Events & Festivals in Astana

Sculptors from ten countries attack 3-metre ice blocks on the frozen Ishim while Tuvan throat-singers circle inside a lit yurt. Families glide to Soviet waltzes. The night snaps with the smell of grilled horse-meat sausages.

Indoor hard courts inside the Daulet complex echo with grunts and squeaks while spectators sip hot kumys. Evening semis feature Russian top-ten players. The hall smells of pine resin from fresh line tape.

For three days the boulevard turns outdoor kitchen: copper cauldrons bubble nauryz kozhe, dombra strings duel with hip-hop, toddlers chase golden eagles on perches. Smoke from kurt grills drifts into crisp morning air.

After taraweeh prayers the car park behind Nur Mosque glows like a carnival: sizzling chebureki, clove-scented tea, embroidered prayer caps on folding tables. Kids chase LED balloons between parked Ladas.

Kazakh chefs smoke camel brisket over saxaul while Korean-Kazakh aunties fold spicy manty. You'll sip tangy shubat, taste fermented mare's milk, and watch sugar sculptors pull 80 °C baursak dough bare-handed.

Runners thread pink-and-yellow tulip beds replanted each spring around EXPO hill. Earth scent mixes with torn gel wrappers. Finish-line stalls sell Akmola honey and felt beehive magnets.

Military brass bands punch down Nurzhol Boulevard, boots striking granite as fighter jets roar overhead, trailing kerosene breath. Veterans in fur-edged coats hand out paper flags. Kids lick vanilla ice-cream in the cool slip-stream.

Eighteen museums stay awake until 02:00 with jazz trios in the lobby, flashlight tours through dinosaur halls, coffee carts scenting the corridors. The National Museum's gold warrior mannequin glows under ultraviolet light.

Thousands hoist black-and-white portraits of WWII relatives, walking mute until a brass-band drumbeat cuts the hush. Elderly men in medal-heavy coats carry a faint mix of mothballs and cologne.

Grand pianos glide onto the glass floor of Khan Shatyr mall. Shoppers hear Rachmaninoff echo 150 m above the steppe. Evening sets move to the river stage where mist machines cool the crowd.

At dawn thousands pray on a carpeted football pitch. Volunteers then hand out plastic bags of hot beshbarmak scented with onion broth. Salted sheep hides stack in white piles on the kerb.

Kazakh directors premiere dusty-road dramas inside the turquoise Nur Alem sphere. Outdoor screens flick nomadic sci-fi shorts while horse-butter popcorn pops. Simultaneous translation feeds the Q&A.

Kazakh pop stars, Russian rock veterans and Korean drummers share a 120 m LED stage before Ak Orda. Fireworks crackle. The city smells of caramelised almonds and fresh-cut steppe grass.

Synchronised barges on the Ishim launch golden palms that flare against glass façades. Gunpowder and river reed scent lace the air. Folk-dance troupes spin on floating stages before turquoise-and-white sky blooms.

Marathoners trace 42 km past mirrored towers, along the turquoise river, finishing on blue tartan inside the velodrome. Drummers on the bridge hold the beat. Water tables pour kumys.

Village women compete to flip the largest baursak (record: 2.3 m) in cauldron oil that smells of sunflower seeds. Visitors tear off hot pieces, dipping them in honey whipped with sea buckthorn.

Velvet seats creak as society patrons file in. The foyer smells of French perfume and strong black tea. This week debuts a new Kazakh-language opera with throat-singing interludes and laser-set design.

Kyrgyz komuz licks meet New Orleans brass on a heated outdoor stage erected on the riverbank. Steam rises from mulled wine carts. Felt coasters handed out keep cups from freezing in −5 °C night air.

Beneath a forty-metre pine shipped from Almaty, vendors sell gingerbread studded with dried kumquat and camel-wool mittens. A synthetic ice rink clinks with skating toddlers.

The symphony orchestra rips through Beatles covers as digital snowflakes swirl across tower façades. At midnight a 10-minute firework barrage rattles Ishim bridges. Champagne corks pop beside hot kvass stands.