In sickness, in Balykchy, and in the ass

July 5, 2013

This has been a wasted week.

Sunday evening, after I last wrote, I began to develop a sore throat. Sunday night I came down with something very flu-like: fever, chills, aches all over, nausea (so that I couldn’t take a NyQuil), and an extremely sore throat, such that swallowing was quite painful. I spent most of the night tossing and turning and feeling thoroughly miserable. I did not teach on Monday, and instead spent the day in bed.

Tuesday morning I felt mostly better, although my throat was still sore. I taught classes, although by my second class I was starting to lose my voice. About twenty minutes into my third class, Rita knocked on the door. The family was going to Balykchy to use the banya, but if I wanted to go I’d have to end class early because they were going right then. I didn’t really understand why we needed to leave right away, but Rita was the school’s director, I hadn’t showered in twelve days, and my throat was killing me. We ended class early.

I grabbed my shower stuff and a change of clothes (although I neglected to toss in deodorant in the mistaken thought that we’d be headed straight home after banya-ing) and we promptly set out for Balykchy. Balykchy is a former industrial and fishing town located at the western tip of Issyk Kul, about half an hour’s drive from Bar Bulak. The fish and the factories have left, leaving a community struggling to figure out what to do with itself. I have to admit, it didn’t look as depressing as it did five years ago (or in the photos on the Desolation Travel website), although I wouldn’t go so far as to say it seemed prosperous.

It turned out that we were picking up Kuban and Rita’s son, Sabyr (8) from summer camp, and the camp closed at noon – there really was a reason why we had to leave so urgently. After picking up Sabyr, we hit up one of the Balykchy banyas, and by 1pm I was squeaky clean. It was a wonderful feeling. It didn’t last.

When we left the banya, we headed for a TV repair shop. We then spent an hour and a half sitting in the car while Kuban took their TV inside to be repaired. Granted, we had the doors open, and it was only about 75 or so outside, so it’s not like sitting in a car in Florida in early July for an hour and a half… but by the time we left I was definitely regretting not bringing along any deodorant.

Once the TV was fixed, we visited Kuban’s mother. She’s the same age as my mother, and like me and my mom, she is a teacher (although she teaches math). We got along great, even though I could tell I was losing my voice as I spoke with her. After leaving Kuban’s mother’s house, we went to the Balykchy bazaar. Normally, setting me loose in a bazaar does bad things to my wallet, although I have to admit that the Balykchy bazaar is not a happening place at 4pm on a Tuesday. Most of the stalls were closed. I couldn’t find anything I wanted to buy. In contrast, Rita and Kuban hit up the home-goods section where they spent several hours (!!) and dropped a small fortune on things like a meat processer and a microwave. While at the bazaar, I began to feel headachy. And seriously lacking in deodorant. When we finally loaded back into the car, I thought for sure that we’d be headed home, but alas… we stopped at someone else’s house for dinner. It wasn’t until 7:30pm that we began driving back towards Bar Bulak. I really wouldn’t have minded the delays (well, the 2+ hours at the bazaar was a bit much) had I felt better, but between how I felt and my lack of deodorant, well, I was ready to be on the road.

By the time we started heading home, I had a splitting headache, had almost completely lost my voice, and of course, promptly began feeling carsick. Aaaargh. Then, halfway home, we stopped at a farm that Kuban either owns or manages (they grow some kind of plant that’s made into some sort of medicine), and we waited in the car there for a good half an hour while Kuban spoke with the workers. By the time we got home I was seriously feeling rough. I won’t go into details, but suffice it to say that things became very unpleasant for me health wise, and I had to take one of my two remaining Imitrex as well as a lot of Imodium.

When I awoke in the morning, I couldn’t speak at all. Nothing above a whisper. I could barely communicate with Rita, much less teach. If I my students were more advanced, I could give them written assignments, but given their low levels there’s no way we could have a class in which I couldn’t speak. It would be a waste of everyone’s time. So, no work for me until the voice returns. Unfortunately, I’m prone to losing my voice when I get sick, and it’s been known to stay gone for a week or so. Crap.

Rita insisted that I see the village nurse in the tiny village clinic located pretty much directly across the street from our house at the foot of the barren, scree-covered hills. She was a kind, older woman who diagnosed me as having laryngitis and who prescribed cough drops, throat spray, and a twice daily injection of ampicillin mixed with novocaine into my ass for the next five days. Wait – what? Yep. Shots to the bum to be administered twice daily by Rita. Also, I must wear socks at all times (except for when I’m soaking my feet in hot water, which for some reason I must do) and I must drink hot milk before going to bed. (I think the hot milk is worse than the shots, as straight up milk makes me gag, whereas the novocaine numbs the injection site pretty rapidly).

I’ve been spending nearly all of my time in bed with Котчик and my kindle, even though aside from a bit of a cough and some sinus stuffiness I feel fine, because there’s not much else I can do – especially when I’ve essentially taken an entire week off from work. I’ve done some lesson planning, but as most of what I need for class I already created when I was in Toguz Bulak, there’s really not much to do until I get better and can get back to work. Besides, the nurse also told me that I needed to stay in bed until I recovered my voice, and everyone seems intent on making me follow all of her instructions. Sigh. So here I am, with my socks on, waiting for another shot in the ass…

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.

Hot Springs and the Weirdness of Aalam Ordo

June 13, 2013

Yesterday after my classed finished, my host family informed me that we were going to “go to a hot springs.” I was a little concerned that they were going to take me to Bar-Bulak (which means ‘hot springs’ as they do indeed have one there). As I will be moving to Bar-Bulak in less than two weeks it seemed a silly place for me to take a day trip. I needn’t have worried; we went in the other direction.

Our first destination was Bokonbaevo, in order to purchase some supplies. From there we continued east through the villages of Tong and Kaji-Sai to a place I’d visited before on one of my trips along the southern shore of Lake Issyk-Kul five years ago called Aalam Ordo.

Five years ago it was an abandoned, half-completed, Manas-themed resort. Five years later, a bunch more work has been done on the place, but if anything, it seems rather worse for wear. It is now an abandoned, half-completed Manas and Chingiz Aitmatov themed resort with a monument to the 2010 Kyrgyzstan Revolution. I absolutely loved it, but then again, I love desolate and abandoned places. It was rather sad how proud Rakhat and Altynbek seemed to be of the place as they explained the meanings behind the various murals, and assured me that if I came back in five years’ time, this would be an incredible resort, packed full of tourists.

The statue farthest to the right is Chingiz Aitmatov  I don't know who the others are supposed to be. 
One of many unfinished yurt-shaped cabins

The main central plaza (?) with a mural of a Manaschi


Some of the cabins were closer to being finished than others...  although they'd all obviously been sitting here for quite some time.
The monument to those who died in the 2010 revolution. The building on the far right of the mural is the Kyrgyz White House, and it has snipers on the rooftop firing at the men on the dragon.
Apparently at one point the concrete thingy on the left contained tile and was a reflecting pool. The vaguely ship-shaped concrete thingy to the right to the Manaschi mural is supposed to represent The White Ship, one of Aitmatov's works.

The fellow in the central frame is Chingiz Aitmatov

This is about as far as I ever got into Lake Issyk Kul
Rakhat and Nurel
Me and Nurel

After exploring the “resort” and wading in the lake, we set off for the hot springs, located in a small, concrete building in the center of the village of Kaji-Sai. In the parking lot outside the concrete shed which housed the thermal waters we ate a picnic of bread, salami, and smoked chicken. Praise the gods! Meat that wasn’t sheep! I ate a good bit, and then we went into the hot springs for a swim. Because one should always eat right before swimming. Safety first! NPH.

Having had a hot springs experience in Kyrgyzstan five years ago, I essentially knew what to expect: hot water from a mysterious thermal source, piped into a dank, moldering, concrete pit. This did not disappoint. The “hot springs” consisted of a dank pool into which the thermally heated waters flowed from an ancient blue pipe. The pool was lined with cracked, broke, and in some places missing tile. The concrete walls were covered in black mold and bright green algae. About six or so feet above the water, thick, rusted pipes were suspended horizontally across the pool for no explicable reason. The water itself, however, despite being a rather frighteningly dark color, was warm and pleasant. It also was a tad salty, which made us all quite buoyant. We spent at least an hour, if not more, swimming.

The building in which the Kaji-Sai hot springs are located.
The Kaji-Sai hot springs pool.

As we drove back to Toguz Bulak from Kaji-Sai, the weather changed. All day long it had been in the 80s, but the temperature dropped rapidly, clouds appeared, and rain began to fall. Then, within half an hour of returning home, I developed an upset stomach. I don’t know if it was from pigging out on the salami and smoked chicken, from swimming too soon after eating, or from unintentionally ingesting some of the thermal waters – or if it was something else entirely – but I became incredibly nauseated. I managed to make it to dinner time (around 10pm) without puking, but the instant the odor of food reached me, I lost it. Sigh. Needless to say, I was not able to eat dinner (which was unfortunate, as this was a cabbage-centric, not sheep-centric meal). As it was cold and rainy outside, I spent yet another night sleeping with the bucket next to my bed.

Plague!

(A slight break from posting my travel blog to bring you current events out of Kyrgyzstan...)

Last night I learned that in rural Kyrgyzstan in recent days, one person has died of Bubonic Plague and three have come down with symptoms. Bubonic plague, despite being the Black Death of the Middle Ages is (typically) treatable with modern antibiotics, assuming that treatment begins in time. Early reports just said that the boy who died was in the Issyk Kul region. Now, I spent my summer in the Issyk Kul region, and it's a pretty big place. This morning I learned from this article (in Russian) I learned that the incident occurred in the Ak-Suu area of the Issyk Kul region, which is the area at the east end of Lake Issyk Kul over by Karakol. As of this evening, it was reported that the specific village where the outbreak occurred is Sary Kamysh, to the east of Karakol. A couple of websites have reported that the deceased youth contracted plague while "after eating barbecued marmot while visiting relatives in southern Kyrgyzstan" (see here and here) although everything about that claim seems rather fishy to me.

The 'A' marks Sary Kamysh. (There is another village named Sary Kamysh located closer to Balykchy on the north-western edge of the lake; however, it is not located in the Ak-Suu area.) For those worried about catching the Black Death while vacationing at Lake Issyk Kul itself, I'd say there's little need to worry, given the location of the outbreak.
And just to refresh your memory, here are the locations of the two villages where I spent my summer, with respect to Lake Issyk Kul, so that you can compare their location to that of the outbreak.
Bubonic Plague Scare Hits Kyrgyzstan Boy Dies of Bubonic Plague in Kyrgyzstan Death from Bubonic Plague Reported in Kyrgyzstan Bubonic Plague Kills Teen in Kyrgyzstan

Period. (Possibly TMI. You have been warned.)

June 5, 2013

You have got to be fucking kidding me. I brought enough birth control with me to allow me to take it continuously throughout the summer, which should have enabled me to skip my period for the entire time of my stay in Kyrgyzstan. Knowing that for the bulk of my time here I would be showering once a week or so (at this point I have bathed once in the past ten days), I really didn’t want to have to deal with menstruation and the cleanliness issues associated therewith. This also meant that I could save space when packing by not having to include maxipads or tampons.

But whaddyaknow. This did not work out as planned.

I awoke from my afternoon nap with back pain of the sort that usually accompanies my periods, but I didn’t think anything of it until several hours later when I went to the pit squatter and – surprise! Period! Not even spotting; full on menstruation. (I should also mention: no toilet paper. My host family uses old news papers. And yeah, pit squatter.)

Having already carefully perused the meager stock at the two tiny local shops, I already knew that pads and tampons were not available locally. Now, back in the US I actually use cloth pads, which I’m guessing is what they use here… but unfortunately Rakhat has gone to a nearby village to spend a few days with her mother, so I can’t ask her, and I am certainly not asking her husband! I have folded up one of my very few pairs of underwear and am using it as a cloth pad (it works quite well, actually). Hopefully this will be a short-lived, light-flow period.

* It was neither short-lived nor light-flow. And it lasted through June 16th. For someone whose periods normally last 4-5 days, this was ridiculous. And given where I was and that I had been trying to skip my period entirely, well let’s just say that this was an utter failure. I was able to get to Bishkek on June 14th, where I was able to buy pads and new underwear… just in time for the longest period of my life to end. Ugh. Let’s just say thank the gods I’d packed wet-wipes, as I got to bathe ONCE during this whole catastrophe.

Recovery

June 2, 2013

The weather yesterday morning as we walked to the Children’s Day festival was wonderful – blue skies, temperatures around 80F. Everyone around me was complaining about how hot it was, although for a native Floridian like me it was wonderful – especially considering that there was virtually no humidity.  However, as we were walking home from the Children’s Day festivities, a wind began to blow, clouds began to roll up, and the temperature began to drop. I had planned to at least spend some of the day wandering around the village taking photos, but instead I retreated to my room to listen to the wind howl and the rain fall.

I also decided to edit all of my photos that I had taken thus far. This took about four or five hours. About two hours in I started feeling headachy. I took an Excedrin and continued working. By the end of my photo-editing session, I had a splitting headache. I took another Excedrin and curled up in bed. No result. By the time dinner-time rolled around, I was in full-blown migraine phase. I couldn’t eat anything. I was barely able to swallow one of my four Imitrex tablets (curse you insurance for limiting me to four per month when my doctor had prescribed me eight per month!) which thankfully did the trick – although it knocked me out as well.

Today I’ve felt shaky, and a bit like the migraine is still with me, although masked by the Imitrex in my system. This is actually probably the case. I spent four hours lesson planning – of which the bulk of my time was spent hand-copying handouts for my students. I briefly checked my email, but to be honest I am terrified to look at the computer screen, lest it trigger another migraine. 

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!

In which we did not go to Osh

May 16, 2013

After a breakfast at Fatboy’s and taking photos of a mama dog and her adorable puppies sadly living in a storm drain, we gathered up our things and set off to find a taxi to Osh. This is where our troubles started.

Sad dogs? Best part of the day.

Our first taxi driver was supposed to take us to Osh Bazaar, the place where one goes to arrange taxis to Osh. However, he said that he didn’t understand why tourists always got taxis from Osh Bazaar when it was better to get them from the Eastern Bus Station. We foolishly allowed him to convince us to go to the bus station instead of the bazaar. At the bus station we negotiated a taxi – towards the upper end of the expected price range, but still within the range we had been quoted by CBT. That taxi driver was quite friendly, and as we set out he told us that he quite often drives one particular American fellow (David Stewart from Las Vegas, whom he was quite disappointed we didn’t know) to Osh and various other places. Had we actually ridden with this fellow things probably would have been fine.

Unfortunately, after we’d driven about ten minutes from the bus station, the driver stopped the car and said he had to go and tell his wife that he was going to Osh. He was gone for about 15 minutes. When he came back, he had an older man with him. He told us that actually we would be riding to Osh with this man and in his car – instead of with him – but for the same price that we had already negotiated. Um, ok. We figured that perhaps his wife, fed up with whatever shenanigans David Stewart had gotten him into, had told him something along the lines of ‘No way in hell are you popping off to Osh with a group of foreigners.’ Who knows.

We got into the other car, a Toyota station wagon. While the first driver had been quite talkative, this fellow did not say anything to us at all. The first part of the drive (from Bishkek to the tunnel through the pass at the top of the Susamir mountains) went fairly quickly, although the driver was on the phone with someone just about every five minutes, and speaking in Kyrgyz so we weren’t able to determine the nature of these frequent calls. I wondered if perhaps he was checking in with his wife or something.

The tunnel at the top of the pass is fairly long and not ventilated. Drivers must roll up their windows to prevent themselves from being poisoned from the exhaust fans of other vehicles. If livestock are being herded through the pass (and through the tunnel) the tunnel must be closed to motorized traffic in order to allow them to pass through safely. We arrived at the mouth of the tunnel, and then had to wait at least 45 minutes while horses, cows, and sheep were herded through.

Approaching the tunnel

Despite being at the top of a snowy mountain pass it was hot and uncomfortable – and when you’re doing a 10 hour drive, 45 minute delays are not welcome. Also, by this time B, whose stomach had been feeling off in the morning, was starting to feel quite sick. Eventually we were allowed through the tunnel, and then had to navigate past/through the livestock that had just been herded through the tunnel as we wound our way down into the Susamir valley below.

When we reached the valley, we pulled into a gas station… at which point things began to get very strange. While we were filling up, a Mercedes crammed full of people (a man, two women, and several children) pulled in next to us, and its driver and our driver exchanged fist-shaking gestures, although we couldn’t determine if these were angry/rude gestures, or if they were done in jest. Also, after reaching the gas station, our driver no longer felt the need to be on the phone every five minutes. We set out from the gas station down the long, flat valley. This was the part of the drive that normal drivers use to make up the time they lost on the narrow, winding mountain roads, and most vehicles drive this stretch as quickly as they can. However, instead of speeding (as our driver had done throughout the winding mountain roads) our driver crawled along at speeds of 30-40kph. WTF? Narrow, winding roads, crazy high speeds; long, flat, safe stretch, 30-40kph.

Eventually he pulled over to the side of the road, and we realized that the Mercedes from the gas station had pulled over behind us and popped its hood. It became clear that the drivers not only knew each other, but that they knew each other quite well. It was also clear that the Mercedes was having some sort of engine and/or transmission problem. It was billowing black smoke from its tailpipe and from what I could gather from communication between the two drivers, it could not go any higher than third gear. Keep in mind that our driver was still essentially pretending that he did not have a car full of foreigners, as he just pretended that we didn’t exist, so we were left trying to piece together the mystery of this Mercedes.

Two assholes and a Mercedes

We got back into our respective cars and poked along at 40-50kph all the way to the rest-stop area at the beginning of the next mountainous section. This should have been a 30-40 minute drive, but it took us two hours. When we got to the rest area, we realized that we had been traveling for five hours and had barely made it a third of the way! At that rate, we wouldn’t be arriving in Osh until some time around 2am, without anywhere arranged to stay the night. (We had expected to get in around 7-8pm, when it was still daylight and when people in hotel lobbies were still awake.) At that point, poor B had become violently ill with the Kyrgyz Stomach Bug. He sat in the bushes near the river, being ill, while N, A and I ate.

Our "driver" (left) and his Mercedes-driving friend

From watching the interactions of our driver and the people in the other car, it seemed that the other car held our driver’s wife and children in addition to the wife and children of the driver of the Mercedes. It seemed that instead of a professional taxi driver, we were simply funding the vacation of the two drivers and their families. This wouldn’t have been a problem if he’d been a good driver, but the extra several hours that his slow crawl so that the Mercedes could keep up had added to our trip was really starting to piss us off. We decided that since we really didn’t want to get into Osh after midnight, we would get out of the taxi at Jalalabad instead. We told the driver, who did not seem to mind.

 When we got back into the car, the Mercedes was long gone. Apparently whatever problem it had been having had been repaired. This was when things got really horrific. Our driver felt the need to first catch up with and then keep pace with the Mercedes. Now I drive a Toyota, and I love my Toyota – but I know that there is no way in hell it can handle as good as a Mercedes. Unfortunately, our driver seemed to have no qualms when it came to attempting to out-perform a now fully-functional Mercedes on narrow, winding mountain roads. First he raced at 120-140kmh to catch up with the Mercedes, and then for the rest of our ride they jockeyed with one another for the lead position.

Now this was far from our first rodeo. We’d all taxied all over Kyrgyzstan before, including from Bishkek to Osh and back. We were used to the insane driving habits of the average Kyrgyz taxi driver. Flying around curves at insane speeds? Passing uphill on a blind curve? No problem! That kind of thing is par for the course around here. But never before had I felt that my driver was completely incompetent. The professional taxi drivers who make this trip multiple times a week know these roads like the backs of their hands. They know when it’s reasonably safe to do what. And it was clear that this guy had no freakin’ clue. Never before had any of us been so absolutely terrified in a car in Kyrgyzstan. I was hanging onto the oh-shit handle for dear life, saying nophysicalharmnophysicalharmnophysicalharm over and over with a few SWEETMARYMOTHEROFCHRISTs thrown in as we squealed through fucking hand-brake turns, tires and brakes screaming as the car flew perilously close to sheer drop-offs atop the Naryn River reservoirs.

Eventually, after we’d wound our way through the most dangerous part of the driver, the cars stopped at another rest-stop area – and the drivers suggested in complete seriousness that we all have some vodka. They said that it was OK for them to drink now, since the most dangerous part of the drive was over. We flatly told them no. I went off and puked, having become quite car-sick, and N and I decided that if they had anything alcoholic to drink whatsoever, we weren’t leaving the rest area, no matter the lack of transport. They were insane enough sober. Luckily they decided not to imbibe.

After getting back in the car, we decided to call CBT to see if we could arrange to stay in Arslanbob instead, as it was even closer to us than Jalalabad. Luckily N and A were healthy enough to deal with phones and maps and such, as I was car-sick and B was incredibly sick. CBT, of course, is wonderful, and we were able to arrange a homestay in Arslanbob (we had one reserved, but starting from the following evening) as well as transport from Bazar-Korgon. We had our driver drop us in Bazar-Korgon (where the asshole tried to overcharge us, despite the fact that we were paying the full trip-to-Osh rate despite having only gone 2/3 of the distance).

After removing ourselves from our “taxi” in Bazar-Korgon at around 9pm, we called CBT to let them know we had arrived, at which point we had to wait about 45 minutes for our car to Arslanbob to arrive. During this time B continued to be violently ill – although the only “toilet” nearby was an abandoned building in which people shat on the floor. N and I were both feeling queasy, and we were all relieved that our driver from Bazar-Korgon to Arslanbob was highly competent – and even more relieved to arrive at our wonderful CBT homestay.