Café Nooruz (Кафе Нооруз)

May 25, 2008

Café Nooruz was, until quite recently, my favorite restaurant in Bishkek. Despite its not entirely stunning ambiance, the lagman (a Kyrgyz noodle soup) and shashlik (meat on a stick) was fabulous. Additionally, the fact that it’s located directly across the street from the school means that we go there all the time. And did I mention that it’s super cheap?

The other night, a group of us went there, as we so often do, and promptly ordered mutton shashlik. Soon four skewers of meat arrived at our table, sizzling, fatty chunks of meat, obviously fresh from the grill. Equally obvious was the fact that this meat was by no means mutton.

In many tales I’ve read over the years of visits made by Westerners to the Soviet Union and later to its former republics, I’ve encountered numerous descriptions of “unidentifiable meat” – but in all such tales the “meat” in question has been processed beyond the point of recognition: not only is the species unidentifiable, but whether or not the substance in question is actually *meat* is somewhat debatable.

What arrived at our table was unquestionably meat: large, meaty chunks with ubiquitous clumps of fat, charred and sizzly, adhering to the pieces. What it didn’t look like was mutton; it was too light. It didn’t smell right either. We tasted it and were all in agreement that it was most definitely NOT mutton. Nor was it chicken, beef, pork, fish, or venison. I couldn’t stomach it. It wasn't that it was bad - it wasn't - but something about being unable to identify the meat was just too disconcerting for me. The others ate theirs, but without pleasure.

When our waitress returned, I asked her what kind of meat it was:

“Mutton.”

“Are you sure? It doesn’t taste like mutton.”

“Of course it’s mutton. We only have mutton today.”

“But this has a very strange taste. It doesn’t taste like mutton.”

/shrug/ “It’s mutton.”

We’ve been back twice since then, and we haven't been able to bring ourselves to order shashlik.

We didn’t need that hot water anyway.

May 17, 2008

Years ago, when developing their infrastructure, the Soviets decided that hot water would be distributed to everyone from a central source; no one would have their own water heater in their home. Unfortunately, a system as vast as one which supplies piping hot water to the masses must be closed periodically for maintenance. In Russia, they usually do it by region; one neighborhood loses hot water for a week, then regains it as the workers move to a different region of the city. Here in Bishkek, they simply shut off the hot water to the entire city for a full month. The hot water went away last Monday, and there are rumors that the hot water will be off not for a mere month, but until September. Boiled water bucket showers, headscarves (my solution to unwashed hair) and stinky people – woohoo!

There are a lot of rumors about water flying about these days. My student who is a plumber (one might assume he would be in the know regarding such matters) has heard that ALL WATER in Bishkek will be turned off in June. I’ve written about this a little before, but just to refresh your memory: Kyrgyzstan receives most of its electricity via hydroelectric power plants. Since this winter was the coldest in Kyrgyzstan’s recorded history, the Toktogul Reservoir was nearly depleted to provide electricity for heating purposes (both for heating the state run systems and individual electric heaters throughout the country). Because of this, the reservoir is at record low levels. Additionally, Kyrgyzstan has a trade agreement with Uzbekistan: we give them water and they give us natural gas. If we don’t have enough water to meet the trade agreement, they cut off our natural gas supplies. This is (allegedly) the reason for the (rumored) water shut offs in June. Personally, I’d rather have water than gas; I can always just eat shashlik everyday. Anyway, K, Young B and I have started hoarding water. It’s probably just a groundless rumor, but I’d rather be safe than sorry!

Additionally, since the bulk of this country’s electricity comes from the aforementioned hydroelectric power plants, our power shortages have worsened. Random blackouts began in February, and in April became regularized; for the past month and a half, the power has gone out (in my block at least) around midnight, and has remained off until around six in the morning. On top of that, we’ve had random day-time power-outages this month as well. At least it makes the days unpredictable...

Also, in case you’re interested, here’s the current promo-shot of all the teachers (er, minus M for some reason) for the local newspaper. Young B obviously didn’t get the white shirt memo.

Back row: Old B, J, Creepy C
Front row: K, Young B, Me

Thoughts on Language Acquisition

May 10, 2008

I was talking to someone the other day (I forget who), and this individual brought up the fact that Condoleeza Rice’s Russian is “so bad.” This person thought it was reprehensible that someone who studied Russian in university spoke the language so poorly. But the thing is, I completely understand.

In order to maintain one’s foreign language abilities, one must constantly practice and study. I received my BA in Russian in 2001. At that time, my spoken Russian, while not fluent, was pretty damn good. However, from Summer 2001 to Summer 2005, I neither practiced nor studied Russian. Additionally, during that time I made two extensive trips to South Korea, traveled all over Costa Rica, and lived in Southern California within walking distance of the Mexican border. By the time I returned to Russia in August 2005, my Russian skills had greatly diminished; I spoke something I referred to as Spanglorusskikonglish.

I was in Russia from August 2005 through June 2006, during which time my Russian language skills returned to roughly the same level they were at my time of graduation. Of course, this was mainly due to the fact that I lived with a host family and took regular Russian lessons, as most of my friends were English speakers.

After leaving Russia, I spent a year in Korea. Despite three trips to Korea, my Korean is still essentially nonexistent. I can order food, purchase things, ask for directions and direct a taxi to my destination. I can even tell people that I’m an English teacher from the United States. But that’s it; that’s the extent of my Korean. Nonetheless, after a year of hearing only Korean spoken (and occasionally struggling to study it), my Russian levels once again dropped.

I came to Bishkek – a predominantly Russian speaking city – in January of this year, and I was pleased to discover that my Russian comprehension was still quite high. Unfortunately, I haven’t gotten much language practice since I’ve been here. In general, my Russian speaking consists of practicalities: ordering food, purchasing things, asking for directions, directing taxis and telling people where I’m from and what I’m doing here. I live alone, don’t have time for Russian lessons, most of my friends are English speakers, and the school’s staff (for the most part) speaks English. Additionally, for most Kyrgyz speakers of Russian, Russian is their second language, and their spoken Russian is often filled with mistakes. (Case endings? Who needs those?)

It wasn’t until my trip to Karakol with Sara and Sasha from Vladimir that I realized just how bad my spoken Russian had become. Our trip was really the first time since leaving Vladimir that I’d had a lengthy conversation in Russian in which I couldn’t cheat by replying in English. The realization of the quality of my spoken Russian – or lack thereof – was hammered home the other night at Anton’s when one of the Russian guys told me, “Your accent is okay, but your grammar is terrible!” Sigh.

I can’t decide how I feel about this.

One of the main reasons I went to Russia in 2005 was to rebuild my Russian so that I could get a job with an NGO working with Russia. However, by now you probably know that I completely changed course while in Russia. Now I want to focus on teaching EFL/ESL, and eventually, I’ll probably get my MA in TESOL or Applied Linguistics.

I’m not sure how Russian fits into all of this. As it is, I’m currently trying (albeit not too successfully) to study Kyrgyz, and I’m even thinking about teaching in the Middle East next year. I’d hate to lose my Russian skills, but I’m not certain that there will be much benefit to knowing Russian in my future, and therefore I’m not entirely sure that it would be worth the effort I’d need to expend to keep it up.

Meanwhile, so many of my students simply don’t seem to understand that effort is required to learn a foreign language. Here’s a set of the sort of questions I am asked all the time: 

How can I learn English faster? 

I need to speak fluent English by [date in the near future]; what can I do? 

How quickly can I reach Advanced level? 

Can I move up a level? (Inevitably followed by an indignant Why not?) 

My advice to all of them is that they simply must study and practice constantly; they must stop worrying about skipping levels and focus on learning everything they need to know to pass their current level by heart. So many seem to think that there must be some way to learn English – or any foreign language – overnight and there simply isn’t.

Anton’s (У Антона)

May 9, 2008

There’s a bar located just around the corner from the school. We would never have found it had one of the local staff not taken us there one night. Before we left she told us, “You will be afraid. But don’t worry.” In order to reach Anton’s, first you walk through a wrought-iron gate into what appears to be a private courtyard. You walk nearly all the way to the back of the courtyard, then enter through a doorway on the right. There is no sign indicating that you’re entering a public establishment. At this point you go down a dimly lit staircase which leads to a long, winding, tunnel-like hallway. Eventually you emerge into a slightly dank basement containing a smoke-filled café/bar that simply reeks of atmosphere. This place is awesome. For some reason it’s decorated in a mountain climbing theme, but with periodic additions of masks, ranging from scary monsters to fencing masks. There’s also both karaoke and a piano. Anton, the owner is a nice guy, and his mother is the chef. The fried mutton dish is scrumptious – but you have to order your food fairly early on in the evening, as Anton’s mom turns in early.

Last Tuesday night we decided to go to Anton’s for dinner, instead of doing as we so often do and popping across the street for shashlik at Nooruz. We expected to simply have some food, possibly a beer or two, then return home. Instead we met a group of Russian men, and one super hot half-Korean half-Kyrgyz man, who invited us to join them. We consumed bottle after bottle of vodka, and then they broke out the guitar. We didn’t get home until around 3am, thoroughly boozy and completely content. K and I staggered down the street to a 24 hour supermarket in order to stock up on tan - the best hangover remedy on the planet. Young B was not so wise, and spent the night on the floor of his bathroom.

I have photos and videos of the madness… unfortunately, after it took over two hours for the first video to upload to youtube, I gave up on the others. I keep describing this new internet café as superfast, but I often forget that it’s only “superfast” by Kyrgyz standards. Sigh. Enjoy the photos and the one measly video.

K, me, "Death", super-hot Korean-Kyrgyz guy, random Russian
J and Young B (and random others)
K and me
Super-hot and musically talented!

Adventures on the far side of Issyk Kul

May 7, 2008

Bright and early last Thursday morning, Fulbright K, Young B and I took a taxi to the airport to pick up SB (who works at the American Home in Vladimir where I used to teach) and her friend Sasha. Apparently, SB had been on the way to the train station when she bumped into her friend. Being a rather spontaneous type, as soon as she learned that SB was going to Kyrgyzstan, Sasha decided to buy a plane ticket there and then and join her! We picked them up and had our driver take us to the Western Bus Station, where we caught a marshrutka to Karakol. The good thing about the marshrutka was that it was only 250soms ($7) per person. The bad thing was that it was terribly cramped. Not as cramped as the inner-city marshrutki, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable. I was seated next to a window (a requirement to help prevent motion sickness), but every time we went over a bump (and this is Kyrgyzstan, so believe me, there were many of them!) I was slammed into the side of the marshrutka. By the time we arrived in Karakol – six hours later – my right shoulder was thoroughly bruised.

We arrived in Karakol in mid-afternoon, only to find that the weather was miserably overcast and dreary. Additionally, while there are parts of Karakol full of cute little slavic-style cottages, much of the city is filled with low-quality Soviet era architecture. Under the dreary skies, the city looked thoroughly bleak and desolate. We made our way to our homestay (as usual, arranged by CBT), where we were hosted by a wonderful Russian family and their adorable kitten. After unloading our possessions, we decided to return to the center of the city to see what sights there were.

Our initial goal was the Dungan Mosque. Dungans are ethnic Chinese Muslims, and many of them live in Kyrgyzstan. The Dungan Mosque is unique in that it looks to all the world like a Buddhist temple, not a mosque. Apparently it was also constructed without the use of nails. We had hoped to see the mosque and then make our way to the city’s Russian Orthodox cathedral, but that was not to be. While we had a map of Karakol, it was a little vague, so we began asking people for directions. While we found the people of Karakol extremely willing to give us directions, we soon learned that, for the most part, they were exceedingly terrible at it. We wandered the city for nearly two hours, getting thoroughly lost, before finally stumbling upon the mosque. (Sadly, it turned out that we were on the correct road before we began asking for directions!) I must say that I was rather disappointed with the mosque. Having seen quite a few mosques in Kyrgyzstan, not to mention numerous Buddhist temples in Korea, it really wasn’t *that* impressive – and definitely not worth the effort we expended in order to find it!

Dungan Mosque, Karakol

While we were exploring the mosque, a strong wind suddenly whipped up, blowing dust so hard that it stung our faces, and chilling us rather thoroughly. At that point, we decided to head back to our homestay. We discussed with our host alternatives for the rest of our stay, and she arranged a driver for us for the following day to take us to Altyn Arashan, a high mountain valley in which mineral hot springs are located. Early the next morning – a bright, sunny and utterly gorgeous morning, by the way – our driver, Victor, arrived in a rather frighteningly marvelous Soviet era jeep.

Awesome transport.

We packed ourselves into the jeep (this time it was my left shoulder that was pressed against the side of the vehicle, so I was able to even out my bruises!) and began our two-hour trek high up into the mountains. The “road” to Altyn Arashan was steep in many places, and in many places it wasn’t really worth being called a road at all; it was simply a rock-strewn track through the mountains. We stopped at least four times along the way, so that Victor could refill the radiator and allow the engine to cool!

"Road"

Cooling the engine

The instant we arrived at the Altyn Arashan valley, we knew our trip had been worth it. The scenery was spectacular, and reminded us all of The Sound of Music.

Paradise!

We arrived at the Altyn Arashan hot springs and were greeted by two friendly dogs and five adorable little puppies. (There were also two cats and a horse...) We talked to the caretakers and were given a tour of the facilities, then got down to the business of basking in the hot springs. Oddly enough, the hot springs are pumped into different concrete sheds – not exactly your typical spa relaxation venue – located next to the river. Each shed contains water of a different temperature and containing different minerals. The idea is to relax in one shed, run to the river to freeze, then run to the next shed. B and I skipped the running into the frigid river part – although the other girls did run into the river – insanity!

Concrete sheds, housing the springs

They weren't exactly luxurious, but the water was wonderfully warm.

Sasha and SB brave the cold waters...

After relaxing in the hot springs, picnicking along the shore of the river, and playing with the puppies, it was time to return to Karakol. Victor decided to adopt one of the puppies for his daughter, so we had it for company on our way back down into Karakol – although the poor thing got quite motion sick!

The next day we arranged, through our host, for a driver to take us to the shore of Issyk-Kul to visit the Przhevalski museum and monument, and from there to Jeti-Oguz to see several famous rock formations and to visit the Valley of the Flowers. That morning was quite overcast, and we were worried that our day would be rained on. Unlike the awesome yet uncomfortable and rather ancient Soviet jeep from the previous day, we were treated to a luxurious and incredibly pimped-out minivan. Our driver, Dima, had the most absurd mullet ever:

(Oddly enough, he works as a barber when he isn’t driving tourists about!)

First we went to the Przhevalski museum and monument. Przhevalski was the Russian general who thoroughly explored Central Asia for the Russians, and in the process discovered numerous species of animals, such as the Marco Polo Sheep and the Przhevalski Horse. The museum contained stuffed and mounted specimens of many of his discoveries, which was a little creepy. Behind the museum is a monument to Przhevalski, as well as his grave, as he died of typhus in Karakol.

Monument to Przhevalski

From the Przhevalski museum, we drove to Jeti-Oguz. Our first stop was the Broken Heart rock formation.

It does look vaguely like a broken heart...

From there we drove to the Seven Bulls rock formation – which to us didn’t look like bulls at all. Also, each of us counted more than seven, although we all had different totals.

Bulls? Really?

Our next destination was the Valley of the Flowers. According to our guidebooks, starting in May, the valley is filled with flowers and is quite a sight to see. Well, while we were there in May, apparently early May isn’t exactly the time for flowers. While there were some flowers, there weren’t many. We were told that late May and June are the times to go.

Beautiful valley, not many flowers.

We had been wandering around the valley feeling a little disappointed, when we noticed a yurt on the opposite side of the river. While photographing the yurt, it disgorged some young men, who saddled up a horse and rode across the river to us. Sasha immediately asked if she could ride their horse. In the end, they agreed to round up horses for all of us to ride for an hour in the valley. Unfortunately, I was not very comfortable on “my” horse. I felt as though either the back of the saddle was higher than the front, or perhaps the horse’s hind-quarters were higher that its front. Plus, my stirrups – even though shortened as far as they would go – were simply too long. Any time I went faster than a walk I felt as though I would topple out of the saddle. Meanwhile, the horse Sasha got was beautiful, sleek and well trained. They even showed her how to make it rear on command!

Me on my horse of the day...

This horse was incredible; I wish I could've ridden it!

After our hour of riding, Dima suggested stopping at one of the valley’s yurts (he knew the owners) for lunch. For a small fee, we were treated to incredible hospitality and a lovely meal of freshly killed sheep.

Family yurts in the valley

Fulbright K and I inside a yurt

Our yurt hostess and two of her three daughters

After lunch, we drove out of the valley and stopped at a small store where I bought some tan. It tasted like it had gone a little bad, but I figured it’s fermented already, how bad can it be? I drank about a fourth of the bottle before deciding that I should probably pour the rest of it out. That decision would come back to haunt me later.

We then drove to another valley which gave us access to a ski-base. The idea was to ascend to the top of the ski-slopes for a killer view – although as the ski lifts weren’t running, we didn’t exactly make it to the top. B and I made it about a fourth of the way, while the others made it a good halfway. Even though we didn’t make it to the top, we had some pleasant views – especially since the skies had cleared by then!

View from the slopes

B, Fulbright K and I were the first down from the mountainous ski slope, and while we were waiting for Sara and SB, I decided to go pet a grey horse that was tethered nearby. Now, unlike dogs and cats, most horses aren’t all that into being petted. In contrast, this horse was incredibly friendly, rubbing up on me and nuzzling me and enjoying the attention... and then I noticed that he had a giant erection! Now, I’ve spent a lot of time around horses, and I know that male horses have a habit of stretching their penises out periodically... This wasn’t just a stretch, this was an erection. It was a little creepy. Especially when he kept looking at me with this hang-dog expression, as if to say, “Are you *sure* you’re not a mare?”

After leaving the ski-base, we returned to our homestay, where I spent the entire evening running back and forth between my bed and the bathroom and feeling thoroughly miserable, no doubt as a result of the bad tan. I decided that I was off tan forever (a decision which lasted all of three days, but that’s a story for another post!).

The next morning we got up at the crack of dawn to go to the Al Bazaar, the local animal market, held every Sunday from 5am to 10am. The market was an incredible experience, full of cows, horses and fat-tailed sheep. Additionally, it’s located right next to the Auto Bazaar – home to Ladas of every color. Sadly, I learned that a male horse goes for about $1000 (females are more expensive), and ancient and colorful Ladas go for about $1300. I won’t be buying either. I did take lots of photos though!

Уй means cow in Kyrgyz.

Horse for sale!

Fat tailed sheep!!!

Orange Lada, $1300

I *really* wanted to buy this one.

Our final stop in Karakol was the Russian Orthodox cathedral, which we didn’t make it to on our first day. I’ve seen innumerable Orthodox cathedrals in my travels, but I’ve yet to grow tired of onion domes.

After that, it was time to leave. Fulbright K, B and I were returning to Bishkek, while SB and Sasha were continuing on in search of further adventures. Since there were only three of us returning to Bishkek, we decided to get a taxi for both speed and comfort. Granted, it cost 500soms/person (twice as much as the marshrutka), but it was comfortable, and only took five hours as opposed to six.

The Kyrgyz Pavaratti

April 30, 2008

This is from last weekend, but I've only just now gotten around to uploading all the video clips necessary for this post. Last Sunday was the 25th anniversary performance of Сталбек Алмасбеков (Stalbek Almasbekov), the premier opera singer of Kyrgyzstan. He's also the father of one of my former students. This student now studies with M, and decided to invite both of us to his father's performance. We received free tickets and prime seats in the fifth row, center. Too bad I'm rather a philistine and not all that big into opera. Anyway, while I'm certainly no judge of operatic quality, he seemed to be an exceptional singer. I took numerous photos (below), although since it *was* opera after all, I took some videos as well, and have uploaded three short clips to YouTube. The show consisted of two abridged operas, Сельская честь (Village Honor) and Паяцы (Pagliacci).

Stalbek Almasbekov sings Village Honor

Stalbek Almasbekov sings Village Honor

Stalbek Almasbekov sings Village Honor

Stalbek Almasbekov sings Pagliacci

Boobs in Bishkek

Okay, so this post isn’t actually about boobs or Bishkek, but I simply couldn’t resist the alliteration; this is actually a book review. One of the books Young B brought with him to Kyrgyzstan was Revolution Baby, the story of Saffia Farr, the pregnant wife of a British government aid employee who moved to Kyrgyzstan when her husband was transferred here shortly before the 2005 “Tulip Revolution” [wikipedia]. After reading the book’s back cover, I was excited to delve into this book, although both Young B and K warned me that I wouldn’t like it. And for the most part, they were right.

See, Saffia Farr is VERY different from me and my friends, and her life – even when she was living here in Bishkek – is vastly different from my own. I had a tough time relating to her, or even to her version of life in Kyrgyzstan. She essentially spends the bulk of the book complaining about life in Bishkek, bitching about being unable to find a good place to get her legs waxed (!) and constantly reminding us that she has Really Big Boobs (she manages to do this twice in the forward alone). It takes her a good 18 or so months before she decides that she might actually like Kyrgyzstan after all. Maybe.

If you can’t tell from my writing, most of the book annoyed me to no end; I simply couldn’t relate to someone with her own personal driver and who brunches regularly at the Hyatt. However, I did find the final chapters – when the revolution finally happens – to be quite interesting. I remember when the revolution actually happened it received *very little* coverage in the West; I only knew about it because I regularly read blogs pertaining to Russia and the former Soviet Union. I remember wishing it had received more coverage. As such, it was definitely interesting to read her firsthand descriptions of what was going on at that time. But all in all, I wasn’t a big fan. Unless you have a particular interest in the Tulip Revolution, or unless you’re a ‘trailing spouse’ planning on making your way to Bishkek and hobnobbing with the bridge playing, soiree throwing, Hyatt brunching set, I’d give this book a pass.

In which I go to Kochkor and get ridiculously sunburnt

April 29, 2008

This week is our Spring Break, and as such, most of us are going on various travels around Kyrgyzstan. I had planned to spend three days in Kochkor, wandering about, trying to find and ride Bitchy Horse. K’s friend C flew in from Germany on Thursday, and soon they, plus Young B and M, had decided to join me in Kochkor. I was the only one who spent two nights in Kochkor; B and M returned to Bishkek on Sunday afternoon, and K and C set off for Karakol on Sunday morning. I returned to Bishkek on Monday afternoon. That’s the short version. Here’s the long one:

We left for the Zapodny Avtovokzal (the western bus station) at around 9am on Saturday morning, and less than five minutes into our taxi ride, I began to feel carsick. This happens to me quite often, although very rarely does it occur so quickly and when I am sitting in the front passenger seat. By the time we got to the bus station, I was pretty convinced I was going to vomit, although I didn’t. We managed to negotiate a somewhat overpriced van to take the five of us to Kochkor, and I again snagged the front seat. Unfortunately, the driver had the worst bad breath of anyone I’d ever met, which did nothing to help my nausea. Luckily, I was somehow able to will myself into sleep and managed to keep from being violently ill. However, when we arrived in Kochkor, I was still feeling pretty ill. Unfortunately, K wasn’t doing well either, as she was in the beginning stages of a migraine. B was feeling a little carsick, too. We weren’t the healthiest bunch when we wandered into the Kochkor CBT office.

Kochkor CBT manages a store where shyrdaks – traditional Kyrgyz felt rugs – made by local women are sold. (It’s where I bought my shyrdak on my way back from Naryn.)

Shyrdaks!

M’s reason for coming to Kochkor had been to purchase a shyrdak, and he and C spent quite a bit of time in the store trying to decide on which shyrdaks to purchase. We all made purchases, actually. I bought an incredibly awesome wool-felt hat in which I look like a Mongol warrior. Or a crazy person. I need to get a photo of it.

After purchasing our various felt items, we headed for our homestay, also arranged through CBT. I *love* CBT, although I must say that their map of Kochkor leaves a bit to be desired, and we got a bit lost on our way to our homestay. Luckily, we ran across three schoolboys who seemed utterly thrilled to have to opportunity to guide us to our destination.

The day was absolutely beautiful, and we were eager to enjoy the countryside outside of the small town. After settling into our homestay and picnicking on the plethora of food we’d dragged along from Bishkek, we decided to take a walk to the river just north of town. First we found what was almost a perfect spot: a freshwater spring, bubbling up from the earth, feeding a stream which flowed north towards the river. (In fact, quite a large area of the earth seemed to be leaching freshwater.) Unfortunately, much of this area was polluted with garbage. We did find a mostly trash-free spot to sit and relax for a while before continuing our trek to the river.

The places without trash were beautiful.

I wish I could turn this area into a park... Or at least keep it clean.

We all got a bit muddy wandering through the mucky swamp-like ground approaching the river, but the views were definitely worth it.

Looking south towards Kochkor

The Chuy river north of Kochkor

As we were sitting by the river enjoying the view, we were approached by a group of boys... a couple ran away to fetch their friends, and soon we were surrounded by a group of about 10 or so boys, who were all eager to show off for us.

Eventually we decided to head back to the homestay. This meant hiking back across the bizarrely contoured field/swamp/spring land which separates Kochkor from the river. This also meant many more opportunities for photos.

Back in Kochkor proper, I got quite a few more photos as well:

Ubiquitous Lenin.

I love this shot.

That night we had dinner at our homestay (it cost 150soms, and was definitely worth it), then went to bed pretty early. The next day, after spending a good chunk of the morning taking pictures and playing with our host family’s children, K and C set off for Karakol, B and M returned to Bishkek, and I met up with Maksat, the horse-guide, and set off for the nearby village of Kara-Suu.

The homestay family's daughter

Kara-Suu, located just outside of Kochkor,
is the village where my horse-ride began.

Maksat remembered me, and he remembered the whole situation with J falling off her horse, switching with me, and the fact that I’d named it Bitchy Horse. What he didn’t remember was which horse was Bitchy Horse or where they’d gotten it from. So, alas, no Bitchy Horse. The horse I got wasn’t a bad horse; it was well behaved, but lazy. I could only get it to canter when we were headed for home :-) We rode for several hours – yet again the weather was perfect. We headed across farmland and up into the foothills, following a mountain stream. I didn’t take too many pictures, as horseback photography is difficult. I did get several, as shown below.

Horse cam!

My horse of the day

These damn straps used to keep the blankets on the saddle bruised the hell out of my inner thighs :-(

The views were wonderful

After returning to the homestay following my ride, I was utterly exhausted, and feeling the initial pains of a sunburn. I did as I often do, and I took a nice three hour nap to recuperate. I awoke feeling refreshed and yet in quite a lot of pain. I took a look in the mirror and saw an Annie-shaped lobster. This is probably the worst sunburn I’ve had since high school – and of course, it comes in the form of a farmer’s tan/burn. Sigh. I hurt.

Hi, I'm Farmer-Lobster!

Despite being burnt, I figured I should spend the last few hours of daylight wandering about the town. I didn’t take too many pictures, but I did get some interesting ones of the mosque and an abandoned former gas station.

Kochkor Mosque

I love derelict gas stations.

That evening I realized that I’d spent the bulk of my food money on the super awesome Mongol warrior hat. I told my hosts that I wouldn’t be needing dinner that night, and planned to spend the evening reading and snacking on the cheese and chocolate which I’d brought from Bishkek. Around 9pm, the teenage daughter of the family brought me a plate of beshbarmak (a traditional Kyrgyz dish of large noodles and mutton) and said that it was a gift from the family. The next morning I was invited to have breakfast with the family, instead of alone in my room. They were all incredibly nice people, and I was quite grateful to be able to eat!

After breakfast, I made my way to the center of Kochkor, and snagged a spot in a marshrutka headed for Bishkek. It was a lovely weekend, even if I thoroughly fried my skin. I’ll be heading for Karakol with Young B, K, and SB from the American Home in Vladimir on Thursday morning for the second leg of my vacation!