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Travel Writing
Kazakhstan
Reportage
Travel
Letter from Khorgos: does the
‘new Dubai’ on the KazakhChinese border live up to its
promise?
On the desolate Kazakh-Chinese
border, the steppe is being
transformed into a dry port,
complete with a town and bustling
shopping complex. But as Dana Rice
discovers, a four-and-a-half-hour
drive from Almaty, things aren’t
exactly what they seem.
4 May 2020
Text and image: Dana Rice
Shivering from the winter winds that blow
across the snow-covered steppe, my
fellow shoppers stamp their feet. While we
wait for the next shuttle bus out of the
tax-free shopping haven between
Kazakhstan and China, two friendly
Kazakh women quiz me about my
homeland of Australia. I am a long way
from home. In fact, where we stand is
almost exactly the point Halford
Mackinder, father of modern geopolitics,
termed the Pole of Inaccessibility — that is,
the farthest point from any ocean on
Earth.
My research on Chinese investment in
Kazakhstan was what initially spurred my
four-and-a-half-hour trek to Khorgos. In
less than a decade, this former Soviet
outpost has transformed into a laboratory
for Kazakhstan’s grand experiment of
economic hyper-connectivity. There’s
now a dry port, a Special Economic Zone,
and a massive duty-free shopping area
(the International Centre for Cross-Border
Cooperation or ICBC). The Central AsiaChina gas pipeline and railroad also pass
nearby. Referring to it as the “new Dubai”,
Kazakh ex-President Nursultan
Nazarbayev expounded the potential of
Khorgos as an international transport and
logistics hub. By the end of 2020, the
Kazakh government predicts that the
Special Economic Zone will generate
50,000 new jobs for the country.
Meanwhile, construction is underway for a
town of 110,000 people. Much of this has
only been possible through China’s Silk
Road Economic Belt (SREB) initiative,
which is reinvigorating ancient economic
ties.
Specifically, I’d come to visit the Khorgos
Gateway dry port. Like the SREB, the
gateway’s name alludes to the historic
importance of this region. Known as the
Dzungarian Gate, the mountain pass near
modern-day Khorgos offered convenient
passage between the Eurasian steppe and
the Chinese kingdoms of the east.
Herodotus, the ancient Greek pseudohistorian, supposedly associated this
“gateway” with the home of the
Hyperborea, the race of giants who lived
beyond the lands of Boreas, the North
Wind.
My journey started in Almaty. My driver
and guide, a Cossack named Sergey whose
family had lived in Almaty for 150 years
and who spoke only Russian, provided
interesting conversation during the long
drive. He explained to me that we were
travelling on the new Western EuropeWestern China highway financed by China.
He was not shy about sharing his negative
perceptions of China’s growing influence,
insisting that the only thing China had to
offer Central Asia was debt.
For over four hours, there was nothing to
see but the windswept Central Asian
plains. Until then, I had only known this
landscape through the stories of Kyrgyz
writer Chingiz Aitmatov. As I gazed out of
the jeep’s window, I couldn’t help but
think of the last lines from his novella
Jamila, so fitting for the setting: “Soon the
steppe wind began to blow, the sky
became muddy and the cold rains, the
forerunners of snow, began.”
At last, the Dzungarian Alatau mountains
rose in the distance and the yellow
container cranes of the dry port became
visible. On first glance, I was surprised by
the lack of activity, and the relatively few
containers in a place touted as the world’s
soon-to-be largest inland port. My
impressions were later confirmed by other
researchers who visited around the same
time. “Always there’s an excuse for the
inefficiency,” one from the University of
Paris told me, “an official visit or
something”.
We arrived at 13:05, just as the workers’
lunch break was beginning. My contact at
the dry port advised us to visit the ICBC —
the duty-free shopping zone — for an hour
and then return. The ICBC was just a few
kilometres down the road and we soon
neared the entrance, driving past a huge
poster of ex-President Nazarbayev. Where
Khorgos “town” was remained unclear.
Despite an uninterrupted view of the
landscape from the main road, I had seen
only a few rows of white houses on our
way here, perhaps workers’
accommodation. Apparently, the town on
the Chinese side, also called Khorgos, is far
more developed, already housing 100,000
residents.
The ICBC, which in reality is the main
section of Khorgos, was nothing like I had
imagined. Barbed wire and guard posts
framed the zone. I was later told that the
extra security measures were to stop
Chinese (especially Uighurs, members of a
minority ethnic group being
systematically persecuted across the
border) illegally crossing into Kazakhstan.
Whether true or not, the first checkpoint
which visitors were corralled into gave the
impression we were headed to a detention
centre rather than a shopping complex.
The impression was amplified when I
attempted to take photos. Two Kazakh
guards rushed out, shouting at me to put
down the camera.
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Once inside, I realised I had left my
migration card at the hotel in Almaty.
Intrigued by having an Australian visitor,
however, an officer stamped my passport
anyway. After paying the 2000 tenge
($5.20) each to enter the ICBC, a mostly
empty bus took us several kilometres, past
two more checkpoints and a number of
buildings still under construction.
The relatively quiet corridors reminded
me more of the low-budget shopping
complexes of Southeast Asia than
Dubai’s glitzy modern malls
We were dropped right at the entrance of
the Chinese-run side where we passed
through Chinese security. The Chinese
zone was far more lively, boasting an
amalgamation of sights from a
Transformers statue to what appeared to
be a Chinese temple.
Entering a five-story building nearby, the
relatively quiet corridors reminded me
more of the low-budget shopping
complexes of Southeast Asia than Dubai’s
glitzy modern malls. I visited the various
floors selling clothing, electronics, toys
and other goods, took some photos and
then decided to head back after 20 minutes
to make my way back to the dry port.
Outside, I was shocked to find the
previously empty square now filled with
Kazakh men and women with mountains
of shrink-wrapped purchases. Evidently,
they had taken earlier shuttle buses into
the ICBC and simultaneously re-emerged
from the labyrinth of shops to start their
journey home.
Almost immediately the free shuttle back
to Kazakh immigration arrived. The bus
took the corner too tightly, nearly pinning
the waiting passengers to the shelter wall.
Men, women, and elderly grandmothers
alike began pounding on the doors,
causing the bus to shake. Those at the front
pushed, shoved, and kicked their way on.
As the driver forced the doors shut, the 80
or so remaining shoppers wailed through
the windows.
The frenzy subsided only after the bus sped
off. Shoppers staked out their positions,
deciding on the best tactics to secure a seat
on the next bus — whenever that might
be. My driver, Sergey, suggested he wait
while I go and explore more shops.
“There’s food from pets over there,” he
said, pointing.
“You mean for pets?”
“Dogs and cats for human consumption,”
he laughed.
I decided to stay put, realising that exotic
meat was not the best choice given the
long car ride back to Almaty. By this time,
many shoppers had calmed down and had
become quite talkative. A number told me
they were merchants from Almaty.
“Everything is so cheap here!” one said.
Apparently, Khorgos is a popular place for
Kazakh shopkeepers to buy inexpensive
goods in bulk for resale. Almost no one
was local, since only ICBC workers lived in
the “town” nearby. Some shoppers had
travelled by bus from as far away as
Kyrgyzstan to snag a good bargain.
Just as the snow was beginning to fall, a
second bus arrived. My temporary “truce”
with the Kazakh women next to me was
broken as the jostling began again. By
some miracle, Sergey and I managed to
wrestle our way onto the bus. As we took
our seats, the driver’s door was wrenched
open and people began pouring in. By the
time the driver, manning the main
entrance, noticed the unwanted
passengers, it was too late for him to do
anything but shout. Sergey captured the
mob on video but would not share it with
me later, saying it was a rather “black
advertisement” for the country.
Finally, the doors closed. The bus was
underway. And then we stopped. For an
hour. We started moving. And then
stopped again for another hour. We were
at some kind of border check. There was
nothing we could do but wait.
By the time we reached the Kazakh
customs and immigration building, it was
dark. I don’t know where the people came
from, but the terminal was overflowing.
There were no clear lines, only massive
crowds with trolley after trolley of goods.
Those with less baggage were climbing on
top of the iron railings to bypass the
disorderly queue.
A stampede ensued through the “nothing
to declare” line in which multiple people
were trampled. My guide said “run” and I
followed. At last I was stamped back into
Kazakhstan. There was instant peace and
quiet on the other side of the terminal.
My intended one-hour visit had turned
into seven; everyone from the dry port had
gone home. Yet perhaps I saw the more
authentic side of Khorgos: a strange
border town that encompasses
Kazakhstan’s dream to return to an
idealised past. A dream to become, once
again, the centre of Eurasian trade.
Indeed, Khorgos has been a little like a
miracle, arising from the desolate steppe
in a matter of years. But to call Khorgos
the “new Dubai” as some Kazakh and
Chinese media outlets have, is a stretch —
at the moment, Khorgos is little more than
a cross-border shopping centre with a
unique Kazakh-Chinese flavour. Departing
what my guide called “the middle of
nowhere”, I looked out at the dwindling
lights on the horizon. The ICBC had closed.
The dry port was devoid of any activity.
The town in the middle of the steppe had
fallen asleep until the next rush of
bargain-savvy merchants tomorrow.
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