My three weeks in Astana and three weeks in Nur-Sultan are over.
Midway through my six week TDY (temporary duty) assignment in the capital, the president resigned. This is a big deal. In addition to being the last state of the USSR to formally leave the USSR, Kazakhstan was also the last of the former soviet states run by its soviet leader. Many Kazakhstanis have no memory of any other president.
The cult of personality around President Nursultan Nazarbayev maybe doesn’t quite compare to Castro or Atatürk, but you don’t have to go far to find buildings and streets named Nazarbayev, or a photo, statue, or painting of the father of the nation. 
He announced his decision to step down right before the Nauryz holiday, comparable to making a big announcement on Christmas Eve, when people are too preoccupied with festivities to go out and protest (there were still protests).
In the long term we have no idea what the impacts will be. It is unclear how much power the President is really giving up: he still retains key posts in the government, including head of the dominant political party and chairman of the security council.
In the near term it meant that I was in Astana in its final days. Because the new president’s first act was to propose renaming Astana “Nur-Sultan,” (everyone is confused by the hyphen) in honor of the outgoing president.
Imagine how long it would take for a proposal like that to work itself through the channels of American democracy. Not in Kazakhstan! The name change was official that weekend.
The weather was slower to change but that did happen too. When I arrived, Astana was bitterly cold and windy. Walking from the street-side sidewalk to my apartment building’s front door meant navigating a literal ice field across the courtyard. But by the days of Nur-Sultan, most of the ice had melted and, with the help of human and machine snow removers, I could walk without fear.
Removing the last of the ice rink
Here are a few miscellaneous memories I’m bringing back from the capital city.
The Opera
The opera house is, like most everything in Astana, a recent creation. In a smaller hall I saw a fun concert in honor of the Welsh National Day and in the main hall, the production of Turandot (live horse on stage!).
Discovering Tselinograd
Before there was Astana or Nur-Sultan there was Tselinograd. The Kazakhstan capital is so overwhelmingly new and shiny that you might not even realize there is an “old town,” mostly built by the soviets. But I found it and kinda loved it.
Remembering My Place
Some days I get grumpy about Kazakhstan. Like when my (American) expectations about what constitutes good customer service have not been met at the grocery store.
But soon after that happened, I entered a tiny museum in the less touristed part of town (see Tselinograd, above), dedicated to one of Kazakhstan’s greatest literary figures.
A man and his maybe 8-year old son were in the entryway as I was navigating paying for admission with my non-existent Russian. The man asked where I was from. “America,” I said*. He nudged his son and murmured “America.” The boy’s eyes got really wide and his mouth even dropped open a little bit before breaking into a giant smile. The man, his son, and the woman selling tickets all managed to tell me, in very limited English, how impressed they were that an American had shown up on their doorstep. I am keenly aware that not everyone in this world is as happy as all that to see an American on their doorstep. And I felt ashamed of my earlier bad attitude. I am a guest in this country! I am lucky to be welcomed and should strive to act as polite as when I am a guest in someone’s home. And if I encounter frustrating post-soviet supermarket produce protocol, I need to not grumble at the checkout clerk but remember that I want to live up to all the expectations about America that were in that boy’s excited grin.
More Architecture
And Finally…The Pineapple Lamp
Government contracts are funny. In theory, they are a good thing. U.S. Foreign Service should purchase all their furniture from American companies. But sometimes companies that get fat government contracts don’t…try their hardest?
Over and over again I heard about one specifically hideous piece, reviled by all Foreign Service personnel everywhere. But only in my Astana apartment did I finally encounter, in person, the infamous pineapple lamp:
The least beloved piece in the entire Foreign Service furniture collection
*I prefer to say “United States” and not claim two entire continents as my own, but I’ve learned that few understand me when I say that. So “America” it is. Sorry Canada, Mexico, Peru, Brazil, et al!
In Foreign Places 