I landed in Astana and everything felt … off. Empty streets, mirrored towers, a giant tent that looked like a spaceship. It was bright, and strangely silent, like walking through a city built for someone else, not quite finished. I didn’t know whether to be impressed or confused. Maybe both.

Then came the steppe. Yellow, flat, endless. During my 15-hour train ride the only constant was the sky. Kazakhstan feels like space - not outer space, but stillness, distance, air.

In Almaty, things moved faster. Cafés, ski slopes, craft beer, Soviet mosaics. I sat in a smoky bar with students and old men and thought: this could be anywhere and nowhere all at once. And just outside the city: mountains. You leave the noise behind, and within minutes you're among wild horses and pine forests, snow underfoot.

Kazakhstan doesn’t give you much at first. But if you let it be strange, it becomes VERY NICE.