Take me down to the paradise city
Where the grass is green and the girls are pretty
Guns’N’Roses
Today, my thoughts wander back to a business trip from the early years of the last decade, when I was part of a small outsourcing IT firm nestled in the heart of North Kazakhstan. The memory, wrapped in nostalgia, unfurls like a scene from my youth on this Friday evening.
The Astana City
The city of Astana is uniquely beautiful on winter evenings. At that time, the capital was attracting and settling a vast number of newcomers because the city was founded on an unimaginable scale and grew rapidly. You could rise very well because wherever you stood and whatever you did, financial flows were moving around you.
On Fridays, when the city, having exchanged her youth and energy for the wealth of the capitalist elite throughout the week, gradually drifted into evening cafes and restaurants to feel alive, we decided to gather our small distributed team in one of the coziest basement spaces of the town, hosted by a local rock’n’roll restaurant.
It was a cold winter with its bright, sharply continental climate in full swing. My feet were freezing, and shivers ran through me from the cold, but despite this, memories of that trip echo back with faint streams of warmth, comforting my weathered programmer’s soul.
When you’re under 25 with nothing to your name aside from your ambitious youth, what else can warm your mercenary essence better if not a team-building event fully paid for by your company?
Our team
When we were gathering outside to move out together, you could tell without a second look from where the people came.
The guys from warm and sunny Almaty, where apples grow and the sun shines for most of the year, as always, did not make the necessary adjustments for the harsh sharp continental climate: they shifted from foot to foot, hunched over, heads uncovered by hats, wrapped themselves in hoods, and warmed up with cigarette smoke, nervously watching the road from where a taxi was expected to appear any moment.
Another group of people, with a spark in their eyes, animatedly engaged in conversation and discussion of various topics, impressed by the capital’s pace and scope. Mostly, they were struck by the amount of traffic weaving through the city streets and the skills of local drivers to maneuver within millimeters between cars parked on curbs and pedestrian paths, and with a reckless speed uncharacteristic for urban settings, dart past the street-mounted speed cameras. In a provincial Karaganda, you normally would not see that.
And, of course, it was hard not to notice the stylishly dressed, confidently striding local guys and girls who, emphasizing their belonging to the capital’s life, casually checked for any approaching taxis, shaking their heads as if to say, ‘This isn’t right,’ ready to show the taxi company how to make their guests wait.
That was us, young and reckless, software developers, QA engineers, business analytics, and our gorgeous project manager.
I don’t want much, I just want you
When we arrived at the place, I was amazed: there were posters of the greatest rock bands in the world: Beatles, Ozzy Osebourne, Kiss, R.J. Dio, Jon Bon Jovi, Scorpions, and many others. On each table and every page of the menu they had a small fact about some musician and greatly styled photos.
We ordered our meal, and the waitresses delivered beer in massive five-liter goblets, complete with a tap you could twist to pour yourself a pint of this Bohemian brew. The air was alive with the sublime music of magnificent artists, as we got to know each other more intimately, revealing ourselves in a new light to those around us. And time stood still…
I remember little of what we discussed, but I vividly recall how young I was, brimming with energy and dreams. Intoxicated by the splendor and ambiance of it all, I was so filled with joy that our project manager exclaimed in admiration, “Look at Zhenya, he’s just loving it!” – “I’m a rock ‘n roller, of course, I’m loving it, folks! This is the best place on earth I’ve been to!”
While I don’t recall much of our conversations, I distinctly remember starting a discussion about The Beatles with a wonderful young BA lady, who blurted out, “I adore The Beatles! Yoko Ono is such a bitch, isn’t she?” I remember being stunned, as I considered myself a rock guru, though did not have a clue what she was talking about.
And amidst all this Heaven and Hell, in its splendor, the Prince of the F.. Darkness, Ozzy, sang on:
“There are no unbeatable odds
There are no believable gods
There are no unnameable names
Shall I say it again, yeah”
Happy Friday, folks!