You know you are in trouble when the only people in the place who smile at you are the missionaries.

A trip to the post office in each country we visit is pretty standard for us. We dread it because of the time it usually eats up, but we always find ourselves making the journey in order to mail backup DVDs of our photos or an occasional postcard. From a cultural anthropological point of view, however, a trip to the post office affords us another slice of real life and provides a window into how a country actually works (or doesn’t).

Shakedown at the Kiddie Painting
Almaty, Kazakhstan was no different. We stood in a line of three people at the main post office and awaited our turn as a possessed animatronic postal worker repeatedly stamped letters drawn from a stack about two feet tall. As she ignored the growing line of people in front of her, customers lingered for services and formed the typical Central Asian cloudlike queue, cutting in line while pretending to form new friendships with other postal workers behind the desk. Like an episode right out of the film Brazil, the scene reeked of inefficiency and inhumanity and the air was thick with bureaucracy.

Dan decided to take a break from the queue and strolled around to admire the postal aesthetic. Whether they are dim and dark or brightly adorned with Soviet Realist mosaics, post offices in the former Soviet Union are always worth a look.

On his mini-tour, Dan happened upon a lighthearted exhibition of elementary school artwork posted on a wall. The theme appeared to be “draw a picture of what the post office means to you.” Sunny images of postmen walking with their mailbags were hung aside remarkable sketches of postal clerks. The drawings were well done and looked likely to end up on a series of stamps someday.

Dan thought, “What a pleasant image, colorful and human. I think I’d like to get a photo of this to use in one of our stories.” He pulled out his pocket camera, sized up his drawing of choice and snapped a photo. The light was not ideal, so he made some adjustments and snapped another.

Not five seconds later, two men dressed in drab mono-color security wear approached him.

(Note: The conversation below originally took place in broken Russian.)

Security: “Who are you?”
Dan: “A tourist.”
Security: “Why are you here?”
Dan: “I’m a tourist.”
Security: “What organization do you work for?”
Dan: “I’m a tourist.”
Security: “Are you a journalist?”
Dan: “No, I’m a tourist.”
Security: “Where are you from?”
Dan: “America.”
Security: “Why are you taking this photo?”
Dan: “I think this [drawing] is nice. It’s beautiful.”
Security: “Are you a journalist?”
Dan: “No, I’m a tourist.”
Security: “Well, you know we don’t take photos here…in our country, in Kazakhstan.”

After a few grumbles, neck rolls and shoulder circles, the men brushed their sleeves and left Dan in front of the drawing, stunned and shaken from the experience.

Who knew that taking a photo of a drawing from a 5th grader was considered a breach of high security? What a welcome.

We’ve taken photos in plenty of places where we were not supposed to, usually without being aware of it. In most cases, an official approaches us or gives us a wave or sign indicating that photos are not allowed, and does so without making us feel like we’ve broken the country’s most sacred laws.

This particular episode at the Almaty post office not only verged on the absurd, but the security guards’ approach was as close to a shakedown as we’ve received on our journey thus far. No smiles, all bile.

They succeeded on one front. No, they didn’t make Dan delete the photo, nor did they confiscate his camera. Worse, they snatched from him the simple joy that he sought in appreciating an innocent drawing of a postal worker. If, in the furthest reaches of their suspicious view of the world, he was doing something questionable, there were better ways of communicating it.

This was unbridled paranoia at its best.

However, on a more important front, the goons’ approach backfired. When Dan first took the photo, he wasn’t acting as a journalist. However, the confrontation turned the experience into a journalistic opportunity of sorts, which is what the security guards were afraid of in the first place. If only they hadn’t fingered Dan as a potential journalist, the photo would float amongst the many in our Kazakh photo sets. Instead, you’re now reading the result of the Law of Unintended Consequences.

Almaty’s Many Faces
Almaty, Kazakhstan’s now unofficial capital (the official capital has been moved to Astana), appears to be trying very hard to become cosmopolitan. Shiny buildings are going up at a clip, international boutiques are consuming ever more street space, and spiffy malls are drawing looks and crowds. The SUV and luxury car per capita ratio is probably higher than that of most major cities and swish restaurants serving international cuisine seem to well outnumber traditional food stands downtown. Along the path to modernity, Almaty fails to hide the fact that it takes itself a bit too seriously.

Though polished and boutiquish, Almaty’s lingering air of suspicion seems to stem from both its Soviet past and its Nazarbayev (the current President) family-controlled present. Kazakhstan expends a great deal of effort in evincing its modern business sleekness and it succeeds with many of its foreign business and tour agency visitors. However, when you travel independently like us and don’t have companies or tour agencies taking care things for you, a suspicious side seems to emerge.

More photos…