It looks like a typical ski area. Skiers and boarders clamber onto Doppelmayr gondolas and high-speed quads from Leitner and there’s a ski school for learners. I paid 8,000 Tenge ($15) to dress in fox pelts and hold an irritable Golden eagle for a photo op, cafés serve koumis—fermented mare’s milk – the local beer is Karagandinskoye, and a day lift pass is only $35.

Welcome to Shymbulak (SHIM-bu-LAK) Mountain Resort in Kazakhstan, the largest ski area in Central Asia, in a precipitous mountain gorge just 16 miles from Almaty, the country’s largest city. Ask most Americans about Kazakhstan and—if anything at all comes to mind—they’ll mention the satirical Borat films, or stutter something about “steppes.”

But Kazakhstan also has steeps, including the Ile Alatau mountains, portion of a range that stretches for 1,550 miles across Central Asia. Since it was part of the Soviet Union from 1936 to 1991, Shymbulak’s early history is Soviet-tinged. It opened in 1954 and became the Olympic training center for U.S.S.R. skiers.

Shymbulak base area credit: Risa Wyatt

Today, skiing is more than a notch-in-your-belt curiosity. It is a World Cup venue: the FIS Freestyle Ski Moguls and Aerials were held here in 2024, and it was a finalist to host the 2022 Winter Olympics.

The resort offers nearly 3,100 feet of vertical and 12 miles of groomed trails. Terrain is a mix of gentle inclines for beginners, wide-open snowfields for intermediates, chutes and moguls for experts. Guides are available for backcountry touring. In addition, it holds the Guinness Record for the world’s highest night-skiing slopes.

Stats are nice, but it’s the scenery that astounds, with razor-sharp peaks that soar above the upper terminal of the gondola, at 10,500 feet and runs are mostly above tree line. On clear days, you can see Almaty below. Other times, foggy inversions sandwich brightness between clouds.  The ski season is December to March, and there are good quality rental shops both in Almaty and at the base area.

Shymbulak’s layout needs explaining. Once you reach Medeu Base Station, you aren’t anywhere yet. It’s a 20-minute gondola ride to the ski area, passing the world’s highest ice rink. The actual base, at 7,400 feet, offers rentals, ski school, and restaurants. Then, ride a two-stage gondola (another 20 minutes) to the summit or head directly to lifts for beginners and terrain parks.

The gondolas make it easy for non-skiers to reach the top. I encountered sightseers (mainly Russians) trudging to overlooks for selfies, creating a bottleneck for down-loading the gondola when the sightseeing tourists hindered the skiers. After missing five cars, I shoved past the chit-chatterers, earning scowls and probably further derailing American/Russian relations.

Speaking of which: You can’t avoid geopolitical reality. One of my travel companions shared a gondola with three Russian draft dodgers avoiding the Ukraine war. Another day, a Kazakh woman overheard me speaking English and came over to discuss her anxiety about a Russian invasion, for its rich oil reserves near its western border with Russia.

Looking ahead, Shymbulak plans an expansion linking it to eight other regional resorts, including Oi Qaragi and Ak-Bulak. New lifts and terrain would double its size, adding nearly 20 miles of trails.

Although Russian is the main language—a Soviet holdover—many locals eagerly try out their English or Google Translate app. Don’t be surprised if they ask, “How old are you?” It allows them to show respect for elders. They giggled when I answered, “70.” Senior skiers are rare here.

 “Meet a guest as God’s messenger,” says an old Kazakh proverb. Traditions were born among nomads living in the harsh steppe, so hospitality to visitors is sacred, and you’ll feel truly welcomed.

 Skiing in Kazakhstan isn’t just about snow. The beauty includes exploring the surrounding area, so add time for Almaty, known for Green Bazaar, a cacophonous market with everything from spices to pig snouts, and the Russian Orthodox church that’s one of the tallest wooden structures in the world.

 When you learn about a new culture, it lives on in you as well.

The aging process does weird things to the mind. We remember days of yesteryear winding down through moguls on a steep run all day, thinking it was fun. Or floating through knee-deep powder all day from when the lifts open until they close. Today, in my dotage, when confronted with a steep pitch full of knee-high, well-rounded moguls, I go around. Or, after two long runs through knee- or thigh-deep powder, my legs say we’re done for the day. The mind is willing, but the body says, “Hell no.”

A Sunny Day!

Unfortunately, I don’t live near a ski area where I can ski seven days a week. Each year, I work hard to get in less good shape than the previous year. And, what trainers tell me, getting into good skiing shape gets harder with every coming year. The message is that you can’t beat Father Time.

So why ski? Given the image the marketing folks want to portray, if one is not blasting through the trees in deep powder, or bouncing through the moguls, or leaping off rocks, one right after the other, why do I ski?

Because I love it. At 78, my ego no longer needs to be fed by a run through knee- deep moguls or skiing fast down a double diamond. Instead, I enjoy making a round carved turn that controls my speed on any pitch. I now only ski on groomed runs no matter how steep and stay out of trails that look like a hockey rink, bumps and now, even glades unless they are wide open. Nor do I ski in soft, mushy, clumpy snow. So what?

Now I take my time, stopping more often. Each run is precious because it may be my last – not because of death, but because of injury. Like most senior skiers, I am most afraid of being injured by an out-of-control skier who is either stoned, inebriated, skiing
way too fast for the conditions, on a run well beyond his/her ability, or a combination of all the above.

My bones no longer break; they are more likely to shatter. A simple fracture that will heal in a 40-year-old body in a month or two may take major surgery and heal in six or more months if it ever does. So, yes, I am careful where and what I ski and in what
conditions.

I even find myself taking in the vistas around me. There’s not a photograph that does justice to the majesty of snow-covered mountains, whether in Vermont, California, New Mexico, British Columbia, Austria, or New Zealand. There’s nothing like breathing in the cold, crisp air while giving your thighs a breather and admiring the work of Mother Nature.

Double diamond, expert, intermediate, beginner, if it is groomed, I’m in. To me, the degree of difficulty of the trail is irrelevant.

My ego is in doing what I must to keep skiing for as long as Father Time allows. My ego is the simple act of being able to turn a pair of skis and carve a turn in any condition I choose.

My ego is in the fact that I am skiing, not what I am skiing.