An exotic game for Kazakhstan: Astana Cricket Club is born

Enthusiasts rallied for a gentlemen’s tournament on the frozen River Ishim in Astana, Kazakhstan.

The idea came about one afternoon playing cricket on a six-a-side football court just before the first snow in late September.  It was minus eight degrees Celsius (about 17 Fahrenheit). A couple of months later during the Remembrance Sunday service, temperatures had dropped to there usual -30 (minus 20 Fahrenheit) for November, the Indian Defence attaché merely asked when the game would take place when asked if he would be interested in playing cricket on the frozen river.  End of February was the hasty response.

The end of February came around very quickly as these things tend to do. One way to get things done is to share your ideas with the right people.  Permission was needed for an organised event.  Who has cricket equipment to play on the frozen steppes of Astana?  It turned out one Englishman did, whose kit was quickly commandeered.

At the last minute some discarded matting from a building site was acquired for the wicket. The accounting firm PWC, kindly sponsored shirts and caps.  A local firm, GSSR, sponsored a trilingual, (Russian, Kazakh and English) banner and Astana Cricket Club was inaugurated with a tournament on the frozen River Ishim with the futuristic Astana cityscape as a backdrop. 

Eleven six-a-side teams were formed from the sixty odd enthusiasts who turned up on the day. A few Kazakhs were given quick batting lessons.  Many Indians were initially puzzled to discover that not everyone in the world was born knowing how to hold a cricket bat.

Other than asking fast bowlers to restrain themselves due to the hard wicket and proximity of other bone fide winter games, such as ice hockey, the tournament looked like an everyday Sunday afternoon six-a-side cricket tournament you might witness on a cricket green in England or Queensland, Australia or even a patch of wasteland in Pakistan or India. Except that the spectators, waiting batsman, umpires and scorekeepers were attired in parkas and ski jackets and standing on discarded cardboard to keep frost bite at bay.  Probably one of the few times umpires have been truly grateful for bowlers' discarded clothing.

It was a foggy start to the day making conditions initially damp, but by the end of the morning sunglasses were needed. A great day of cricket; the only complaint - we had not arranged a two-day tournament.  Astana Cricket Club now has an enthusiastic core of players willing to play regularly and teach Kazakhs the gentlemen’s game.  Talks are now under way with sponsors to purchase equipment and find a training and regular fixtures venue for the warmer months. We are now another step closer to a steppes cricket league.

Living the desert dream

As Orange Socks passed the helm to his Anglophile Ottoman friend, having set a course towards the beach and the huge setting crimson sun, Orange Socks had to pinch himself. Was he dreaming? No, awake living the dream. Three days before Christmas, and though the sea temperature had dropped to 18 degrees and the winds light, the Turk and he had taken out a 16-foot catamaran. The young, irritatingly young and competent, Scot instructor had shown them how to rig the Dart 16 as step two of their ten-hour dinghy sailing course. A fun afternoon. Winter on the Persian Gulf rarely varies from a balmy 24 degrees.

Christmas in the desert. An unofficial and unexpected three-day weekend for all those who believe. No ham Christmas eve, but turkey, lamb and plenty of bubbly with Mrs. Orange Socks and one or two other convenient believers over yuletide.

Recently Orange Socks had to drive to work through the desert, so omnipresent it’s a forgotten feature of the landscape. A policeman stopped him as he tried to pass what he thought was yet another ubiquitous accident. No. The policeman had stopped the traffic, five cars, to allow Arab Games cyclists to use the highway. Why the thirty or so cyclists needed all four lanes was unclear. After a half-hour wait scrutinizing the deep blue sky for the rare cloud and taking the opportunity to establish how many new low bushes had sprouted since the four-hour cloud burst two months prior, the now eight-car queue was allowed to proceed. Well almost. The slip road towards work was still blocked. Orange Socks and another trepid commuter decided to take the direct route to town. One advantage of a SUV over a much wanted V8 sports car.

Despite being witness to some crass driving stunts by ignoramus road users, no instances have involved Mr. and Mrs. Orange Socks. They have witnessed a couple too many fatal accidents though. New wrecks on the roadside are seen daily. Another potential advantage of a SUV over a V8 is when a camel rider hits the Orange Socks, less damage is likely.

Your desert dwellers have settled in well. Villa fully furnished. Bar constantly well stocked. Smoking not allowed in the games room nor library, but guests can smoke on the front patio. Frequent visitors sample Mrs. Orange Socks extensive, and extending, repertoire of exceedingly fine cuisine. Water’s cooled so crab back in season. The Missus insists on being at the quay soon after sunrise to grab the best of the catch of the day from fisherman.

An interesting time to be in the Gulf. Orange Socks’s punters hail from all parts of the Arab speaking world. Palestine, Iraq, Iran, Syria, Lebanon, Sudan, Libya, Tunisia, Egypt, as well as a few from the Balkans, Turkey and Africa. This United Nations feel extends to the staff room.

All this vainly attempts to distract Orange Socks from the fact that he’s heard nothing from his daughters. Despite writing weekly and occasionally emailing the mother. Real news is only heard from their teachers. All court orders are ignored.

The Orange Socks took a fact finding tour of Bali in August. More than likely end up there. An Italian tour coming February. Perhaps Blighty again soon and Hong Kong in the late summer. Other than that for the coming year it’s sailing twice a week and golf weekly. And (a) little work.

News from where the cloud don't fly

Orange Socks is typing this on a wireless keyboard while sitting on the sofa, using the TV (42") as a monitor. Real cool. Also listening to BBC Radio 2 through the computer. Play station or X Box next. Wii.

Both are settling into the Land of the Sand. Especially enjoying Fridays as a bit of a lie in is often had. Work is pretty good too. A structured and professional place where colleagues on the most part are conscientious. The teaching schedule is the most structured ever experienced.

The Missus is enjoying entertaining new friends. Learning a new language and keeping Orange Socks in the life he will become accustomed to.

Now armed with a liquor licence, cases of beer, spirits and a little wine are now stowed in Orange Socks and Missus’s temporary fully furnished semi-serviced apartment in a village called Simaisma while they wait for the right villa to be available. Nothing but the best for the Missus. Four bath tubs await them. Along with bar and pool (table variety) room as well as outhouse for Orange Socks's more deviant moments. With the recently established liquor stock, Orange Socks plans to reestablish his consumption threshold which has been severely dented due to a significant lack of opportunity. That is - he can’t take it like he used to.

The Suzuki Grand Vitara is still running very smoothly. Just a 20-minute run into work with very little traffic to speak of. No stress to or from work. Planned is the purchase of a V8; a Mustang, Charger R/T or Corvette in December once Missus is used to her independence on the roads. And Orange socks has sussed where all the radars are. At six quid a tank of fuel and lovely straight, well kept roads, the opportunity to satisfy a middle aged whim is too good to pass.

A trip to England is planned for November to catch up with family, fish for trout and shop for more shoes.

In January a visit to Thailand and possibly Vietnam. Your Sand Dwellers are due to arrive Hong Kong on 21st January. They never thought they'd be looking forward to a bit of cloud and rain.

Thirty more days in the land of sand

A month without seeing a cloud. A month without rain. A month of no deadline being met by anyone. A month without foam topped nectar nor fermented grape nor distilled grain. As the month of Ramadan ends. Still no cloud nor rain. Few deadlines being met either. And alas little affordable foamed nectar or fermented grape come to that as Orange Socks still needs a liquor licence. Excuses for delays; ‘Sorry, it’s Ramadan’ is simply replaced with promises of ‘things’ will return to normal after Eid. Eid being the ten-day holiday after Ramadan. New to the Middle East, Orange Socks and Missus are left wondering; what is normal?

Orange Socks and Missus are now in procession of their residency permits aka ID cards. Getting them has been a long grueling process. The process involved the Ministry of Interior establishing that Orange Socks and Missus had no undesirable disease nor criminal record. They then recorded their blood type as being, not surprisingly A+. All this took a long time. Long even by Qataris standards. Other new faculties’ details were being processed faster than Orange Socks and Missus. It transpired that Orange Socks and Missus’ medical results had been kept on the bottom of some clerk’s in-tray at the Ministry. Subsequent daily cohorts were added to the pile and processed before the previous day’s cohort. This was not that surprising given that some new recruits had the wrong name on their medical cards or the correct name but the wrong photo. The Ministry managed to lose one of the new faculties blood sample. Other delays frequently resulted due to the ‘system being down. Seasoned ex-pats soon learn that this invariably means that the operator of the system has more than likely gone home. This often also occurs while trying to conduct banking transactions whether at a branch, ATM or online.

With an ID card it becomes possible to rent a villa, get internet connection, obtain credit cards (despite being told that one would be issued in the second week) and an interest free car loan from the University. And more importantly a liquor licence. Obtaining this licence was thwarted before Eid as a salary statement from the University was needed, which naturally will only be available after Eid. ‘After Eid’ of course being anytime in the future.

Towards the end of August Orange Socks and partner found a five-ensuite bedroom villa with a sixth bathroom, laundry room, lounge, dining room, bar area and large kitchen plus reasonably sized garden front and back; and roof patio; a five minute walk to the beach and only a twenty drive to work. All that was needed were air-conditioners. All this in a small village called Simaisma (various spellings found). This turned out to be too good to be true.

Apparently, an Arab considers it impolite to say no or refuse someone something. This can be confusing for the Westerner and/or a lot of wasted time as a ‘no’ will be expressed as ‘come back tomorrow’ or ‘after Ramadan’ or ‘Eid’ or in some cases ‘the system is down’. Sometimes one might be referred to some else who happens to be away that day.

After having the two or three obligatory ‘getting to know you’ coffee meetings with the future landlord and giving him copies of ID card, marriage certificate – it’s illegal for unmarried people to live together in Qatar – a salary statement from the employer and twelve post-dated cheques. A date was fixed to visit the regional municipal office to register the agreement. Two days before the prearranged date the landlord calls a meeting where he says he could not have the villa ready in time so he needs to return all the documents and cheques. Inshalla (God willing) it would be ready after Eid. It is after Eid and no contact has been made since. Though there seem to be many villas available and quite a few being built. Disappointingly it looks as if the Missus and Orange Socks face staying in the university compound a little longer. Whatever a little longer may mean.

Three days in the land of sand

First off there isn’t much sand. More dusty dry rock than sand. It is hot. Mercifully it’s near the equator so the sun sets at about six in the evening. But it’s still hot after sunset. As a consequence the only thing that moves fast here are the Ferraris, Lamborghinis and Mercedes sports cars that weave in and out of traffic. The pace of life and the people are peaceful and leisurely.

Orange Socks (well one was green, but…) and the Missus arrived as scheduled 7:15 in the morning. Recognised the moment they came through the terminal doors from the tarmac as the only likely ‘new faculty’ (as Orange Socks is now often referred to as) by an Indonesian girl dressed in a maroon coloured uniformed. She led the expat couple into a lounge where there was a welcoming coffee machine. The Indonesian took the passports and luggage receipts and disappeared to clear immigration and have bags collected. Two double espressos later a Filipino girl ushered Orange Socks and Missus passed black robed Qatari female immigration officials, an Indonesian porter followed wheeling their luggage by-passing customs to our Indian driver. Mercifully the waiting air-conditioned car was but twenty yards from the terminal exit. The heat brought memories of standing too close to a pottery furnace at school. It was 8am and the temperature was in the mid 40s.

Other than the weather-beaten sign outside the government meteorological department everything seemed either freshly built or in the process of being built. The sky is cloudless and the landscape both featureless and fascinating. One would be forgiven for thinking that Armstrong and Aldrin had filmed here in July 1969. At the large compound they were met by the first Qatari person they were to speak to (Well sort of). Who proceeded to speak in Arabic (and why not?) and wrote down in Arabic a number to call. Fortunately the Indian driver uttered something making the Qatari laboriously write the number in a script that could be read by a non Arab. With no further ado he handed over one key and walked out. The driver told the most recent Qatar immigrants to be downstairs at half eight the next morning.

The number of the apartment is 24-7. (Apartment 24 unit 7). The hope is that the number is not some indication of the work load to come .The apartment is big. The Lantau flat would fit into the bedroom. And there are three bedrooms. Only one ensuite though. (Shucks). One extra bathroom and another shower room/cloakroom, a huge kitchen, really huge. Dining room area smaller than expected. Table only seats six; the chairs would accommodate obese guests though. The TV is old and hardly works and the two sofas and two arm chairs need a step ladder to climb into them. But it’s all free. Bedding in the master room. Bread, apricot jam, cream cheese spread, condensed milk and plenty of water in the fridge. And plenty of dust. All left for Orange Socks and the Missus to enjoy.

Next morning the relocated couple were picked up at 8.30am on the dot. Took about an hour to get to the campus. A few other ‘faculties’ picked up on the way. Land so flat! Impossible to find any way back. Spent over five hours being processed - what the university call ‘orientation’. Opened bank account (will be given credit card next week – no questions asked!), laptop and a salary advance given. And medical booked for the next day. Or so was thought. Next morning about ten new faculty and their families were taken to the government medical department where it was discovered that the charming gorgeous-eyed Qatari clerk had entered the wrong date on all our forms – It would seem that even the locals get confused working on a Sunday. Though this was more than likely Ramadan inspired. People party and feast most of the night here during Ramadan. Then no food nor drink until sunset.

A very laid back place, though again, this may be Ramadan inspired. Nothing really opens until sunset at the moment. Administrative activity (want for a better word) happens before noon. After that it is siesta time. Charming locals, friendly and a very international community in the compound all working for the university.

Down side? Food is slightly more expensive than Hong Kong’s Wellcome and ParkNRob but there is a far wider choice (other than pork and booze) and the quality is far far higher. Orange Socks and the Missus were dismayed to learn that not even the 5-Star hotels serve alcoholic drinks during Ramadan. A month of enforced abstinence! Probably not a bad idea any way.

Farewell Reflections

Orange socks and the Missus were a long time leaving. First it was an idea. Then it was a dead cert. Then we had to decide on a date. The month was decided first - August.

Then it was gonna be the end of the month. Then the middle of the month. Finally it turned out to be the 6th. So it shouldn't have been a great surprise really to find that many were continually asking them when they were going.

To add to friends' confusion the farewell barbecue was at the beginning of July. A lovely turn out it turned out to be. Despite the very hot weather many friends, old and new, braved the hot weather. The Missus was in her element cooking and overseeing the food spread for the grazers and ensuring that the not so bold ate their fair share of the spread. Plenty of nectar in green tins was had, plus the increasingly ubiquitous rose wine. A good day.

The farewell didn't stop there. Lunches, dinners and farewell drinks added to the Orange Socks' girth, increased his melancholy and generally favoured him towards Hong Kong again. So many good memories. So many good people. So many good times. Each helping to sever the tie to the bad memories, people and times. Each rapidly dwindling.

So it was farewell to Hong Kong. The Missus and Orange Socks will visit from the land of sand to rekindle those fond memories and share tales of sand with the good people.

Blighty news

Just returned from a lovely stroll in the Buckingham countryside with Mum, little brother (well 43 yr old) and the Missus. The Missus getting on famously with both parents. She's cooking again tonight.

Showed Mrs Wilson around London. Within 30 minutes from my parents we were in Oxford Circus. Real good train service here. Managed to have lunch in St James's Square before it rained. A pint in The Sussex on the corner of Long Acre off Leicester Square. Then it really poured so we had another drink.

Convent Garden street performers have changed too much for my liking. Shame but I feel the era of the true street performer is now a bygone one. Didn't have time for the City...next time.

Three cousins, who my two brothers and I grew up with, got together for a few pints, brandy and banter. A real lads night out. Mrs Wilson was in her element surrounded by lads. One of the cousins speaks her lingo, having worked in her country for the UN years ago.

Off to Surbiton tomorrow to visit another cousin. Brother flies back to the Far East tomorrow. We on Friday the thirteenth. Gulp.