Urban Exploration in Rural Kyrgyzstan

July 23, 2013

Life at the Beach Camp is incredibly relaxing. I have to make sure that I am awake at meal times (9am, 1pm, and 6pm) but other than that I have absolutely no responsibilities. And, as I am once again on my own, I no longer need to plan my day around the lives of others. I loved both of my host families, but I definitely prefer being in control of my own life. Of course, there’s not much to do here, especially as my Floridian body has completely ruled out swimming in this frigid lake, and as I am not one for sunbathing. This means I’m mostly left with long walks, long naps, and long sessions with my kindle. I don’t mind; I’ll be returning home in eight days, at which point I will have a lot to accomplish before the start of the fall semester on August 19th; I may as well enjoy doing nothing for as long as I can. Plus it's pretty damn scenic here.

This morning I made it my mission to explore the large and seemingly abandoned/unfinished hotel located just behind the hot springs. I love all sorts of derelict and abandoned structures, and this one has fascinated me ever since my first trip down to the shore with Rita and Kuban. From a distance, it was impossible to tell if it was still under construction, if it had been abandoned mid-construction, or if it had been finished and then abandoned. However, determining the nature of the structure seemed likely to entail sneaking past the obviously inhabited home located within the fence surrounding the derelict hotel. I suppose a more normal individual would have simply asked the residents of said home for information about the hotel – as well as for permission to explore. But I’m anything but normal.

This morning was warm and sunny, so after breakfast I grabbed my camera and set out to walk around and behind the hotel. A large area (far larger than the hotel itself) is fenced in, meaning that this was a somewhat lengthy walk. Additionally, I wanted to approach the hotel from the southwest, since the home on-site is located on the northeastern corner of the property. I was worried that there would be no means of entry from the southwest, but luckily for me there was an open gate.

There were no back doors into the hotel; however, each of the rooms had a door opening up onto a balcony. (By “door” I mean an empty hole in the concrete; there were no actual doors or windows installed.) I was able to scramble over the balcony’s bars and gain entrance to the hotel that way. From what I could tell, the place had been abandoned mid-construction. Light fixtures and wiring had, at one point, been installed, but no doors or windows, and the walls and floors seemed to have never been more than bare concrete. It looks to have been abandoned for several years. I don’t remember it from five years ago, but apparently it was here; I was told that it’s been abandoned there since the collapse of the Soviet Union.

Had the hotel ever been finished, it would have been a comfortable, modern facility, with one bathroom (including, from what I could tell, a toilet and shower) for every four rooms. Each room would have had large windows and a balcony, overlooking either Issyk Kul to the north or the mountains to the south. However, in its current state, the place is far from modern or comfortable. The fixtures and wiring had been ripped from the bare concrete walls, cows and sheep had obviously had the run of the ground floor for some time, and there was evidence of the occasional squatter and teenaged partier. While it is probably salvageable, doing so would cost a lot of money. As such, I suspect that it will remain as is for a long time, if not forever.

Japanistan

July 22, 2013

There’s a group of Japanese JIKA volunteers (similar to the US Peace Corps) who had been staying at the Beach Camp as part of their orientation to Kyrgyzstan. I’ve been surprised by the rather large Japanese presence in Kyrgyzstan this time around; I don’t recall a single Japanese person from five years ago. This trip I’ve stayed several times at the Sakkura Hostel, owned by a Kyrgyz woman and her Japanese husband, and each time there have been quite a few Japanese tourists staying there. Additionally, there is something on Sovietskaya in Bishkek called something along the lines of the “Kyrgyzstan-Japan House of Friendship.” Last year there was a Japanese student who stayed with Kuban and Rita, and now there’s a group of nine students here. They apparently all study Kyrgyz in Japan, which is quite fascinating to me. Even my cousin’s Japanese friend whom I met during my brief trip to Fukuoka and Beppu back in 2011 is fascinated by Kyrgyzstan, and visited last year. I can understand why there are so many ethnic Koreans here (thanks to Stalin’s relocating of so many from the area around Vladivostok over into Central Asia, there’s a large percentage of ethnic Koreans who were born here, as well as a quite a few who move here to do business with the local Korean population), but the reason for the Japanese interest eludes me.

The weather this morning was cold and wet. As such, I got up, had breakfast, and went back to bed. I awoke around noon when the Japanese JIKA volunteers returned from their hike, making a good deal of racket. I wandered down to the café in search of lunch, only to discover a large collection of Kyrgyz host families from around the region. The Japanese volunteers were being parceled out to various homestays (where they would be staying for only one week, before returning to Bishkek), and the London School’s director was giving an introductory presentation on how to deal with foreigners, similar to the one she gave on the day that I arrived in Toguz Bulak back in May. Rita and Kuban were there, as they were taking in one of the students. The director of the school in Toguz Bulak was there as well, as she too was taking in a student, although unfortunately Rakhat and Altynbek were not present. I chatted with both the director of the school in Toguz Bulak, as well as with Rita. Rita told me that Jarkynai (the two year old) keeps going into “my” room to look for me, and that Котчик continues to sleep in there. (I’m glad that their Japanese student likes cats, as he will at least have company for the next week; although she is afraid of big dogs. As much as I don’t like to think about poor Buddy on a chain, here’s hoping he’s tied up when she’s around, since we know how he reacts when he senses fear.) Rita also told me that Aidai has been using the classroom materials that I left her to conduct English lessons with her friends. Awesomeness.

Rita and Kuban invited me to come down to their yurt in the evening, around 8:45. I met Rita at their yurt, and then we walked over to a different family’s yurt where a Ramadan evening feast was underway. The yurt was packed with various people from around the village, many of whom I had met before, including several former students. The Japanese volunteer who is staying with Rita and Kuban was there as well, and I sat next to her. She spoke fairly good English, and quite excellent Kyrgyz. As my Kyrgyz remains very basic, and her Russian was essentially nonexistent, so we had to rely on her English skills when we communicated with each other. Apparently Котчик has befriended her already; I told her to be sure to sneak him scraps. I learned that when she returns to Bishkek, she will volunteer there as a social worker for two years.

Two of the Beach Camp's Japanese visitors, down in Rita and Kuban's cafe.

I her asked why so many Japanese people are visiting Kyrgyzstan nowadays. From what I could gather, this is due to the gorgeous scenery of Kyrgyzstan and the fact that the Kyrgyz and Japanese languages follow the same structural patterns, making it fairly easy for Japanese folks to learn to speak Kyrgyz. I know very little about Japanese, but I do know that Japanese and Korean follow the same structural patterns. They also sound very similar, as they use similar sounds (specifically similar vowels) to form their words. Now, if Japanese and Kyrgyz follow the same structural patterns, and Japanese and Korean follow the same structural patterns, one can conclude that Korean and Kyrgyz follow the same structural patterns as well. I’d never noticed the similarities between Korean and Kyrgyz before, although my knowledge of both of those languages is fairly limited. Additionally, they both sound very different, as Kyrgyz vowels are vastly different from Korean vowels. However, once I thought about it, the languages do seem to follow the exact same pattern. And when listening to the Japanese student speak Kyrgyz with a Japanese accent, the structural similarities were quite apparent.

In which I (briefly) ride a horse, and then move to the Beach Camp

July 20, 2013

I had been petting Buddy and Mocha when I realized that one of them must have rolled in something rotten. Yuck. I made my way out to the street for the purpose of washing my hands in the aryk when I noticed a rather attractive specimen of horse tied to a power pole. Thus distracted, I diverted course from the aryk and wandered over to pet her for a little bit. Shortly thereafter, her owner moseyed up. He was an elderly and slightly less than sober fellow who had been chatting with some other folks down the block. He asked if I wanted to ride her. Having been in Kyrgyzstan for nearly three months without having ridden a single horse (something rather unheard of, surely) I jumped at the chance. Not that I could ride very far, as there’s just the one main street in Bar Bulak, and I was waiting for Kuban to show up and cart me off to the London School’s Beach Camp.

The horse’s owner hoisted me up onto his horse (I really could’ve mounted her myself, but I guess he had no way of knowing that) and gave me the ever so helpful instructions of “Just don’t fall off!” before moseying back over to his friends. I rode the horse up and down the street a few times, weaving her in and out of various obstacles. She was incredibly responsive to my commands – much more so than Honey (my American horse). Of course, as she is used for transportation, she probably wondered if she had landed a drunk driver, as I kept instructing her to do things that did not involve going in a straight line from Point A to Point B. I have to admit that it was amusing to ride past locals (including former students) who had seen me every day for the past month – they all looked quite astonished by the discovery that The American was actually a competent horsewoman. After a couple of turns up and down the street, I dismounted, and the horse’s owner, complete with a freshly opened bottle of beer and a lit cigarette, mounted and rode away.

I washed my hands in the aryk and returned to my room to await Kuban’s return with the car. I had rather a long wait. My “early” arrival at Beach Camp ended up not being all that early. See, the previous day, the engine of Kuban’s old Audi had begun doing its best to emulate that of a Harley. Now, the Harley sound is great… on a Harley. But no car – especially an elderly Audi – is supposed to sound like that. As of this morning, the car had ceased running entirely. Now, getting one’s car fixed rapidly is next to impossible in a big city with plenty of mechanics and auto-parts stores. The fact that Kuban was able to have his car up, running, and purring like a kitten by 5pm in Bar Bulak was pretty miraculous. But, this also meant that despite the fact that I was up, packed, and ready to go by 10am, we didn’t leave for the Beach Camp until shortly after 5pm.

I’ll be staying at the London School’s Beach Camp for a week free of charge as a thank you present for having spent the summer volunteering for them. For someone who has spent the past two months living the life of a rural Kyrgyz villager, the London School’s Beach Camp is a veritable modern paradise. It’s a two story hotel (of sorts) located just up the hill from the yurt camp where Rita and Kuban have their yurt “hotel” and café. The hotel has 16 rooms (mostly singles, some doubles), although only two bathrooms. But get this: THEY HAVE RUNNING WATER! And hot showers! And sit down toilets! At least someone out here has had the initiative to have an electric well installed, although its water pressure seems to vary. (As I hadn’t showered since my visit to the hot springs 13 days previously, one of the first things I did was to avail myself of that luxury. That and the sit-down toilet.)

The London School's Beach Camp Hotel
My room
My view :-)

For those of you who have followed my Kyrgyzstan adventures since 2008 (or who have read through my archives), the Beach Camp is located at the spot where A. went swimming in Issyk Kul back in February 2008 when K, A, and I took our first trip to Kara-Koo, and where I rode my first Kyrgyz horse. My room has huge windows and a balcony facing the lake. It’s a lovely place to relax – although as there’s not much to do here, I suspect I will be starting to go stir crazy by the time next Saturday rolls around.

The director and several other London School folks were at the Beach Camp when I arrived, so I took the opportunity to see if they could arrange for me to have a car from here to Bishkek, so I wouldn’t have to take a marshrutka with all of my absurd amounts of baggage. Supposedly I will have a car here at 11am on Saturday to drive me and all of my crap to Bishkek. It will cost $20, which is totally expensive for Kyrgyz travel, but most definitely worth not having to be crammed into a marshrutka with all of said crap. Woohoo!

Not much going on

July 19, 2013

This, too, has been a slow week. There’s really not all that much to do in Bar Bulak, and once you remove sitting around and eating from the agenda (thanks, Ramadan), you’re pretty much left with lounging around with the cat and the kindle. I downloaded something like forty free books from Amazon before I left, and I have now finished all of them. Most were just average, although some were surprisingly good, while others were simply abominable. But hey, they were free. Of course I’ve got roughly 180 books on that glorious device, so now I’m embarking on some quality re-reading. I’m currently working my way through the collected works of P.G. Wodehouse.

Mocha is in heat, and is most definitely trying her hardest to get knocked-up. Buddy, who is at least eight times her size, is totally smitten, although he’s so much bigger than her that he seems to be having a difficult time reaching his goal (if you catch my drift). And, of course, while his girlfriend is in heat, no collar or chain can hold him. Of course, all the other male dogs in the village have been trying to impregnate the poor girl as well, although for the most part they’ve just been getting their asses kicked by Buddy.

I taught my last classes today – and then I realized that I have exactly one month before I have to be ready to go with my next set of classes (several sections of an undergrad course that I’ll be teaching at my university). While I love teaching, it’s always nice to have a break. And, of course, I suspect that my American undergrads won’t be anywhere near as enthusiastic as my Kyrgyz students. Anyway, as today was our last class, quite a few students gave me going away presents. Many of them were hand-made felt souvenirs, although some were store bought. They all looked like they’d been sitting around various homes for a while… but when someone who doesn’t have much to start off with gives you one of their possessions as a present, it means a lot. Of course, between my Toguz Bulak and Bar Bulak presents, I have rather a large box that I’m going to have to ship home. Plus I still plan on doing some souvenir shopping in Bishkek. Oi.

In the interest of cutting down on the amount of crap I have to cart around for the next twelve days (especially since I’ll be taking a marshrutka from Bar Bulak to Bishkek on the 27th) I went through my possessions and got rid of everything (other than gifts) that I won’t absolutely need, either in the remaining 12 days or once I get home. I gave all of my triaged possessions to my host family. Aidai (my Shadow) got all of my teaching-related things, and I gave her my Kyrgyz-English dictionary as well. She was thrilled, and spent the afternoon memorizing texts and teaching her friends how to play my English vocabulary flashcard game.

I was supposed to have one more day remaining here in Bar Bulak main before being shuttled off to the London School’s “beach camp” down by the lake (near the yurt camp where my host family has their yurts and café). Then, this evening, I learned that as per some sort of inexplicable directive from the London School, I will be going to the beach camp tomorrow instead. But, “ours is not to question why” (NPH) and all that jazz. Time to finish packing! As my host family has gifted me with several really lovely scarves, a hand-stitched pillow, and a tea pot, this is going to be a challenge.

Rural Kyrgyzstan’s Water Woes

July 16, 2013

I started thinking about this back when I was in Toguz Bulak, and the thoughts have continued on into Bar Bulak. The round table discussion that we had the other day brought up this topic, and as such, I’ve been thinking about it even more. Both Toguz Bulak (“Nine Springs”) and Bar Bulak (“There are springs”) have no real shortage of water in a literal sense. It kind of pops up out of the ground all over the place. However, despite the fact that there is water about, both places definitely have a water supply problem, and running water exists in neither village.

I’m not too clear on the timeline, but according to the folks in Bar Bulak, roughly 10-15 years ago or so, the UN started a program to provide clean drinking water to the rural areas of the Issyk Kul region (in which both Toguz Bulak and Bar Bulak are located). The project started… and then something happened to the funds. Whether the money was simply mismanaged or blatantly stolen, no one seems to know for sure (although most folks assume the latter). The UN money ran out before the wells were completed, and the UN cancelled the program. Aris, a Kyrgyzstan-based NGO that focuses on development projects stepped up to finish the job. Sort of. They finished installing wells in many villages (including Toguz Bulak), but never made it to many other villages (including Bar Bulak).

This is the Aris logo; you see it on a lot of old development projects
scattered throughout rural Kyrgyzstan.

Let’s examine the results of the UN/Aris project in Toguz Bulak first. Toguz Bulak is hardly a huge village by anyone’s measurement, although it’s several times larger than Bar Bulak population-wise. It’s laid out along a grid, with the houses fairly close together. The UN/Aris program installed one well per block, which in my estimation comes to roughly 24 wells. Fast-forward to the present day. I’d say maybe four of those wells still work as intended. Maybe. Probably about ten work, but poorly. The one on “my” block could only be turned on/off with a wrench. Several other wells throughout the village also had similar methods of being turned on/off. In contrast, several other wells ran constantly, having no shut-off function whatsoever. The rest of the wells in the village simply didn’t work at all.

The house in the background is the home in which I lived while in Toguz Bulak. Despite the fact that it is brand new, it has no indoor plumbing. We got our water from the well in the foreground, which had to be turned on and off with a wrench.
Often, when the water pressure was low, buckets would be left in front of wells that were turned on, waiting for the water flow to resume.

The wells were designed to operate without electricity. This is great, since regular, reliable electricity has only recently come to Toguz Bulak. Instead of using an electric pump to bring the water to the surface, the pumps operate on water-pressure. You turn on the spigot, and the pressure forces the water up and out of the well. Great, huh? Well, unfortunately, the underground water supply isn’t that great. Whether it comes from the same source as the nine springs from which Toguz Bulak gets its name, I don’t know. What I do know is that sometimes it runs dry. The fact that there are several wells which run non-stop surely is a contributing factor. Whatever the reason, sometimes the wells are turned on and either nothing – or a tiny little trickle – comes out.

This was one of the wells which ran constantly.
As you can see, there's not much left of this well.

We were lucky to have a working well on our block. Many families must cart their buckets several blocks to get water – and keep in mind that this water is used for everything: cooking, cleaning, clothes-washing, bathing, watering livestock, irrigation, etc. That’s a lot of water to haul for several blocks! My host family (and many others) also collected run-off from the gutters of their homes and out-buildings to use for irrigation and watering livestock. Several of the springs were located in a swampy area to the north-west of the village; most people herded their cows and sheep into this area during the day, so that they could graze on the freshly watered grass and drink from the water seeping out of the ground. People made do with the broken wells, although it certainly wasn’t easy.

One of several water collection containers at my host family's house
One of Toguz Bulak's nine springs

So how did this happen? How did Toguz Bulak go from having one working well per block to the situation in which they find themselves today? Well, this is indeed one of those sustainable development issues. First you must consider that for decades under the Soviet Union all infrastructure changes (for good or ill) were made in either Frunze (now Bishkek) or in Moscow. Locals grew accustomed to making no decisions regarding their local infrastructure; someone from above would always come along and tell them how to do it. Following the collapse of the Soviet Union ­– after decades of being told how from above to manage their villages – rural villages have been rather slow at coming to the realization that they need to take care of things themselves.

A few years after the collapse of the Soviet Union – and while still laboring under the mindset that people from above would solve their infrastructure problems – the locals of Toguz Bulak were suddenly treated to the sort of thing they had come to expect: the UN/Aris well project. The UN and Aris came in from above and donated wells, meaning that the locals no longer had to get their water from the swampy “springs” and melting mountain snows. Unfortunately, all the UN/Aris project did was install the wells. None of the locals were trained in how to properly maintain or repair the wells. No money was provided to the village to cover the cost of maintenance or repairs, and Aris themselves did not provide any maintenance or repair services. Over the years the wells have simply begun to break – and it seems that the locals are still waiting for someone to come from above and solve their water woes.

Now let’s examine the water situation in Bar Bulak. In many ways it is similar to the situation in Toguz Bulak, although there are some key differences. Unlike in Toguz Bulak, the wells in Bar Bulak from the UN/Aris well project were only half installed. If you compare the photos of the wells in Toguz Bulak and their counterparts in Bar Bulak, you can see that they are identical, except for the fact that the ones in Bar Bulak were never fully assembled. Sadly, it seems that at one time, all of the pieces were available, they just needed to be connected; however, this never happened. The wells have never worked, and now most of the parts have either broken or disappeared.

One of the many never-functioning wells in Bar-Bulak
Remains of other wells in Bar-Bulak
Some wells seem to still have most of their parts.
Others have just become trash-dumps

While Toguz Bulak had its nine “springs” it lacked any central water source. Bar Bulak, in contrast, has a small river running through it, which is both spring-fed and fed from snow-melts. As in many villages (and even Bishkek) the water from this river is routed through the village by a network of ditches, creeks, pipes, and concrete troughs. These miniature waterways (called арык, or aryk) enable the river/spring water to reach every home in the village, where it can be used for any purpose. Yes, many people rely on aryk-water for cooking, in addition to cleaning, irrigation, watering livestock, etc.

The river, heading for the village

One of the many spring-sources for the river
Yes, there were often fish in the aryks.
This was the aryk that flowed past "my" house
When residents wanted the aryk water to flow onto their property, some simply dug holes in the side of the aryk, and then blocked them up again when they were finished.
Other people had built fancy aryk dams that could be opened and closed when needed.

However, not everyone here in Bar Bulak relies on the river/aryk system to provide their water. My host family (as well as several other families in the village) had a hand-pump well installed on their property several years ago. They use the hand-pump well for all water-related purposes except irrigation (for which they use water from the aryk). The water from the hand pump is clean and tasty – they drink from it, so I do as well. (Although given the stomach troubles I’ve had while here, I do wonder about the cleanliness of the water coming from our well.) The nearby neighbors frequently come over to my host family’s property to fill their buckets from the hand-pump, and I would assume the same thing occurs at the other hand-pump-owning properties in the village. It’s quite far from a perfect solution, but it does seem to be rather a step in the right direction.

This is Ryskul, one the neighbor's children,
filling up buckets for her family from my host family's well.

The area where the yurt camp is located down by the lake shore also has several UN/Aris wells, although most do not work at all. Two have been rigged by the locals to produce a slow trickle of water. Locals also believe in the health benefits of drinking the water from the hot springs, so many collect water from the outdoor section of said springs.

One of several non-functioning wells at the lake shore.
Lake Issyk Kul has a high salt content, which makes it unpalatable and useless for irrigation.
One of the two wells rigged to produce a slow-drip.
My host sister Aidai (right) after having just filled a bucket of water from the other slow-drip well at the yurt camp.

The outdoor area of the hot springs, where many people collected water.

I should also mention that the London School’s Beach Camp “hotel” located next to the yurt camp (and where I will be staying next week) has running water, as they have paid to have an electric well installed, although the water pressure varies from excellent to near nonexistent. Such things are available, one just has to be willing to shell out the funds to cover the costs.

I’m not sure what the solution should be for the water woes of villages such as Toguz Bulak and Bar Bulak. Neither village has running water or a reliable supply of clean drinking water available to all residents. Simply donating wells certainly didn’t work. Only a few families in Bar Bulak can afford to have a hand-pump well installed, and the technology for such a thing is inaccessible in Toguz Bulak. In communities where money is scarce, people simply can’t afford to buy well-drilling equipment or pay for its use. The donation of such items/services doesn’t lead to a sustainable solution. So what is the solution? I have no idea, but I’ve been thinking about this a lot over the past two months. What are your thoughts?

(Also, special thanks to my students Ryskul and Alia who helped me locate and photograph the various water sources around Bar Bulak, as well as to Aliman and Murat who showed me the springs of Toguz Bulak.)

Illness, boredom, and other banalities

July 14, 2013

I have to admit that this week has been pretty boring and not altogether pleasant health-wise. At the beginning of the week, I was still suffering the after effects of my illness from the previous week (including the resurgence of my sore throat and the coughing up of all sorts of gunk from the deepest regions of my lungs). That faded, only to be replaced by my period and its attendant side effects. (I’d decided not to try skipping it again after the disastrous results of my previous attempt.) Then on Saturday my day was filled with what you might refer to as #7s on the Bristol Stool Chart. This was followed on Sunday by the worst gas that I have ever in my life suffered. It was incredibly painful. And let’s just say that it’s a very good thing that I’m in a building all by myself as it’s only Котчик who gets to witness this latest health catastrophe. I only have one week left in Bar Bulak main – let’s hope that health-wise it will be better than the previous two!

Class-wise, now that I’m once again able to talk, I’ve been playing catch-up for the classes I missed. Even though I’m only supposed to teach Monday through Thursday, I taught on Friday and Saturday this week as well, and I’m planning on teaching next Friday, too. The only particularly interesting moment of note from my teaching experiences this week was on Thursday. Remember how I’d mentioned that since I was staying with the school’s director, getting locked out of the school building wouldn’t be a problem like it was in Toguz Bulak? Haha. Aidai (the 9 year old) had been placed in charge of the keys. She’s an incredibly smart girl, but she’s only 9 after all. She decided to spend Wednesday night down by the shore at the yurt camp, and to skip class on Thursday morning. Unfortunately, she kept the keys with her. They had to send someone down to the lake to get the keys, but as a result all of my Group 1 class was taught in the playground, as was half of my Group 2 class. Of course, this being Kyrgyzstan, we got to practice some of what we’d been learning in class when various farm animals walked by:

“What are they?” “They are cows.” “How many cows are there?” “There are two cows.” “What are they?” “They are sheep.” “How many sheep are there?” “There are three sheep.”

As I mentioned previously, Ramadan began on Tuesday. As my host family is pretty religious (what with Kuban being the local imam and all) they are definitely observing the fast. Foreigners, pregnant women, and small children are exempt from fasting. We don’t have any pregnant women in our household, although there are small children and (of course) me. Unfortunately, while I am not required to fast, and while there is food available to me prior to 8pm, the eating prospects have diminished drastically. Gone are the 4-5 meals per day, and anything we eat prior to 8pm or so tends to consist of leftovers of dubious quality.

We’ve eaten most of our evening meals at their café at the yurt camp down by the lake, probably because most of their personal cooking equipment has been relocated down there. I don’t mind… except that the “road” from the village to the yurt camp is long, narrow, and bumpy, and the ride back home with a full stomach (inevitably in the backseat and with the heater going full blast) is quite often nausea-inducing.

I’ve been sneaking food back from the lake for Котчик, since his prospects during the day – other than what he can catch for himself – have dwindled as much as mine have. I suspect that the declining number of baby chicks in the yard (they’ve dropped in numbers from 11 to 4 in the past week) has something to do with the lack of table scraps readily available for the cat. (Котчик and Buddy the dog are fed table scraps. As Mocha lives next door, I’ve no idea what she eats, but I’m assuming it’s the same.)

The London School brought a group of four American students who are currently living in Bishkek studying Russian and Kyrgyz to Bar Bulak today for round table discussion with several of the locals and me. The idea was to discuss the differences between the Soviet period and now, as well as the problems and benefits that have come following the various regime changes. I can’t say that I personally learned anything new, given my rather long-running obsession with all things Kyrgyzstan, but perhaps the students did. The Kyrgyz participants got to ask questions about the US. The one male student of the four kept responding with these hopelessly naïve answers along the lines of how racism no longer exists in the US, how we’re a country of immigrants, so we accept all newcomers into our great melting pot, and how our wonderful democratic/capitalist system is the best in the world. I know I rolled my eyes quite a few times; I couldn’t help myself. I kinda wanted to bang my head on the table.

The London School’s Director asked me what changes I can see in Kyrgyzstan between now and five years ago when I last lived here. I mainly talked about the improvements that I can see in the infrastructure – specifically with regards to electricity. Five years ago, we quite often had no power for 8-12 hours a day in the capital, and whenever I went to any village, there was never any electricity. Also, a lot of the villages that I visited both five years ago and on this trip (such as Kochkor and Kara-Koo) seem a lot more prosperous now, with more stores and cafes. According to PCV-A, Kara-Koo even has two billiards places. (Granted, Bar Bulak has only two tiny stores and no cafes, but I have no idea if there were any stores here five years ago or not. Also, while we have had the power go out several times since I’ve been here, it’s never been out for more than a few hours, never at night, and never more than once a week.)

Adorable Animals of Bar-Bulak in Action!

Watch Buddy, Котчик, cow, and Mocha interact with me and with each other. So cute! Also, you might be able to tell that my voice was in the early stages of returning, haha.