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About Astana

Little tidbit fer ye—prostitutes in port towns used to signal ships with lanterns, code fer “come hither.” Rosie’s lot still got tricks like that, keepin’ it old-school. I’m impressed, aye, but I’m also knackered—legs wobbly as a ship in a storm. “I’m not entirely unnoble,” I slur, tryin’ to charm her, but she just rolls her eyes. Fair enough, lass.

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But then, I get a bit lost. I’m wanderin’ around, tryin’ to find my way back. I end up on Kazybek Bi Street. It’s kinda quiet, and I’m thinkin’, “Where the heck am I?” I pull out my phone, but of course, no signal. Classic! I’m just about to panic when I see this old lady. She’s sellin’ homemade jams. I’m like, “Lady, help me out!” She laughs and points me in the right direction. I buy a jar of her jam, ‘cause why not? It’s like a little piece of Zharkent to take home.

Court Rules That Ethnic Kazakh Will Not Be Deported To China