Back in Bishkek, back to the States

July 31, 2013

My initial plan was to return to Bishkek on Saturday, July 27^th. I’d reserved a bed in the Sakura hostel for the 27^th-30^th way back in June… but, this being Kyrgyzstan, a wrench was (of course) thrown into my carefully laid plans. This particular wrench came in the form of M., an American undergrad student who, fresh off a year in Russia and a month in Tajikistan, was spending a week or so in Kyrgyzstan before returning to the US. His local Kyrgyzstan travel arrangements had been made through The London School. His plans were to spend Thursday night at the Beach Camp and then return to Bishkek on Friday night. Logically and logistically, it made far more sense for me to return to Bishkek with him on Friday night than to have The London School arrange separate travel for the both of us. Of course, the problem was that Sakura was packed. I had a bed reserved for Saturday, but there wasn’t space for me for Friday. We were too late in the planning stages to arrange a homestay through The London School (such as the one where M. was staying), so I ended up spending the night at the home of the director of The London School… where Aliman and Murat from Toguz Bulak happened to be staying as well. (The director is, I believe, the aunt of their mother.)

In the morning, after a nice, late breakfast, I made my way to Sakura. When they’d said the place was packed, I’d had no idea just how packed. There were only two dormitories when I first stayed there back in May. In June, they opened a third dorm. All of the beds in all three dorms were full, as were all of the private rooms. And the floor on the third floor. And the rooftop patio. Considering the solitude in which I’d spent the previous two months, it was all a bit much.

I had four full days to spend in Bishkek, although I admit that I did very little. Most of the Bishkek folks whom I know had left the sweltering heat of the city (and it was boiling – in the upper 90s, sometimes topping 100F – every day I was there) for the cool air and waters of Issyk Kul, and the temperatures made wandering about the city a challenge. On the one hand, after having spent the entire summer being cold, this was quite a welcome change in temperatures. On the other hand... it was bloody hot. I didn’t even carry my DSLR with me most of the time, as it was simply too hot to lug around something of that size. Yeah. Of course, as the hostel was not air conditioned, I spent a good amount of time in “expensive” (by Bishkek standards) restaurants with air conditioning: curry at The Host, rabbit at У Мазая, Khachapuri at Mimino, pizza at VEFA, and a calzone at Cyclone. (Cyclone has the best hot chocolate in the world, but as I was so hot by the time I got there, I couldn’t bring myself to order it; I had one of their milkshakes instead.)

Curry at The Host

Khachapuri Adjaruli at Mimino

'Hunted Rabbit' at У Мазая

The remains of my calzone at Cyclone

I didn’t just eat my way through four days in Bishkek; I had errands to run, too. I had to return my borrowed laptop to The London School, complete with the audio recordings of myself which I had made for them, tape-scripts, edited texts, and photos of my volunteering experiences. In turn, I finally received my stipend (haha). I then spent most of said stipend mailing home the large box of gifts from host families and students. I also finalized my souvenir/gift buying, and even braved the heat to wander around the city (albeit with my point-n-shoot). I also managed to get a really great haircut at a place not too far from the hostel. And that was it, really.

As you can see, the weather was gorgeous. But sweltering, absolutely sweltering.

A really lovely haircut, by a very nice woman... who I must admit was horrified by how long I'd gone since last dyeing my hair. Bishkek and the villages are really different worlds.

At 1:30am on July 31^st, three French tourists (who had been among the masses at Sakura) and I left the hostel and headed for the airport. Checking in at Manas is definitely a lot easier without four cats! I did, however, see an elderly gent traveling with two small dogs – good times. I arrived in Istanbul at 7am local time, and got to sit through a six hour layover. There was actually a later flight out of Bishkek, but I would have had less than an hour to catch my flight to the States. I hadn’t wanted to miss my connection, so I settled for six hours of mind-numbing boredom. M, on the other hand, chose the latter flight. He and I were supposed to be on the same flight from Istanbul to New York, but he didn’t make it in time.

And that’s it, the end of my summer in Kyrgyzstan. I leave you to contemplate a video I made showcasing how - despite New Zealand's attempts to convince us otherwise - Kyrgyzstan is indeed Middle Earth. You have to click here to download it; YouTube won't let me post it as they say it's a copyright infringement.

Religion in Kyrgyzstan

July 23, 2013

Kyrgyzstan is a predominantly Muslim country. As a result, one of the first things that people in the US typically ask me about my life in Kyrgyzstan is, “Do you have to wear a headscarf when you’re there?” Um, no. However, after more than a week without washing my hair, I generally do wear a headscarf; no one wants to see my greasy, unwashed head. Traditionally in Kyrgyz villages, a headscarf is indeed worn by the women. However, the Kyrgyz headscarf is not a hijab. It’s more of a bandanna than anything else. As the more conservative Saudi strain of Islam gains more of a foothold in Kyrgyzstan, hijabs have started to crop up here and there – but for the most part, it’s the Kyrgyz bandanna-scarf or nothing. Foreign women are not at all expected to wear a headscarf – unless, of course, they want to.

Women of Toguz Bulak 
Women of Bar-Bulak
Women of Bar-Bulak

One of the few women I saw wearing a hijab

OK. Now that we’ve gotten the scarf issue out of the way, let’s look at the other ways in which religion affects the people of Kyrgyzstan. As I said before, Kyrgyzstan is a majority-Muslim country. Similarly, the US can be considered a majority-Christian country. Now, I’m sure that if you’re an American, you know quite a few folks who self-identify as Christians – and who may even go to Church regularly – but for whom religion has little effect on their lives. Meanwhile, if you’re from (or have spent time in) the American Bible-belt, you’ve probably met the sort of Christian for whom every facet of his/her life revolves around the church, and who will want to talk religion – and conversion, if you’re a non-believer – with you at any possible moment. Like Christianity in the US, Islam in Kyrgyzstan runs the gamut, although in my experience there seem to be far more folks who identify themselves as Muslims, but who don’t think about religion all that much in general, whereas there seem to be only a few on the ultra-serious end of the religion spectrum.

The mosque of Toguz-Bulak The mosque of Bar-Bulak

Bishkek, the capital, tends to be filled with self-identified Muslims who believe in Allah and Muhammad and the Koran, and who celebrate the major Islamic holidays, but who don’t really think about religion all that much. I’ve met many Bishkekers who self-identify as Muslims, but who smoke, drink alcohol, have pre-marital sex, don’t keep halal, wear short skirts, and don’t cover their hair (the last two applying to women, obviously). Outside of Bishkek (especially the more rural the area), women typically don’t smoke, have pre-marital sex, or wear short skirts, although all but the most strict Muslim women don’t drink alcohol. Most rural women do, however, cover their hair with the Kyrgyz-style headscarf. Some rural Kyrgyz men do abstain from vices on religious grounds, but smoking and drinking in particular are very common.

My host family in Toguz Bulak self-identified as Muslim, but they were not an overly religious bunch. Other than at the forty-days memorial service for Rakhat’s father, I never heard them pray other than a quick ‘omin’ at the end of a meal or before a sheep was slaughtered. They never spoke of religion. The call to prayer would come and go and neither they (nor anyone else I witnessed in Toguz Bulak) responded in any way. My host ‘parents’ did not drink alcohol themselves, although many of their relatives did. Additionally, they operated a private store from which they sold vodka to the locals. And you might remember the great pleasure they seemed to derive from getting me plastered. So, religious, but not overly so.

In contrast, my host ‘father’ in Bar Bulak was the local imam. On our drive from Toguz Bulak to Bar Bulak, he brought up religion, assuming that I was a Christian: “So, what are you – Orthodox, Catholic, or Protestant?” Me: “Um… I’m not anything.” Him: “Oh. I guess you just haven’t thought about it yet. You’re young and probably very busy. You’ll think about it more when you’re older.” I thought that was kind of an odd thing for him to say to me, considering that he and I are the same age, but that was it. That was the extent to which the local village imam and I discussed religion.

Now, there were definitely signs that my host family in Bar Bulak were religious (other than Kuban being the local imam): they sent their eight year old son to a month-long Muslim summer camp, Rita and Aidai would don hijabs to pray – not necessarily five times a day, but roughly – although they only wore them for prayer (the rest of the time they wore Kyrgyz headscarves), Kuban and his son wore Islamic skullcaps, they kept halal, they didn’t smoke or drink alcohol, and fasting during Ramadan was very important to them. And… that’s really the extent to which I witnessed the practical effects of Islam on their lives.

(As a side note, Kuban’s call to prayer was always very beautiful and moving. He usually did it through the loudspeaker at the village mosque, although he didn’t always make it there. Sometimes the call to prayer went out from our backyard or from the yurt camp by the lake. I really wanted to record him, but somehow that just seemed too intrusive.)

Interestingly, Kuban’s family is not overly religious. Most of his relatives live in the city of Balykchy, which is half an hour or so away from Bar Bulak. As such, I saw many of his relatives quite a few times during my stay. One of his sisters told me, “You know, Kyrgyzstan isn’t that strongly a Muslim country. It’s funny that you came here and got stuck with a fanatic like Kuban.” She said this quite jovially. And it was funny, because he’s a far cry from what I would consider a religious fanatic. I mean, once during dinner we watched an Islamic sermon on TV. When it was over, we watched the last hour of Miss Congeniality. Anyway, when I lost my voice, another one of Kuban’s sisters told me that I should come and stay with her, as what I needed to cure my sore throat was a shot or two of vodka, and I wasn’t going to get that from her brother.

Meanwhile, while Kyrgyzstan is predominantly Muslim, there are a large number of Christians who live here as well. Despite the dwindling population of ethnic Russians in Kyrgyzstan, there are still quite a few Russian Orthodox believers in the country, especially in Bishkek and Karakol. There are quite a few Christians of other denominations in Bishkek, although few are ethnic Kyrgyz. Ethnic Russians, ethnic Koreans, and ex-pats make up the bulk of the Christian community throughout the country. Additionally, I have met quite a few local people who, like me, are simply non-religious. I’ve even met a small handful of Kyrgyz folks who are anti-religion in general. As far as I am aware, while there have been inter-ethnic tensions and violence within Kyrgyzstan, there has been little to no inter-religious tension or violence. I believe that it is illegal to come to Kyrgyzstan for the purpose of proselytizing, but if you simply come as a member of any faith – or of no faith – you should not expect this to cause you any problems whatsoever.

Not at my best in Bishkek, Part 3

June 17, 2013

The next morning I once again awoke early, this time before 7am. Since no one else was awake, the showers were free. I took a long, hot, wonderful shower, which for once I was able to enjoy. Then I went back to bed. Check out time wasn’t until 11am, and I had no idea what time my host family would be picking me up. As such, I figured I’d spend as much time in bed as I could. I slept for a few hours, then got up, packed my things, and checked out. Then I carted my stuff down to Fatboy’s. I snagged a book from their book pile, and sat on their deck eating and reading until around 12:30pm, when Rakhat and Altynbek came to pick me up.

At that point I thought we’d soon be on our way back to Toguz Bulak, but no. First we went to another relative’s house (Altynbek’s niece), where we had tea accompanied by pasta and sheep. After lunch, we returned to the home of Altynbek’s brother up by Dordoi. Rakhat then told me that she needed to visit her sister who was in the hospital, and that I could just wait there until they got back. Um, okay.

The kids (my host family’s three plus their two cousins) and I watched Wall-E dubbed into Russian (not that the movie has all that many words). This was the first time I’d seen the film, and I was very impressed. It was actually quite beautiful. Then I had yet another bout of stomach problems – when Altynbek’s sister-in-law put out yet another meal, I simply could not eat. I was able to drink a couple of glasses of kefir, which helped to settle my stomach somewhat.

When it came time to leave for Toguz Bulak (around 4:30pm), first the six of us crammed back into the Audi. Then we were joined by the two cousins (ages 7 and 15) who were accompanying us back to the village. Yes, eight people crammed into a four-door sedan for a three and a half hour ride. I was really worried that I was going to become violently ill, but that didn’t happen. In fact, I was able to sleep for a little bit, and awoke about an hour into the drive feeling fairly healthy.

Not at my best in Bishkek, Part 2

June 17, 2013

Thank goodness for Imitrex. That stuff might knock me out, but it knocks the migraine out, too. I awoke fairly early (around 7:30am) with no headache, but with that strange ‘Imitrex hangover’ feeling. Days like that one should take it easy, lest the Imitrex wear off too soon and the migraine reassert itself. However, as I had a lot to do – and a date with the family for sheep slaughtering that afternoon – taking it easy wasn’t an option.

I started off with breakfast at Fatboy’s, figuring none of the places I needed would open until 9:00 or 10:00 anyway, and Fatboy’s opens pretty early. After breakfast, I took some pictures from in front of the museum in Ala Too Square, as the mountains were clearly visible for once.

Then I made my second attempt to locate Dom Byta, the place where – according to ES – I could probably get my long lens fixed. During the night, she had emailed me detailed directions for finding the place, and that – combined with the lack of migraine – enabled me to locate it on the second floor of a small, kind of sketchy looking building just west of the square (Kievskaya 104). The fellow inside the tiny camera repair shop was incredibly nice. He had to slice open the side of the cap on the back end of the lens with a small saw in order to get it loose. Then he taped the cap back together in such a way that it was still usable. And just like that, the long lens was back in business! He also had a fantastic collection of old film cameras that I would have loved to have played with if I’d had the time… but alas.

The lovely fellow who fixed my lens.
...and his fantastic camera collection
Sliced
...and taped

My next goal was to get photos printed. There were some that I wanted to add to my collection of photos that I use in the classroom, and there were others that I wanted to give to my host family as presents. After that, I popped into a supermarket to get some of the things I’d neglected to buy the day before (toothpaste, lotion, etc.), and then I hit up TSUM again, this time looking for shoes. I ended up buying the only practical (i.e. not atop 3+ inch heels) women’s shoes I could find: overpriced, lime green Converse knockoffs from Turkey. I also snagged some new socks and underwear. I had a fried chicken wrap at a fast-food stand outside of TSUM, and then stopped off at one more grocery store for snacks and three liter-bottles of non-gassy water to take back to the village with me. At that point it was around 1:30pm, and my headache was showing signs of an attempted resurgence. I returned to the hostel and napped for a couple of hours, at which point it was time for Sheep Slaughter Number Three.

Rakhat and one of Altynbek’s sisters came and picked me up, and we drove way out to the southwestern edge of the city where another one of A’s many relatives lived. He has something like five brothers and five sisters – they were all in attendance with their spouses and children (and in some cases, grandchildren). It was quite a merry gathering. And apparently they really did all want to meet me.

There were quite a few courses – including two different courses made from the sheep who had ridden to Bishkek with us the previous day. In between courses, the family hung out and chatted while the children played. All in all, it was quite jovial.

Remember the sheep that rode to Bishkek with us in the trunk of the car?

Vodka was brought out – and as they had ALL heard about my drinking adventure with Jumabek, I was not allowed to turn down a shot, even when I pleaded the excuse of my headache (which had started to creep back in around 6pm). Luckily there was only one bottle to be shared amongst all of the people in attendance, meaning that I was able to scrape by with 3/4 of a shot, instead of being forced to display my legendary drinking prowess. (It’s a little ridiculous that they are all so impressed by my alcohol consumption skills, given how little I drink in general!) One of the brothers told me that when their mother is present, they can’t get drunk, which was why they only had the one bottle. I was seated next to their mother (who is in her 70s), so I told her that I was glad that she was there. She laughed and winked at me. “When my children aren’t around, you and I can split a bottle.” Oi.

Around 10pm, it was time to go. I had a minor headache and was not at all intoxicated. I didn’t feel great, but I didn’t feel bad either. Then I got into the car with Altynbek’s nephew, who had been tasked with driving me back to the hostel. He was a terrible driver. Not terrible in the sense that I felt in danger (I didn’t at all) but terrible in the sense that he was one of those drivers who constantly weaves and swerves and makes a lot of seemingly unnecessary turns and sudden stops. As you might guess, I began to feel quite motion sick. I made it out of the car and about halfway down the street to the hostel when I began puking. Ugh. It’s always something. After completely emptying the contents of my stomach, I made it inside, took a brief shower, and passed out.

Not at my best in Bishkek, Part 1

June 17, 2013

I had to go to Bishkek this past weekend to collect my passport with its extended visa from The London School. On the previous weekend I had told Rakhat and Altynbek my plans to spend Friday, Saturday, and Sunday in Bishkek and I had asked them how I could get from Toguz Bulak to Bishkek. I was told that there would be plenty of marshrutki and that as such it wouldn’t be a problem. I don’t know about “plenty” as I’ve only ever seen one or two marshrutki in Toguz Bulak, but I was reassured that they didn’t seem to think that it would be difficult for me to find transport.

I really began to look forward to my trip to Bishkek. I began fantasizing about Fatboy’s and Cyclone and Georgian food and rabbit, and basically anything that I might be able to eat which didn’t contain sheep. I had other plans too, including getting the long lens on my camera fixed, buying a new Coolpix to replace the one I’d ruined (the purpose of the Coolpix was to take video for my grad school independent study project since my DSLR doesn’t take video; I’d ruined it a week prior by accidentally dumping a bottle of Coke onto it and needed to get a new one), meeting up with various people, buying maxipads and tampons (yes, I was still bleeding at this point) as well as some new underwear, and taking a minimum of three long, hot showers.

But this is Kyrgyzstan, and I should know by now that there’s not much point in making concrete plans. Kyrgyzstan sees your plans, and raises you a laugh in the face.

On Wednesday, Rakhat told me that the entire family had decided that they, too, would go to Bishkek as most of Altynbek’s relatives (and a couple of Rakhat’s) live there… and they’d bring a sheep with them to slaughter. And of course I must attend the sheep slaughtering festivities because all of Altynbek’s family members were so looking forward to meeting me. My dreams of a sheep-free weekend went down in a boiling pot of mutton. They didn’t understand why I wanted to stay in a hostel, when I could just stay with them at the home of one of Altynbek’s relatives… my dream of a sheep-free weekend had already died, but I was not letting go of my dream of hot showers and sit-down toilets. I told them that I had already reserved my bed at the hostel and that I therefore had to stay there. Not really a logical argument, but I stuck to it. (I’m glad I did, as the relatives’ homes that I visited were on the outskirts of the city and did not have running water or sit down toilets.)

I asked them what time we’d be leaving on Friday morning. This was important as I needed to be at The London School no later than 6pm to pick up my passport, and the drive from Toguz-Bulak to Bishkek takes a minimum of three and a half hours. I was told that we’d be leaving around 10am, as Rakhat had some things she needed to do at the school in the morning. I’d have preferred to be on the road earlier, but leaving at 10am would still give me plenty of time to pick up my passport and knock some items off of my to-do list.

Friday morning I was up, dressed, packed, and ready to go by 8:30am. Over breakfast, Rakhat asked me if I was going to the school. Why would I be going to the school? It was Friday, and I don’t teach classes on Fridays. It turned out that this Friday was a ten year school reunion at the Myrzamambetov School, and all of the teachers (including me and Rakhat) were expected to attend. “But we’re going to Bishkek!” I was suddenly feeling a bit panicked, envisioning a combination of drunken American high school reunions and six hour long Kyrgyz feasts. “Oh, don’t worry,” I was told, “It will only take a couple of hours, then we can leave.” A couple of hours? Seriously? Arrrrgh. We didn’t leave Toguz Bulak until nearly 1pm, at which point I was feeling thoroughly stressed about whether or not I’d get to The London School before 6pm.

(As an aside, the ten year reunion involved the former students reuniting not only with each other, but with their former teachers as well. They also got to meet the new teachers, hired since their graduation, and quite a few of the current students who had turned out for the event. They took a tour of the school, watched a short video about the school, and listened to a speech by the director. This was apparently followed by dining and dancing, but luckily we left at that point, as we very much needed to get on the road.)

The road into Toguz Bulak from the main road along the southern shore of Lake Issyk-Kul into the village is being paved, and as such it is closed. Or perhaps I should write “closed.” It’s the only way in and out of this part of the valley other than a very lengthy detour. As such, no one heading in or out is bothering with the detour; they’re just off-roading alongside the roadwork instead.

Rakhat, Altynbek, the three kids and I loaded into the car – a twenty or so year old four-door Audi, the trunk of which was packed to the brim with everything we might possibly need in Bishkek, including satchels full of the boorsook we made the other day and a live sheep. The poor thing bleated from the trunk all the way to Bishkek. It was cold and rainy when we squished ourselves into the car, so they cranked up the heat before we began our off-roading adventure to reach the main road. Now those of you who suffer from motion sickness should already be cringing: cramped quarters, no ventilation, heat, and a bouncy, winding road? That’s a sure recipe for motion sickness right there. Now, I’d taken my homeopathic motion sickness meds (I can’t take even the “non-drowsy” Dramamine as it knocks me out cold for a good 8 hours if not longer) so I didn’t vomit, although I did develop that nasty dizzy feeling that accompanies motion sickness. As such, I did not feel too great by the time we reached the main road. Combine that with three more hours squished into the hot, unventilated back seat with a screaming toddler while stressing about whether or not I’d make it to The London School in time to pick up my passport and you have the prefect recipe for a migraine. Yay.

We arrived in Bishkek around 3:30pm, but instead of going to the hostel to drop me off, our first destination was the home of one of Altynbek’s brothers who lives in the north-eastern part of Bishkek, over by Dordoi (in fact, his wife works at Dordoi). For those of you who don’t know the geography of Bishkek, let’s just say that this is a long way from The London School. I mentioned that I really needed to get to The London School soon and was told, “It’s ok; you’ll have plenty of time. We’re just stopping for tea; this’ll only take about an hour.” My headache cranked up a couple more notches. It wasn’t yet a migraine, but I was pretty certain that it was heading in that direction. After “tea” (which was, of course, a full meal) I was finally delivered to my hostel, where I arrived at 5:30pm.

I popped two Excedrin and called The London School to explain that I’d only just gotten into Bishkek and that I was on my way to get my passport. The person whom I was meeting agreed to wait for me. I ran down to Sovietskaya and caught a taxi.

“What? You haven’t left for the village yet?” asked the taxi driver. Yes, I had been driven to The London School by this very taxi driver before, and had talked to him about what I was doing in Kyrgyzstan. I explained to him that I had been out in the village for a month and was just in town for the weekend. The previous time I’d ridden with this fellow, he’d seemed the friendly, avuncular type (although as I’m sure my mother would point out, he is now in my ‘datable age bracket’), but this time I got the standard ‘Are you married?’ question. I answered with “No, but I have a boyfriend back in the US” – and the response? “Well he’s there and you’re here… we should get to know each other a little better.” Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Really? I haven’t showered in a week, I’ve been in a hot car all afternoon, and I’m all squinty from my headache and you’re hitting on me? After I tell you I have a boyfriend? I was so not in the mood for this at all.

By the time I got to The London School, the migraine and the Excedrin were doing full battle, and the Excedrin was losing. I reclaimed my passport and tried to have a sensible chat with the folks there (although I’m sure I failed). Then I went to the grocery store in the VEFA Center in order to purchase some juice, a coke, maxipads, and soft toilet paper. I sat in the courtyard at VEFA drinking my coke and swallowing two more Excedrin in the hopes that my headache might go away. It didn’t, but for a while the Excedrin had the upper hand in the battle.

I took a taxi back into the center. When this fellow asked me if I was married, I answered yes. “Oh, how many children do you have?” “None.” “Why not?” “I don’t want any children.” “What? A woman who doesn’t have children isn’t a real woman, and a wife who doesn’t give birth isn’t a real wife. If a wife doesn’t immediately become pregnant, a Kyrgyz man will divorce her.” I was not in the mood for this either.

My next stop was TSUM in order to buy a replacement Coolpix. I told the guys at one of the camera-kiosks that I needed the cheapest camera they had that could take video – and they sold me the exact same model of Coolpix that I had ruined the week before, only in pink.

I then wandered along Kievskaya, looking for a place known as Dom Byta that I’d been told would probably be able to repair my DSLR's long lens. At that point it was after 8pm on a Friday, and I didn’t expect Dom Byta to be open, I just wanted to locate it and discern what time it might open the following morning. I knew roughly where it was, but I couldn’t locate it – and my attempts at doing so were hampered by the fact that I was in full migraine-aura mode. The Excedrin was still keeping most of the pain at bay, but I was having a fairly difficult time seeing straight.

I gave up on my quest for Dom Byta and stumbled over to Fatboy’s for some non-sheep dinner (which I admit I did not enjoy given how I felt). I then made my way back to the hostel where I took a long, hot shower (which alas, I also did not enjoy) before collapsing onto my bed, taking one of my three remaining Imitrex, and promptly passing out.

Kimchi Power!

May 27, 2013

My last full day in Bishkek was incredibly busy – and this was complicated by the fact that the good ol’ Kyrgyz Stomach Bug had reared its ugly head again. God knows how I managed to accomplish everything I did.

The day began with my 10am meeting with the director of the London School. I have to admit that I had expected the meeting to be rather pointless, and was therefore annoyed by the extra two days’ delay. It actually wasn’t pointless. I learned that I would not be going to Kul-Tor after all, because the school’s director/my potential host family had tried to bargain for more money from the London School to cover the costs of hosting me. The London School apparently felt that the Kul-Tor folks weren’t sufficiently grateful to be receiving a volunteer, and as such decided to send me to a neighboring village instead. As such, I learned that I would be spending the month of June in the village of Toguz Bulak instead of in Kul-tor. (Toguz Bulak is located just to the east of Kul-tor.) I would still be spending the month of July in Bar Bulak as planned.

This is as resolved as Google Earth gets over Toguz Bulak
Toguz Bulak and Bar Bulak, relative to each other and to Lake Issyk Kul

The director then told me that if I had any problems whatsoever while in Toguz Bulak to call her or email her immediately… so I asked the obvious question: “Will there be internet access in Toguz Bulak?” She looked confused and said that I could just access the internet on my phone. Hah! I pulled out my phone – the absolute bottom-of-the-line Nokia that was sold in Bishkek back in 2008. She took one look at my phone and totally cracked up. She then told me to come back at 5pm and the school’s IT staff would have an external flash drive modem to install on “my” computer.

I also asked about my stipend, as I’m supposed to be receiving roughly $100 in som/month. Apparently they now give their volunteers their stipends at the end of each month, after having had a volunteer spend a week in the village then take the money and run. While this kind of defeats the purpose of the stipend, I had budgeted enough to cover any village-related expenses I might have, so this wasn’t a problem.

After leaving the London School, I walked back to the hostel as the weather was absolutely perfect, taking photos along the way. I returned to the hostel, did a bit more laundry, and once again re-packed all of my things – which now included both a laptop and a shyrdak. Luckily I was able to roll up the shyrdak and strap it to the outside of my large backpack.

Then I went off in search of RH, a German who lives and works in Bishkek who is also one of my facebook contacts – having found me through my original (and now defunct) blog, the Kyrgyz-related contents of which have mostly been reposted here. His office was located in an extremely out of the way place (off a series of roads off Manas, south of Gorkova). I had the surreal experience of having my taxi driver pull into a милиция station and ask the police for directions! Talk about something that would never have happened five years ago. RH was an interesting fellow who has opened a business doing outsourcing work for German companies with local Bishkek staff. We had quite an interesting chat – and then I had to dash back into town to get “my” laptop, then back out to the London School. If I had planned better, I would have brought my laptop with me when I went looking for RH – then I would have just had an easy ride along Gorkova to the London School. As it was, I had to run all over the damn place. Ahh well, live and learn.

The London School folks installed the software for a flash drive modem onto the laptop, and provided me with SIM cards for both Beeline and MegaCom, so that I could use whichever had the best signal out in Toguz Bulak. (Assuming either had a signal, haha.) This is a pre-paid internet access system, which charges 1.5soms per megabyte. This means that if I don’t want to spend a fortune, I can’t do things with lots of graphics or download any audio or video. Of course, I probably won’t have a strong enough signal for downloading graphics, audio, or video!

After getting the modem installed, I once again raced back to the hostel – this time to get ready for dinner with J, my Korean former student from five years ago, and his family. Unfortunately, by that point I was feeling quite ill, and my various taxi rides all across the city had done little to settle my stomach. However, it was too late to cancel, as J and his dad were on their way to pick me up.

I was actually quite worried that I might become violently ill while in the middle of dinner – which would have been horrible. I warned them that I was ill, and they were very understanding. Amazingly, kimchi (of all things!) totally settled my stomach, and it did so pretty much immediately on contact. That stuff really is a miracle drug! We ate samgyetang (a chicken in ginseng soup), kimchi, a Russian-style salad, and a Vietnamese dish. Dinners at their home are always a wonderful hybrid, and exceptionally delicious. J and his family were as wonderful as ever, and I always love having the opportunity to spend time with them. And by the time I returned home, I felt perfectly healthy. Go, go kimchi power!

A lazy day in Bishkek… with a shyrdak

May 26, 2013

In keeping with my somewhat embarrassing habit of being one of those foreigners who breakfasts every morning at Fatboy’s, I wandered down there this morning for the dual purposes of eating and of meeting up with K, someone who had studied Kyrgyz at the London School while I was working there five years ago. She’s in Kazakhstan doing research for her PhD, and had to pop over to Kyrgyzstan for the night (literally just for one night) in order to reset her Kazakh visa. After breakfast, K set off for the bus station, and I wandered over to the State History Museum to view an exhibition shyrdaks from the Altyn Kol women’s collective in Kochkor.

These are the same folks who operate the shyrdak and handicrafts shop next to the CBT office in Kochkor, but as I hadn’t been feeling too well when we were there, I hadn’t spent much time looking at their work. I certainly didn’t intend to buy a fairly large shyrdak, but as it was in wonderfully bright colors and was reasonably priced, I couldn’t turn it down. I also got myself a nice little embroidered purse.

Shyrdak!! :-)
Hand-stitched purse

I took my purchases back to the hostel, by which point I was feeling somewhat chilled as the weather seemed to have gotten colder, rather than warmer, as the day progressed. I took advantage of the shitty weather and the hostel’s (finally) working wifi to edit and upload photos from the Bishkek, Kochkor, and Chong-Kemin portions of my trip to facebook.

That evening I received a call from J, one of my former students at the London School and an ethnic Korean, calling to invite me to dinner the following evening. Woohoo! J’s family are wonderful, and some of my favorite people, so I was quite excited to receive his invitation. In the interim, I popped down to a café around the corner from the hostel for some plov, then returned to the hostel where I tried (unsuccessfully) to get the other hostelers to help me finish off our liter of kumys.

The Breaking of the Fellowship

May 25, 2013

Friday morning it was raining. We slept in late, had breakfast at Fatboy’s, and then my companions – who were all getting ready to return to the UK – went on quite a shopping spree, buying souvenirs for themselves and their friends. I bought myself a second orange felt hat. One can’t have too many.

A and N in Fatboy's
B and me, Fatboy's
Awesome orange hat. Sadly it faded rather quickly, so it's no longer quite as awesome.

I had to go down to the London School to pick up a laptop, since for part of my volunteering program they wanted me to make some audio-recordings. I hadn’t realized how much I missed having a computer until I had the laptop in my possession. I told B, N, and A that I felt like a mother holding her firstborn and discovering that it was a cat.

Late in the afternoon – after an astonishingly easy trip to the post office in which the local employees were actually friendly and helpful – we walked down to Cyclone, an Italian restaurant on Chuy not far from the White House in order to consume some of their fantabulous hot chocolate. We decided to have pizza and fondue while we were there, as we were all rather hungry at that point, but the highlight was definitely the hot chocolate. I’m fairly certain that this place serves the absolute best hot chocolate in the world.

Me, B, A, and N in the outdoor part of Cyclone. Also, note our superawesome matching shirts. Nah, no tourists here.

While we were dining, we received a text from our friend Nargiza, one of the local staff at the London School who had worked there with us five years ago, asking if we’d like to meet up for dinner. We arranged to meet her at 9pm at Jalalabad, a lovely plov café not too far from Cyclone. (Apparently it was torched during the 2010 revolution, but it shows no signs of this now.) Dinner with Nargiza followed so closely on the heels of our late lunch at Cyclone that I wasn’t hungry enough to make much of a dent in my plov even though it was delicious. B ordered the “horse meat assortment” which contained straight-up horse meat, horse meat sausage, and horse meat guts. I tasted the regular horse meat, which was okay, if a tad dry. B apparently liked the meat and the sausage, but was thoroughly disgusted by the guts.

B and Nargiza, Jalalabad

Jalalabad is a halal restaurant, and as such doesn’t serve alcohol, so when we were finished with our food, we headed over to the Kant café on Kievskaya for some drinks. We hung out over there until midnight. Sadly, at that point it was time for N and A to taxi off to the airport.

Nargiza in Ala Too Square :-)
A, N, Nargiza, B, me, Kant Cafe

The next morning, B and I went to Fatboy’s for our last Kyrgyzstan 2013 breakfast together, after which it was his turn to taxi off to the airport, waving and shouting ‘No physical harm!’ as he sped off down Chuy.

B was pouting over having to leave.
It was sad to suddenly be alone in Bishkek, a feeling I had only experienced at the very, very beginning of my 2008 trip. Being in Bishkek without any of the 2008 crowd was somewhat surreal. Still, the first part of my journey was over, and the second part was just beginning (to loosely paraphrase Movie Gandalf).

I was scheduled to leave for Kul-tor on the following morning to begin volunteering. I went to one of the western-style supermarkets to stock up on quality toiletries (as opposed to the awful TSA-compliant ones I’d crammed into my carry-on). I then did some laundry out of our bucket and hung my clothes up on the roof of the hostel to dry. I then re-packed all of my things in order to fit the laptop into the mix. This was a bit of a challenge. I hadn’t brought my own laptop with me in the first place because I simply didn’t have room for it… however, once again, the bucket proved useful, as I was able to cram a whole bunch of stuff into it.

Around 4:30pm, just when I was beginning to ponder my dinner plans, the London School called. Apparently they hadn’t meant to give me the super-fast, brand new Samsung laptop that they had given me, and I needed to bring it back to them and exchange it for a different laptop. They also wanted to discuss some “changes to the program” with me. Could I come by the school at 6pm? Sigh. This meant that I had to completely re-do all of my clever packing.

I was feeling quite annoyed by the whole laptop exchange nonsense when I arrived at the London School, only to be told that actually, I’d need to stay in Bishkek an extra two days. The director of the London School wanted to meet with me before I left to discuss some changes; she would meet with me on Monday, and I would leave for the village on Tuesday. I have to admit that I returned to the hostel in a foul mood, between the exchange of a brand new Samsung laptop for an ancient Acer and the news that my departure would be delayed for reasons that were not entirely clear.

I decided to go out for overpriced curry to make myself feel better. There is a curry place called The Host located just across from the Hyatt. I enjoy local cuisine, but as I figured that as of Tuesday I’d be eating nothing but local cuisine, I figured I’d keep up my international menu as long as I could. The food was delicious and the service was incredible. I returned to the hostel in a much better frame of mind.

In which we return to Bishkek and eat rabbit

May 23, 2013

We left Sary Chelek just before 9am. The same CBT driver who had driven us from Jalalabad to Arkyt drove us to Tash-Komur – a rather desolate coal mining town, located on the road from Bishkek to Osh. Our driver had already arranged to drive others somewhere that day, so he couldn’t drive us all the way to Bishkek; however, CBT and the wonderful Hayat had arranged for a different driver to meet us in Tash-Komur. This driver, too, was an excellent driver, and – in contrast to our previous trip along the road between Bishkek and Tash-Komur – we were able to actually enjoy the ride and take tons of photos along the way. The trip took nine hours in total from Arkyt to Bishkek, but I have to say that I’ve never had a nine hour car trip feel so pleasant. We even stopped in the Susamir valley to purchase a liter of fresh kumys (fermented horse milk).

We had a flat tire along the way. Luckily it was in a scenic spot, so I got out and took photos.
Me, at the site of our flat tire, along the Naryn River
The Toktogul Reservoir: A lot more full than it was back in 2008.





Where we stopped to buy kumys
N and B and their bottle of kumys

To see the complete set of photos taken between Tash Komur and Bishkek, CLICK HERE.

We got into Bishkek, checked back into the same hostel, showered, changed, and set off for dinner. We decided to go to У Мазая, a rabbit-themed and rabbit-serving restaurant located just off of Sovietskaya north of Chuy. The restaurant has appropriated the Playboy Bunny as its logo; I wonder how many American tourists wander in looking for a strip club and instead get rabbits. There were paintings of rabbits on the walls, as well as rabbit pelts, and the staff all had Bugs Bunny embroidered on their uniforms. This was the first time I’d ever eaten rabbit, and it was surprisingly delicious. The cocktails were pretty potent as well! (Seriously, one should not get quite so intoxicated off of a mere two cocktails!)

No, it's not a strip club. B, enjoying the rabbit theme. Likewise, N
Rabbit and fried cauliflower.

We stumbled back to the hostel and decided to put some effort into finishing off our bottle of kumys. This was a good choice, as apparently kumys works much like tan in terms of hangover prevention. Woohoo!