But not every visit allows for such grandeur. During a Sunday layover from Astana, I had 8.5 hours of free time – enough to leave the airport, explore, and return to catch a flight to Kuala Lumpur.

It wasn’t quite enough for a mountain or lake adventure, but just right to uncover a quieter, more intimate side of the city: the everyday corners often missed by travellers chasing postcard views.

This was my third encounter with Almaty, having first arrived in the winter of 2013, when the Shymbulak Ski Resort was blanketed in snow and I tried skiing for the first time.

I returned in September 2014, when the slopes had turned green and a majestic golden eagle – Kazakhstan’s emblem of freedom and strength – perched on my arm as if to welcome me back.

Now, in early October 11 years later, I found myself here again. But this time, the visit was different. No slopes. No eagles. Just a few unhurried hours to walk, observe, and rediscover what makes Almaty quietly captivating.

I began on foot, letting the city set the pace, and wandered along tree-lined Panfilov Street, now transformed into a pedestrian-friendly promenade. Since its 2017 redesign, it has become Almaty’s most beloved walking avenue.

Once a bustling traffic artery, it now feels like the city’s living room. People stroll at ease, cafés spill the aroma of fresh coffee and pastries, and street musicians fill the air with soft, inviting melodies.

At one café, I paused for a treat – a local favourite: cream horns paired with fragrant fruit tea. The golden pastries, spiralled like miniature cornucopias, are dusted with sugar and filled with silky cream – a nostalgic delight cherished by generations

Continuing my stroll, the Almaty Hotel caught my eye. Its facade features two striking mosaics – vivid expressions of the city’s Soviet-era artistic legacy.

On the left wall stands the 1965 Enlik-Kebek mosaic, depicting a Kazakh tale of star-crossed lovers, echoing the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet. On the right, the 2004 Silk Road mosaic bursts with colour and motion, tracing the ancient trade route through Central Asia.

I paused to watch sunlight dance across the glass, admiring how these walls quietly preserve memory, history, and art amidst the city’s bustle.

A few steps farther stood the Abay Opera and Ballet Theatre, its pale facade hinting at Almaty’s enduring devotion to the performing arts. Named after poet-philosopher Abay Kunanbayev, the theatre is a national treasure – a place where storytelling, music, and tradition converge.

Having attended a performance there earlier in my trip, I had witnessed firsthand how deeply Kazakhs value the arts. Even from the street, the spirit of the theatre was palpable.

A short walk brought me to 28 Panfilov Guards Park, a green sanctuary honouring Kazakhstan’s World War II heroes. Named after the 28 soldiers of the Panfilov Division who died defending Moscow, the park is both a memorial and a vibrant part of city life.

At its heart stands the Ascension Cathedral. From a distance, its pastel towers and clean lines resemble stone or concrete. But in actuality, the entire structure – walls, belfry, and spires – is crafted entirely from spruce, without a single nail.

Built in 1907 using interlocking wood techniques, it was designed to withstand earthquakes – a lasting tribute to craftsmanship and faith.

From the park, I made my way to the Green Bazaar, one of Almaty’s oldest and most vibrant markets. There, the air buzzes with the scent of spices, dried fruits, and fresh bread. Vendors call out greetings, offering samples of kurt, a traditional dried cheese.

I picked up a snow-leopard fridge magnet – a small souvenir symbolising Kazakhstan’s rugged beauty. Locals say only about 150 of these elusive cats remain in the wild – a quiet reminder of how fragile even the most enduring symbols of nature can be.

With time slipping away, I stopped at the Rakhat Chocolate Factory’s shop, a beloved name since 1942. For generations, its chocolates have sweetened childhoods and showcased Kazakh confectionery craftsmanship.

I picked up a few bars wrapped in blue – the colour of the national flag – with “Kazakhstan” proudly printed on top. A small memento from a short but meaningful visit.

My final stop was the newly opened Almaty Museum of Arts, a striking addition to the city’s cultural landscape since its debut in September, just a 15-minute drive from the park.

Founded by businessman and art collector Nurlan Smagulov, the 10,000-sq-m museum marks a bold new chapter in Almaty’s evolving art scene.

Designed by British firm Chapman Taylor, the museum features two L-shaped wings: one clad in pale limestone echoing the Tian Shan mountains, the other in sleek aluminium reflecting the modern city. They meet at a sunlit atrium known as Art Street.

Outside, three monumental sculptures welcome visitors – Jaume Plensa’s serene portrait of a young woman with a Kazakh braid; Yinka Shonibare’s Wind Sculpture, a vibrant symbol of change; and Alicja Kwade’s contemplative installation that evokes time and reflection.

Inside, more than 700 works from Kazakhstan, Central Asia and beyond fill the galleries. Folk art rooted in nomadic traditions stands alongside contemporary pieces exploring identity and transformation.

In less than three weeks, over 60,000 visitors had already passed through its doors – a testament to Almaty’s growing passion for art in all its forms.

Five hours vanished in a blink, and soon I was back at the airport.

This brief return reminded me that a city’s soul isn’t always found in its grandest landmarks; rather, it lives in its art, food, and laughter – and in the quiet grace of its everyday corners.