In some Telegram chats, unpleasant individuals wrote that Kazakhstan intends to soon close its land borders due to a large influx of people. Such news circulated throughout the following week, and occasionally, unpleasant rumors surfaced, but nobody knew how reliable they were.

We set off towards the Kazakh border. After passing the barrier, we caught sight of a new queue, which was not the only one. It began almost immediately after crossing the barrier.

It was nearly nine o'clock, and we stepped out of the car to breathe in the fresh night air and stretch our legs. There were three queues, unlike at the Russian border. The first one was for trucks, the second for cars with Kazakh license plates, and the third for cars with Russian license plates. Since we had Armenian plates, we were instructed to join the queue with Russian plates. This meant that we would have to wait for a long time, as the queue was probably 3-4 kilometers long.

I informed the guys that I would take a short walk and try to find Misha and the others who had agreed to give him a lift. I was curious about how they were doing and if everything had gone well for them. I walked about one kilometer but couldn't find them.

My search was interrupted by a phone call from Kolya, my fellow traveler. I picked up the phone, and he spoke very quickly and excitedly.

"Leha, where are you? We're heading towards the border through the Kazakh queue. Catch up with us."

I don't think I've ever run as fast as I did that day. I ran for about two kilometers, maybe slightly less, panting but managed to catch up with them.

Our car was second in line after his brother's car. I hopped inside and found out what was going on. The brothers who transported cars had managed to arrange with the border guards to pass through this queue, bypassing all the other cars with Russian plates, for a symbolic fee.

There were many dissatisfied people, even a Kazakh car that arrived after us tried to squeeze in earlier. But the bribe had already been paid, and the border guards themselves didn't allow it to pass ahead of us.

We waited for about half an hour until we were given permission to proceed. And there it was, the final step to cross the border. The document and vehicle inspection procedure with the Kazakh border guard went smoothly, faster, and easier. As soon as we entered the territory of Kazakhstan, a loud cheer erupted in the car from everyone present. Thus began not a chapter, but a new book in my life titled "The Traveler."

The guys agreed with the driver to go to Almaty for an additional 2500 rubles per person. However, for me, it was enough to reach Uralsk, the nearest major city in Kazakhstan near the Russian border, that night.

While crossing the border, I contacted my friends Masha and Andrey, whom I had recently met during my first visit to Kyrgyzstan. Andrey helped me find accommodation for the night by providing me with the contacts of his friends who had crossed the border a couple of days ago.

I was dropped off near a cafe at a gas station where I arranged to meet Andrey's friends. I connected to Wi-Fi and messaged them that I had arrived at the designated spot. The guys were no longer there; they had called a taxi for me to take me to their place.

The car arrived quickly, and it was some old DEO model. I put my belongings in the trunk, sat in the back passenger seat, and noticed a woman wearing a hijab sitting next to the driver. From their conversation, I understood they were husband and wife. In about twenty minutes, they drove me to my destination. It was already past one in the morning. I was greeted by Andrey's friend, Pasha, with whom I had been corresponding.