to call the lake "Salt Lake".
Powder descent at Lake Balkash
There are no real elections in Kazakhstan, no real democracy, no real freedom of the press. After the fall of communism, the communist Nassarbayev swapped his green KPSS socks for Louis Vuitton suits and established an autocratic regime; corruption is the absolute norm. In addition to countless potholes, five police checkpoints slow us down on our way to Lake Balkash. It quickly becomes clear that there is no tourist bonus and that it's really all about bribes. Thanks to our negotiating skills, we get out of the situation with 200 tenge each instead of the 200 dollars demanded, which is the equivalent of 50 cents. When we arrive at the lake, we meet Sam. He and his friends direct us to camp on a nearby stretch of beach. It is the only sandy beach on the lake - Sandy Beach. According to Sam's friends, waves even break here from time to time.
The police want 200 dollars from us. We negotiate and eventually get away with 200 tenge, which is the equivalent of 50 cents."
The forecast for the next day predicts 20 knots from the north-east. Given the direction and size of the lake, this means around 150 kilometres of fetch, which even the local Baltic spots rarely manage. But what did that mean with everything we had experienced so far? The next morning we wake up to a loud roar. The tent almost flies around our ears as we set up the 4.2. We jump back loops in head-high waves and side-onshore winds and completely forget that we're on a lake. We had finally reached the summit. The ascent would have been worth it even without the magnificent descent.
Unfortunately, after 6500 kilometres and two weeks on the road in Kazakhstan, we didn't have enough time to visit Lake Alakol. Its healing powers are now scientifically confirmed - it was a popular resting place for travellers on the Silk Road. Through the Dzhungarian Gate, the Ebe wind from China blows across the lake - a kind of foehn storm that brings wind speeds of up to 50 metres per second. On good days, waves 2.5 metres high break at the north-western end of the Alakol - or so they say.
It looks like we'll have to come back for the first inspection.
This article first appeared in surf 1-2/2018
