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About Taraz

Love it, though—the hustle! Proper graft, innit? Beats flippin’ burgers. But Christ, the stigma! Makes me wanna smash a plate—why’s everyone so uptight? Live and let live, you prats! Escorts ain’t hurtin’ ya—unless ya count Dave’s wig slappin’ ya face! Hah! Reckon I’d be a rubbish escort—too loud, too sweary. “Pay me, you wanker!”—yeah, that’d go down well!

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I roll outta bed, grab my coffee, and head out. Karagandy is buzzing, as usual. I mean, it’s like a never-ending party here. I stroll down the streets, past the old buildings on Kabanbay Batyr Street. They’re all cracked and peeling, but there’s something charming about them, ya know? Like they’ve got stories to tell.

Dark Tourism in Kazakhstan’s Gulag Heartland