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!

Spectacular Sary Chelek

May 22, 2013

Today it was N’s turn to become violently ill. Unfortunately, it was also a somewhat lengthy travel day. Luckily our driver – arranged through Hayat – was the fellow who had driven us to Jalalabad two days before. He was an excellent driver, and didn’t do anything to increase N’s illness (other than periodically trying to get her to eat things). He came and picked us up outside our door and drove us 4.5 hours to a lovely CBT homestay in the mountains near Sary Chelek, in the village of Arkyt.

From the road on the way to Sary Chelek From the road on the way to Sary Chelek
Poppies from the road on the way to Sary Chelek

After a small lunch of fresh bread with fresh butter, sour cream, and jam accompanied by cucumbers and tea (and eaten next to a vat of boiling sheep-head), we were ready to go to Lake Sary Chelek, located 18km from our homestay and the reason for our visit to this corner of the country. Unfortunately, the homestay folks told us that cars weren’t allowed in the park after 2pm, and it was 2:30pm. This may or may not have been true, but we were able to get in by only paying a meager bribe on top of the entrance fee.  (You can go on foot, but I wouldn’t recommend it unless you are very fit and have a long time. The drive to the top took about an hour, as it was very steep and winding; it would be a very long and strenuous hike.)

Told you there was a boiling sheep's head.

The road to the lake was narrow, unpaved, and wound its way high up into the mountains to its end-point at Lake Sary Chelek, a gorgeous blue lake ringed by super-high, spectacular mountains. It was, without a doubt, the prettiest lake that I have ever seen in real life. We explored the shore line and took copious amounts of photos. B and A went swimming, although after sticking my toes in the water I decided that no way in hell was I going to ruin a perfect day by submerging myself in such frigid water.

Lake Sary Chelek Me, B, N, and A at Sary Chelek Me at Sary Chelek B swimming in his undies. We've seen this before. A and B
Obligatory band photo. Of our non-band.

N still wasn’t feeling well, so she relaxed near the dacha (where one can camp for a fee if so inclined, although you’d definitely have to pack in all of your supplies) while B, A, and I walked along the northern edge of the lake as far as the rudimentary “trail” permitted. The “trail” wound through a lovely forest on the edge of the lake, in which numerous orange, yellow, and purple flowers bloomed. It was incredibly beautiful and peaceful.


Me :-)
To see the complete set of photos from Sary Chelek, CLICK HERE.

In which B gets robbed and we go to Osh

May 21, 2013 
We decided to wear our new Chinglish t-shirts.

Initially we’d planned to taxi out to a nearby village in order to go horseback riding, but we awoke to yet another dreary, drizzly day – not at all the kind of day you want to spend on a horse. Instead we decided to take a taxi over to Osh, as it was only an hour and a half away and perhaps might have clearer weather. While walking down Toktogul Street, we heard someone call out from a balcony as we passed, “Hello! Where are you from?” in a very American accent. It turned out that we had been walking past the Jalalabad office of a US government funded group, and the young woman who was calling out to us (C) was one of their employees.

We chatted with C for a little bit, and learned that even though on the surface things in Jalalabad seem really calm and everyone seems to get along, there’s a lot of tension right underneath the surface. We exchanged contact info, then C headed back to work and we headed off to catch a taxi.

In order to reach the taxi touts at the far end of the bazaar, we had to walk through a crowd of people. B got jostled (or as he put it, “violated”) by a group of tracksuit wearing youth, and found himself pick-pocketed and out 2300 som ($40ish). Justifiably, this put him in rather a foul mood for the rest of the day. I would however, like to point out that it could have been a lot worse. He had initially put his wallet with all of his money in his pocket. I had admonished him against taking so much with him on a day trip to Osh, so he ended up leaving his wallet and most of his cash in the homestay. You’re welcome. Hah!

What has it got in its pocketses?

We negotiated a decent price for a taxi, but again we didn’t have great luck with our driver. While he wasn’t a horrible driver by any means (especially not when compared to our nightmare ride to Bazar Korgon), for some unknown reason he stopped the car in a small village about half an hour outside of Osh, hopped out, and said he’d be right back. And then was gone for half an hour. Then, when we got to Osh, he tried to pressure us into agreeing to hire him to drive us back to Jalalabad when we were ready to go. Um, no. For one thing, we had no idea what time we’d be leaving the city. For another, he’d delayed us by a half an hour for no clear reason. C’mon, dude!

Osh was depressing. Granted, it was a dreary, overcast day, but the Osh I remember from 2008 was a vibrant,active place. Back in 2008, the Jayma Bazaar was a jam-packed and bustling place, filled with lively sellers who traded pleasant banter with everyone who passed, local and tourist alike. The bazaar was torched during the events ofJune 2010 (which affected Osh as well as Jalalabad), and it has obviously not fully recovered. While there were plenty of traders around the periphery, they seemed to go about their business rather solemnly. The central part of the bazaar was nearly a ghost town. Much of it was empty, and some places still showed scorch marks. Remembering the active bazaar of 2008 made walking through the silent center of the Jayma Bazaar an eerie experience. And the building with the big sign reading Миру-Мир (peace on earth) was completely gone.

We headed for the park for the purpose of finding the old Aeroflot Yak-40 – cum – movie theater – cum tourist attraction to photograph. While it hasn’t operated as a movie theater for some time, back in 2008 the thing was decently maintained, and you could pay a few soms to go inside and have your photo taken. Now it is merely a derelict shell filled with filth. Next to it, however, was a ferris wheel – which of course B and I rode. None of us had any interest in climbing Suleiman-too, so we wandered through the park for a bit (accidentally ending up in the local lovers’ lane), and then we decided to head back to Jalalabad.

B in the ferris wheel with Suleiman-too in the background

At the bus station we negotiated a good price for the return trip and hopped into the driver’s van. When the cars parked behind him didn’t promptly move out of the way, the driver hopped out. I suspect he planned to round up the drivers of said cars, berate them, and get them to move out of his way. However, he forgot to set the parking brake and left the van in neutral, meaning that when he hopped out, the van started rolling. He scrambled to get back in, but was unsuccessful, and we rolled smack into the car behind us (albeit at a very slow speed). The accident was so slow-moving that it surely couldn’t have caused much (if any) damage to either vehicle. But nonetheless, both drivers got into a huge argument, and pretty soon nearly every taxi driver in the vicinity had chimed in. Our departure was delayed by a good 20-25 minutes. Sigh.

Just outside of Osh, our car was stopped by a traffic cop. Our driver blatantly paid a 60som ($1.10ish) bribe (this involved an ostentatious hug and handshake, during which the money surreptitiously changed hands), and then we were on our way “home” to Jalalabad.

We returned to Jalalabad around 5pm, made plans to meet up with C for dinner around 8pm, and then called Hayat (as he was far more reliable than the local CBT coordinator) to arrange transport for the following day. Dinner with C was lovely (except for the part where a rather inebriated local woman forced me to dance with her).

B ordered a salad called ёжик, which means hedgehog. And it looked like a hedgehog.

We also learned that the Kyrgyz word for mud is баткак. For those of you who don’t read Cyrillic, that’s essentially pronounced butt cock. This will never, ever get old.

Jalalabad

May 20, 2013

In the morning we left Arslanbob and rode (in a car arranged by Hayat at CBT) to Jalalabad, where we arrived at around 1pm. We had our driver drop us at the Jalalabad CBT office. Unfortunately, while the Jalalabad CBT folks were very nice, they weren’t quite as on the ball as Hayat. We explained to the coordinator that several of us were ill and that we were in need of a western-style, sit-down toilet. Normally we have no problem with squatters, but when you’re having digestive issues, there are only so many days of squatting you can really handle. Unfortunately, the coordinator was very insistent that we 'stay at a place just down the block, insisting that it had a “very clean porcelain toilet.” We went and took a look. Sadly, it had a very clean porcelain squat toilet. As we’d come to Jalalabad specifically for the opportunity to sit and shit, we had to explain yet again what we wanted. At that point the homestay’s owner brought out a wooden chair from which the seat had been removed and placed it atop the squatter. I’m pretty sure we all visibly shuddered at this point. I really hope we did not offend the homestay’s owner, but as a sit-down toilet was the reason for our presence in Jalalabad, we had to remain firm. Unfortunately, the only place that had a sit-down toilet that the CBT coordinator could arrange would not be ready until 5pm as the owner was at work. We decided to leave our things at the CBT office, and spent the afternoon exploring Jalalabad.

One of the first things we saw was a statue of Lenin sitting down. There still are statues of Lenin pretty much everywhere you out in Kyrgyzstan (and throughout much of the former Soviet Union for that matter), but in nearly all of them he is striding forward into the great Soviet future. Seated Lenin is apparently quite a rarity. We eat an Uzbek interpretation of gulash in a café near the main square, and then spent a good chunk of time exploring the bazaar, where we all bought absurd, tacky, Chinglish shirts as well as Kyrgyzstan tourist t-shirts. We then made our way to the local park which contained yet another rickety ferris wheel, which we of course rode. We then spent some time banging away at frustratingly slow Jalalabad internet… at which point our homestay was ready. As in Naryn fiveyears ago, we had an entire Soviet era apartment to ourselves. And yes, it had a lovely sit-down toilet.

Lenin, sitting
Central Jalalabad
Newyork Newyork with the British flag, and Everyone Needs a Nemesis
Jalalabad's ferris wheel
B

Jalalabad is an interesting place. Located in the “conservative” south and one of the major locations of inter-ethnic fighting and attempts at ethnic cleansing back in June 2010 (many neighborhoods were torched, thousands of ethnic Uzbeks fled across the border into Uzbekistan, and somewhere between 400 and 800 people were killed). As such, we had expected to feel some sort of tension in the community, but we didn’t at all. Granted, we were only in Jalalabad for two nights total, but on the surface everything seemed normal – tolerant, even… to a point.

One of the few visible remains of the destruction of 2010 was located near the entrance to the park. Apparently it used to be an Uzbek restaurant, and it was torched in the riots and has yet to be rebuilt.

We saw a couple of fully veiled women, a few in hijabs, many women in typical Central Asian headscarves (more similar to a bandana than a hijab) and many women without any head coverings at all. (In contrast, N and I had been the only women in Arslanbob without headscarves.) Women’s fashion in Jalalabad seems to range from full covering, to traditional Uzbek, to fashions from Turkey (ie, stylish, curvy Muslim attire), to fashions from Russia (ie, short skirts and high heels), to lots of ridiculous Chinglish t-shirts (such as the ones we purchased).For the most part, men seem to wear the ubiquitous three-stripe Adidas tracksuit (frequently combined with absurd Chinglish t-shirts). We’ve also seen many men wearing kalpaks (the traditional male Kyrgyz hat) as well as quite a few men wearing the traditional Uzbek hat. We also saw a surprising number of ethnic Russians and a few ethnic Tajiks (in addition to the ethnic Kyrgyz and Uzbek majorities).

In many ways, Jalalabad seemed like a surprisingly cosmopolitan city. However, despite the cosmopolitan mix of styles and ethnicities, there was definitely more pro-Kyrgyz propaganda in Jalalabad than we saw anywhere else. There were tunduks (the national symbol) everywhere, as well as various signs in Kyrgyz, exhorting the glory of Kyrgyzstan. Nearly every car seemed to have a Kyrgyz flag on it or in it (but visible) somewhere. While there were certainly more people in Bishkek wearing Kyrgyzstan t-shirts and jackets than there had been back in 2008, it was nothing like in Jalalabad. Tons of people wore Kyrgyzstan shirts and jackets (and this was the only place where we were able to find – and buy – Kyrgyzstan shirts with the country’s name written in Cyrillic, as in made for locals, not for tourists).

At the end of our day we went out for pizza at a lovely little pizzeria on Toktogul Street, not far from CBT. Sadly, they didn’t have any pizza. Nonetheless, we really enjoyed our dining experience as the staff (both Uzbek and Russian) were quite pleasant, and the food (traditional Russian fare) was quite tasty.