Almaty was the starting point of a two and a half week, four-country journey through Central Asia—an easy place to land, adjust, and begin easing into the region.
After a solid night’s sleep, I spent the morning wandering the streets of Almaty, once the Soviet capital of Kazakhstan. Although Astana now holds that title, Almaty remains the country’s cultural and commercial center, its name translating to “city of apple trees.”
Located in the northern foothills of the Trans-Ili Alatau, part of the Tien Shan Mountains, Almaty has an interesting mix of Soviet-era architecture—often labeled Brutalist—and public art. With Kazakhstan once under Soviet rule, traces of the USSR are still scattered throughout the city, and walking made it easy to notice them.
Two days in Almaty was a perfect starting point and a low-key way to ease into Central Asia. From there, we crossed into Kyrgyzstan, following the Silk Road south—7 Days in Kyrgyzstan: From Bishkek to Osh.
Day one was about getting my bearings in Almaty, much of it on foot, with an emphasis on the city’s Soviet-era monumental art and architecture. Mosaics and Soviet-era buildings led me past theaters, parks, and public squares—including Republic Square and the Independence Monument—before I wrapped up the day with dinner.
The first place I visited was the Kazakh State Circus, an easy walk from my hotel. I’d noticed it the night before when I arrived, lit up and surprisingly striking, and was curious to see it in daylight. Built during the Soviet era, the building has that solid, monumental presence that feels very much of its time. Out front, a shallow reflecting pool with a clown statue set the tone—slightly surreal, very theatrical, and unmistakably Soviet.
The circus is still an active venue today, and standing there, it felt like one of those places designed to announce its purpose long before you ever step inside.
From there, we crossed the street to the Kazakh Academic Drama Theatre, a massive Soviet-era building. From the outside, it’s a textbook example of Brutalist architecture—heavy, monumental, and unapologetically solid, designed to project permanence and cultural importance rather than traditional beauty.
Inside, though, the space surprised me. The vast lobby opens onto multiple levels, with wide staircases and long corridors that feel almost ceremonial. Overhead, oversized geometric light fixtures—rows of sculptural glass elements and chandeliers—soften the severity of the concrete and stone.
From the theatre, we walked over to the Wedding Palace, a circular building with two striking mosaics set into its exterior walls. Like many Soviet-era civic buildings, it was designed to elevate an everyday life event into something formal and symbolic.
Inside, the mood shifts completely. The interior is grand and theatrical, with a sweeping central staircase, columns, and a massive chandelier suspended beneath a painted dome. Everything feels carefully staged—meant to impress, to mark the moment, and to give even a civil ceremony a sense of importance. It’s a familiar contrast in Soviet architecture: restrained on the outside, unexpectedly ornate once you step inside.
Although I didn’t end up getting a treatment, I walked through the Arasan Wellness & Spa, a large public bathhouse with an imposing scale and a thoughtful design. I’d hoped to make an appointment and come back later, but it didn’t work out. The baths, steam rooms, and saunas still caught my attention.
Outside, women were selling bundles of oak leaves tied to wooden handles—traditional bath brooms used in the steam rooms—stacked neatly along the sidewalk.
Architect Andrei Pavlovich Zenkov built the Zenkov Cathedral, also known as the Ascension Cathedral, in 1907. Located in Panfilov Park, it’s a Russian Orthodox cathedral constructed almost entirely from locally sourced Tien Shan spruce, making it one of the tallest wooden structures in the world.
The cathedral survived two major earthquakes, remaining standing while much of the surrounding city suffered serious damage—a testament to the care that went into its design and construction.
Painted a vibrant yellow and trimmed in crisp white, the cathedral is hard to miss. Five domes decorated with geometric patterns in red, blue, green, yellow, and white give it a light, almost playful appearance, especially when set against the heavier Soviet-era architecture elsewhere in the city.
Hungry at this point, our guide brought us to Paradise Restaurant, where lunch was served family-style with a generous spread of Kazakh, Russian, and Central Asian dishes filling the table. There were plenty of dishes that could have been vegetarian, but that didn’t quite translate, so I gravitated toward the fluffy fried bread—baursak, a classic Kazakh staple—and a couple of simple but genuinely tasty stir-fried dishes.
After lunch, I headed to Republic Square, one of Almaty’s central public spaces. At its center stands the Independence Monument, built to mark Kazakhstan’s independence from the Soviet Union in 1991. Tall and imposing, it anchors the square and reflects the scale and symbolism common to post-independence monuments.
The square is surrounded by major buildings, including the former Presidential Residence, and the mix of architecture reflects an in-between moment—part Soviet legacy, part post-independence ambition. It feels formal without being stiff. Manicured gardens and open green spaces soften the scale, making it an easy place to pause for a while.
As I walked around Almaty, I kept noticing mosaics everywhere—on the Wedding Palace, inside metro stations, and across the façades of public buildings. I didn’t try to catalogue them the way I sometimes do with architecture. There are simply too many, and part of their impact is how constant they are. Every time I turned a corner or crossed a street, another one appeared, each catching my eye in a different way.
During the Soviet era—particularly between 1965 and 1985—mosaics, relief sculptures, stained glass, murals, and sgraffito (a layered plaster technique) were used extensively throughout Almaty. Often grouped under the term Monumental Art, these works still shape the streetscape today in a way that feels intentional, but not remote or museum-like.
My favorite mosaic I saw that day was a five-paneled work on the front of Hotel Almaty, created in 1965 by Moldakhmet Syzdykovich Kenbaev and Nikolai Vladimirovich Tsivchinskiy. It tells a Kazakh folk tale about two lovers—something like a local Romeo and Juliet—and manages to feel personal in scale despite its size.
Today began with a visit to the Green Market, followed by a drive out of the city to see the first apple forest. We stopped for a picnic lunch—set up in a shaded wooden pavilion among the trees—before continuing on for a short hike to a radon spring.
The Green Bazaar is a lively place to genuinely experience Central Asia’s diverse and delicious offerings.
Exploring a local market is a great way to understand a country and its culture. The Green Bazaar in Almaty, the city’s largest market, is a covered hub with numerous vendors offering all the authentic flavors of Central Asia.
The market is a fascinating mix of everything imaginable, from Kazakhstan’s traditional kymyz (fermented horse milk) to goat heads, to churchkhela—the colorful nut-and-grape treats often called “Georgian Snickers”—to piles of dried fruits like apricots. And of course, there are Almaty’s famous apples, which feel almost obligatory here.
I did try the kymyz. It wasn’t really my thing—served at room temperature with a slightly pungent taste that lingered longer than I expected.
The churchkhela, on the other hand, were excellent. One vendor handed me a sample—basically a walnut wrapped in something like a fruit roll-up—and it was easy to see why they’re so popular.
You honestly will find everything imaginable here. One section of the market is devoted to horse meat, with vendors using nearly every part of the animal—the ribs and breast meat especially popular with shoppers. As I walked past one stall, a woman was packing seasoned rib meat into a natural casing, methodically shaping what would become kazy, a traditional horse sausage.
The Kazakh people enjoy their meat, as evidenced by the amount for sale here — goat, cow, horse, poultry, and pork.
While there, I got a cup of coffee at a shop on the market’s second floor—and turned out to be the perfect spot to take in all the hustle and bustle of the market stalls below.
From the Green Market, we headed outside the city center to what remains of Almaty’s last apple forest. What surprised me was realizing that the apples we take for granted didn’t always exist everywhere. Their origins trace back to the Tien Shan Mountains, where the wild apple Malus sieversii—the ancestor of modern apples—still grows.
In the early 20th century, Russian botanist Nikolai Vavilov traced the apple’s genetic roots to this region near Almaty. He was struck by how the trees grew naturally—uneven, tangled together, completely untamed. The fruit itself looks surprisingly familiar, not far off from what you’d find at a grocery store today.
Long before apples were cultivated, birds and bears helped spread the seeds throughout the Tian Shan region. By the time apples entered human trade routes, they had already reached the Middle East, and from there the Romans carried them across Europe. Modern genome sequencing has since confirmed what Vavilov suspected: this region is the birthplace of the apples we eat today.
Nearly 80 percent of these apple forests were eventually cut down, largely for timber. What remains survives in protected nature reserves scattered along the Tian Shan range. Because these forests exist only in small, hard-to-find pockets, visiting with a local guide makes a real difference.
The section we visited was especially quiet, with old tombstones tucked among the trees—history and nature sharing the same space.
Nearby, we came across an old Kazakh cemetery tucked quietly into the hillside. The tombstones were weathered and uneven—some leaning, some barely standing—softened by grass and time. It didn’t feel formal or preserved, just part of the landscape, a reminder that this area had been lived in, farmed, and remembered long before it became known for its apples.
After visiting the apple forest, we stopped for lunch at Holam, a rustic café set in a wooded area. In addition to the restaurant, there were several covered picnic shelters. Our group sat at low tables under one of them and shared a generous Kazakh meal—simple, hearty dishes that felt especially satisfying after a morning outdoors. The standout for me was the thin flatbread, stuffed with cheese and vegetables and served warm, stacked in a basket at the center of the table.
After lunch, we visited the sulfur thermal–radon springs near Almaty in Prohodnoy Gorge. From the parking area, it’s about a 10–15 minute walk to the springs, crossing several small bridges over the Prokhodnaya River along the way. Some people come here specifically for the supposed healing benefits of the sulfur- and radon-rich water.
The setup is simple: a small dressing room, a gazebo, a few seating steps, and the main attraction—hot and cold water baths. There’s also a shower to rinse off beforehand. The baths are communal and comfortably fit four or five people each. When we visited, Alma-Arasan was fairly busy, with a steady stream of locals coming and going.
Two days in Almaty went by quickly. It’s a place where you can cover a lot in a short time—markets, architecture, food, and nature just outside the center—but it also feels like a city that benefits from slowing down. Another day would have made sense, especially to wander more, spend time in neighborhoods, or follow a few threads I didn’t quite get to. Still, it was enough to get a solid feel for the city and why it works so well as a starting point for this part of the world.
After two days in Almaty, I crossed the border into Kyrgyzstan, where I would spend the next seven days. The trip shifted quickly from city streets to wide valleys, high mountain passes, and small villages—an entirely different pace, and the next chapter of a three-week journey through Central Asia.
Hi, I’m JoAnne—writer, wanderer, and lover of places that surprise me. I’ve traveled to 60+ countries (and counting), usually with a camera in one hand and a notebook in the other. I’m drawn to mosaics, markets, and mountains, and I write to remember what moved me. When I’m not traveling, I’m working on my blog Travels Afoot, trying new creative projects, or planning my next adventure.
