Wanderlust Heaven!

So why the fuck was I coming to Kyrgyzstan?  This place is one of the 5 Central Asian ‘stan countries,’ as the Chinese call them…former Soviet republics, generally grouped together, and perhaps a little too proximate to a couple other ‘stans’ – Afghanistan and Pakistan.  At my guesthouse in Bishkek, the capital, I met an older Swiss woman who had traveled overland from her home country, through Pakistan and Afghanistan, the old overland route which hasn’t exactly been recommended in recent years; she was soon to move on to India (she spent years in Goa, as it turned out), and I thought her pretty cool but also a bit of a junkie for hellholes.  I’ve been called that, but I prefer places where you can have a beer and chat with an unrelated woman, so you probably won’t see me in the more extreme ‘stans’ anytime soon…

So, I repeat, why Kyrgyzstan?  A couple reasons.  First, as I probably mentioned last entry, I want to spend some time in Uzbekistan, the country that inherited most of the great Silk Road sights when the USSR imploded.  And I’d been stymied in my attempts at getting an Uzbek visa in Moscow – I’d read that Bishkek was a relatively easy place to get one.  Second, I’d read some good things about Kyrgyzstan – how it was a Central Asian Switzerland, replete with alpine lakes and the towering Tien Shan range…and how it was relatively relaxed and progressive.  The 2005 ‘Tulip Revolution’ saw the people throw out the incumbent president, Askar Akayev – who was not nearly as autocratic or insane as the presidents of, say, Uzbekistan (more on that later) and Turkmenistan.  So Kyrgyzstan sounded like a place with 1) some sights to see, and 2) a chilled style.  And there were flights from Moscow, so I bought my ticket and decided to take the ride.

I did a bit of research on the Internet, and I found out a bit more about Kyrgyzstan just before I left Moscow.  A few tidbits from other bloggers:

– Just a cursory word of warning: Bishkek is not a safe place by any means. Petty crime and simple battery is rampant there.  The streets are very poorly lit at night…also, watch out for uncovered manholes.  Of the five guys I work with 2 were robbed within ten days of arrival—one was even robbed in front of the entry gate at the Hyatt. The men there practice some type of Central Asian jujitsu where they apply holds and grabs during the course of robbery. If a man asks you what time it is at night do not raise your hand to look at your watch as it’s only a ploy to enable him to grab your hand, pin you, and rob you.  No one I know was seriously hurt, but every long-term resident I know there has either been robbed or has a close associate that was.

– It’s the scariest place I have ever been in terms of motor vehicle travel…when the police motioned my driver to pull over he simply smiled and floored it…the police were either too lazy or too petrol-deprived to give chase…that time…the previous time they opened fire on him from their moving personal cars. Lucky me. The traffic police don’t use govt issued vehicles as the country is too poor to provide such extravagances.

– At the nightclub, many people got very, very drunk, and things got pretty ugly as the night/morning wore on. On my last trip to the gents, there were several guys passed out on the floor under the urinals, and you had to step over them to take a piss. Guys were throwing up in the sinks, toilets and urinals, and it smelled horrible. I heard the scene was similar on the ladies side. I actually saw several people pass out on the dance floor. They were dragged off by their friends, who returned to keep drinking and dancing. By the time we left at 0400 there were a number of people that were passed out, sleeping in the booths, or slumped over on tables.  Lastly, I have to mention that there were some pretty rough looking guys in the club that clearly had the swagger of former military or security personnel. My Kyrgyz colleague called them gangsters.

Excellent – my kind of place.  I considered pawning my valuables in Moscow before heading to Bishkek, but I didn’t see a single pawnshop in Moscow my entire time there.  And I had largely forgotten my childhood karate, so wouldn’t be able to match the Central Asian jujitsu lords.  I wound up deciding to ignore anyone who asked me the time on the streets of Bishkek – I don’t wear a watch these days anyway.  But my decision to pursue the Uzbek visa and enjoy Kyrgyzstan’s fruits was looking iffy…I’d need to watch my back, at least at night.  But Mongolia had already prepared me for utter paranoia – I’d probably be carrying a small knife just in case.  I did wonder what I might be getting myself into.

The flight down was non-eventful.  About four hours…Aeroflot was OK.  The plane was not new, not that clean, the attendants both had brightly-dyed red hair, and the fellow sitting next to me had been in line behind me at Sheremetyevo (for a while, till he shifted lines 3 times in 6 minutes).  He had on a pasha, and smelled a bit of mutton.  Excellent.  I can take about four hours of mutton aroma before my lung fills with fluid.

Got my visa straightaway at Manas Airport.  Kyrgyzstan is the only stan country where this is simple – every other country requires a visa in advance.  This is perhaps the third reason why I came here, although I’d class this as part of the Uzbek visa strategy – enter Kyrgyzstan without much effort, then deal with the Uzbekis in Bishkek.

While waiting in line, I saw two US Airforce C-130 cargo planes.  Manas is a US Airforce base, they fly sorties over Afghanistan from there, and god knows what else.  I think we’re paying the Kyrgyz government US$200 smackers a year for the privilege.  The Russians have their own base not far away…and I later heard from an American military contractor (more on this species a bit later) that the Iranians and Chinese, both wanting the US out of Kyrgyz, are paying the government to consider doing that.  Wow – impressive Byzantine politics.  Most people have never even heard of this country…90% of those who have probably think the place is in the middle of fucking nowhere…but actually, given the instability and centrality of the neighborhood, Kyrgyzstan is a damn good place to have some of your boys.  QED.

On the flight down I’d found some more info in my guidebook about the procedures for getting the Uzbek visa in Bishkek.  You need to bring your passport and a photo – easy enough.  You need to have a letter of invitation in hand from an institution inside Uzbekistan – got it, per my previous entry.  You need to pay in US$ – I had enough.  And two more things – you need to 1) bring someone with you to the Uzbek Embassy who speaks Russian, and you need to call in advance and ‘get on the list.’  So my first order of biz at the guesthouse was to find a Russian speaker to accompany me, and to call the Embassy and get on the list.  A bit complicated and annoying – although perhaps less off-putting than the blogger excerpts I highlighted earlier.  Anyway, I’ll pick up this thread again in a while…

Got my backpack, found a taxi to the guesthouse.  The driver drove like a maniac, confirming the excerpt above, and told me the only Americans he’d come across here were military and support contractors – no tourists.  Hmmm.  I was either crazy, or just on the cutting-edge.  Or maybe Americans aren’t adventurous – but that couldn’t be.

It was good to get away from the hordes of tourists in Russia, though…I had been getting tired of the crush.  Here, clearly, things would be entirely different!

My guesthouse, Radison Guesthouse, was on a lonely street that was being torn up for work on the water pipes.  Looked like a bomb hit the street – and the taxi had to stop a fair ways off, so I had to walk down the street in full view of the laborers and randoms carrying all my shit.  I was hoping the jujitsu monsters only came out at night.

The place was unmarked, but had been described as having pink walls and a huge green gatedoor.  I rang the bell, and after a bit of a wait (I felt about a thousand Kyrgyz eyes on my back – I mean backpack) the door opened and I went it.  Gusia, the owner/wife, was a very friendly woman whom the guidebook had described as ‘motherly,’ accurately enough.  She and her family owned and operated Radison – not to be confused with ‘Radisson.’  I later found out that she created the name using her son’s name – Radik – and the word ‘son.’  Simple enough.  Do you think Radisson’s corporate geeks will go for that?  I doubt they’ll ever get here…although there is a Hyatt Regency in Bishkek, believe it or not, and it charges well over US$200 a night, plus a very cheeky US$25 extra for breakfast.  Obviously there’s some $$ floating around here…

My room at Radison was terrific – had my own bathroom and aircon.  My personal hygiene would be improving rapidly with those conveniences at hand – in Russia I’d gotten a little gnarly from the 90-second showers and lack of shaving, ear swabbing, etc.

Bishkek is a modest city.  Supposedly there’s about a million residents…there might even be more…but it feels very sleepy.  Which is fine with me, after Moscow and St. Petersburg’s mobs.  And it’s very green – a few parks, loads of trees.  The city touts its natural state, but I think the reason it’s so full of plants is that there’s no money to pay the gardener.  The parks are way overgrown and parts of the city feel a little like Angkor Wat – nature is starting to win.

The main drag, Chui Prospektisi, is where most of the action is.  Pleasant enough street.  The first thing I noticed was the proliferation of expensive-seeming cars on the streets – nearly 20% of the cars were Mercs or BMWs.  Very very few junkers – I had expected a replay of Rangoon, where you’re met at the airport by a collection of heaps whose doors hardly open.  Not here – Chui was full of shiny newish German and Japanese sedans, SUVs, and I even saw a couple Hummers.  Where the bejesus were these people getting the loot?

I’d read that 18% of the Kyrgyz economy springs from a single Kyrgyz-Canadian gold mine.  Hmmm.  And the US is paying that US$200 mill for the airbase (did we let Dick Cheney negotiate that one for us?).  Besides those reasonably legitimate sources of GDP, I soon learned that most of the balance comes from:

1 – NGOs, UN, and governmental grants

2 – overseas remittances, and

3 – the black market

Beyond those, the Kyrgyz economy is nearly non-existent.  So why so many nice cars?  You don’t see this many Mercedes in Moscow or New York.  A morbidly obese American contractor later told me, over a few beers at the Metro Pub, that there is some legitimate money floating around Bishkek…he, for example, pays US$700 a month for his apartment, a rate not particularly attractive to the average Kyrgyz, who might earn US$50-75/month.  But that still didn’t explain it..and I also saw lots of nice cars in other parts of the country, where foreigners weren’t paying high rents and enriching a few local landlords.

I also heard around town that the German and Japanese cars were sourced from the Baltics – apparently Latvians buy older, damaged Mercs in Germany, take ‘em home to fix them up, then sell them for US$5-6 grand a pop.  Fairly affordable, I guess, but that still didn’t satisfy me.  I noticed a few ‘D’ stickers on some of the German cars, for ‘Deustcheland’ – perhaps some of these cars were not sourced legitimately?  I’ve heard that Germany has a terrible auto theft problem…

No conclusion here, it’s probably a bit of all of those points, as well as a general Kyrgyz inclination to keep us with the Joneses and drive something classy, even if it requires a massive loan.

The city has a nice feel and smell, at least in summer – all the greenery does help.  Lots of people hanging out in the parks, a la Russia, but much less boozing.  That might be too costly for these folks…or perhaps they just don’t drink as much as the Russians, who in my experience are the world leaders in public drunkenness (sorry, Japan and the Czech Republic).  And speaking of Russians…

Besides the Mercedes observation, the other quick thought I had is that Bishkek, at least, is full of Russians.  Not tourists, at least not most of them – these are Russians who work and live here.  My guidebook said that about 10% of the Kyrgyz population is Russian – way down from pre-1991, when the country became independent, and down from 2005, when the Tulip Revolution helped push out a few more Russians – but in the capital it seemed every third or fourth person was Russian, and more so in certain establishments.  Wow.  I later heard that lots of Russians have returned after going ‘home’ to Mother Russia, believing the economic propaganda, and not making a go of it there.  I suppose that many Russians have really gone Kyrgyz – tsarist Russia came in here in the 1850s or so, and I imagine that many Russians are third/fourth/etc. generation now.

I have to say that the Russians I saw in Kyrgyzstan are not the most impressive lot.  They would naturally suffer in comparison to Moscovites, for certain – but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more unattractive group of ‘Europeans’ in my life.  Overweight, badly dyed hair, terrible fashion sense, you name it – I recalled a long-ago business trip to Little Rock and I think this is even worse.  In Moscow I was constantly admiring the local talent – in Kyrgyzstan, I don’t recall seeing a single ‘oh my god’ Russian chick in the past couple weeks.  The term ‘broken-down’ comes to mind, unkindly enough…

The good part about so many Russians here – other whities don’t really stand out.  I’ve been told I look like the following, over the years:  Italian, Greek, Spanish, Arabic (well, I am Semitic).  A couple foreigners have told me I have a ‘European face,’ which is probably why I didn’t get stopped often in the Russian metros (only got stopped once).  But I’ve been told by locals that I don’t have a ‘Russian face,’ which is fine by me given the state of the local Russians.  So I do get some looks…which might stem more from my Maui Jim shades than from my actual physical gifts!

The Kyrgyz Kyrgyz are a bit better than the Russian Kyrgyz – but not many head-turners either.  They have a bit of a Mongolian look, broad faces with a hint of the West in them…but they’re not nearly as robust and tall as the Mongolians…and the fashion sense problem extends to them.  I was in the market for a basic white t-shirt, mine getting ratty, and was directed to a clothes shop called ‘Sela.’  I went in and took a spin, and was appalled at the vulgarity of nearly everything in there.  No plain t-shirts – nope, everything had some obscure (to me) logo.  And the jeans had flap pockets, the shorts were flared – beyond anything you’d see in Western Europe, which I know is markedly more avante-garde than North America.  I left empty-handed and am now happily still wearing my ratty t-shirt…

Back to the Radison Guesthouse family, the Djumasheves.  Gusia, the mother, manages the place and handles the bookings.  Farit, the father, is an auto mechanic who fixes everything…including the plumbing, which backed up near the end of my stay – thankfully, that was the day I went for my Uzbek visa, so I was busy for a few hours.  Radik, the son, is a super-nice guy who helps his folks in various ways – he and I bonded quite well, despite his lack of English.  Anisa, the daughter, is a university student who speaks good English and handles the complex stuff in that language.  They’ve been running the place for a few years and it’s an oasis – one of the better guesthouses I’ve come across, certainly in this part of Asia.  Not perfect, mind you – they weren’t thrilled when you ran the aircon, and I had to given the 35+ Celsius daytime temps.  And the plumbing was precarious – Farit was not a happy guy the day it backed up (I wasn’t that happy either).  Friend Alan once asked me if I’d had any epiphanies on my travels – I don’t think I had a great answer for him back then, but if he were to ask again I might say that people the world over are fairly similar, and even cities have a common feel, for the most part – but what truly distinguishes Places A and B are the plumbing.

Bishkek has some decent restaurants and nightlife.  There’s a cellar Russian resto called Old Edgar’s with good salads and dumplings.  It’s a bitch to find this place, it’s in a park at the side of some large building.  The waitresses over at Fatboys – a well-named mediocre British place serving every sort of food conceivable – right across the street had heard of this place, but didn’t know where it was.  ‘No’ is an acceptable, even preferred response in the FSU (former Soviet Union).  I walked across the street, into the park, and soon found it myself.

I thought the menu prices looked a little high, but it turned out that they use a form of unit pricing (I think 200 grams is standard), and your dish might be less than that, so your total bill is far less than you anticipated – ‘you’ being a clueless American like me.  Total tariff including two beers – US$10.  Not bad, in a national capital.

The local currency is the som, there are about 35.5 to the US$.  Of course, that’s down from nearly 40 just a year or so ago.  You know it’s a sad day when the Kyrgyz economy/currency is viewed in a relatively better light than the American…

Sight-seeing – you can pretty knock off all the city sights in a couple hours.  Chui Street runs through Ala-Too Square, formerly Lenin Square – they moved Lenin’s statue from this square to a weedy place behind the State Historical Museum.  Nice metaphor – Lenin is no longer in primo position, but he’s still around,  just out back.  And the street names linger on too – another main street is Sovietskaya, there’s Kiev, etc.  One foot in the past…

Ala-Too Square is OK, not that impressive – there’s some bandstand apparatus there which was half-constructed, so the place constantly looks like it’s being worked on.  Nearby is the White House, where the Kyrgyz President (the new one) hangs out – very Soviet-style building, huge, white, forboding.  The State Historical Museum is a decent-looking building in Ala-Too, on the other side there are a few fairly impressive columned facades, which I believe were built to cover up an ugly knitting operation behind them.  There’s a Victory Square a bit aways, for WW2 – empty, weedy, a drunk passed out underneath it.  I love it.

What I really love is the weirdness and wackiness of this place.  The city’s premier ‘nightclub’, Golden Bull (I swear the bull logo is straight off Michael Jordan’s jersey) is a 30-second walk from the White House.  The pres might nip in there for a drink from time to time.  Golden Bull is a laugh – the blogger excerpt earlier in this entry was very likely about that establishment.  Imagine a nightclub/strip club 30 seconds away from the American White House.  Then again, G.H.W. Bush did go on TV once and say his boys arrested a crack dealer a couple blocks from the White House, and D.C. does deteriorate not far from that esteemed temple of wisdom…

Metro Pub is nicknamed ‘American Pub’ and that’s accurate.  Full of contractors, and the occasional flyboy allowed to flee the base for the bright lights of Bishkek.  I had thought that the Philippines had some wretched old American bozos, but Bishkek might be worse.  I met one fat contractor, the one I mentioned earlier who told me he was paying too much in rent…this guy had gotten surrounded by drunken taxi drivers outside Golden Bull one night, two guys came at him and distracted him while another removed the wallet from his back pocket.  Welcome to Bishkek.  Of course, if you weight 280 pounds you’re a pretty good target for nimble locals, no?

This fellow also told me about his woes – apparently he pays no US federal taxes (that’s not the woe, naturally), which means that his income does not exceed the foreign-tax credit allowance of about US$80,000 a year.  Hmmm – he’s from California, works in IT as a military contractor, comes all the way to Bishkek for less than US$80 grand a year, pays a whopping US$700/month in rent, gets robbed by drunken local taxi drivers, and (worst yet) has to sit at Metro and drink with me – sounds grim.  If he were getting laid by hot local women, OK…but I doubt he is.  And he told me he’s applying for a position in Khartoum, Sudan, which would pay much more.  Yes, I’m sure it would – but Khartoum?  I’d actually like to see that city, and might at some point – but I’d be sure to watch my ass very very carefully in that city.  I’m quite sure there’s no ‘American Pub’ in Khartoum.  I felt sorry for the guy – I don’t mean to be patronizing or sanctimonious, but come on.  You’re an IT specialist (which, evidently, is not a perfect ticket to ride if this guy is a case study), build up your skills, you’re 45-50, and you can’t even pull down US$80K in a backwater like Bishkek?  And you’re crossing your fingers that the Khartoum assignment comes in?  I felt like King Solomon himself when I left the bar that night.

All that said, I probably bear a grudge against this sort of creature.  I’ve met a number of others in the Philippines and elsewhere, and I’ve never been impressed.  They’re generally downmarket types who are enhanced temporarily (one hopes) by warfare; they’re usually minimally talented (because the top talent can work in the private sector and make a multiple), not even courageous, just greedy and/or desperate, with few other options.  There, I’ve said it.  Any reactions?  I’m no pacifist, I just believe in fighting smart fights and I hate all the baggage that accompanies wars, especially dumb ones.

Not to be chronological here by any means, but my first night in Bishkek I went to the Jalalabad Chaikhana (Teahouse) for some real local food.  I had some shashlik (kebab-like), with some naan bread.  They do certain foods very differently here – the naan is very unlike India naan, it’s more leavened and they tend to eat it without rolling or dipping it.  And the street samosas are also odd – they’re flattish triangles stuffed (naturally) with mutton or chicken.  Anyway, had a good meal there, then hit Golden Bull, walking by the White House as I went.  The Bull was dull, it was probably too early but I didn’t feel like hanging out for hours…plus my gut was stuffed with meat, bread, and beer.  And I wasn’t in the mood for vodka, not this year…

Before setting out that night (I am getting chronological here, after lots of context-setting remarks), I spoke with Gusia at the guesthouse and told me about my Uzbek situation.  She said they’d call the embassy first thing next morning and ‘get me on the list,’ and that her son Radik, who like everyone here speaks Russian, would accompany me.  Perfect.

Well, the next morning, a Thursday, Radik called the embassy at 9 a.m.  Problem.  They said come next Tuesday.  Well, I hadn’t planned to stick around in Bishkek that long – I would have been OK leaving my passport at the embassy, having a photocopy in my pocket, and traveling around the country.  But no – come back next Tuesday.  Torture.  I thought about just showing up, that the Uzbeks were being lazy/trying…Gusia, without my prompting, told me to try just that.  So I decided to swing by – a cab came for me, I motioned Radik to come along – and he balked.  Hmmm.  Turned out that my understanding was incorrect, that he was only supposed to phone the embassy, not join me.  Now I was stuck – the guidebook had been quite clear that I needed a Russian speaker with me.  I tried to change Radik’s mind…he had to stay and work at the guesthouse.  Eventually Farit, his father, came with me en route to his own job…but Farit knows about 8 words of English, so this would definitely be an issue.

We arrived at the Uzbek Embassy – the guard was arranging people on some list.  I gave him my passport, Farit said a few words in Russian, we seemed to get on the list.  OK.  I struck up a conversation with a fellow next to me, he was Afghani, named Rafi, and was studying medicine in Bishkek.  Rafi needed to travel through Uzbekistan to get back home to Kabul.  His English was great – I asked him if he would help me out, he said sure.  I then let Farit go – he seemed pretty happy to take off.

We eventually got inside, the woman working the desk gave each of us application forms to fill out – did that, and handed them back, with our photos and passports.  She spoke to Rafi, and seemed annoyed.  Then she gave us all our paperwork and motioned us out the door.  Outside, Rafi told me that she was pissed that I was scheduled for next Tuesday, but had shown up today.  I had thought that the ‘Tuesday’ admonition was random, but it seeme they had indeed taken my name and put it on that day’s list.  So I was still screwed – I at least had the application form filled out, but I was stuck in Bishkek at least a couple days longer than my original 4-5 day plan.  Fun fun fun.

An American overheard me and came over.  He asked me about getting an Uzbek visa – ‘probably pretty easy, huh?’  I wanted to punch him – you don’t meet many Americans over here, and the ones you meet are so off-putting – the obese contractor, the clueless tourist or NGO worker.  I told him it was not easy and that you needed an LOI, an appointment, etc.  He looked crestfallen – good.  What a moron – do a little bit of homework, homeboy.

Rafi gave me a ride back to Radison on his moped.  I was a little wary of getting too close to him, despite his solid story – but I decided not to be too paranoid and let him drop me off.  He said he’d continue to help me – I thanked him.  He wound up stopping by the guesthouse a couple more times, when I wasn’t around – that annoyed the family, who didn’t seem overly fond of Afghanis or Pakistanis.  Racial pecking orders, how charming…

BTW – at this point a normal person might say to himself, ‘what the bejesus am I doing in a place like this?’  And that would be a very good question to ask.  I think I asked myself this question a couple times, but couldn’t really answer it.  I’ll keep trying.  I do think that I am compelled – in an extraordinary sense, perhaps – to be a sort of international/adventure voyeur of sorts, and often to be a player as well.  That’s my answer for now…

Asked Gusia for a couple more nights accomodation, but they were fully booked.  On Monday I’d need to change hotels.  Fun fun fun.  Bishkek doesn’t have a great selection of places, and many are overprices/shit value (the old Soviet places are shocking).  Later on Gusia had a cancellation so I didn’t have to move – one thing went right for me, anyway.

So now I had plenty of time in Bishkek, and that’s why I had all those conversations and observations mentioned earlier in this post.  One more:  people here seem to get along pretty well.  I didn’t see a single instance of Kyrgyz-Russian animosity, no one badmouthed the other group to me, and I saw plenty of mixed groups at picnics, bars, hanging out.  Cool.  As in Mongolia, the locals seem to credit the Russians with building up their country and infrastructure, and bringing them into the 20^th (and 21^st?) century, and despite the collapse of Communism – which plunged the region in a Great Depression-like period – on the whole they seem pro-Russian.  Which is perfectly fine with me – I don’t thing the USSR/Russia was/is evil…it was and still is simply different, although one must acknowledge the 25 or so million innocents who died in the early years of the Soviet Union and decry that tragedy.  These days, compared to several other parts of the world the FSU is better off.  And there’s some nostalgia for the old days here – life was not sexy or luxurious, but it was predictable and without huge income gaps.  Now there’s money floating around and ending up in a few pockets, and that breeds resentment.

I actually wasn’t that unhappy to stick around Bishkek for a bit longer, in (nearly) any capital city you can keep yourself amused for 5-7 days.  I walked around town and took in the modest sights – perhaps the grandest thing about Bishkek, and it is really something – is the view of the Tien Shan Mountains looking south, from around Ala-Too or, even better, the walkway leading to City Hall.  I wasn’t even looking up when I was in these places the first time, but by accident I gazed skyward at some point and was almost bowled over by the mountain views – the mountains are well over 6,000 meters and are snow-capped year round – take a peek:

I can’t say I’ve ever had better mountain views from a city.  Kathmandu is terrific – the valley is ringed by mountains, but they’re farther off and aren’t as imposing.  Ulaan Bataar also has good views, but those peaks are not nearly as high.  I’d be curious to hear about other cities that people have visited – do tell.

I had to take care of a few things related to my Uzbek nightmare, most critically to lock in a Russian/English speaker for round two on Tuesday.  Walking around, I saw ‘American University of Central Asia.’  Here must be a plethora of English speakers, who speak Kyrgyz and Russian as well.  I walked in…the guard was friendly enough and asked me what I was looking for (I don’t look like a student these days?), I cast about for a notion and said ‘is there a career or job placement office here?’ and he pointed me toward Continuing Education for some reason.  I went in, they spoke English, and I told them about my predicament.  A cute assistant, Zamira, offered to go with me on Tuesday – I offered US$20, she said OK but didn’t look thrilled.  We kept talking…I sensed something there…I asked if $20 wasn’t enough.  She said she was hoping for more…I offered $25…she countered $30…I caved and agreed.  I had read somewhere that $20 was a decent price for translation help, at least in mid-2007…but there’s inflation, and Zamira was pretty cute, so that was that.  We agreed to talk on Monday, and I exited.  The guard told me to ‘take it easy’ and I flashed the V sign as I left the American University of Central Asia – an institution I’d never heard of, but which I’m happy to find exists.  Bring it on, America…

Took a nap – it was very hot out and I was beat from walking so much.  Got up – went for a run, now that I had some energy.  I ran around City Hall – some decent straightaways there, but also many park benches full of gawkers, and sometimes cops.  Aren’t cops supposed to do some roadwork and stay in shape too?  At least I was not concerned about these cops – Kyrgyz cops seem to have been told to leave tourists/foreigners alone, unlike, say, their Russian counterparts.

Went out to Metro that night, wasn’t up for a big night, just a couple beers.  Met an American fellow who told me that he’d had to deal with the US Embassy there and it wasn’t enjoyable.  Apparently Bishkek is a holiday assignment for government workers, nothing goes on there aside from supporting the flyboys and contractors, very few tourists whining and groveling.  I wasn’t thrilled to hear that the embassy was lame, because the second thing I had to do in Bishkek, aside from getting my Uzbek visa, was to try to get supplemental pages added to my passport, which is rapidly filling.  The passport is only 3 years old, so I don’t want to have to get a new one.  I added a section in Tokyo just a year ago, almost to the day.  Now that was full and I only had 3 pages left.  The issue is that when you get a new passport, your old visa (in the old passport) becomes invalid along with that document.  So I had to find a country which doesn’t require US citizens to have a visa.  Ukraine is a place I want to visit – and no visa required.  So I’d need to get to Ukraine with at least enough room for a regular entry stamp.  I was somewhat concerned about my situation, particularly given that the US Embassy in Tokyo last year told me that now you can only get one supplemental section added, after that you need a new passport.  I was hoping that wasn’t a hard and fast rule.

After hearing about this fellow whine, I decided not to just show up at the embassy – a lesson I’d also learned in UB.  I rang them the next day – made an appointment for Monday.  So far, so good.  We’d see what they’d do when I showed up.

Meanwhile, Rafi had come by the Radison again on his motorbike – he woke me up that morning, which was OK given that it was nearly 10 a.m. already.  The family wasn’t happy that he kept coming by – I told him that, and gave him my local mobile #.  He told me that he was taking a different approach – heading with his Kyrgyz girlfriend and another Afghani to Tajikistan, where (apparently) it was much easier to get an Uzbek visa, after which they’d proceed to Uzbekistan and then Afghanistan.  He told me all this while I was clearing my head…he wanted me to join them.  I wasn’t that thrilled with this plan – I’d come to Bishkek largely to get the Uzbek visa here, I now had a formal (?) appointment next Tuesday, and I also wanted to see the countryside, not ditch and head to even more remote Tajikistan right away.  I told him I wanted to think on it – Rafi didn’t seem that happy, not sure why – he might have thought that he was doing me an ongoing huge favor, he might have wanted me to share the transport costs with them, who knows.  I told him to ring me later that day and I’d decide.  But I’d already decided against his plan – for the aforementioned reasons and also because, simply, I didn’t really know him or his group.  I have a reasonably high burden of proof on these things.

Radik took me on a brief city tour later that day – he had to drop off something at Farit’s (father) workplace, an auto shop in a remote, hideous area of town. Soviet apartment blocs, barren stretches of asphalt and dirt…here was the true Kyrgyz economic reality.  Still, the brilliant mountain views were right there and I could see a bright shining tourism future for this country.

Met a nice UK couple, Justin and Amy, at the guesthouse.  They’re traveling for 6 months or so, and have done a few lengthy journeys over the years.  We later ran into each other, as travelers do, at a web café, all simultaneously tortured by the slow access speeds.

That night, Friday night, Gusia and her family served we guests an outstanding dinner of plov, a Central Asian rice and lamb dish with tomatos, garlic and onions.  Very filling and quite tasty.  After dinner Gusia, whose talents kept unfolding, got her old accordion and played us some music for an hour or so.  What an odd, funny and impressive instrument – she played bass with her left hand, and the piano-type keys, black and white, with her right.  Seemed like we were in some classic dinner setting in the 1920s…

I had proposed to Justin and Amy that we visit Metro Pub that night, but Radik invited me out to a local disco and I couldn’t say no to that, so took a flyer with the Brits, who were exhausted anyway.  Radik and I drove and picked up a friend of his – a doctor named Aida who had just gotten out of the hospital, my understanding is that she had some skin allergy that was persistent.  Anyway she spoke OK English so we could communicate…my Russian hasn’t gotten that much better.  We went to the disco – called Retro Metro, or maybe Gloss – and went it.  Lots of different sorts in there – felt very retro.  Good mix of Russians and Kyrgyz, plus some ‘others’ – and the music was terrific, they played Russian pop, Uzbek, Turkish, and some local stuff.  All was exotic and catchy.  I’m starting to remember some of the more popular stuff and find myself humming it sometimes.  Might be time to move on…

Another woman joined us – she and Radik seemed pretty close and I think they’ve got something going on, although he claims she’s just a ‘druga,’ friend.  We drank a fair amount of beer and vodka…at some point they cordoned off a section of the dance floor and poured bubbles into it, and invited people to come into the ring for some ‘soapy dancing.’  I wasn’t drunk enough for that, but at some point I found myself standing just outside, looking in, with Aida.  Then I was dancing wildly with Aida…then we did a shot of vodka, or maybe 5 of them…then we danced again.  I was feeling playful and messed around with her bra strap – she slapped my hand, but smiled.  I tickled her…she was incredibly ticklish.  Or maybe it was the skin allergy – I don’t know.  Then we were back at our table, sans Radik and his chick, and got into a very enjoyable, near-religious makeout session.  I was super-frisky – she was able, just barely, to prevent me from violating various sections of the Kyrgyz penal code.  Radik’s friend (who was also Aida’s friend) eventually sat down across from us and didn’t look too impressed, but I didn’t particularly care at that point.  It should be said that I wasn’t initially attracted to Aida (or her skin allergy), and had no designs on her whatsoever.  I chalk it all up to the booze and the mood of the disco.  And maybe I was in heat due to the lunar position.  Who knows.

We left around 3 a.m.  Aida told me she wanted to see me again…I said OK, we’d get each other’s mobile #s from Radik (my mobile was at the guesthouse and I hadn’t memorized the #).  Funny night.  You’ve gotta take up these offers to hang out with the locals – I would have enjoyed shooting the shit with the Brits at Metro Pub, but this was infinitely better.

Radik and I had intended on Saturday to hike in the nearby Al-Archa Valley, but we were both too hung over to bother.  We just took it easy and decided to try again on Sunday.  I went to the State Historical Museum, which had zero English captions  and which was heavy into Communist kitsch (what a surprise).  The entry price was double what my guidebook mentioned, so I was cheesed off at that too.  And the main reason for my visit was to take a look at an infamous portrait of ‘East vs. West’ wherein Ronald Reagan was pictured riding a Pershing Missile aimed at the good people of the Soviet bloc. But I couldn’t find it.  So I left annoyed.  Later, a Spanish acquaintance told me he saw it, so I returned just before leaving Bishkek and was able to locate it, on the third-floor ceiling – here it is, absolutely hilarious:

I also visited the Frunze House Museum, which commemorates the birth and life of M.B. Frunze, a Red Army general who subjugated Central Asia for the Commies.  The museum is unlike any other I’ve come across – it’s a large cement building, inside of which is the actual (maybe) birthplace/residence of the young Frunze, as well as other rooms with various pictures, letters, military regalia etc.  Decent museum, again nothing in English so painful phonetics exercises with Cyrillic until my eyes glazed over.  As I walked down the stairs and out I saw a bust of Lenin in a stairwell – again, another metaphor for the state of depicting the past here?  I’m compelled to ask the locals, what’ll it be, peeps?  It’s OK to acknowledge and even honor your past, and not run from it, as difficult and often murderous as it was.  But keeping street names like Sovietskaya and Lenina is a bit retro in 2008…

The heat was on…I was sweating pretty badly and stopped a few times for a 10 som glass of sok, fruit juice.  There are 2-3 kinds, one seems to be mixed berry, and they’re superb.  Thick, fresh (I hope), cheap and thirst-quenching.  Nice touch.

Had a bowl of laghman, spicy local noodles (with lamb, natch) at Astana Café, a good little outdoors spot.  Took a nap – I’ve been taking naps most days here, it’s hot midday and I’ve been doing a fair amount.  Plus I’ve got the time so why not?

Went out that night, Saturday night.  Was thinking of bringing the Brits to Metro and then perhaps Golden Pub (if they were in a raunchy mood), but they were nowhere to be found and I think they were passed out.  I hit those two spots – Metro was weak, Golden Bull better.  A cute Russian bartender named Olga came by and we talked for a while…she’s from Kyrgyzstan, and when I asked her whether she felt Russian, Kyrgyz, or both, she replied ‘both.’  Fair enough.

Talked to an Iranian guy at the bar – he’s a student at the American University here.  Nice enough – seemed thrilled to be drinking and dancing, two things you can only do behind closed doors in Iran.  People are pretty similar, wouldn’t you know.

Got back to the guesthouse late, around 3 a.m.  Felt crappy about waking the family (they don’t give out a gate key, you need to ring the buzzer).  Anyway, Radik opened the door and seemed to be in good spirits.  He asked ‘Golden Bull?’  I replied ‘Da!’ and shuffled off to bed.  I did want to get to Al-Archa Park the next day.

Radik rousted me at 10, I ate some breakfast, and off we went.  Stopped at a ‘car bazaar’ en route, there were an unbelievable collection of nice cars there, included some Acuras, a Porsche SUV, and the usual slew of German and Japanese sedans.  Unreal.  People, the Germans and Japanese are beating our ass, as you know – even when an advertisement highlights the USA, the actual cars (I think sourced from California) are mostly foreign:

Drove on to the park.  Went by a North Face store that had to be fake.  There was also one in UB.  I guess the lawyers haven’t bothered showing up yet.  Hiked for a while with Radik – nothing too strenuous.  Started to rain, we had our umbrellas with us.  Hiked by some men on their knees, praying towards Mecca.  You can almost forget that this country is largely Muslim, they’re so relaxed about it and you don’t see many mosques.

The park is nice, with a river flowing through it and some cool peaks rising above.  We spent a couple hours there, which felt like enough given the rainy weather.

On the way out, Radik bought me a bowl of koumiss, fermented mare’s milk.  I was too early in Mongolia to try it, but now it’s summer and that’s when mares foal, and this stuff accompanies the birth/feeding.  It’s white and tart – when it hits the back of your throat you feel the bitterness, but then it becomes easier to gulp down.  It’s not too bad – mildly alcoholic, to boot.  The locals often mix it with vodka – that doesn’t sound scrumptious.  I drank a bowl, so did Radik, and he bought some for his father.

My first koumiss – Radik warned that it would make me sleepy, and it did.  I nodded off on the drive home.  When we got back to the city, I was hungry (it was 4 p.m. and I hadn’t had lunch), so lazily strolled to Metro and got some American grub there.  Met a Canadian energy worker and his Aussie boss, who were gregarious and a lot of fun.  We were all ready to leave at the same time – the Aussie told me to give him my bill.  I resisted, but eventually gave in.  I felt reasonably good about the future of the human race after meeting these two…

Got back to the guesthouse – the family was working its way through an arbat (watermelon) and invited me to have a few slices.  Delicious.  Rafi had come by, again, and left me a note.  Not sure why he didn’t just ring me up, maybe his phone is broken.  The note asked me to ring/text him, which I did.  Apparently he was still in town and not in Tajikistan.  It was all so mysterious, and needlessly so.  It had been a couple days since he came by and told me about his Tajik gameplan.  Anyway, after I texted him I still didn’t hear anything back, so put it out of my mind.  The family, particularly Farit, thought that these ‘Pakistanis’ (Rafi is actually Afghani) are ‘mafia.’  I told him Rafi is a med student, but I’m not sure he cares.  Ah, old world thinking…

I was starting to feel a bit at home now, 5 days into my Bishkek stretch.  Anisa, the daughter, brought her friend Alicia, a Texan who I’d met on the street (with Anisa) the previous night.  She’s a Texan who detests George Bush so I’m a fan.  Then the cabbie who drove me from the airport into Bishkek when I arrived showed up at the guesthouse, with a couple tourists in tow, they were looking for a room.  Finally, Radik showed up and told me that Aida would be calling me soon.  I was working my way into the local fabric…I seem to have an effortless talent for that.  It’s not always a good thing, though…more on that in a bit.

Chatted for an hour with two newly-arrived Germans who had just been to Uzbekistan.  They told me they’d gone up to the shrunken Aral Sea and saw the beached ships there.  It’s a bit of a journey but you can go with a guide from a town called Nuus (sp?).  I might try it if I have the time.

I was hoping that Aida wouldn’t call – I thought our one night together was perfect and I wasn’t up for a forced repeat.  She didn’t call by 9, I was hungry so went out.  As usual, I left my valuables behind, including wallet and mobile.  Central Asian jujitsu was still on my mind, although I’d stopped carrying my knife around after the first couple nights.  I left safe enough, and was in decent shape so could probably outrun any bad guys…

Had a lambburger at a stand…went to Golden Bull, was bummed that cute Olga wasn’t there.  She’d told me she had the night off, but would be there relaxing (i.e., drinking heavily).  But she wasn’t there…I heard she took off earlier to rest at home.  Oh well.  I just had a couple beers and went back around midnight.  Noticed on my mobile that Aida had called 4 times and texted me.  I texted back…apparently she was still in the hospital but had left that night to come see me.  Uh-oh.  After I texted her, she called, and wanted to go out.  But I had a 9 a.m. appointment at the US Embassy…and was tired… and was already in bed…and wasn’t that into seeing her, to be frank.  So despite her sorcery, I stayed put and asked for a raincheck, knowing that she’d be unlikely to be available before I left town.   I felt a bit bad, but hey, it’s like Grease – sometimes summer lovin’ doesn’t last.

The aircon wasn’t working that well…I slept badly…bugs were torturing me.  Payback for blowing off Aida?  Perhaps.  I do believe in karma…

Next morning I put on a white oxford and took a cab to the US Embassy.  Major league security, as expected, but I was ‘on the list’ and got through all 3 rounds of checks.  Placed was quiet and nearly deserted, unlike the Kazakh Embassy down the road which was mobbed.  Kind of puts you in your place, seeing that!

As I wrote earlier, I feared getting the Heisman from the staff re new passport pages.  At 9 a.m. I went to the window (I was the only person in the waiting room) and handed over my passport, the application form, and told the clerk what I wanted.  She looked at my passport, started to form some sort of protest, but held back and retreated into the admin area.  I sat down and prayed.  If I got the new pages, I’d be free and clear for another year or more…if not, I’d need to be careful and thoughtful about my near-term travel plans, and possibly have to sit tight in a certain city (or a single country, for sure) while getting a new passport, which must get processed in Washington and generally takes two weeks if you’re overseas.

About 20 minutes later (the expected waiting time based on my past experience, so I was getting fairly confident) my name was called and I went to the window.  She handed back my passport – I looked inside, but could already feel the added thickness.  Bingo!  And she didn’t even tell me I was done and that next time I’d need a new passport.  I’ll worry about that challenge later on, for now I was very happy – these are the sorts of things that occupy much of my time these days, for better or worse.  Next:  getting the Uzbek visa the next day.

I walked back to town, elated.  Near the guesthouse, I stopped in Yangtse River Chinese resto for lunch.  They have good food, and a waitress there seems fond of me.  She thinks I’m weird, actually – every time I point to a picture of a dish and say ‘kuritsa?’ (‘chicken?’) she laughs and says ‘nyet, rabbit.’  I’m not a big fan of rabbit meat, so she always helps me find a good chicken, or pork dish.  And Chinese food is a nice change of pace from the local lamb-heavy diet, which gives me impressive gas and probably a bit of B.O. as well.  This time the waitress asked for my phone # – she’d previously asked my age and my marital status.  Asians are very forthcoming about these questions – I’ve also been asked my income, my religion, etc.  Anyway, she was kind of cute in a moon-faced sort of way, and I continued to feel I was sinking my talons into Bishkek…for better or worse.

Took it easy rest of the day.  I wanted to double-check that Zamira, from the university, could still accompany me to the Uzbek Embassy the next morning, so texted her.  No reply within an hour.  Called her – couldn’t get through.  Tried 2-3 more times until 4 p.m., when I grew concerned.  I decided I had to have a backup plan, so went to a well-known local travel agent called Novinomad, which offers translators.  Hired one for 1,000 som (about US$28), which was less than I offered to Zamira, and this was a more stable option.  Texted Zamira and called off our deal…too bad, because she was cute.  But I was getting entangled a bit too much, anyway, and was better off sticking to pure bizness for the time being.

Radik and I went to a shashlik place that night, right behind Radison.  Huge sticks of lamb and chicken meat, the skewers were the length of my arm.  Local draft beers, naan bread, and meat – perfect.  There was a cheesy singer with electronic accompaniment – hugely popular in Kyrgyzstan (and Russia).  Two bouncy Russian chicks were dancing like crazy – not attractive, but I did like the energy.  Russians, as I’ve written before, are earthy and fun people when you get to know them.  Before that stage, beware.

Went for one beer at Metro with Radik, then back to Radison.  I had to get up and go to the Uzbek Embassy, hopefully for the last time.

Woke up – room smelled.  In the bathroom, noticed that the drain was backing up a little.  Farit came in with his plunger – and spent the next few hours dealing with the plumbing, which was clogged.  I’ve generally been good about not throwing a lot of paper in the toilet bowl, because in the FSU the plumbing stinks and often you have to throw your used toilet paper in the bin…not that hygienic and certainly not aromatic.  Anyway, there are a few rooms connected to mine at Radison, so it could have been anyone, and it could have been a preexisting problem as well.  Farit was uncomplaining…I said thanks as I took off for the Uzbek Embassy.  Far from being angry and blaming me, he seemed sheepish and apologetic – oh yeah baby!  I didn’t think I’d be glad to return to the unfriendly Uzbek Embassy, but given the state of the plumbing and the smell in my room, I was glad to head off, anywhere.

At the Embassy, I found my translator right away – she was with the manager I’d met the previous afternoon.  This translator was fresh and the manager wanted to quality check her.  Apparently Novinomad can handle the entire process, including LOI – the two Brits had used them and it was far easier than what I’d gone through.  I’d definitely counsel anyone to use an agent like this in Kyrgyzstan and avoid the torture I’ve undergone.  Anyway, the two agents told me I was indeed ‘on the list,’ got me right inside, talked to the same bitchy woman, and then we left.  They told me that visa would be ready by 3 p.m.  Easy enough – it was the windup that was hell.  Too bad I hadn’t known about Novinomad – Russian travel agents (in Russia) are unhelpful, as I’ve written, and I just assumed the same was true here.  Not so.

This was the process in Bishkek that I’d come for.  Same-day processing, in and out.  It turned out I’d underestimated the importance of making the formal appointment – my guidebook underplayed the seriousness of that.  Hard lesson learned.

Went back later that day – the Novinomad manager was there, we went inside, my visa was ready.  Excellent.  I had to pay $135 – and had with me a lot of US banknotes, because in this part of the world they’re crazy about newness and recency.  The woman wouldn’t take any bills issued before 2003, and rejected one that had a small ink-mark on it.  Insane.  But she’s not unusual here – I’m probably carrying US$300 in unusable bills.  At least the ATMs in Bishkek offer the option of taking out US$ – so I took advantage of that a few times to stock up with fresh C-notes.  This was particularly important, as I’d heard that there are no/very few ATMs in Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan, and none outside the capital.  That may change rapidly, but Uzbekistan is largely isolated due to the president’s kicking all the NGOs out of the country, and travelers must often rely on credit card cash advances, which incur interest immediately.  I hate the notion of doing that so want to carry US$ cash if possible.  Reminded me a bit of Burma, when I entered the country with US$3,000 – not my favored amount to carry around.

Walked out with passport/Uzbek visa.  What a ridiculous process I’d gone through, starting in Mongolia (no real work there, just asking questions), through to Russia (where the Uzbek Embassy hardly answered the phone), now to Kyrgyz.  But I got the visa and could now carry on.

Bought some flowers for the family at Radison, as I was leaving for eastern Kyrgyzstan the next morning.  Carrying them to the guesthouse, I ran into my waitress from Yangtse, and I handed her a flower.  She blushed…I winked…then walked on.  Life is long.

Gusia was happy to get the flowers.  In the FSU flowers are incredibly popular, there are stores all over the place and men give their women flowers.  The family had taken great care of me (and had fixed the plumbing that day, much to everyone’s relief – I lit some Indian incense to celebrate and clear the air), and I felt like giving something back besides my brash presence.  Radik and I had certainly gotten to be friends, even with the language barrier.  And my fling with Aida was no secret – Radik had immediately told his mother, who (happily) told the 2 Brits that I was inside my room with ‘a Kyrgyz woman.’  They needled me about that the next day.  And Radik’s sister Anisa came up to me and told me that a ‘Kyrgyz woman is in love with you.’  Hmmm.  Now I knew it was really time to go – a homicidal brother could be showing up any day now…

Last night in town.  Went to Metro for a beer, said bye to the bartenders there, then over to Golden Bull.  Olga was working – shot the shit with her for a while, didn’t sense that much sexual tension so didn’t pursue that angle, and decided it was best to take it easy and get out of dodge in the morning.  I did duck in a different club, Fire & Ice, but it was dead.  Noticed that there was a gentlemen’s club, Butterfly, right upstairs, peeked in there too but it was lame.  I knew it was time to rest and then leave town, but I also wondered if I was about to enter a sexual black hole – rural Kyrgyzstan, and then the heavily policed state of Uzbekistan.  Probably not a huge amount of play in those places.  But I went back to the Radison and went to sleep.  Radik let me in – it was a perfect night and he was sleeping outside, on the couch.

Woke up, got some more US$ for Uzbekistan (wasn’t sure if ATMs outside Bishkek would offer US$), had breakfast, then said goodbye to the Djumasheve family.  We all seemed a bit sad, perhaps Radik the most.  I think he doesn’t often have a buddy/big brother type around so I played that role and we got on very well.  Took a photo, here it is:

Then got in a taxi which they told to go to the marshrutka (minibus) station, and to take me straight to the minivans going to the town of Cholpon-Ata, on the northern shore of Lake Issyk-Kol.  This lake is a major natural attraction in Kyrgyz, and is a few hours to the east of Bishkek.  I’d spent a few days in this town, going swimming and staying in a hotel owned by Anisa’s friend’s family…and then head further east to Karakol, close to the Tien Shan range.  More on that in my next entry.

As I got into the cab Anisa asked me to sing ‘American phrases.’  I thought for a sec then belted out ‘America the Beautiful,’ winding up with ‘from sea to shining sea.’  When I lived in France in 1987 my French host family knew that song and we’d sometimes sing it together, in various levels of harmony, proficiency, and grace.  I thought back to that time as I sang it again, this time for my Kyrgyz host family.  Nice capper to a strangely entertaining and fruitful week.  Over and out.

Tags: Travel

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