Wanderlust Heaven!

I’m in Odesa.  It’s the 7^th anniversary of the 9-11 terrorist attacks – they seem like yesterday, but also a lifetime ago.  I woke up today with a nasty thought – what if, sometime in the next two months, we ‘receive’ another video clip from Osama bin Ladin and crew threatening the USA/the West?  I recall that days before the 2004 elections, that happened, and probably benefited the Republicans.  My hypothesis is that al-Qaeda likes having the GOP in power, they are easy to goad and predict, and have helped recruit countless drones to their cause.  Will we be watching another bin Ladin clip on or around November 1^st this year…and will it again frighten us into making a reflexive choice?

I’ve been following the race pretty closely, almost obsessively.  It doesn’t help that I can surf the web on my handheld…for a person who’s not working, I probably come across like a Crackberry fiend, at least to the locals.

Speaking of home – in Korzo pub a few days ago, in Lviv, I noticed in the menu a listing for ‘chicken wings from Buffalo.’  I had to try those – and got pretty much standard grade barbecued chicken wings, no hot sauce, no bleu cheese, no celery.  Is there a TGI Friday’s in Istanbul?

At least I was comforted while eating my faux Buffalo wings by the sound of some guys speaking American/English.  You know, sometimes it’s better to be in a place where you don’t understand anyone around you, no one knows who you are, and you have to make do – the anti-Cheers, right?  On this night, as I sat at the bar eating wings, I was treated to an hourlong shpiel on replacing car windows, on filing taxes, and the obese guy in the group harangued an off-duty waitress who was there seeing her mates, telling her she shouldn’t show up on a night off.  How fucking presumptuous, and rude…it’s not only George W. Bush who’s working hard to ensure that Americans are detested around the world, we’ve also succeeded in exporting legions of obese businessmen who are helping spread the word far and wide.  How depressing.

I was perhaps in a crap mood because my hamstring was still killing me from the Budapest Nike ‘Human Race.’  Curse Nike…they got back at me because I wear New Balance shoes, and have for many years.  Or maybe I just didn’t stretch enough before the race, I just did my usual 5 minutes.  Or maybe I’m getting old and shouldn’t just assume I can run 2-3 times as far on a given day as I do during an average workout.  Or maybe I wish Obama were up by 10 points right now, instead of being even or worse.

Exchanged emails with Rory and Anne, who just moved from Ulaan Bataar to Shanghai.  I mentioned them during one of my Mongolia postings, they’ve lived in over 100 countries and aren’t slowing their pace.  Nice couple – but Rory did warn me that Ukraine was dangerous and that I shouldn’t bother visiting, and that advice was completely wrong.  Granted, he was trying to steer me into a visit to their farm in Bulgaria…but still, my one data point on them was their Ukraine coverage and this was way off.  I should let them know at some point that we have wildly different perceptions of this country…

I saw on BBC News that Yemen is now showing advertisements for tourism.  That may be premature – I’m sure there’s an incredible amount to see there, the place is rich in history, but (Rory also told me this, and I tend to believe him here) you have a decent shot at getting abducted in Yemen and that might ruin an otherwise good holiday.

The US$ is finally moving up a bit here, the moneychangers are offering around 4.8 Ukrainian hryvnia per dollar, up from 4.6 or 4.7.  Yeah, baby.  Meanwhile, the U.S. government is seizing Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac – probably a good move, but it effectively doubles the total U.S. debt load to about $10 trillion.  Hey, what’s the diff between 5 and 10 trill, anyway?  How the bejesus did things get to this point?  Why aren’t we electing economists to run the show till the ship gets righted??

Bert in Budapest turned me on – sort of – to some of his latest literary fixations, including William Reich and Wallace Wattles.  The latter wrote ‘The Science of Getting Rich,’ which Bert briefly excerpted for me.  In a nutshell, it’s not a book about investing, it’s more of a sociological/environmental screed in which Wattles lays out his thesis and principles for making it big:

-the world consists of unseen fabric or tissue (‘Original Substance’), which responds to our actions and emotions – everything we think and do has consequences

-so we’d better be honest and live our lives mindfully, and with joy (minimize negative thinking)

-we should also be gracious at all times, to all people

Pretty simple stuff, and compelling as well.  I have the PDF form of the book and will try to read it through soon – but anyway for now I’m trying to keep the principles of mindfulness, joy/positive thinking, and gratitude in front of me.  You know me – those are difficult enough!

On that point, a negative thought.  Watched Sarah Palin’s VP acceptance speech in St. Paul on television – certainly a good first showing (will there ever be a follow-up?), she seems to have energized the lunatic right-wing base of the party.  But…this was a great speech?  One, her voice is whiny and schoolmarmish – I wouldn’t want to hear that voice often.  Second, having watched the occasional 15 minutes of the British Parliament’s ‘Question Hour’ with the Prime Minister, in which the Opposition excoriates the PM while he tries to defend himself/the government, has been enough to instruct me in what constitutes a capable speaker and what does not.  And Sarah Palin would look like a dilettante in Westminster, I’m sure.  Her speech was good if your expectation was that she’d come out stuttering, or completely flat.  But Winston Churchill she is not.

Finished up in Lviv and caught a bus to the small city of Kamyanets-Podilslky, to the southeast.  This place is one of the more impressive sights in Ukraine, the old city is a ‘rock-island’ surrounded on all sides by a deep river canyon.  The odd path of the river encircles the old city and makes it a truly dramatic view.

Here’s what the old city and the canyon look like:

It strikes me that the only real way to convey the beauty of this place would be from an aerial photo.  Oh well.  I seem to recall that Bern had some similar vistas, but not quite this wild and striking.  Any readers know of a place that has similar features?

Checked into my hotel, Kseniya, near the old city’s impressive fortress.  The hotel seems mostly geared towards weddings and parties, didn’t speak much English, but we muddled through.  I had asked for a basic room – they tried to upsell me to a larger/more pricey room, but I held firm (played dumb) and they gave in.

Hadn’t eaten all day, so found a café right near the fortress and tucked in.  Ordered obligatory beers, and some shashlyk.  The waitress giggled at my Ukrainian.  I like giggling.

Took a long nap after my late lunch, these long bus/train rides take a lot out of you.  Was too weak to go for a run, and besides, my hamstring was still sore.  Ugh.

My guidebook recommended a pub in the old city, I went there and it was pleasant enough.  Pretty quite for a Friday night, but I was in a mellow mood and was happy to just kick back.  There was a TV showing music videos…one came on with the ubiquitous Enya, singing to a Lord of the Rings montage.  Didn’t show she had anything to do with those films.  Meanwhile, a few girls were sitting upstairs, now and then one would descend to use the toilet and then spend 10 minutes adjusting her hair in the hallway mirror.  Women here are incredibly appearance-conscious – not that they always make sane apparel choices, but I can appreciate the dedication.  Of course, when their looks fade, you probably don’t want to be around them…

Walked back to the hotel around midnight.  There was some music coming from the fortress.  Was there a private party inside?  Or were the guards just amusing themselves?  An eternal mystery…

Next morning, walked a while to the bus station to get a ticket for Odesa on Sunday.  Language torture, despite my preparations, I had written down exactly what I wanted…but the ticket lady kept saying ‘tomorrow’ with an inflection I couldn’t understand.  Eventually I got it – I had to return the next day (Sunday, when I wanted to travel) to get the ticket for that same evening.  Annoying – you’d think with computers, you could just make the booking whenever you wanted.  I got the time of the bus and made a note to return the next morning.  Oh well – it’s not like I have 17 other things I have to do.

The state telecom carrier – UkrTelecom – office in Kamyanets-Podilsky had an Internet café, went there with my laptop to plow through some emails, etc.  I bought an access card, like the one I bought in Kyiv, and like the network in Kyiv, in Express Hotel, the connection speeds were breathtaking.  Downloaded a brace of podcasts in under a minute, updated my anti-virus definitions, downloaded a bunch of emails with attachments.  This crap really backs up and I find I need to get on wireless at least once weekly to clear everything.

After that, did some sight-seeing around the old city, which is really a gem.  Lots of classic houses and streets – there’s an old Armenian Quarter, an old Polish town square, and so on.  I had never heard of this city before coming to Ukraine, but was happy to have checked it out.

Had lunch at the pub where I’d spent the previous night.  The waitress brought over a Lvivskie beer without my needing to ask.  Cool.  Had some borsch and salad, then a bit more sight-seeing.  There’s a picture gallery on the Armenian Square, with a sculpture of an old monk carrying a seemingly-innocuous basket.  But the sculpture pivots, and then you can see that in the basket is a naked woman.  Naughty, naughty monk.

Lots of weekend weddings in Kamyanets-Podilsky.  Big hair, huge limos, lots of flowers.  They basically took over the old town, but I was happy to watch the proceedings and fanfare – I had no trouble getting around and could still get into the food and drink establishments.  As I watched all the preening, however, I was overcome by the thought that this sort of crass exhibitionism and extravagance isn’t the way to immortality, in a century everyone here will be forgotten (myself included).  It’s perfectly fine to be joyous and to let yourself go on your wedding day, sure…but heed the poem ‘Ozymandias’ and know that if you want to be remembered, go out and create something, or solve a global problem – that’s a much better way to achieve a sort of immortality than riding in a huge limo on Saturday afternoon.  But I suppose that 99% of people don’t think beyond tomorrow, and that having a blowout today is really what they live for.  And they might not be wrong…

Checked out the old fortress – ramshackle, but impressive.  As I walked around I listened to my iPod, there were a few podcasts I had downloaded that I was plowing through.  One, from NOW on PBS, concerned affirmative action, and covered a fellow who runs a political action group that’s trying to get referendum on state ballots to end affirmative action.  Turns out he’s a registered lobbylist, and gets large donations from the construction industry to fight affirmative action.  Hmm.  Why do you think the construction industry doesn’t want African-Americans to get into good schools or get good jobs?  As I wrote last week, I really don’t subscribe to overarching conspiracy theories around incidents like 9-11, the Kennedy assassination, etc.  But I do believe that lobbying dollars corrode the ethics of Washington, to the extent that there were any in the first place, and I applaud any journalists out there digging this shit up and exposing it to sunlight.  Talk about fighting the good fight.

I’d actually be happy replacing race-based affirmative action with economic means-testing.  If you come from a poor family, you get extra consideration for university and for jobs.  In theory this type of system shouldn’t be any more difficult to implement…I just worry that it too would subsequently get gutted and we’d wind up with colleges with a handful of African-Americans and that a (more) permanent underclass of Americans would be the consequence.

I don’t know what the Bush Administration has done in this area.  His choice of right-wing Justices for the Supreme Court won’t help, that’s for sure.  And that’s probably where this fight will eventually go, or more accurately, return.

The best thing about the Bush Administration?  Things can only get better.  They’ve only succeeded in turning about 60% of the world against us – the next Pres. might be able to cut that in half (Obama would do much better than that).

Listened to my new favorite song, ‘It Wouldn’t Have Made Any Difference,’ an oldie by Todd Rundgren, as I walked back to the hotel.  Another fixation lately:  Lynn Miles and her 1996 album ‘Slightly Haunted.’  She’s a Canadian folk singer whom I saw perform on a random weekday night at the Bottom Line in Greenwich Village, NYC around 1996 or so.  Hadn’t heard of her, was just walking around the Village, and felt like hearing some live music.  Was so impressed that I bought her CD right there, and loved it.  You never know what’s around the next corner in life – that’s the beauty of it.  On any given Wednesday night, there are incredible unknown bands playing in your town, you just need to go see them.  Meanwhile, there are loads of well-publicized acts that have half the talent, but more presence, who grab the headlines and recording contracts.  Amy Winehouse, for example – she certainly is talented and has a good voice, but in my opinion Lynn Miles blows her away and I imagine few of you have heard of her.  I need to get on iTunes and see what else she’s selling these days – I suggest you do as well.  Highly recommended.

Saturday night in Kamyanets-Podilsky.  Could be the title of a Lynn Miles song – but probably not.  Not much going on – walked into the ‘new city,’ found a cheesy basement pub where they had one of those electronic music setups with a vocalist frontman, who sang along with the machine.  Charming.  Actually, not that bad.  And he did Elton John’s ‘Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word.’  It’s funny when these guys sing in English, they sound like natives…even though they can hardly say ‘hello’ when away from the machine.  I love it.

Got my Odesa bus ticket the next morning. I half-feared they’d tell me to come back that afternoon, but no problem.  Went back to the hotel and packed up.  Walked to the Internet café and did a few things on the godlike superfast hookup.  If I had a connection this fast everyday, everywhere, I could probably save an hour a day.  Oh well.

Had a beer and a huge shashlyk (actually, more like a massive pork chop) at the café near the fortress, Pid Bramoyu.  Didn’t see the giggling waitress, unfortunately.  Did I mention I like giggling?

Back at the hotel, got my pack, and caught a taxi to the bus station.  I wonder what the receptionists at Kseniya Hotel thought of me, they really seem to find an English speaker exotic…and I did feel that I was very much off the beaten path while in this town.  Not that it got me laid – but hey.

Waited at the bus station, prayed for a large bus with real seats and a degree of comfort.  Watched a guy run off another bus, turn and vomit – mostly onto the ground, but he sprayed a couple women waiting on the platform.  They took it surprisingly well – they had some wet-wipes and proceeded to use a ton of those to clean off their legs.  Fairly horrific, to just be standing there waiting for your bus when some fellow runs over and pukes on you.  Lesson:  always carry some wet-wipes.

The bus was fine, and the seat next to me was empty for the entire ride.  Awesome.  Surfed the web on my Treo, heard that Tom Brady, the Patriots’ (football) quarterback injured his knee in the first quarter of the opening game.  Torture.  What will this season look like now?

The ride was about 12 hours.  Dozed on and off…listened to music, looked out the window.  Ukraine is a fertile, flat country and sometimes it appears to be one giant farm.  Thought about the ease of transport in our world – rarely have I had a truly difficult time getting from one place to another, particularly within a country.  A bus from Lviv to Kamyanets-Podilsky?  Two per day.  From K-P to Odessa?  Two per day.  The times aren’t always convenient, and the rides can be long, but if you plan it right you can see a lot fairly quickly.  I often rail against population growth, but sufficient human scale does have its advantages…

There was a screen in the bus and they played some DVDs, including one, ‘Mongol,’ which appeared to show the life and times of one Chinggis Khan.  It was all in Russian, so I had no idea what they were talking about, but the incidents seemed to jibe with what I’d read of the man.

When that movie ended, I looked at a map of the country, and was briefly concerned that we’d be short-cutting through the (independent country of) Moldova.  I’d heard that you need a visa for Moldova, and that they weren’t cool even if you were just passing through.  I asked the conductor ‘Moldova? Ya nye Moldova viza.’  He smiled and laughed and said ‘Nye Moldova.’  Whew.  Should have checked that when I bought my ticket…but the language challenge is hard enough, sometimes I forget to ask that critical final question.  Gotta be more of a pest, despite it not really being my nature…

Got to the Odesa bus station.  It was only 5:30 a.m.  My hotel, Richelieu, would probably be shut, or my room not ready, for a few hours, so decided to drink some coffee and kick back at the station.  Lots of unsavory characters sleeping on the chairs…some homely cats roamed the floors.  But it was dark outside, and I was better off where I was.  The monsters come out at night, in the dark – rip-off cabbies, touts, real thieves – and they’re best avoided.  The sun came up around 6:30 or so, but I stuck around till around 8, observing life inside the bus station.

A decrepit-looking guy was sleeping across a few seats to my left.  A woman sweeping the floor cleaned our area, and gently moved his plastic bag of belongings while she swept the area under his seats, then replaced the bag.  I could tell she had a kind heart, and was surprisingly unjaded by her work.  A half-hour later, some jerk came over with a cop and made the fellow sit up.  He later laid down again, and they eventually threw him out of the station.  Very callow.  Reminded me of the cop training a hose on a bum picking through the trash at a train station in Moscow.  Being a bum in the FSU is probably a lot like being in hell.

Listened to Lynn Miles for a while, then to Rosa Passos – she’s a bossa nova singer from Brazil, very relaxed stuff.  Then I was ready to leave the bus station and confront Odesa on my own terms.

Had trouble finding a reasonably-priced cab, even in the daylight.  I think the problem is that 1) they have you by the balls, particularly if you have luggage, and 2) in the FSU, every car is a potential taxi, so the competition is fierce and volumes are depressed.  In a price-sensitive market, the cabbies would just lower their prices and attract volume…and/or consider adding a meter, which none of the taxis here seem to have.  But they seem unable/unwilling to lower their prices to match those of the random car serving as taxi – probably because they have to pay the cab owner a set price each day.  So what they appear to do is to wait for the big-ticket rides, from bus/train/airport to the city center, and vice-versa.  They go for broke and target a small population – much like the private medical sector does in Hong Kong.  You can get nearly free medical care in HKG, if you go to public hospitals/clinics, but the wait is forever and busy professionals cave in and go to private doctors who charge a fortune.  You’re reimbursed by your insurance company, so you don’t really care, and the private doctors make a good living seeing relatively few patients but overcharging them.  At least that’s how I see it.

Hotel Richelieu turned out to be terrific, albeit a bit pricier than new friend Jeff had mentioned.  It’s in the courtyard of Odesa’s main synagogue – was glad to see that Jews here wear yarmulkas and Star of Davids.  You probably wouldn’t have seen that years ago…I guess the pogroms are over.

My room was small, but had plenty of hooks for clothes, and even a fan, something I hadn’t yet seen in Ukraine.  I’d probably be able to sleep here without sweating or getting attacked by insects…

Saw the major sights in town.  The Potemkin Steps, made famous by Sergei Eisenstein’s ‘Battleship Potemkin.’  Pretty cool.  The steps and the view to the harbor from the steps:

Walked around the harbor checking out the yachts.  Saw one from Comores, which I visited on a memorable junket in 1998.  Saw one from Panama too.  They really get around.

Bought a ferry ticket to Istanbul.  Wanted to go from Sevastopol, or Yalta, but was told that there are only Odesa-Istanbul ferries.  That was news to me, I’d heard otherwise – yet another Lonely Planet inaccuracy.  Oh well, I’d have to return to Odesa after visiting Crimea – somewhat of a pain, but not a deal-breaker.  I wanted to traverse the Black Sea by ship, so I’d do it this way.  The ticket was about US$190, not that bad, but I’ll have to share a cabin with three random guys.  Hopefully they’re Turkish opium dealers or something like that.  We’ll see.

Isaac Babel, the writer, came from Odesa.  He helped form the image of Odesa (Odessa in Russian) as a city whose citizens were witty and worldly, and often Jewish.  The Jewish population is small these days, but it’s here and I think the image of the city as the FSU’s most cosmopolitan city persists.

And Catherine the Great played a major role in the development of Odesa, she’s a controversial but largely beloved figure here:

Odesa seems quite pro-Russian, they speak mostly Russian here.  I know more Russian than Ukrainian so that’s OK with me.  But I sense that they don’t love Yankees that much around here…and friend Sarmat (in Moscow) told me that in Crimea I should pose as a Canadian.  I can do a decent New Zealand accent and might try that instead.

I also get the sense that they’re still pissed off that Khrushchev gave Crimea to Ukraine.  Russia still has its Black Sea Fleet in Sevastopol – I’ll see it soon enough – but the lease ends in 2017 and that’s already provoking some trouble between the two nations.  Ukraine really is an odd country – unsure of its identity, torn between history and future, stuck between the East and the West.  I don’t have a lot of advice, or even a strong point of view, to offer the locals I talk to.  Ukrainians (a diverse lot, to be sure) need to make up their own minds.  I wouldn’t be surprised if they wound up leaning East…but if I had to put money on it, I suspect the lure of Western capital and sophistication will eventually attract them.  No matter what, though, they’ll need to remain cognizant of their neighborhood.

This city is a bit like Manila, in that there seems to be a lot going on in the background.  Odesa has a lot of mafia and an edgy feel to it.  You don’t feel threatened, or in danger, but if you went looking for trouble you wouldn’t need to look for long.  So I didn’t.

Did a fair amount of running in a park near the hotel.  My hamstring seems better, and I want to get back to business.  Eventually I want to ramp up my workouts and get above a half-hour.  Heard that Japanese novelist Murakami wrote a book about how running helps his thinking and writing – he’s a great writer and I’d love to get my hands on his book.

Am starting to get tired of the white trash in the FSU.  Lots of shirtless guys walking around the parks – and some on buses and trams.  Lots of crass displays, you see Hummer limos and lots of god chains round guys’ necks.  Didn’t this stuff go out in America in 1978??  Except the Hummers, of course…

I do have to say that Odesa probably has the best-looking white women I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something.  Ukraine in general has a rep for having hot women, and it’s deserved.  Sure, there are plenty of trolls and babushkas, and you do wonder how this cutie eventually morphs into that babushka, but you put the thought out of your mind and smile.  Went into a bar called Captain Morgans my first night in Odesa and sat at the bar, it was a lively place with a DJ.  A couple cute blondes (one was stunning) were across the way, chatting.  I thought about sending over some drinks, and probably would have if I had a wingman with me.  This would be a great place to have a wingman – I get the sense the solo traveler archetype isn’t one they particularly favor.  Oh well – I’ll look around for a drinking buddy and come back to Captain Morgans.  I wonder if they know how to make a Captain and Coke?

Lots of people – mostly men – in the FSU are wearing some sort of arm or hand cast, and/or sling.  Drunken street/bar fights?  Domestic violence?  Car accidents?

Bought a train ticket to Simferapol, the Crimean capital, for Thursday night.  Easy enough.

Went out to famous Arkadia Beach to the southwest of the city.  Very Russian-style beach, accordion players, people walking around with beers, lots of cheesy kiddie rides, and standing sunbathers.  I didn’t swim – I’d heard the water was foul, despite city government proclamations that the water is safe.  Too bad – hadn’t seen the ocean in months, and wanted to get wet.  But  I just walked around and observed life here.

Arkadia in the summer goes off every night – there are two huge clubs on the beach, Itaka and Ibiza, and it’s reminiscent of Ibiza in Spain.  I arrived in Odesa a bit too late in the year, and during the middle of the week, but might try on my return here to do a Friday night in Arkadia before they shutter the clubs.  We’ll see.

Had lunch at Tbilisi, a Georgian place on the promenade.  Had kachapuri, Georgian pizza – not bad, a bit too dry for my taste though.  Preferred the Georgian food I’d had in Kyiv, dolmas and cheese.  Will keep trying this stuff.

Deep Purple is coming to Odesa soon.  You really know when you’re nearing the bottom when you’re playing Odesa, methinks.  Although the geezers in Deep Purple still get laid more than I do, I’m sure…

Saw a wedding shop sign that featured Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes.  I had to laugh.

Went for a long run, twice around the big park.  At one point I passed another runner, who then picked up his pace to match mine.  We went on like this for a while – I found it annoying for a couple reasons, one because I felt I was being watched, two because it was yet more evidence that men are idiots and slaves to their macho instincts.  This guy might have been running for an hour, me for 10 minutes, neither of us had the other’s data – but for some reason he couldn’t just let me pass him?  Wouldn’t it have been easier to let me go and then concentrate on his own running?  Is machoism and pride the doom of mankind?  I admit that sometimes these instincts drive us to greater heights…but to me it proves we’re just instinctual animals, in the end, and that will quite possibly bring us down.

Needless to say, I was pretty fresh and eventually passed him – not sure if he slowed down or if I sped up, it wasn’t a conscious decision.  Of course, with me it wasn’t a matter of being macho – I only looked back about 6 times to make sure he was well behind me.

Went out that night for dinner and a few beers.  Mick O’Neills is the long-standing expat hangout, a decent place to sit and observe.  There’s also a place called ‘Friends and Beer,’ a name I quite like.  Went there and had a big plate of US-style starters with some Ukrainian beer.  Walked around afterward to digest the food, I was stuffed.  Looked in Captain Morgans but it wasn’t hopping, plus I was tired from the long run.  Went back to the hotel and dug into my current book, ‘Everything is Illuminated’ by Jonathan Safran Foer, which was starting to get good.

Did laundry the next morning.  Wasn’t sure how it worked at the hotel, but the guy at reception opened a door and there was a washing machine.  Good.  The machine washes a load in 15 minutes, I think that’s a world record (it’s environmentally-friendly, in any case).  Anyway, the clothes seemed clean when I took them out.  Got everything washed in a half-hour, then hung ‘em to dry.  Easy enough, and free as well.  I wish every hotel had this sort of setup.

Noticed a travel agency near my hotel, with an English sign.  Went in and asked them about ferries to Istanbul.  They told me the only option was from Odesa, which made me feel better – since I’d bought my ticket, I’d worried that there were in fact boats from Crimea.  The travel agency rep told me that these were cargo ships, didn’t have regular departures, and weren’t dependable for passengers.  Ok, now I didn’t feel like a loser for having believed the earlier info.

Had lunch at the kosher restaurant in front of my hotel.  I guess it’s run by/affiliated with the synagogue.  Had some nice mushroom noodle soup, and a cauliflower salad, and felt I was giving to my people.  Or something like that.  You know what I mean.

I didn’t have many plans for the day, which was a good thing because I was getting heavily into the Foer book.  I spent most of the day reading it – I blew off my run (leg was sore anyway), didn’t go to the beach, had a quick dinner and drink, then back to the book.  I read until nearly 2 a.m. and finally finished it.  Wow.  The gist is that an American Jew travels to Ukraine to find a woman who saved his grandfather there from the Nazis.  He carries with him a photo of this woman and his grandfather.  He hires an agency in Odesa for transport to the lost village, and for translation – a Ukrainian man named Alex and Alex’s grandfather accompany him and serve these roles.  What they find and learn stuns them all.  I haven’t read many books that have such a brilliant mix of tragedy and comedy – there are parts of the book that are searing, and other parts that are hilarious.  I know it doesn’t sound appropriate, but Foer pulls it off perfectly.  One of the best books I’ve read, certainly top ten.  Highly recommended.

I head to Simferapol tonight, on an overnight train.  Will spend about a week in Crimea, then will return to graceful Odesa for a night or two before catching my ferry to Istanbul.  Am already making some plans to see people in that city – a former Darden classmate, a former colleague, and a friend of a friend.  Should be good fun.

Closing thought about politics and life – I opened this entry with a political musing so might as well close with one:  if Barack Obama had teenage daughters, and one of them was pregnant with a love child (or ‘out-of-wedlock,’ choose your own terminology), do you think he’d be lauded for having a normal family with ‘normal challenges?’  I don’t think so.  Over and out.

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Spent a half-day in Lviv getting ready to head to Budapest.  It was an achingly beautiful early autumn day and as usual I was running around doing things.  Looked for a gift for Bert and Vjera, whom I’d be visiting in Budapest.  Lviv has a string of bookshops in the center of town – I like places where you can find books and the people actually read.  Central Asia had been a bit of a wasteland in that regard.

Looked for a restaurant I’d heard was good.  A fellow I asked told me – then asked me if I was Polish.  Second person who thought that – the other was a guy I asked for directions to the cemetery I visited last week.  That guy, Viktor, told me he spent a year in Chicago – every English sentence he uttered was punctuated with ‘bro.’  Charming.

Found the resto, Amadeus, and inhaled a huge ‘gypsy shashlyk’ which was really just a few well-grilled chunks of meat with some potatos and sauce.  Perhaps the best shashlyk ever, although those two skewers in Bishkek still come to mind…

Got on the train to Budapest that night.  Was going to visit fraternity brother Bert, who relocated from New York City to Budapest four months ago.  He had sent me an email around that time, in typically cryptic style – my understanding is that he had met a Hungarian woman in NYC and went back to Budapest with her.  Good for him…Bert has spent the past 20 years, since graduating from college, dealing with some health issues, and he’d been in NYC for the past 15 or so.  He’s great musician and music is part of his essence…perhaps a change of scenery plus his music would be what he needed to recover and regain his previously awesome joie de vivre.  But I really had no idea; since college I had only spent a few days hanging out with him, this trip to Budapest would be the most time we’d ever spent together.  Homicide was not out of the question…

I shared a train compartment with two spry Welsh, Reese and Donna, on their way to Romania to do some volunteering.  They shared their beer with me – I vowed to pay it forward on my next train trip.  We eventually passed out – then were awoken by border guards who wanted our passports.  At least the people I dealt with during the ride were pleasant – the ‘train lady’ was positively jolly, a real rarity, and even the Hungarian border guard was amused by my fat passport.

But a long night nonetheless…they had to change the wheels as well as doing the border checks.  The Welsh got off before I did…I finally roused myself and we pulled into Budapest an hour or so late.

As I disembarked I realized this was my first cross-border train ride since I’d left Mongolia for Russia in late June.  That was an epic journey, and involved visa checks and all that – this time no visas required, and in general it felt pretty relaxed.  Good to be traveling overland again – flights are pricey these days, and dealing with crappy airports isn’t much fun.

Bert and Vjera, along with her nephew, met me at Keleti Station.  Bert looked pretty good – last time I’d seen him he’d been surprisingly heavy, mostly from various ‘experiments’ he’d been conducting to try to cure his condition.  I still had to needle him about being fat, but I mostly pulled my punches.

Dropped my stuff off at Vjera’s flat, an attractive space which is painstakingly decorated.  She’s a translator and has a nice lifestyle – has time for yoga and for hanging out with Bert.  He moved in there when he came to Budapest – seems to be working out pretty well so far.

We went out to Magrit Island to walk around and let Vjera’s nephew get some air.  We were eventually to meet his mother, Vjera’s sister, there.  To amuse the little guy (and Bert?) we rented a cycle-type vehicle, which could seat four, and took off around the park.  The nephew steered – with constant assistance from me – I pedaled in the front, Bert in the rear.  A lot of fun – dangerous at times, which was an essential aspect of the amusement.  I noticed that a lot of women, many cute, were looking at us and smiling (usually).  Interpretation:  a man (or men) accompanying a little kid passes the litmus test of paternalism – they’ve given in and are thus acceptable.  Whereas my usual practice of sitting solo at a bar is not.  Got it.

At one point Bert felt his back pocket, to check his wallet, which was no longer there.  Uh-oh.  We all fanned out to look for it – but had no idea where it might be.  Did it get lifted on the tram to the island?  We were targeted as soon as we walked away from the ATM we hit right before taking the tram?  Did it just fall out during a bump on the cycle ride?  Errah…

We looked all round the park – no luck.  Bert was philosophical about the loss – didn’t get too upset, not much angst.  We eventually met up with Vjera’s sister Anna, and walked around with her for a while before returning to the flat to call the credit card company and cancel the lost/stolen card.  Bert checked his online account, and found that someone had already withdrawn nearly US$4,000 from his bank/debit card.  Shit.  The transaction was linked to something called ‘Lixus Budapest,’ which Vjera looked into and discovered was a casino.  Hmmm.  Further Vjera calls to Lixus itself found that the transaction had taken place at one of its two casinos in town – and that apparently the card was used as a debit card and that only a (fake) signature, not a PIN, was required.  Incredible – first, that the miscreant moved so fast, second that no PIN was required.  That set in motion a series of phone calls to Bert’s bank – after much explanation the bank is doing an investigation but it looks like Bert will eventually prevail and get his money refunded by the bank.  Meanwhile, the casino operation sounds very dodgy and there must be a corrupt cashier/manager there who does this all the time…

Had dinner and drinks – Bert was still holding up well, despite the theft of a significant portion of his bank holdings.  And overall, today’s events aside, he seemed heartier than he’d been when I’d seen him in NYC over the past few years.  I think his mind and sense of humor haven’t missed a beat – he’s as perverse as ever, and can’t resist torturing those around him. I don’t know how Vjera handles it, he must be unlike anyone she’s ever met – he’s certainly unlike anyone I’ve ever met…

So if Bert can get his body back in good working order, and keeps playing music, he could become an ubermensch within the next, say, 2-3 years.  Good to see that this may come to pass, Bert’s been in the tunnel for a long long time.

We went to the local police station to report the theft (we tried to do so in the park but the station there isn’t equipped for that).  Waited a while there – a couple was in there before us, with a baby, to report some crime, and it turned out that the woman was actually wanted for a crime herself.  Talk about dim.  We finally got in there and Vjera did all the talking.  Bert and I stared at a poster on the wall – ‘Aliens vs. Predators 2’ – a huge poster which Bert and I posited was the Budapest police’s latest success; they brought both Predator and Alien to justice, so recovering Bert’s wallet would be easy, right?  We giggled perhaps a bit too much for a police station.

We could do no more on the wallet front, so Bert and I headed to the famed baths of Budapest.  There are lots of places, we started with the largest, Szecaenyi.  A bit hard to work out the procedures, but we eventually found ourselves in a warm bath.  We spent the next three hours moving between hot, warm and cold pools, inside and outside the building.  The pools outside were terrific, loads of cute locals frolicking around.  Very social scene.  Bert hadn’t yet been to one of these bathhouses so we were getting up to speed together.  Much better than the hammom I visited in Bukhara, which was really a cavern with water taps.  I prefer the hot and cold pools, much more refreshing.

Random bathhouse observations:

-There probably is an optimal algorithm for moving between different pools (and the sauna as well).  We tried all sorts of combinations – I liked very cold to very hot, that way the cold shielded you from the hot, at least for a few minutes.

-The water temps affect your organs – I felt incredibly hungry at several points, probably from the stomach expanding and contracting due to different temps.

-Besides moving between pools, there’s really nothing to do in there.  That’s precisely what I need, given my usual focus on doing tasks.  You just sit there and think, or talk, and stew.  Excellent, really.

Bert might have some other observations – I expect he’ll post a comment one of these days.  More on bathhouses and bathing a bit later in this entry.

We were starving after the baths, so found a Turkish place and inhaled a huge souvlaki plate apiece.  Then went with Vjera to hear some music in a university-type hall – decent rock band.  Had a couple Hungarian beers – not bad at all.  Walking home, Bert and I got a gyro – Budapest has more gyro places than I’d ever seen before.  A good preview for Turkey.

Vjera has a large set of Shakespeare books in Magyar (Hungarian).  Magyar is a weird language, it’s related to Finnish and unrelated to nearly anything else.  I didn’t even try to pick up more than 2-3 words while there…if I tried, I’d forget all the Ukrainian and Russian I’d already picked up.  I know the capacity constraints of my little brain…

Next day we all went to a fair in a park near the Danube, which is an impressive river.  I’d been to Budapest once before, more than 10 years ago, and had forgotten what a pleasant and attractive city Budapest is.  Good to be back.

No pics of our little gang – Bert is camera-shy.

After milling around the fair for a while, Bert and I peeled off and went to our second bathhouse, Gallert, which is next to a classic old hotel on the Buda side of the river.  Gallert is huge, larger than Szecaenyi, but is as a result pretty confusing and we spent a lot of time wandering around lost.  But it was a good session all the same – Gallert is probably the most ornate bathhouse in Budapest, and I’d seen pics of it in various magazines.  There’s one room with two pools, 36 and 38 degrees Celsius, and we spent a lot of time in pool 38.  This room is huge and is probably several hundred years old.  The Turks left some good stuff behind here…

Bert and I were becoming bathhouse aficionados, and planned at least one more stop before I left town.  The concept of an ‘Extreme Bathing Team’ came up – the idea of sitting around all day in a pool appealed greatly to both of us.  Note that there doesn’t seem to be any sort of homosexual aspect to these bathhouses, at least the ones we visited – I imagine there may be places dedicated to that sort of thing, although Eastern Europe doesn’t seem to yet be all that open to the alternative lifestyle.

Vjera, Anna and the nephew showed up outside Gallert right when Bert and I were checking out the outdoors pool there.  That was a bit funny – wasn’t sure if they wanted to join us, or watch us, or what.  We had agreed to meet around 7 p.m. to catch some music, back at the fair, so we were surprised by this rendezvous.

We wound up meeting just outside Gallert, and went back to the fair together.  Saw one of Vjera’s favorite local bands, Csik, fronted by a charismatic moustachoied fellow who survived an awful car accident a while back.  Great stuff  – the band had 3 violins/fiddles and a ‘eastern’ sound that is miles away from the latest western blather.

After that, had dinner at Cactus Juice, a fusion place with a vaguely Middle Eastern bent.  Stayed there for a while – Bert and I had a good talk about life and plans – not that either of us are particularly knowledgeable or skilled in those areas…

Next day, we had big plans.  First, lunch at Vjera’s parents’ place.  Huge meal – her mom is a great cook and she set out a fantastic spread of chicken, pork, mashed potatos, sweet cherries, cauliflower, and cheeses.  Bert and I didn’t hold back, much – but I had to be mindful of the second major plan for the day (more on that soon), so I only had 3 plates of food…

I started playing chess against the nephew, and tried my best not to checkmate him.  I once won, by accident, and redid that move to keep the game going.  Eventually Vjera’s dad stepped in – he’s an accomplished chess master and Bert has lost badly to him every time.  That tightened the game up right away.  Bert joined me, and we struggled to hold off the dad.  We did alright – mostly ran from his attacking pieces, but made a couple trades that reduced the overall power of both sides, and eventually the dad said that a conclusion was unlikely, the two sides were equal and weak.  So we agreed and I left the board feeling pretty good.  Of course, the dad would have crushed me if we’d had a normal game…still, I didn’t fold and that was heartening.

Second major task for that day:  a 10K run around Margit Island, part of Nike’s ‘Human Race,’ which is held in around 20 cities around the world and involves approximately a million runners, including, of course, Lance Armstrong.  We were joined by a friend of Vjear’s, and got to the starting point just before 5 p.m.  The run started – I hadn’t run any formal race in a couple years, so took it easy and paced myself.  Wasn’t sure how fast to take it early on, I just found a few runners who seemed like me, and stayed with them.  Got around the island once, it was two times around in total.  On the second loop my right hamstring really started bothering me – plus my left hip was sore – plus my stomach was stuffed from the huge meal.  Terrific.  My ego dictated that I finish the run…and I wanted a decent showing, given that I was theoretically in good shape and had been running semi-regularly.  My stamina was fine, at least.  I tucked in my chin and got going – and I plowed through the last few km.  I finished in 58 minutes for the 10K, which I later found out was really about 11K.  A bit worse than my standard 8-minute mile pace.  But good enough.

Really felt the pain that night.  Very humbling – one of these days I really need to turn on the juice and get this aging body in great shape.  Good thing my ego has remained in shape – i.e., small.

We just stayed in and had a light dinner prepared by Bert and Vjera.  Bert has developed deep skills in lassi- and smoothie-making – I had about 10 of these during my 5 days with them.  Vjera makes a great salad, sandwich, and much more.  I don’t think I’ve eaten such healthy food in a long time.

Played ‘Who Wantes to Be a Millionaire?’  I wasn’t impressive – but then again, I had some British television questions which were nearly unanswerable.  We teased Bert, who got one obscure question involved magpies – but who also got the question ‘how many years in a millennium?’  Hard one.  I think I prefer Trivial Pursuit – although there are annoying TV questions in there too.

Went to our third bathhouse the next day.  This place has high sulfur content, and radioactivity as well.  Not sure what that means, should read up on it sometime.  The furdo (bathhouse) is called Rudas and is right near Gallert.  Rudas was our favorite of the three we’d visited – the main chamber has nearly all the pools, the ceiling has some openings to let in a bit of sublight, and there are both freezing cold and super-hot (42 degree) pools – great temp spreads.  We festered in the mid-range pools, mostly, and fantasized about our ‘Extreme Bathing’ concept.  We agreed to start recruiting other members, starting with fraternity brother Tim in the States.  Living in Budapest…hanging out in the baths…having an inexpensive flat…lots of positives here.  Anyone who’s floundering in the west would do well to consider a move to Budapest or a place like it.

Saw the fattest Hungarian I’d seen yet – American-sized guy.  He waddled from pool to pool.  Another local insisted on diving into the pools, and warned others with an Indian-style puckering whistle – a sound often used in India to get the attention of waiters.  Annoying, really.

Rudas was excellent – we spent 3 or so hours there, which seemed to be the right amount of time to spend in a bathhouse.  Bert looked likely to continue this trend when I’d leave the city – good for him.  Between playing music and extreme bathing, he’d be feeding his body and soul and would possibly hasten his recovery.

Went with Vjera to a concert that night – there was a Jewish festival on in the city.  This was a Dutch Jewish klezmer group – not the super-ethnic klezmer stuff I’d heard before, much more folky.  Pretty good stuff.  Bert didn’t love it – he thought the bassist was a show-off, and the singer annoying – he mocked her occasional trill and hand movements.  Musicians are certainly critical of other musicians – no surprise there.

I was happy that Bert and I had gotten along so well, and had such good talks.  As I wrote earlier, his mind is as perverse and provocative as ever – he’s managed to shield it from the agonies his body has endured.  That alone gives me confidence that he’ll get all the way back.

He also makes me (and Vjera) laugh – his sense of humor is weird and not always easy to take, but it’s real.  At one point, mid-giggle, I realized that I need to spend more time around people who make me laugh, in any way.  Bert and I go back more than 20 years, so we have lots to reminisce about, but even a new friend would be fine in this regard.  And I realized that I’ve known very few women who have made me laugh – my Croatian girlfriend years ago had this ability, but I can’t recall any others who have.  Why?  Am I meeting the wrong women…or are women inherently more serious and uptight than men, perhaps because of socialization?  I can’t help but feel that the second reason prevails.  Reactions?

We called Tim that night, he was in New Hampshire.  We started the call with an appeal to join the Extreme Bathers Club – Tim might be in.  Bert told Tim, who’s at a life crossroads of sorts, that my travels have exceeded all my expectations and fantasies – that seemed to resonate with Tim.  Bert and I would love to see Tim chuck his American girlfriend (a long story) and come overseas to try something new.   We’ll keep goading him…

Watched some Democratic National Convention speeches on YouTube.  Glad speakers are attacking the GOP, in 2004 they held off and that proved foolish.  Was especially impressed by John Kerry’s speech – he remains a good speaker and obviously intelligent.  After watching his speech, I couldn’t help but (once more) feel angry about the knee-capping he got in 2004 from Bush & Co., that he would have made a good President, and that the U.S., because of political dirty-tricks like ‘swift-boating,’ is eating itself and bringing to power the meanest, not best, candidates.  American voters are about to choose again, and I fear they’ll make another mistake.

Got my mail from home, nearly four months’ worth.  Not much in there of note, except for a new credit card, and 3 IRS notices telling me that I owed about US$78.  Torture.  This is why I usually try to get my mail every 6 weeks…but given that I’ve been in some obscure countries, that wasn’t really feasible/cheap.  I called the IRS and dealt with this – they hadn’t taken any collection steps, which made sense given that I’d already paid over US$40,000 in taxes this cycle.  Sent a check and that was that.  Whenever I get my mail there’s one piece in there that serves to aggravate me – brings back memories of sitting at my work desk juggling a thousand annoying tasks.  But I’m not sure how to get around this, gotta stay on top of the minutiae of life.

Last day in Budapest.  Went with Bert and Vjera to the Castle Hill district, the oldest and most scenic.  Walked around listening to Bert’s faux description of Hungarian culture and history.  Very funny.  Felt some sadness that we’d soon part ways – I’d had a great 5 days with them, it felt in some ways like Bert and I were still back at Tufts, hanging out in the ‘cave’ in Zeta Psi, sharing observations on life.  We should have had a bath there, though…

Got ready to take a train back to Lviv.  Vjera went far beyond the call of duty –  she made me a large care package with two sandwiches, three beers, water, snacks, and fruit.  Incredible – she has an impressive maternal instinct, methinks.  They took me to Keleti Station, where I’d arrived days earlier.  The short trip felt symmetrical and that no loose ends remained, I was happy about that.  I promised to come visit again before long – and I have a feeling I might see them in Goa within the next year or two.  I hope so.

Got on the train.  Shared a cabin with two German lads who spoke zero English.  Not sure how they get by, even in Europe.  I had to help them fill out the Hungarian departure card.  I can’t remember ever meeting western Euros who spoke no English whatsoever.  I gave them one of my beers – they gave me a Lucky Strike.  I came to realize they were the German Beavis & Butthead – lots of dumb laughing and stumbling around, commenting on headsplitting music, etc.  Eventually they became annoying, but anyway I had a lot of reading to catch up on, Bert gave me ‘The Book of Fathers’ by Miklos Vamos, and Dad & Ellen had included in my mail package a few Sports Illustrateds and Boston Globe articles on the Celtics’ recent championship.  The final game, Game 6, was back in late June, I had watched it in Mongolia and memories of that morning came rushing back, felt so recent yet I’d been to many countries in the meantime.

As the train pulled out I stuck my heat out the window (just a little), and felt the wind rush by and the smell of the city and the fields reach me.  The essence of train travel – I could stand at a train window forever.

Read a few University of Virginia, Tufts University, and Darden B-School magazines that were in my mail.  Saw a great quote from President James Madison, a President evidently more wise than the current version:

“If tyranny and oppression come to this land, it will be in the guise of fighting a foreign enemy.”

Makes lots of sense to me.  Bert had tried to interest me in various conspiracy theories he’s researched, mostly around 9/11 but also other topics – including some House bills and Presidential acts which might be construed as giving one person (usually the Pres.) super-constitutional/dictatorial powers.  Somewhat concerning, certainly – I have a high burden of proof for these sorts of things, Bert didn’t succeed in changing my mind, but I do agree with him that the U.S. has lost some of its traditional civil liberties in the past 7 years and that’s a huge tragedy and problem.  At the end of the day, I agree with another quote, this one by Napoleon:

“Never ascribe to conspiracy that which can be adequately explained by incompetence.”

I don’t believe the government, or any secretive organizations, can long get away with grand plans and conspiracies, because most people are incompetent (look at the current US government’s breathtaking incompetence), and people can’t keep secrets.  That’s where I stand.

Read in the June 30^th Sports Illustrated that comedian George Carlin died.  That’s a bummer – I remember some of his great bits from years ago.  The downside of not getting the news is that you’re late to learn about these things.

Train spent the usual 3 or so hours at the border, passport checks and wheel change.  A woman was sniffling in the next car – wasn’t sure why.  Then she and her child got taken off the train – hmmm.  Reminded me of Thomas the Indian at the Russian border.  This border was fairly open, and we were exiting the EU, not entering it, so wasn’t sure what her ‘crime’ was.  Anyway, there she went.

Heard that Joe Liberman will speak at the GOP National Convention.  What a political vagabond/homeless bum.

Read in one of the school magazines that hair analysis can reveal our diets.  One analysis found that the average American gets more than 50% of his calories from corn, a food that is nearly devoid of nutrition.  Interesting.

Heard that Dick Cheney is visiting the Caucasus.  Well, that should clear everything up!

Slept a bit on the ride, but awoke exhausted.  Got back to the Hotel George, which, as I’ve written, is a great place to stay.  Checked in, and they had a room available before noon, that’s pretty rare and I was happy to get there, shower, and kick back.  That’s where I am right now, that’s where I’ll finish this entry.  Over and out.

Had a meal at a little Georgian restaurant called Alaverde – to try the cuisine and to show a little solidarity with that beleaguered land.  Georgian food is hearty stuff – bubbling cheese, dolmas (grape leaves – just like Greek dolmades, wouldn’t you know), and plates of meats.  Unfortunately, my efforts did little to relieve Georgia – Russia seems determined to play the hard guy there, and have since officially recognized South Ossetia and Abkhazia as independent nations.  Hmmm…do you think anyone will second that motion??

Exchanged emails with fraternity brother Arthur, who recently relocated from Manhattan to Budapest.  I would soon be moving west to Lviv…which, as it turns out, isn’t that far from the Hungarian border.  Decided to take a side trip – as if I’m on a fully predetermined journey – and visit Art in Budapest.  The last time I saw him he was playing piano at the Empire Diner on 22^nd and 10^th in NYC – I still don’t know the story of how he moved to Hungary, except that there’s a woman involved.  Anyway, I’ll get his story soon and perhaps share it here…

As soon as I decided to visit Art, I got on the web and downloaded a Lonely Planet chapter on Hungary, and a language guide as well.  The lobby of my hotel in Kyiv – Express Hotel – has wireless, and an incredibly fast network at that.  The only issue is that you need to buy a card with username and login info, and the reception almost never has these.  Typical Eastern European situation…anyway, one afternoon I noticed about 15 people surfing the net in the lobby – sure enough, they had just gotten a load of cards in.  I got one and swear their network is the fastest I’ve ever seen, I downloaded some fat podcasts in under a minute.

Also recalled that another fraternity brother, TC, is in Warsaw, emailed him and heard back right away.  Turns out he was just in Budapest, he didn’t know Art had moved there.  Typical Zete Psi confusion and apathy…probably won’t get to see TC this trip.

Have been behind the curve on reading books with local relevance.  Haven’t been able to find ‘The Great Game’ by Peter Hopkirk, about the geopolitical competition between Britain and Russia in Central Asia in the 19^th century.  Finally ordered that, and a few other Central Asia-themed books, on Amazon.con.  I did troll the few bookstores with English books in Kyiv and found ‘Everything Is Illuminated’ by Jonathan Safran Foer, a novel about a young man’s search for his roots in postwar Ukraine.  Now that I’m done watching ‘Rome’ I can get back to reading.

Last night in Kyiv.  Went to Viola’s Bierstube for dinner and a beer.  Nice little place, not too exciting.  Have gotten a bit sick of FSU nightlife, at least as it plays out in big cities here.  There are tons of casinos and huge nightclubs, catering to the elite and wanna-be’s.  I’m only in the mood for these places once in a while, I prefer smaller pubs and the like.  Went over to Blindazh, the Red Army bunker-kitted place near Independence Square, and sat at the bar watching the Olympics.  The women’s 5K race was on – long race, the Canadian woman got way out in front, so much so that she was off the screen as the broadcast focused more on the pack.  The Ethiopian hung way back, conversely, and made her move with about 1.5K left.  She edged by the pack, and easily caught the exhausted Canadian with plenty to spare.  Left me wondering about the Canadian’s strategy – this was the final, so she couldn’t just have been a rabbit.  How could she have thought she’d be able to maintain her blistering, probably world-record pace?  Weird.

Got into a conversation with a local guy sitting next to me.  He was good and drunk, and insisted on buying me a shot (‘only 15 grams’) of vodka, which I accepted and drank.  Funny dude – a heavy metal fiend, he sang along drunkenly with a song about ‘angels fearing to die’ which I guess was a Metallica number.  I’m sure one of my readers here will correct me if it’s not…

Lots of sushi places here, seems to be the latest craze.  Not sure if the fish is actually any good…Kyiv is pretty far from the sea, I might wait till I get to Odesa or Crimea to try some.

Good to see that Robert Mugabe is still lashing at out Britain and the international community.  The end is, finally, nigh…especially now that the opposition MDC Party has its own man in the position of Parliament Speaker.  His name?  Lovemore Moyo.  You gotta love Africa.

A slew of young Americans were staying at my hotel while waiting for Russian visas to come through.  I think they were on a Fulbright program.  They didn’t seem particularly bright or scholarly, though, and spent most of their free time in the lobby surfing the web.  That, while the locals were out in the parks drinking and relaxing.  Americans need to learn how to enjoy life.

Next day, went to Lviv on the slow train.  While waiting at the train station I saw a fellow with an impressive unibrow (single eyebrow).  Some people have two eyebrows with a few hairs linking them – this guy truly had a single eyebrow.  Tragic…

My train compartment was blessedly empty, except for a young Ukrainian fellow across from me named Sergei.  He’s a SAP consultant and speaks some English, so we had a good chat and shared a few beers.  Super-nice guy – I wish all train rides were as enjoyable.  He had come all the way from Moscow to Kyiv, then was on the train to Lviv, and would finally take a bus or minivan to his home a couple hours from there.  He had been in Moscow for a week or so and wanted to get home and see his wife and baby daughter.  Moscow is where the money is, so he was heading back that way after just a day or two at home.  These Easterners (and Asians) really aren’t prima donnas…Westerners would insist on flying, and not spending 24 hours in demanding transit.  Sergei wasn’t complaining at all, he has a good job and is putting away some cash.

He and I have similar political views – he can’t stand Putin, feels for Georgia, and is pretty liberal.  That said, he seemed against the notion of Ukraine joining NATO, and he voted for Viktor Yanukovich, the politician backed by the Kremlin in the 2004 presidential elections – the politican who eventually was defeated in the re-run.  The pro-Western camp here is divided, it seems.  And Sergei feels that the Ukrainian government – democratic as it is – has performed poorly and needs to be turned over.  I told him I knew exactly how he feels…

Napped for a couple hours, but it was steamy out and I mostly sat around talking to Sergei and drinking beer.  The journey took about 10 hours, but it went pretty fast and we pulled into Lviv station around 9 p.m.

Took a taxi to Hotel George, a place recommended by Halifaxian Jeff, the fellow I met at Lenin Hostel in Moscow.  Jeff insisted that I check this place out, it’s a classic old facility with faded grandeur.  He was spot on – I liked the hotel the moment I saw it.  My room was under US$40 and was perfectly comfortable.  No shower/toilet, OK, but that was just down the hall and I can stomach that for a few days.  I love these non-chain places, they’re quirky and have a real personality that even the most incredible Four Seasons property seems to lack.

It was Saturday night, I was in the mood to stretch my legs (and stomach) after the long train ride.  But it started to rain pretty hard, and after a couple drinks I bailed around midnight.  I checked out Korzo Pub – a nice woody place, with less-than-friendly staff.  Hmmm.  Also went to Kryjivska, a pub on the old market square recommended by TC, who had recently been here.  You walk in, and a guy dressed as a soldier hands you a shot – I downed mine, which turned out to be mead.  Not too bad.  The ‘soldier’ then turns a fake bookcase on the wall and reveals stairs leading down.  I went down and found a cavernous room with long tables.  Sat at one and had a beer – didn’t manage to strike up any good conversations, but still enjoyed the atmosphere of the place.

Went back to my room, switched on the ancient Soviet-era TV, which still works just fine.  No fireball emerging from the screen, at least not yet.  The remote control is, however, insane – it took me 30 minutes to figure out how to get to channels above #10.  I would describe the procedure here but you wouldn’t believe me.

Slept great – the sound of rain, the cool air, the lack of insects, my exhaustion from the train ride, the drinks – a nearly perfect storm.  The only issue was that the bed was a bit saggy – I guess you just don’t get the value here that you’d get in Asia, where even the cheapest places (with a few exceptions) have solid beds.

Sunday was also rainy.  Walked around for much of the day, loosely following my guidebook’s suggested ‘walking trail.’  When I follow these trails I tend to lose my way, but no matter – no hurry.  Walked up Castle Hill, the high point in the city and the signature Lviv site.  Very nice view from here:

So peaceful up there – it’s in the middle of a park and because it was a weekday, there were very few tourists there.  Sight-seeing during the week is the way to go – I’ve been to some places where you would be absolutely screwed were you to visit on a Saturday or Sunday.

Lots of nice churches and random buildings in Lviv, it was named a UNESCO World Heritage sight in 1998 as a result.  Lots of Jewish sites as well – there used to be well over 100,000 Jews here before the war.  Simon Wiesenthal survived the death camp Janowska that the Nazis put up just outside the city…Shalom Aleicham lived in Lviv at the turn of the century.  I love this sort of trivia…

Lviv’s old market square is a terrific place to walk around.  It’s not as awe-inspiring as Krakow’s old market square, Lviv’s has a fairly bland central building that serves to limit the views across the square, whereas Krakow’s square is 1) much larger and 2) the central market building is less impressive and less intrusive. Still, this is one of Lviv’s best features and you can spend hours wandering the stalls and cafes.  Which I did…I have to force myself to slow down and become a café creature, but I’m eventually able to do it.  But I have to leave my Treo behind at the hotel, otherwise I find myself planning and doing too much.

Another fine feature of Lviv:  Lvivskie Pivo, the locally-brewed beer.  The factory is on the outskirts of the city, I went there to try to get a tour, but it was a holiday and there was nothing on.  They have a beer hall downstairs, called Robert Doms, and it’s very cool.  Lvivskie Pivo tastes good, and it’s dirt-cheap – less than a buck a beer in many places.

The weather was cool, and I noticed how much less water I was drinking.  When it’s hot, I drink maybe 3-4 liters a day – when it’s cool, 2 liters at most, sometimes less.

Watched the Olympics Closing Ceremony – impressive show, went without a hitch.  Good for China – as I’ve written in previous posts, I’d hate to see a disappointed, angry China lashing out at the world after the Games.  We all have issues with the Chinese gov, but disrupting their coming-out party would have been a bad way to make a point – better to do so behind closed doors and with more subtle means.

Loved the Jimmy Page/Led Zep ‘Whole Lotta Love’ bit that London put on.  The Londom Games will be very different – less awesome, but probably a lot more fun.  The Chinese Olympics did seem very serious…

Ukrainian Independence Day was August 25^th.  It was a Sunday, the parks and streets were mobbed and people were letting their hair down.  I woke up that day and thought I heard the chambermaids singing, perhaps it was the national anthem.

Meanwhile, back in Kyiv, they were having their first military parade for Independence Day in 7 years. Not sure if that was planned all along, or if it was put in place after the recent Caucasus trouble – but as I wrote last week, the Ukrainians have quite a few tanks and it was something to see them roll down the main drag in Kyiv.  Lviv’s version of the celebration was much more low-key, but it was still energetic and fun.  Lviv considers itself the birthplace of Ukrainian patriotism and independence – not sure how many grains of salt to throw on that notion, but in any case there were lots of Ukrainian flags (and a few Georgian flags too – excellent) flying around and I felt some shared joy at the idea of Ukraine’s hard-won independence.  Talk about a hard history…

Got a terrific ‘happy Independence Day’ kiss smack on the lips from a cute drunk girl – then she vanished back into the crowd.  I really should be timing my travels to coincide with national Independence Day celebrations…

Have been continuing my efforts to stay fit.  Lviv, like many old cities, is terrible for a runner – narrow streets, staring locals, few spacious parks.  Still, I found a park some ways from the hotel, and visited it a couple times.  The first was during Aug. 25^th, when it was packed with festive locals, so I didn’t have much room to run.  There is a decrepit oval in the park…I thought about going down to it and running there, that would certainly do the trick – but I noticed that the stands were half-full of drunken locals and I didn’t want to break the streak of 50-odd years in Ukraine without a pogrom…

Kiosks are big here – you find more of them than traditional convenience-type stores (known as ‘produkti’).  The kiosks are well-placed, and cheap enough, but the windows you use to deal with the clerk are tiny and you need to bend down to converse.  Also, the clerks are snarly and seem some of the more miserable people I’ve met anywhere in the world.  The entire experience is unpleasant, at least for someone like me who only knows a few words in the local language.  After a couple bad transactions I felt like coming with with some 7-11 franchises (or better yet, real Japanese-style ‘combini’ like Famima (Family Mart)), and driving these kiosks to their knees.  Of course, I’d need to find some pleasant staff – not easy in the FSU.  There is an initial hardness/coldness in many people here which is offputting – you get lots of grin-fucks while traveling in Asia, but rarely do you find people who make you feel unwelcome/stupid.  Anyone in for some 7-11s in Ukraine/Russia??

Walked around the old market square some more.  Saw a Georgia t-shirt (the nation, not the state), thought about buying it for my brother-in-law, who likes exotic t-shirts.  But the largest size was way too small.  They also had a ‘Lviv – Open to the World’ t-shirt, but that also wouldn’t fit him.  Oh well.

Walked by a huge statue of national hero/writer Taras Shevchenko.  A group of revelers were gathered round, singing local tunes.  I came by there again a couple hours later, the group was still there, singing and laughing.  Very cool.

Read somewhere that Igor Sikorsky, of helicopter fame, came from Lviv, or somewhere in Ukraine.  Random.

Heard that a plane went down just outside Bishkek in Kyrgyzstan.  Many died and it was bad all round.  As fraternity brother Ari later counseled, best to take the train (or minivan).  I sent an email to the Djumasheve family in Bishkek – my ‘host family’ there – checking in and seeing whether they knew anyone on the flight.  No reply yet.  Kyrgyz people don’t seem quite as anal about emails as we are…

Fraternity brother Bryan also touched base with me about this air crash.  Too bad Kyrgyzstan only seems to make the news when its bad news, or something chaotic like its 2004 revolution.  Meanwhile, the BBC called Kyrgyzstan a ‘poor country west of China,’ which is technically accurate to be sure, but there were more Mercedes in Bishkek than there are in Manhattan or in LA…

Had lunch on Tuesday, after the Indie Day celebrations were over, at a ‘caverna’ called something like Pid Synou Flazkoju.  You walk through an archway and some ways into an alley, and there’s the place, just a couple small rooms.  I love these little passageways and the things you find at the end of them – Paris has lots of ‘bis’ which are similar, friend Dri used to live in one of these.

Had a couple beers at lunch, for no good reason.  Went to take a look at the city’s Holocaust Memorial, a few minutes’ walk.  The beers must have been stronger than expected, because I was a little woozy.  I looked across the road at one point, and must have had both beer and Jewishness on the brain, because I saw a sign which was in Cyrilic but I thought for a minute it was Yiddish written in Latin characters.  Here’s what I was looking at:

Gotta take it easy at lunch from now on.

The Holocaust Memorial was moving enough…a large sculpture of a tormented figure seemingly reaching out for help.  The area around the memorial was the Lviv Jewish Ghetto, where Simon Wiesenthal was trapped and from where they took the Jews to Janowska death camp starting in 1942.  The Nazis also leveled several synagogues in Lviv – they’re now marked with simple plaques.  So much of the old world and culture destroyed by madmen…

The US Democratic Convention was kicking off, finally.  Feels like the current election cycle is about as long as a Presidential term.  Heard that Obama picked Joe Biden as his running mate.  Pretty solid choice – I prefer Bill Richardson, but I guess that a black Pres. candidate and a Hispanic Veep candidate might be too ethnic for many voters.  Not that Richardson comes across as strikingly ethnic, but still…

Walked by a guy asleep on the street, probably still working off his Indie Day drunk.  His cap was a meter or so away from him, while he was sleeping in the oddest position, he was squatting with his upper body down on the ground.  There must be a yoga position something like that one…

Couldn’t sleep well that night, probably the crappy bed.  But was able to arise and watch the speeches by Ted Kennedy and Michelle Obama at the DemConv.  Both quite rousing.  I’m impressed by Michelle Obama – I mean, can you imagine Laura Bush, the epitome of blandness, doing anything similar?

The consequences of Obama not winning the election are nearly unthinkable.  I hope subsequent speakers bash the living shit out of McCain and the GOP – and I hope Obama is liberally (no pun intended) spending his ample cash on local organizations and teeing up plenty of negative ads.  No more kid gloves treatment of the Republicans this time – the Dems have more money and I hope they have enough piss and vinegar.

The waitress in the hotel restaurant was shaking her little hips to a folk tune on the radio when I went in for breakfast.  I love it.

Went outside for some air – these Ukrainian hotels are incredibly stuffy.  Walked by a little café/bar where an old geezer was putting a shot glass to his lips.  It was 9:45 a.m.  And I don’t think it was water…I love these little scenes of Lviv life.

Got a haircut – very solid job.  Cost:  US$7.  Not as cheap as, say, Uzbekistan, but easily digestable.  Now I’m set for, say, another 6 months…

Checked my investments.  Supposedly I had a decent month, at least in terms of exchange rates.  The dollar had its best month in something like 35 years, up 10% vs. the euro and pound sterling.  But I can’t really feel it, at least not here and not yet.  My investments had a crappy month, like pretty much everyone else’s…and I’m wondering if I should take steps to get my hands on some more cash to make up for my recent losses.  That means, most likely, doing a bit of work – which is available, if I can get myself to shift gears and dramatically change my lifestyle.  I can probably do that if I really want to…

Walked by the birthplace of Count Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, whose name gave birth to the wonderful term ‘masochism’ and who wrote the classic ‘Venus in Furs.’  No plaque to mark the spot…perhaps the Lvivians aren’t proud of him?  Or maybe it’s because he moved on to Austria and Italy for most of his life…

Visited Lychakivske Cemetery just outside of town.  This place, as the guidebook mentions, is the Pere Lachaise of Eastern Europe.  Incredible Gothic tombs and detailed gravestones…leafy walkways…and odd bits, like the section of the cemetery set aside for about 2,000 Poles who died around 1918-1920 or so fighting Bolsheviks and Ukrainians.  One forgets all the turnoil in this part of the world ‘after’ WWI was concluded – newly emergent Poland fought Ukraine and Russia for territory, the Russians had their civil war, etc.

Ever since my trip to Novodevichy in Moscow, I’ve come to see that you can pick up a lot about a culture from its cemeteries.  Take a peek…

Took a nap, was tired from lack of sleep the night before.  Had a funny dream – I was in the Olympics, my event was an eating competition involving meat on the bone.  I was testing the meat with my teeth, to estimate how hard I’d have to pull it from the bone, when a judge spotted me and instantly disqualified me.  I slunk back to the bench, all eyes on me.  How humiliating.  Now I’ll never get my gold medal, even in my dreams…

A couple streets from Hotel George is Kopernicus Street.  Pretty cool.

Heard that Grand Hotel had wifi in the Lobby Bar, went there and got on pronto.  Didn’t even have to order anything, I just acted like a hotel guest and no one bothered me.  I am pretty skilled at verminating wifi in top-end hotels.  Think I’ll return later today to post this – I’ve heard they have pretty reasonably-priced Lvivskie Pivos and decent food.

Went for a run, back at the park.  Noticed on the way that my iPod Shuffle was out of juice, or perhaps worse.  Torture – I hate running without music, I’m forced to listen to my heavy breathing.  Sometimes I manage to get into a decent breathing cadence, almost like yogic breathing, and was able to do so this time, but it gets old quickly and I didn’t make it more than 20 minutes before quitting.  Sometimes I forget to turn off the Shuffle after running, I often just pause it, but the device shuts itself off if its paused for more than a few minutes.  I think this time, for once, I didn’t even pause it, I just left it on and it ran down.  Annoying.

The Red Sox are playing their final series at old Yankee Stadium.  Let’s see how they do – the race is very tight and they’ll have to play well this month to make the playoffs.  I’m optimistic, but had hoped they’d have caught Tampa Bay (I can’t believe I’m writing these words) by this point…I just noticed that we won the first game.  And 20 of our last 29 games are at Fenway…and Josh Beckett is coming back soon.  Fingers are crossed…

Had a couple Lvivskie Pivos at Korzo Pub last night.  Same unfriendly bartender there…too bad.  These little pubs are terrific when there’s a smiling face behind the counter, and depressing when there’s not.  Went to a little Greek place for some dolmades and a souvlaki.  Terrific…just blissful.

Meanwhile, I found a pub, Dublin Pub, which has wifi and decent beers.  I came across it at first by accident, and every time I want to return I forget where it is.  I always eventually track it down, and have now recorded the street address just in case.  Lviv is a bit confusing and I do seem to get lost a lot here for a smallish city.

Soviet hotels are weird – I noticed that my hotel has all sorts of classes of rooms, there are budget cheapies (like mine) for under US$40, and super-luxe suites for well over US$120 or so.  Much unlike Western hotels, but not a bad notion – one size fits all here.

Have been struck lately by how much seems to be going on in the world – the Olympics, the Georgian conflict, the US Democratic (and soon GOP) Convention.  I do wish someone would hand me a NY Times or Economist magazine…

Got up at 3 a.m. last night to take a piss.  The Hotel George is a big, classic old place, and as I walked down the hallway to the toilet I heard some humming coming up from downstairs, probably the lobby.  A bit eerie, that – reminded me of ‘The Shining.’  I was fairly quick getting back to my room and locking the door…

Again, didn’t sleep that well, but was able to catch the Hillary Clinton speech live.  Nicely done on her part – I can’t think of anything she could have done better to sponsor party unity and enthusiasm for Obama.  I’m pretty sure she’s gritting her teeth while saying these nice words, but the Clintons are exceptionally skilled at putting a brave face on things.  And Hillary’s by no means through, either – I think she’ll be back in 4-8 years for another go.  So she needs to behave herself and stay on good terms with the Dem Party, and she’s doing just that.  I wonder what hubby Bill will say tomorrow – I’ll be on my train to Budapest so won’t be able to see that live.  I’m sure he’ll do his best acting job too.  The election will be hard-fought and close and we need every weapon we can get…this will be a real test, in my mind, of how well Americans have learned the lessons of the past 8 years.  If they haven’t learned much/enough, then we’re in for more of the same, and that might prove more than the republic can handle.  Not to be a doomsayer, but I do think we’re at a crossroads (we were in 2004, too, and chose poorly), and I pray we think carefully and choose wisely.  Over and out.

Thomas the German had told me about a special lunch served at the Indonesian Embassy in Tashkent every Friday…went over there to check it out.  Took a gypsy cap from nearby my hotel – the driver turned out to be 1) clueless and 2) dishonest.  Dropped me off about as far off from my destination as could be – my fault, though, for not doing better due diligence and getting out of the car.

Found the embassy – wasn’t sure where the dining room was, while wandering around I was stopped by a Robocop-esque security guard, who, when I motioned ‘eat,’ waved me in.  The set lunch was decent – satay, soup, rice, greens.  Good change from the usual FSU/Central Asian fare.  I do miss (East) Asian food…

Saw Kate, from Nukus/Moqnaq/Aral, across the lobby at the Grand Mir Hotel while I was there getting some cash.  Considering calling over to her, but she looked harried and I wasn’t in the mood to get my ear bent for an hour, so I kept to myself.

Felt like doing something different – was in a bit of a rut.  It was Friday night…I was in a big city, Tashkent…do decided to track down a Jewish synagogue and see what it was like.  I’m not religious by any means, but I do like Jewish culture, and ‘Jewish tourism’ is a minor fetish of mine.  Asked Anna, the cute front desk girl at the hotel; turns out she’s Jewish and knew the rabbi at the local synagogue, just 10 minutes away on foot.  Walked over there, eventually met the rabbi, who invited me for Shabbat services.  Chatted with the rabbi for nearly an hour, while we waited for sunset.  Nice enough fellow – from Israel, quite opinionated, a bit of a know-it-all but amiable all the same.

As far as I know, nearly all the synagogues in the FSU are Orthodox.  I’ve sat through a few Orthodox services over the years, and find them odd and confusing.  I was brought up in a Reform shul and our services were orderly and by the book…the Orthodox versions are all over the place.  I like the semi-ecstasy of the ‘show,’ but at times you have congregants wandering around the room, gazing at wall plaques, muttering to themselves, energetically dovening towards the bima/torah, and, without fail, a finger jammed up their sizeable Jewish schnozzes.  There’s obviously no Commandment against picking your nose – I was mesmerized by the sight of the fellow at the next table picking a winner.  What does that say about me??

I was there for nearly 3 hours, all told, and when the service was concluded I was relieved to escape.  I’m not saying this was the end of my Jewish tourism adventures, but you won’t find me doing the same every Friday evening…

In the Russian language, ‘normal’ can mean ‘good.’  Truly a propos.

To recover from the Jewish onslaught, went out for a few drinks – it was Friday night.  First, to Chelsea Pub, wildly overpriced (they quote in Euros – hallelujah) but convivial. As I walked there a security guard/cop salam’ed me – I guess my efforts to blend in aren’t working.  Oh well – in other countries they generally don’t start with a handshake, I don’t mind.  Then to Juliano’s disco, a frenzied place with good music.  Stayed there for a couple drinks.  Then I felt my age and went back to the Hotel Orzu to crash.  Watched some ‘Rome’ and finally fell asleep.

Next day I went to the National History Museum – my second visit, as my first weeks earlier was ended by gastric distress.  Was amused by occasional mangling of English – Russian ‘colonizators,’ ‘Jeorge Bush.’  On the top floor President Karimov’s deeds and words are commemorated – what a laugh.  In 1999 there were several simultaneous bombs set off in Tashkent, which provoked a crackdown by the government.  After 9-11, when we got our ‘War on Terror’ going, Karimov latched on and grouped the Tashkent bombings in there – conveniently giving him an excuse for running a police state.  Sure, the Tashkent attacks were terrible…and they were very possibly al-Qaeda/similar in origin…but I don’t think George Bush and his cabal had any idea (or didn’t care) that repressive governments around the world would use the ‘War on Terror’ as a springboard for a fresh round of arrests and tyranny.  That’s what’s happened…

The museum also had some coins and armor dating from the days of Tamerlane.  Now that was intriguing – rusty coats of armor used in the 1380s to subjugate central Asia.  Did they also have a War on Terror back then?

Went to Chorsu Bazaar and Old Town after that.  Saw a rare kvas vendor in the bazaar – they don’t seem that chuffed by kvas in this country.

While walking in the Old Town, I wasn’t paying attention and stepped on a manhole cover, which nearly gave way.  I came fairly close to having my leg plunge down the manhole – something all the guidebooks warn against, but they tend to warn against doing so at night, when the streets can be poorly lit.  My daytime mishap would have been all the more ridiculous, and potentially disabling…

Very hot these days – a few hours outside and you’re cooked.  Went back to the Orzu and relaxed in the glories of aircon…and watched the glories of Rome.  Brutus and Cassius were finally caught and killed by the armies of Antony and Octavian – I was happy, for some strange reason.  It’s not like I didn’t know how the old story turned out…

Tashkent is a civilized place…I believe I wrote that a few posts back.  Drivers often stop for pedestrians – virtually unthinkable in other Asian cities.  In Mongolia drivers speed up and honk if you challenge their right of way.  Charming.

Went for dinner at Che, a faux Mexican joint.  The food was mediocre…but the menu offered a local ‘semi-sweat’ wine which, though tempting, I didn’t go for.

Did some trip planning, i.e. looking into visa requirements for upcoming destinations.  Ukraine – no visa – excellent.  Turkey – visa, but on arrival at all entry points – hallelujah.  Syria – grab your ankles and grit your teeth.  Anyway, am set for Ukraine and Turkey, will worry about Syria later on.

But I was confounded by Kyiv accommodations.  Value looked to be awful, not as bad as Moscow but still not good.  New friend Jeff, the Halifaxian I met at Lenin Hostel in Moscow, sent me a weblink for Ukraine hostels, but I wasn’t keen to reprise the hostel world and kept looking into more ‘normal’ options.  My guidebook, from 2005, mentioned that the Kyiv train station had a couple small lodging quarters, and I kept that in mind.

Discovered that my guidebook had been superseded by a brand-new version.  I was unlikely to find this book in Tashkent – but now you can download individual chapters from the Lonely Planet site, for a reasonable price, so kept that in my pocket in case I couldn’t find the new book upon arrival in Kyiv in a few days’ time…

My little daypack was coming apart, again.  The floor lady at the Orzu offered to sew it up – perfect.  She did a superb job and I gave her 4,000 sum, which seemed to make her happy.  These floor ladies (‘dezhurna’ in Ukrainian) are an interesting feature of hotels in the FSU – they used to be spies, and still are often prying, but they also can help in myriad ways, including annoying tasks like sewing.  And they’re always looking for ways to supplement their income, so they’re happy to do laundry etc.  I recall a floor lady in another country who seemed to offer other services as well…but maybe I was just dreaming…

I really should get off my ass and do these sorts of little tasks myself.  There was a BBC News show about a Chinese woman without arms, who sews with her feet.  Incredible to watch this – afterwards I felt particularly useless.

Oil prices dropped even during the Russian incursion into George.  Will this trend continue?  I hope so…but have my doubts.  It’s in Russia’s (and Iran’s) economic interests to stir the pot, and our current government usually plays right along.  How depressing – countries that are our enemies, or at least questionable partners, have 80% of the world’s oil.  How did we get to this?

Went over to Bierhaus that night for a pop.  Great unfiltered German beer recipe – I drained a few mugs and chatted with Feruza, the friendly waitress there.  Thought about asking her out – I like her exotic looks, she’s very Uzbek.  But it’s hard to get a moment alone in the bar, the place is usually hopping (no pun intended) and anyway I do dislike getting rejected…Titus Pulo from ‘Rome’ wouldn’t hesitate, of course…

Whistled along with a song on the radio.  The bartender told me that whistling brings back luck.  Hmmm.  Not sure how or why that’s so – never heard that in any other country before.  Perhaps it summons the devil??

Went around to some nightclubs afterward.  KT Komba was, weirdly, closed on a Saturday night – or perhaps there was some private bash on that was undetectable from outside.  I had an English-speaking (gypsy) cabbie who was a font of knowledge.  Took me to Diplomat-S, where I’d been my very first night in Tashkent weeks ago.  Place was busy – I wasn’t really in the mood for heavy disco action, so just stayed for a drink.  A black guy walked in, looked exactly like a photo I’d seen in college of Patrice Lumumba, the African rebel/freedom fighter/politico.  Black people are a real oddity in this part of the world.

Next day was my last in Uzbekistan.  I was glad I’d invested the effort in coming here…truly off the beaten path and with so much to offer.  Felt a bit sad that I’d be leaving soon – but was also excited to visit Ukraine and see what that place was like.

Tried to track down a decent bookshop, to get the latest Ukraine guidebook, but no luck.  The top two hotels, the Intercontinental and the Radisson, both had tiny bookstands with awful selection.  But I noticed that the Radisson had a choice outdoors pool…I asked about the cost and was told it was US$30 for non-guests.  And the hotel had free wireless, which would allow me to download podcasts and take care of a bunch of other computer tasks.   I initially hesitated at spending the cash – after all, a night at the Hotel Orzu was only US$35.  But I had to use my Uzbek sum (wasn’t sure I could exchange back into US$), and sometimes you have to put aside spending constraints and do something different.  I hadn’t gone swimming, or even relaxed poolside, in weeks – not since Lake Issyk-Kul in Kyrgyzstan.

So I went back to the Orzu, fetched my laptop, and returned to the Radisson.  Did my computer tasks and settled at the pool to relax.  A brilliant last day in Tashkent – the pool was refreshing, the entire vibe was kind.  And some very pleasing eye candy as well.  I had caught up on downloading podcasts and cycled through those for an hour or so, alternating podcasts with swims.  Listened to an old podcast about Bukhara, one which had helped prompt me to visit Uzbekistan in the first place.  And I looked over a PDF version of the latest Lonely Planet Kyiv chapter – noticed that from the 2005 version to this new, 2008 version, the city’s population seemed to have grown from 2.5 million to 5.6 million.  Wow – didn’t know Kyiv was so hot.  But actually this does point out a couple things.  One, even with the same author, you do have to wonder about accuracy and definitions.  Two, as I’ve seen many times, even the latest, ‘brand new’ book is a year old when it finally gets into print, and there are lots of changes and obsolescence in there.  I’d find, in Kyiv, that some places were simply no longer around.  I suppose that could make one wary/skeptical about guidebooks in general – but in my case, I’m an information junkie, and even if some bits are wrong/outdated, I still feel more comfortable carrying around the latest guesstimates.

Listened to a Discovery Channel podcast about the ‘flying white sharks’ off Cape Town.  You’ve probably heard about these creatures, which breach the surface in pursuit of seals.  Places like Simonstown and False Bay were mentioned in the podcast – I thought back fondly to my trips to South Africa, including my favorite bar in the world, the Brass Bell in Kalk Bay.  In 2009 I intend to get back to SA and will spend as much time as I can in that part of the Cape…

Took it fairly easy my last night in Tashkent/Uzbekistan.  Had an early flight next day – had to wake up at 4 a.m.  Not my favored time to arise, but that’s when the flight to Kyiv was.  Got to the airport by about 5 a.m.  The airport itself is a newish, decent facility, but it’s a mob scene – didn’t expect that.  The cabbie left me off outside the parking lot, to avoid paying the entry fee.  No problem – I walked to the entrance, which required climbing some stairs.  Inside, there were crowds huddled around kiosks where you got/filled out customs forms.  Finding an English version was murder – eventually just got a local one and looked at my entry form for clues.  The place was packed – bad memories of Sahar International Airport in Mumbai came to mind.  Seemed to be a high passengers-to-randoms (family members seeing them off, etc.) ratio.  Lots of checkpoints en route to the departure gate, but no probing questions…I guess all my registration papers were in order.  Airports really are the easiest way to enter/exit a country, you don’t get shaken down or tortured too badly there.

At one point I noticed that everyone else had a small tag on their cabin baggage, whereas I didn’t.  Wasn’t looking forward to asking baggage staff for one – might have resulted in a thorough, lengthy rummage through my electronics-laden backpack.  Found a random tag on the airport floor and grabbed it, affixing it to my pack.  All set.  Don’t tell anyone.

Had decided to go with accommodations at the Kyiv train station, at least for a night or two.  I had asked the Hotel Orzu staff in Tashkent to try a couple hotels for me in Kyiv – they called, at some expense to me, but found these two hotels to be either fully booked or far more $$ than I had expected.  So decided I’d just play it by ear in Kyiv – not my favored approach, but I wasn’t into devoting any more time to this task.

The flight was fine – about four hours.  At one point I went to the toilet; had to wait a while, when the fellow finally emerged, the bathroom stank of tobacco and I noticed he had left his butt in the can.  Some habits die hard.

Read the International Herald Tribune on the plane.  First newspaper I’d read in probably two months – I miss getting the news this way, Internet news just isn’t the same.  Jesus, the Chinese are kicking some ass at the Olympics, at least in gold medal counts…

Landed in Kyiv – Boryspil Airport is pretty normal.  Took a bus to the city, it left me off right at the train station, which is a 5-minute walk from Taras Shevchenka Avenue, a main street in the capital.  Very convenient.  If I liked the accoms here at the vokzhal (train station), I’d be amenable to spending all 5 nights in Kyiv there.  Found the ‘Service Center,’ as it’s called – they offer showers, computers, resting in the lobby, and hotel rooms.  Got a room for the night – not as cheap as I had hoped, but they charge per room, not per person, and my room could have held 3 people, hence I paid for a triple.  Ugh.  Anyway, the room itself was surprisingly nice – private bathroom, large, and clean.  Not what I expected from a train station facility – but the station is fairly new and modern.

One problem – Kyiv is warmer than I expected, and the room didn’t have aircon, nor even a fan.  It had large-ish windows, but this was a train station, and open windows meant noise, and possibly mosquitos too.  I crossed my fingers and hoped for a cool evening…

Walked over to the city center.  There’s a huge church, St. Volodymyr’s (St. Vladimir’s in Russian), he brought Christianity to the city around 990 A.D.  He was the ruler who had the quote I used a few entries back, about his people’s need for booze.  Apparently Volodymyr decided to shift from paganism to monotheism, and brought in various priests to make their case.  He liked the polygamy aspect of Islam, but eventually decided that drinking was more important than sex (my interpretation of his choice, anyway) and Christianity thus a better fit.  So there you are…

The church was pretty busy – women must wear headscarves and I thought that was an appealing element, it makes even a city girl look like a country girl…and the girls in the church were mighty cute.

Walked to the well-known Independence Square.  ‘Square’ in Ukrainian is ‘maydan,’ reminded me of the ‘maidans’ in Mumbai where they play cricket.  Same etymological source?

This square, in 2004, is where thousands camped out to protest the crooked PM elections.  Those were eventually replayed and a different PM elected.  Ukraine has since leaned Westward, not making Russia happy.  More on that soon.

I thought about how incredible it was to find myself right here, right now.  Only 3 months ago I hadn’t given any thought to visiting Ukraine, hadn’t even crossed my mind.  Perhaps I should spend more time sitting down and poring over the map, but there is something fitting about being relatively unsystematic and intuitive about my travels, I have a tendency to overplan anyway.  Anyway, the point is that I can do what I want, for the most part…sometimes it just doesn’t seem real.

Had a good chat with the bartender at Blindazh bar, which is done up like a Red Army bunker.  Asked him what he thought about the Georgian mess, etc.  The complexities run thick here – he was born in Russia, and if push came to shove he’d side with Russia over the West.  Not an unexpected answer.  Ukraine (Kyivan Rus) was the first East Slavic/’Russian’ statelet, back in 850 A.D. or so, much older than Moscow.  And the two peoples are very close ethnically…not to say they always see eye-to-eye, but there’s the long history.  Ukraine now wants to join NATO, but 20% of the population, mostly in the East, is ethnically Russian, and many people look to Moscow not Kyiv as their touchstone.

Got an MTS SIMcard.  Can check emails on my Treo – makes life easier.  I invested some cash in MTS a few weeks ago, they have a strong presence all round the FSU and hopefully that will provide a good return, unlike much else these days…

Looked all round Kyiv (‘Kiev’ is the Russian spelling – better to use ‘Kyiv’ here) for the latest Lonely Planet book.  No go – one of the major bookstores wasn’t where the old guidebook said it would be, also a bar/bookstore that sounded promising was gonzo.  As I wrote earlier, things can change and having old information leads to a lot of wasted time.  So I’m willing to waste some time tracking down the latest guidebook if I think it will save me time later on.  But Kyiv’s English book offerings are weak – better than Tashkent’s, but I was still surprised that I couldn’t find a single copy of the Lonely Planet Ukraine guidebook (old or new version) anywhere in the national capital.  Oh well.  I knew that Ukraine wasn’t a touristy place…part of the charm.  Decided to just download the PDF chapters and make do with those.  Not a real problem…

Ukraine is a relaxed place, unlike, say, Russia or even Uzbekistan.  Not many (uniformed) police hanging around…no visa required…atmosphere much lighter.  To me, Kyiv is much better than Moscow – not as many ‘must-see’ sights, but still quite a few, and the place just seems less heavy.  As with Russia, I think I may even prefer the smaller cities (I head to Lviv next), where there are even fewer foreigners and the feeling is more genuine and old-school.

Was very tired from the early morning start and walking around all day in the heat.  Went back to my room at the train station, meaning to take a nap, but I sort of knew I might not get up again that night.  Which turned out to be the case.  I rolled around, and intermittently snoozed, all night in the heat.  I opened the window, but it was pretty noisy…still, I needed some air.  Who knew Ukraine would be so sultry, even in summer?  I realized that my train station accommodation experiment would need to be short-term…four more nights of bad sleep wouldn’t be acceptable.

During my initial wanderings round Kyiv I had come upon the Express Hotel, on Shevchenka.  Had made a booking there – a single without shower was about US$55 with breakfast, a bit cheaper than the train station room, but more central, and hopefully with better ventilation.  Moved to that hotel my second day in Kyiv.

Found a café with wifi next door, Café Kafka – ominous name.  Downloaded the remaining Lonely Planet PDF chapters – awful network, kept cutting out.  If there was a global wireless access solution I’d get in line for that, even if it cost US$5000 a year.  I seem to waste a lot of time tracking down wifi hotspots, and oftentimes those are crappy.  Still, I got the chapters and would soon print them out, thus ending that little saga.

Walked by the church again – some sort of ceremony, hundreds of people going in and out, babushkas on the sidewalk selling flower arrangements.  Ukrainians seem pious Christians, for sure.  Saw what looked to be a patriarch entering the church – besides him, 90% of the congregants seemed to be female.  Noticed this in other religious spots in Kyiv as well – are women more religious?  Are they more in touch with the non-material aspects of existence?

Had lunch at a ‘diner’ called Shalena Mama – it had a Rolling Stones theme.  I ordered the ‘Tumbling Dice’ (should have been ‘Die,’ I know) dish which was stir-fried chicken with rice.  Not bad.  Then had a long walk around town, my guidebook had a recommended walking tour which sounded good, so I followed that.  Kyiv is a very pleasant city, with lots of hills affording superb views of the city and of the Dnipro River, which is huge and scenic.  There are a few islands in the river and some parks and beaches (and party spots) around.

During the walk I came to the ‘Friendship of Nations Monument,’ put up by the Soviets to commemorate Russian & Ukrainian brotherhood.  Since ’91 the locals have added a few figures – Cossacks, etc. – to round out the story.  Great river views from this spot:

A girl walked by sporting 1) a t-shirt with the caption ‘secrets hidden inside’ and a strawberry graphic, and 2) rather large breasts inside said t-shirt.  I wondered 1) if she understood the meaning of the t-shirt, and 2) how difficult it would be to get a look at said secrets…

Walked back to the hotel – it had been a good walk around Kyiv and I’d seen a lot.  I was impressed by the city – again, much more picturesque than Moscow, and a graceful place for the most part.  I’m not talking about the drunks passed out around the train station, of course…

Noticed an Orthodox priest, in full garb (including a salty sweat mark on the back of his dark cassock) entering the ‘Olympic Casino’ right near my hotel.  There to bless the slot machines?  These places aren’t always salubrious – many casinos are also strip clubs, and perhaps more.  But what do I know about the Orthodox Church?

That night, I was walking towards Bessarabskaya Square, thinking about where to have dinner, when I looked up and saw the street lined with tanks, jeeps, and missile launchers.  Crikey.  Were the Russians already here?  I had gotten an email from friend Bryan with an attached article regarding the worsening state of Russian/Ukrainian relations – talking to the locals, most had seemed wholly unconcerned (the politicians seem to be much more worried, by contrast, but that’s probably part of their game, if not job).  Was my famed luck running out?  I’d gotten out of coups and bombings by hours and days over the past several years, but the worm usually turns and here I was.

I wasn’t frightened – I knew that on Sunday August 25^th Ukraine would have its Independence Day celebrations and this might be part of that.  And indeed it was – it was, as a local fellow said, ‘practice for parade.’  I had asked him if there was some problem – ‘eta mala?’  But no.  Whew.  Whatever it was, it was impressive – the Ukrainians have what appears to be decent military hardware.  Not sure about the software.  Anyway, haven’t seen so many tanks since living in Washington in 1991 and seeing the parade celebrating the first Gulf War victory, right down Independence Avenue.  I recall that the tanks tore up the asphalt that day – that’s pretty much all I recall.  I guess I’m not really one for military displays – but I stood here and watched for a while.

The streets were packed…voices rang out over loudspeakers – I guess they were politicians and generals…but the mood was tranquil.  I felt a lot less anger and venom than I did in Moscow during the Euro soccer matches.  Ukraine was about to celebrate its still-fresh independence from Russia, after hundreds of years of forced ‘union,’ and this ancient land felt quite new.  Of course, the independence might still be fragile…and just when I was thinking that Ukraine might be free and clear of its tragic past, I saw a cursing babushka under a lamppost, and an old drunk shaking his head.  Clearly, these were signs that we were only in a transitional state and that the larger strategic matters were still being worked out.  Or something like that.

I went into Blindazh Bar for a beer…came out, celebration was still going on.  Independence Square was packed with people, was this what the Orange Revolution in 2004 was like?  That must have been something to see.  And the brands of freedom were advertised high above our heads, at the nearby Globus Shopping Mall – these brands being, needless to say, Swarovski, Esprit, and Lagerfeld.  Long may the flag of freedom and democracy fly!

Went into another bar, came out…parade was over, crowds dispersing.  I love finding myself in the middle of things like this.

Kyiv isn’t as much of a backwater as you might think.  Paul McCartney played here last month, before 250,000 people.  Elton John was here last year…Joe Cocker next month.  And when I went running one evening I saw a poster advertising the imminent arrival of Gloria Gaynor.  Who knew?

Golda Meir was born here.  So there.  And there’s a large Maserati dealership down the street from my hotel.  What did Golda drive, anyway?

Went to the Caribbean Club that night.  Basically ‘Strictly Ballroom’ meets sheesha.  Waterpipes everywhere – they’re hugely popular in the FSU.  Why?  Do people need something to put in their mouths?

The club was alright – some incredible salsa dancers there.  In fact, it seemed like everyone there had graduated from salsa grad school and was showing off.  I felt completely out of place and only stayed for a drink.  I like to think I’m a decent freeform dancer, and I probably am, but besides a bit of rhumba I’m not a Latin ballroom whiz.  Oh well.  Just give me time…

Express Hotel didn’t prove much better for getting a night’s rest.  Left the windows open, out of necessity – and in came the mossies.  I should have applied DEET before going to sleep, but didn’t know the mossies would be so bad here.  Next time I get to REI I’m picking up a mosquito net – one of those things you hope to never use, but probably will once in a while.

Next day did some major sight-seeing.  Went to the famous Kiev Lavra-Pecherska, which is a huge expanse near the Dnipro with a cathedral complex and other buildings.  The various churches and museums are nice enough, but the real attraction are the caves, in which many priests have been mummified and are on display – although fully wrapped and in glass cases.  Adherents kiss the glass and are generally in rapture down there – the passageways are narrow and everyone’s got a candle, not the most relaxing environment.  I haven’t felt such claustrophobia since being wedged in a tiny tunnel in West Virginia cave country with old buddy Iain Wood.  Quite an experience – but I came away thinking the Sovets were probably right about religion.

Walked over to Rodina Mat, the WW2 commemoration park.  There’s a massive aluminum state of a woman at war – she’s nicknamed ‘Tin Tits’:

The museum nearby is moving – Ukraine suffered a hell of a lot in the war, close to 10 million people here perished.  And that was after an ‘engineered famine’ in which Stalin and his boys turned the breadbasket of Europe into a wasteland – all the grain was taken from the peasants and given to the Red Army and Russian city dwellers.  Perhaps 5-10 million Ukrainians died in this tragedy.  Being stuck between the Germans and the Russians…what fun.  No wonder the locals have such mixed feelings for Russia…

The museum had a huge rooms full of photos – presumably of soldiers who died in WW2.  The captions were all in Ukrainian/Russian so couldn’t be sure.  I really have mixed feelings about visiting museums with only local captions – I still get something out of the visit, but it could be so much better if I really knew what I was looking at.  Maybe there’s some $$ to be made in helping these museums get their act together.

One nice touch – multi-colored tanks outside the museum.  You wouldn’t see this sort of whimsy in Russia…

Had lunch at nearby Tsarske Selo, a well-known Ukrainian resto.  Like many restos here, it’s heavily themed – waitresses dress like peasants, lots of wood inside the restaurant, etc.  Had a great bowl of borsch and some black bread, along with an excellent glass of kvas – hearty fare.  If you don’t like borsch, by the way, you just haven’t had a good version.

Got a ‘soft’ job offer from an old friend.  Would involve work in Mumbai, on the Indian housing market.  It’s funny…when I was 22 years old I was desperate for a good job, but nowadays I push away offers that are ten times better.

Was fairly tired from a long morning’s slog around the sights, decided to take in one more, a look around the riverside district of Podil, an old section of town.  Took a funicular ride up the hill after walking around – and spent a bit of time walking around the famed ‘Andrew’s Descent’ street, Kyiv’s most well-known and beloved stretch.  Behind part of the road is an archeological excavation, hidden from view – they’re digging up the Desyatynna Church, which was founded around 900 by Volodymyr or one of his kin, and existed till 1240, when the Mongols invaded and locals crowded onto the church roof to ‘escape,’ causing the roof to cave in.  Intriguing – the place has been lying there, in the middle of Kyiv, in ruins for 750+ years.  The Kyiv Patriarchate wants to rebuild it, from what I’ve heard.  Why such a hurry?

Also walked by the house of author Mihkail Bulgakov, who wrote ‘The Master and Margarita,’ a book I read recently.  Didn’t go inside to see the little museum therein, am getting a bit tired of museums.

Went for a run, despite having sore legs.  Am on a pretty good fitness kick lately and want to keep it going – who knows when the desire will fade.  Ran around Shevchenka Park, which turned out to be a great route.  The usual people drinking in the park and street, a la Moscow – I believe it’s fully legal to walk around with a beer, and nearly everyone does it.  I felt like a true geek running around in my Nike apparel, sweating like a monster, while pretty young things were sucking down beers.  But it must be gone – this is my religion nowadays…

As I was walking back to Hotel Express, cooling off, I noticed a girl in front of me with highly visible panties showing through her pants – the panties had a big smiley face.  I smiled too.  What’s ‘smiley face’ in Ukrainian?

Showered, went out.  Bought a beer on the street – wanted to fit in.  Walked by a rubbish bin – noticed that the only trash in there was empty beer bottles.  This place is like college for grown-ups.  I think you’d like it – I really do.

Read on the web about the Chevy Volt electric car.  It can do 40 miles between charges.  Is that it?  Forty miles?  This is the best we can do today, after all these years?  Jesus, my laptop battery can go 4 hours between charges.  I’d be ecstatic if GM succeeded with the Volt and if e-cars in general became popular, for obvious reasons.  But I fear it will take many decades, at this rate…

Had a craving for large portions of fatty food, had seen a TGI Friday’s earlier and now went there.  No wonder I need to go running.  An older Frenchman came and sat at the bar near me, we eventually got talking.  He tried to convince me of his utter worldliness – he lived in the States for a few years, in Russia for a bit, and asserted that American and Russian mindsets are the same.  Is that right?  My response was that the USA, despite a few actions, isn’t an empire-seeking country and that our mindset is democratic – that line didn’t work for the Frenchman.  His point was that both countries are militaristic and rely on hard power, not soft.  I understood his point but didn’t buy it.  He also proclaimed that Vietnam and the Phils. have a similar mindset, another piece of nonsense.  When I argued with him, he just stated that he’s an older man, I’m a young man, and that one day I’d agree with him.  Uh huh…what a bunch of crap.  I often enjoy debating with the French, they can be profound and provocative – not this guy.  I was getting the worst arrogance of the French, the stuff that many Americans complain of when they slag France.  That’s not an activity I support by any means, I’m a bit of a Francophile, but this guy was testing me.

I had spent so much time walking around that my feet were killing me, and I was even suffering a sore hip.  Osteoporosis, or just fatigue?  I limped back to the hotel to sleep.  Used some DEET before bed, that kept the bugs away and I finally slept well.  That, after finishing up Season 2 of ‘Rome.’  Good, if predictable conclusion – Antony and Cleopatra commit suicide, Octavian is ascendant, and Rome is calm.  I wondered where the series stood, and if I could soon get my hands on Season 3 – but broin-law Dave told me the series wasn’t renewed – bad news.  I had gotten into it and was hoping for more.  Do any of you have, say, US$50 million or so to offer HBO for funding?

Next day, did some more sight-seeing, as much as my legs would permit.  Took the metro out to Babyn Yar, the infamous ravine where nearly 35,000 Jews were murdered in September 1941 by the Germans.  Now it’s a peaceful park, where mothers push prams, grannies sit and read, and young athletes run up and down the hillsides, training for matches/races.  Do they know the grim history of this place?  I wonder.  Extremely difficult to believe the carnage that went on here.  I went down to the bottom of the ravine but didn’t walk around much – it felt profane to walk on top of tens of thousands of bodies which, I believe, still lie beneath the dirt.

Kyiv now has about 60,000 Jews, I’ve read.  Good to hear that there’s still a sizeable presence here.  Might go check out the Central Synagogue tonight – but probably won’t sit through the service!

Next, went to the Chornobyl Museum, in Podil.  I had considered taking a tour of Chornobyl itself – several agencies offer guided tours of the ‘Exclusion Zone.’  It’s supposedly safe, you get no more radiation than you do in a trans-oceanic flight, but I wonder.  They do have Geiger counters and check you at various spots during the tour, but I wonder.  I finally decided to just visit the museum and leave it at that.

Quite an unsettling experience.  They have photos of the workers who cleaned up after the explosion, in April 1986 – and next to those who died prematurely (tens of thousands, probably more), they’ve put little ‘radioaction’ stickers – very disturbing to see so many of these.  In another room, they have a memorial to the ‘lost towns’ near Chornobyl – including walls of photos of children.  I don’t think they were killed, they’re just displaced from those towns – still, it felt a bit like looking at the photos of the doomed at Tuol Sleng Prison in Phnom Penh.  Chornobyl isn’t that far from Kyiv – less than 100 miles – but most of the radioactive waste went north, through Belarus and into northern Europe.  In fact, Swedes called attention to the situation, forcing the Soviets to make the news public.  Even today, Ukraine spends 5% of its budget on Chornobyl-related activities…and the total body count is scary, perhaps into the hundreds of thousands.  Moving and unsettling.  Towns just lost and abandoned to the forces of nature…

Was mentally exhausted from Babyn Yar and the Chornobyl Museum – two different examples of mankind’s worst behavior and effect on the planet.

Walked up Andrew’s Street again – saw a staircase at the right and climbed up, it led to a dirt hill with incredible views of the city and river.  Despite its age, Kyiv still feels bit undeveloped and wild,  I think the size and nature of the Dnipro plays a role in this, it’s not the most confined/orderly river.

Walked by the British Embassy.  A modest townhouse, from the look of it – and virtually  unguarded.  Much unlike the version in Moscow, which is huge and impressive, but surrounded with security.  Ukraine really is a mellow place – not much to fret about, at least not yet…

Walked by famous St. Sofia, the oldest church in town.  Lots of churches here…yada yada yada.

Saw a guy on the street with a mullet.  Wish I had my camera.

Was walking down Shevchenka last night, looking for a café, when I heard a loud, droning noise.  I ignored it for a minute, then looked up – and saw tanks and the usual military vehicles heading down the street.  More practice, I assumed.  They left nice dirty tracks on the asphalt – who’s gonna pay to clean that up?

One thing I dislike about Kyiv is that there are cars on the sidewalks.  Not sure why – perhaps the growth in number of cars led the city to open up the sidewalks.  I’m not sure they’re strong enough to withstand the weight of cars…more annoyingly, you really have to keep your eyes open or you might get mashed, even on a supposedly safe sidewalk.

Walked around this morning – saw very few guys wearing suits.  If this were New York, 80% of the men would have coat and tie, but not here.  I kind of prefer this scene…

Watched a bit of the Olympics, USA vs. Russia in volleyball.  Echos of the Cold War.  I had thought you had to have the serve to score in volleyball, but not in this version.  Anyway, the USA won, narrowly, and I was happy.  Who dares say I’m not a patriot?  Over and out.

Traveling from Bukhara to Khiva required going through the Kyzylkum Desert – surely the world’s most vowel-challenged desert.  At times the desert looked likely to defeat the road…and I saw three or four wild camels wandering in the distance, reminded me of Australia and of India (Jaisalmer).  I was in a shared taxi with a disturbingly distracted young driver – driving itself wasn’t enough of a challenge, so he was constantly fiddling with the music, or lighting a cigarette, or adjusting his pants.  And he wasn’t driving slowly, mind you – I think a couple times we were 100% airborne.  I’ve read that traveling in this sort of transport in the developing world is high-risk behavior, and I finally understood what that meant.

But there was some light-heartedness along the way as well.  As we pulled into yet another militsiya (police) checkpoint, I said something about Uzbekistan having too many of these, and the driver laughed and stepped on the gas – this checkpoint, at least, was deserted.  After that we pulled imaginary guns on each other whenever we came upon another checkpoint.

We stopped for lunch at a modest roadside joint.  The usual fare – laghman (noodle soup), beer, and bread.  The bread in this part of Uzbekistan – the Khorezm region – is very flat and pretty solid.  I had trouble chewing it and mimed shooting a gun at it, and having the bullet bounce back and kill me.  That did it – a fellow passenger, a local woman, went back to the taxi and brought back several ‘loaves’ (more like Frisbees) of bread from other parts of the country – soft, bowlike bread from Samarkand and a fairly innocuous version from Bukhara.  Much better.  She shared these and I thanked her.  Clearly the Ubzekis are masters when it comes to bread…

We went over the Oxus River (known here as Amu Darya) a couple times – surprisingly low, I’ve seen photos of a much larger river and this seemed like a creek.  Later on we went over it again, this time it was a bit more impressive but still low.  The ‘bridge’ over this section was perhaps the poorest excuse for a river-span I’ve ever seen – even worse than the shit pontoon just outside Varanasi.  At first I thought we were driving onto a barge that would take us across the Oxus – then I realized it was stationary.  It still seemed like they had simply grounded several ships and welded them together – the bridge was that pathetic.  It took 15 minutes to drive over it – the various sections aren’t well-fitted and the driver had to take it very slowly.  As we were crawling along, the heat invaded the car and we were all pretty fried when we reached the other side.

One of the passengers had given the driver a few curd-balls.  These sat on the dashboard.  During one of our faster stretches I imagined the physical properties of one of these balls in action – if we were to crash, or even stop short, it would be like a huge bullet.  I put the balls in the glovebox and smiled at the driver.  He probably thought I was a nancy-boy.

We got to Urgench after about 5 hours.  Here I learned an annoying thing – I had paid for a trip all the way to Khiva, and knew we had to pass through Urgench first, no problem. But now I had to switch vehicles, and I realized I shouldn’t have agreed back in Bukhara for a fare to Khiva – only to Urgench.  If I paid for the two legs separately, I could have saved a few bucks.  Not so much, I just felt like a fool for agreeing initially to the fare – I had thought it would be straight to my hotel, but this wasn’t even close.  After that I decided to put aside perceived ease of transport and bargain hard for each segment.  A good if belated learning…

Khiva is an ancient city – although it seems much of it was restored in the past 20 years.  It was part of the independent (at times) Khorezm khanate, and a slaving center for many years.  Less famous than its sister Silk Road cities Samarkand and Bukhara, it’s in many ways a place that’s more like what tourists really seek – the city walls are still there, and the tourist sights are nearly all within the old walled city.  It feels old, and fairly authentic, as well as small in size – unlike Bukhara and Samarkand, both of which are sizeable cities.  It’s probably restored too well – some things look brand-new…whereas Jaisalmer, in India, felt a lot less gussied-up.  This was my last stop on the Silk Road…after this I’d continue heading west, but for different purposes.  More on that in a bit.

I got out of cab #2 and walked into the old city, through the West Gate.  A fellow passenger pointed me toward my guesthouse, and in a second had found the son of the owner to walk me there.  Got there in a few minutes – nice place, US$15 a night with aircon, private bathroom, and breakfast.  Bingo.  I later found that the mattress wasn’t great and I didn’t sleep all that well, which shows that you get what you pay for.  Still…

I walked around a bit – it was brutally hot.  Retreated to the guesthouse, Meros, to relax till the sun went down.  Around 8 p.m. I went to look for something to eat, had heard about a place outside the walls called Parvoz, overlooking a hauz (pool).  Found it, sat down, and got the waitress over.  The food options were very weak – it seemed they had nothing left – so I just ordered a Sarbast beer, which I’ve come to really enjoy, crisp and clean taste.  She brought that over – poured it into a frosty mug, not usual Uzbek practice – and I swear it was just about the coldest beer I’ve ever had.  That is saying something, so let’s allow that claim to sink in.  The beer literally turned to slush as she poured it…I swallowed a gulp and it was like being shot full of human growth hormone.

I ordered a second one, just to try to recapture that feeling.  And it worked pretty well.  Then I was starving, and managed to convince them to cook up some plov (Uzbek rice pilaf with fatty lamb bits – yum!?) and bring over some tomato salad and bread (not the bulletproof type).  Managed to make a decent meal of it all.

Slept alright that night, despite the lumpy mattress.  Had breakfast at the guesthouse the next morning – the usual fare, too much bread and not enough fruit.  Bukhara and Samarkand had been better about offering a healthy breakfast, they’ve apparently had help from overseas consultants and know what to serve Westerners – Khiva is more low-key and modest and they haven’t bothered.  But…Meros Guesthouse did have one gem at breakfast, I believe they were tomato pieces rolled inside a slice of cucumber, the entire thing pickled or marinated.  Declicious, really – just a single bite of heaven.   Perhaps the natural counterpoint to breizol?  Anyway, enough foodporn…

As I did in Bukhara, I found and hired a local guide in Khiva.  Her name was Marsha, she was half-Uzbek (father) and half-Russian (mother).  Very good, much like my guide in Bukhara.  Twenty bucks got me a half-day tour and lots of stories and jokes, including:

-According to legend Khiva was founded by Noah’s son, Shem.  He struck his staff on the ground here and a well sprung up – the local word for well was corrupted into ‘Khiva.’  Yeah, right.

-A few years ago the city removed ancient cobblestones near the West Gate and replaced them with flat tiles/bricks.  Marsha felt that this lessened the authenticity and old feel of the place.  The authorities explained that they made the change to reduce the chance of women in high heels falling – never mind that few locals wear heels, and a quick glance at any foreign tour group reveals the same.  The real reason?  The President’s daughter or son-in-law owns the company that makes the new stones…

-One of the reasons Russia came into Central Asia was to secure cotton supply.  Russia used to get its cotton from the American South, but during our Civil War the ports were blockaded by the North, and Russia was caught out.  It invaded Central Asia, and eventually built up the Uzbek sector such that it’s now #2 globally in cotton exports.  Interesting.

-‘Minaret’ comes from a word meaning ‘light.’  Originally minarets were simply lighthouses meant to guide in travelers along the Silk Road, in from the desert.  Eventually muslims realized that they’d be great places from which to call for prayers, and that’s what they’re used for today.  ‘Menorah,’ the Jewish candleset used during Hanukkah, comes from the same word.  Very interesting.

-Joke:  an Uzbek traffic cop dies and goes to his maker.  As he’s getting processed, he’s asked if he wants to go to heaven or to hell.  He thinks, then says, ‘can I just stay here at the crossroads?’  Uzbek cops, like many of their brethren, make a lot from collecting ‘fines’…

-A virgin bride under 20 years old in Khiva commands a dowry of between US$500-1,000.  I’ve got that on me…

-One of the mosques/tombs here has a lamp which is called Ala-auddin’s Lamp, and may be the source of the Aladdin’s Lamp stories.  Of course, other places in the Muslim world have a similar lamp, so who knows…

-They had no paper here back in the day, so made their money out of silk.  When it got dirty, they’d wash it.  A few specimens are on display in a museum here.  Talk about money-laundering…bada bing!

Lots of good stuff from Marsha – I’ve become a fan of hiring a local guide and paying the money so that I learn something about these places, beyond what the guidebook tells me.

Was thinking of writing a few pieces for a newish print magazine called Everywhere.  I’d read about it in Time or Newsweek, it operates largely online but publishes a monthly travel magazine.  Contributors send their stuff in and get paid for published pieces.  I’d put this off for a few months, meaning to get to it sometime…then I got an email saying that the business performance wasn’t cutting it and that they were shutting down.  I suppose procrastination has its benefits…and now I can run around the world without having even that small ‘obligation’ hanging over me.  Of course, there goes a potential paying gig, but that’s OK with me.

Got a couple emails from fraternity brother/loyal reader Ari, who runs his own excellent blogsite which I’ve plugged a couple times here.  Intrigued by my lush descriptions of breizol in Karakol, Ari Googled ‘breizol’ and my blog entry was at the top of only three sites that came back.  Now, this entry will make it four, and I’ll bet this will come in #2…

Ari also remarked on the warmth of strangers in the FSU.  I’d written about rarely being alone, or left alone, in public places, and Ari wrote that this is quite different from the Western experience, where we’re all ‘individuals’ and a solo diner/drinker is best left alone.  Ari’s very right there – how often have I ever gone up to a stranger (male, at least) in a bar or club and introduced myself?  It would be weird and potentially a bit dangerous in places to do that…but here it’s standard practice.  I do like that, a lot.

Did some more sight-seeing around Khiva – it’s a small place, but there’s a lot packed in the old city, Ichon-Qala, hence the utility of hiring a guide.  More than a couple mosques/madrassahs and my head spins.  A few shots of Khiva:

You can walk on a section of the city wall and I did that – the city feels tiny from that perspective.

Got the guesthouse to book me into a hotel in my next destination, the city of Nukus in the west.  Got my second choice hotel, the first was either fully booked or too disorganized to promise a vacant room.  More on that in a bit.

Finished ‘The Master and Margarita’ by Mikhail Bulgakov.  An odd book, about the devil and his cohorts popping up in 1930s Moscow.  Entertaining, and even acclaimed, but I read it over the course of a few weeks and found it OK, not stunning.  I’m probably jaded and have unrealistic expectations after my raft of great novels from Rushdie and David Mitchell a few months ago…anyway, now, for the first time in memory, I’m without a book to read, just a few Lonely Planet guidebooks (which are decent reads, for a short while), and will need to pick something up in Tashkent or Kiev soon.

Went back to Parvoz, for the cold beer.  Which was again cold, but not slush quality – still, refreshing.  Often in the FSU they don’t crank up the fridge sufficiently (or the design won’t allow it – very possible), so you get beers and soft drinks which miss the spot.  Parvoz was one of the few places, outside the capital at least, which understands the needs of beer drinkers.  Bless them.

On beer – a topic I can’t get enough of – I’ve seen Miller Genuine Draft in the most remote places here.  Weird – sort of like seeing entire shops and houses painted in ‘Lay’s Potato Chip’ yellow in India…which you see a lot of.  Distribution is the answer, people – now we just need to determine the question.

There was a wedding party going on at the place next door – the music was too loud, the dancing too energetic, in short they were having too much fun.  Looked like a great time – I thought about crashing but decided to just sit still and remotely participate.  The women out here are attractive and it looked like the bride in this wedding was a real winner.  Bravo.

Not much to do at night in Khiva, so finally broke out my laptop and started watching some of the DVDs I’d bought months ago in the RP.  Brother-in-law Dave has plugged ‘Rome’ the TV series to me, I have the first two seasons and started watching the first.  As good as advertised – really brings the squalor and drama of ancient Rome to life.  But now, as with ‘24’ back in Manila a year and a half ago, I’m hooked and will be glued to my laptop till I work through the two DVDs.  I also bought ‘Heros’ and have the first two seasons of that show – at least if I find myself in any other backwaters I’ll have a distraction.  It’s funny, I go months without watching anything, then hit a streak where I’m addicted.

Got 1,390 Uzbek sum per dollar in Khiva – the best rate yet.  I’d always found that capital/large cities give you the best rates, but not in Uzbekistan – Tashkent only offered around 1,325, whereas Samarkand and Khiva were much better.  Not sure why – might be that dollars are relatively rare and more in demand in the hinterland?  Might be worth a study, that – could highlight some arbitrage opps for me.  Ari – can you look into this?  You’re a finance whiz…

Managed to find a channel at the guethouse that showed the Olympics Opening Ceremony.  The channel, of course, was a Turkemnistan channel, called ‘Yaslyk.’  So I was without verbal accompaniment, but no matter – the ceremony itself was stunning and did not require oral explanatory spew.  China threw out the kitchen sink – techno paper scrolls, a little girl at a piano (a la Sydney in 2000), you name it – China really knows how to put on a show.  Over the top, but cool.

Reminded me of the 2000 Games, when colleagues John and George and I sat in the Crowne Casino in Melbourne after a client pitch and watched the opening.  Being in Oz was certainly special back then – I don’t remember many specifics of the Opening Ceremony, but the feeling was electric, even in Melbourne, Sydney’s often-bitter rival.  I do recall watching the delegation from the ‘People’s Republic of Chad’ come out – not particularly impressive, and John and I laughed at the claim that Chad was a ‘People’s Republic.’  As I’ve written many times before (sorry to self-reference, and not in a novel sense either) any country whose name has words like ‘Democratic,’ ‘People’s,’ and/or ‘Republic’ is precisely none of those.  Ergo, Chad, a military dictatorship.  Now, here in Khiva, I again saw the Chad team come out – sans flags, straggling along, and I immediately knew which nation would not be challenging China and the USA for the top medal honors…

The cavalcade of nations went on.  India had a large team – unruly, but diverse and lovable.  Sonia Gandhi waved at them from the stands.  Guam came out – tell me the obese guy carrying the flag is just there to carry the flag.  Their Spam diet doesn’t seem to have paid off.  The Philippines came out later, boxer Manny Pacquaio carried their flag.  For Germany, basketballer Dirk Nowitzki.  And, of course, Yao Ming for the PRC (‘People’s Republic…hmmm).

The entire show was a bit over 4 hours – often interminable (Malta’s delegation – yeah baby!) but that’s the norm nowadays, and I suppose that many sporting events run that long.  Anyway, I do hope China pulls it off without major hitches – the world needs an increasingly normal China, not an angry, wounded beast.

Wandered around the city after that – Khiva is in many ways at its best in the moonlight, it’s a haunting, timeless place.  Watched more Rome and went to bed.

Awoke and started packing for my trip west to Nukus.  There was no electricity, and no water – torture.  Went down and had breakfast, including some luscious tomato/cuke rolls.  Gotta figure out how they make those.  I don’t have a name to Google, so must resort to experimentation – when I finally have my own kitchen.  For now, I’m a simple foodporn voyeur.

Chatted with a Japanese woman who’s spending a year here, in the Japanese version of the Peace Corps.  Gave my Bulgakov book to the owner’s son, he was pretty helpful while I was in Khiva.  He walked me over to the taxi stand and got me in a cab to Urgench, the local provincial seat, from where I’d transfer to a shared taxi to Nukus.  Bye-bye Khiva, you were a fine stop on my own Silk Road.

I was heading to far-west Nukus for a couple reasons:  first, to see the devastation wrought by the disappearance of much of the Aral Sea, which is to the north (ever more north) of Nukus; second, to see a random art museum featuring works by renegade artists during the Soviet days.  More on both of those in a bit.

Had to go back over the heinous Oxus bridge to get to Urgench.  The Oxus really is depressingly weak right now – I hope when it rains it rises significantly.  The Oxus flows from the Aral, I think, so that explains the frailty of it now…the butterfly effect is real and if you look hard you see it in action everywhere.

Switched cabs in Urgench.  We were waiting for one more person…I didn’t have the front seat, so was at risk of overcrowding – finally paid for 2 rear seats (only $5 apiece, for a 4-hour ride, not bad at all) and off we went.  I stretched out and relaxed, and took in the view, which was mostly of desert and wasteland.

Nukus is the capital of an entity known as the ‘Republic of Karakalpakstan.’  Had never heard of it – and still can hardly pronounce it.  But, wouldn’t you know, there are half a million Karakalpaks and they are a damn proud people – ethnically distinct from Uzbeks, a bit more East Asian in appearance.  They either had their own kingdom, or were part of other nearby kingdoms, in days of yore, and were thrown into Uzbekistan (well, the Uzbek SSR) by the Soviets, if I have my history right.  Of course, Karakalpakstan claims to be ‘autonomous’ but we all know what that means – you either have control of one or two budget line-items (perhaps sanitation and grounds-keeping) and nothing more, or you’re simply starved of funds altogether and left to rot.  I think Karakalpakstan is actually an ‘and’.  Just my kind of place.

I stayed in Jipek Joli guesthouse, the name apparently means ‘Silk Road.’  Cute.  The clerk immediately asked me intrusive questions about myself – including whether I was married and had kids.  Just for a change of pace, I said yes to both.  Mistake.  For the next two days he pestered me about hiring him as an au pair for ‘my kids.’  His English was OK, and he speaks German…I told him I’d ask ‘my wife,’ in Tokyo, and let him know.  That’s what you get for lying…

Had lunch at one of the very few decent places in Nukus, the ‘Sheraton Café.’  Another shocking example of IP theft.  Even the logo is reminiscent of the hotel chain.  Whatever.  They have pretty decent food and I have to eat.  Had a ‘chicken brizzola’ which sounded like ‘breizol’ so I ordered it.  So-so – and not breizol-like in any way, just a fillet of chicken.  Central Asian chicken isn’t that great, not sure why.  No hormones?  Bad breeding?  Too much dark meat?  The taste just isn’t there and I need to sidestep chicken for the near future – too bad, because it’s my favorite meat.

Walked to the nearby aviakassa (air ticket office) and bought a seat to Tashkent for a few days later.  I didn’t want to travel for 22 hours by car or bus or train – not when a flight only costs US$70.  A local guy was in line in the office, his name was Damir and he was processing some paperwork for an American oil worker in Nukus – a guy from Louisiana.  Damir helped me communicate my needs to the agent and then he was kind enough to drive me to an Internet café so I could do my thing there.  Nice guy.

Bonus:  I was able to fob off a semi-old US$50 bill on the agent.  Small biz owners never accept bills from the 1990s, but government entities and the like are less ‘careful.’  The agent isn’t pocketing this bill, and Uzbekistan Airways very likely has the wherewithal to trade old US dollars for new ones, so I doubt anyone’s out here.  I still have about $200 worth of old $20 bills and am wondering how to get rid of those in the near-term.  They’re still good at home, of course, but I hate having useless stuff with me.

Watched CNN International and saw that George and Russia were fighting.  Apparently things got going during the start of the Olympics.  There’s the spirit, boys.  Next up:  surprise bombings during Christmas.  I emailed friend Sarmat in Moscow, as he’s from Ossetia.  I’ve written that Ossetians are discriminated against by Russians…Sarmat and his brother said that they were the ‘niggers’ of the FSU.  Which didn’t seem possible to me – they don’t look particularly exotic, perhaps a bit different from the Aryan Russian ideal but then again most of us would fall in that broad category.  Anyway, Sarmat replied shortly and said that he and his brother were flying straightaway from Moscow to South Ossetia.  They’re on the Russian side – they may not love Russia and how it treats them, but they still work in Moscow, and prefer the Russians to the Georgians.  Interesting for me to get their perspective – I’ve always sided with Georgia, which had icon Eduard Shevardnadze as its second President (admittedly, he wasn’t much of a Pres., and lost South Ossetia and Abkhazia) and which professes democratic principles and pro-Western policies.  And certainly the press hasn’t been kind to the prospect of autonomy for the breakaway areas – The Economist has published a few snide columns to that effect.  But many/most people in Ossetia and Abkhazia seem to prefer to be independent or part of Russia than to be part of Georgia, so my knee-jerk tendency to side with Georgia is perhaps data-free.  Still, I dislike the notion of having every little town become an independent country – that does not breed stability.  Look at the craziness surrounding Kosovo these days – perhaps Russia’s aggressive response to Georgia in part sprang from that wound.

So I’ve come to see that the Ossetians (and Abkhazians) have a point.  And I hope that Sarmat and his brother get back to Moscow unharmed – the South Ossetian capital took a real beating, between the Georgians and the Russians.  Looked on TV like the capital was in ruins.

The Russians are major league bullies, for sure.  And I do think they’ve overplayed their hand in responding so forcefully…their other neighbors took note and I saw a press conference wherein the heads of Ukraine, Lithuania, and Latvia joined Georgian Pres. Saakashvili to show solidarity.  Not smart to surround yourself with unfriendly neighbors.  Perhaps Russia has all the cards right now, but oil prices will fluctuate (they already are) and Russia needs friends too – and they shouldn’t count on China too far.

I do wonder why the fuck the Georgians got this fight started in the first place.  The Pres. ran on a platform to get back the breakaways, alright, but did he think Putin/Medvedev wouldn’t respond??  Really stupid…Georgia’s army is 30,000, Russia’s is 650,000, not to mention the disparity in materiel.  And now the USA looks especially foolish and helpless – Georgia is our boy in that part of the world, but I don’t think we’ll risk WW3 to save it.  At least we don’t seem to have encouraged Georgia here – I heard that Condi told Georgia not to provoke Russia, but they didn’t listen to her.  As for our response, it was tepid, necessarily…of course, we can’t say much now that we’ve invaded sovereign Iraq and changed that regime.  A US spokesman (State Dept. or Admin., I forget which) chastised Russia for breaking the rules of the 21^st century and trying to destabilize a ‘European country.’  Nice parsing.  If we didn’t muck around in Iraq, our words might have a bit of force – but how can we scold Moscow when we’ve crossed thousands of miles and oceans to overthrow the government of a far-off Asian country?  And Russia does have the seemingly reasonable response here of simply responding to a Georgian provocation and protecting its citizens.  Georgia really is stupid – it clearly didn’t think this through, and it, and the West, are now paying the price.  How annoying.

Have been taking lots of naps here in Uzbekistan – it’s very hot, and I’m very lazy.  I might be sleeping too much, and I can’t bank it, apparently, but I’ll take it when I can get it.

Nukus is a desolate place.  It gets a bit of dosh from Tashkent to keep up appearances, but it’s a remote, modest little city and there’s not much to do.  I was good about exercising in Nukus – ran around the Savitsky Art Museum, near my guesthouse, and on the long, nearly empty streets.

One problem – in summer they have a water shortage.  So they actually cut off water to the rooms in the guesthouse until you request it, then they turn on some sort of pump.  Weird, and bothersome, but I guess necessary.  Oh well.

Went back to the Sheraton Café that night, it was Saturday night and I wanted to scare up some random fun.  The place was full, I sat at a little table on the side and watched a horde of local women dance.  Ate some mushrooms and bread, had some Sarbasts, and chilled.  Eventually I went up to the beer and ordered a cocktail.  That got things going, as I had to explain how I wanted it, and did that mostly in English and with hand gestures.  A guy at the bar, quite Asian in appearance, introduced himself in English.  Turns out he’s ethnic Korean, I guess his people were exiled to this part of Uzbek by Stalin during WW2 – to prevent the Koreans from spying for the Japanese, as I’ve written before.  Of course, the two people despite each other, but Stalin didn’t bother with niceities like that.

This fellow was very friendly – considers himself a Karakalpak through and through.  He introduced me to his friend Alisher, also friendly.  Obviously, vodka shots then flowed.  I broke my vow and accepted one…then a few more…next thing I knew, I was in the bathroom feeling awful.  I got through it and reemerged to join the boys. I told them I was in town largely to go see the Aral Sea – they gave me some tips, mostly around not spending too much money.  Alisher told me he’d never met a solo American before, everyone who comes through Nukus (for the same purposes as I have) comes in a tour group and they meet zero locals beyond the hospitality folks.  A sad tale, I’ve heard it many times before.  People, strap on some balls and go local.

Don’t recall much after that – eventually, Alisher bundled me in his car and brought me back to the hotel.  I still felt like crap, the vodka sat in my gut like poison so I put my finger down my throat and that did the trick.  But way too much of this in the past few months – perhaps more vomiting than I’ve experienced in my entire life beforehand.  I hate to say hi to the offer of drinks, that can close the door to new friendships and experiences, but I might have to come up with some excuses from now on.  I really don’t like vodka, and it obviously doesn’t like me much either…

Got up, felt like crap, but I was at least ambulatory.  Got the water turned on, showered, and walked over to the Savitsky Museum for a look.  This place was started by Igor Savitsky, a Russian artist who spent time in this area decades ago and fell in love with it.  At some point he realized that the remoteness of Nukus offered the chance to squirrel away works not acceptable to the Soviet standard – and he collected tens of thousands of pieces created by gulag prisoners and out-of-favor artists.  An incredible effort – many of these pieces would have been destroyed if they had stayed in the public eye, in Russia…Savitsky is a real hero for what he did.  This museum was written up in many publications, which they have on hand – The New York Times, The Christian Science Monitor, Newsweek – so it’s not really a secret anymore, just semi-obscure.  A year or so ago they moved to a new building, with donated funds – before, they were in an old building which had no climate features.  The workers brought in trays of cold water each morning to provide some hydration, but otherwise things were exposed to the elements.  The new building has plenty of huge aircon machines and is modern – and really impressive.

Took a few photos – they cost a buck or so apiece, so was sparing.  Here’s the museum, and Savitsky’s image:

Here’s a painting by a gulag prisoner who died from malnutrition.  It’s called Pelmeni (Dumplings), look how lovingly he paints real food.  Heart-breaking…

A few others:

Lots of beautiful and provocative art here.  Well worth a visit.  Al Gore came in 1990, when he was researching the Aral Sea tragedy – yet more evidence that Al Gore is way ahead of his time…

Even before I walked around the museum, I spoke with a worker – the museum can help arrange Aral guides, so I asked him to look into that.  He then said that there was an Uzbekistan Television camera crew right there, and they wanted to interview a foreigner, i.e. me.  I said sure, and we went outside, where I spoke for a few minutes, ad lib, about why I was in Nukus, where I came from, etc.  The museum fellow then translated, and told me I’d be on the tube Monday night.  Made a note to try to watch the news that night if I was near a TV.  My second such interview, the first was back in Varanasi…never managed to watch the news there, not sure if I was on or not.

In the museum there were works by I. Slonim (obviously a distant cousin of mine) and M. Sokolov (obviously the namesake of my old college friend Matt Sakolove).

At the museum entrance there’s a sign with rules & regs, #6 was ‘Not sober persons shall not enter.’  Only in the FSU, baby…

The staff was very proud of their new museum building and its contents.  Apparently the museum owns 90,000 works, only a fraction of which can be shown at any time.  They have an ‘extension’ floor over in the History Museum, which I visited later on.

I liked both the purpose and contents of Savitsky.  To me, many/most museums around the world are pretty arrogant – collections of looted antiquities and treasures purchased from governments/people much less affluent than the purchasers.  At least they show the works to the public, and I’m sure the administrators care deeply about the art and their mission, but otherwise I find the general experience somewhat off-putting.  For example, the Kremlin and the Hermitage have awesome treasures and display them to perfection…but I came away a bit exhausted by the experience and my overarching feeling was that Russia had lots of presents and grabbed a lot of art and was now showing it off to everyone.  Savitsky had none of that vibe – Savistky has a collection of ‘gulag art’ that was saved from the totalitarians and against all odds protected for the benefit of mankind.  Perhaps corny, but I like it.

Had lunch at a café at the bazaar.  Was the only foreigner there – I really stood out.  One worker (bread-maker) came over and sat down with me – I guess her shift was over.  She spoke some English and wanted to practice – or perhaps was smitten by my looks.  Probably not.  Eventually another one came and sat with us.  Now I really stood out, and was getting self-conscious.  I don’t know the Karakalpak mentality, but I’m guessing they don’t love foreigners stealing a bunch of their women.  Not that I was doing anyway, I was eating soup and bread and answering their questions.  Still, the stranger is always to blame…

The bread-maker eventually insisted that I wander the bazaar with her, she’d show me around.  That proved to be pure torture – I’d seen plenty of bazaars, and didn’t require the play-by-play of women’s dresses, carrot salad, and red onions.  Plus, her voice became grating and it became clear that I was actually guiding her through the English language.  Fun for a few minutes, then old…

Ran into 3 Poles who were in the Khiva guesthouse with me a couple days previously.  Turns out they were heading to the Aral Sea too – and had booked with Bes Qala Nukus, a tour operator that does that run.  I’d been in touch with the fellow there, who told me he was fully booked, so I’d resigned myself to finding another way.  Now I learned from the Poles that they were leaving the next day, for a camping trip to the Aral…I wondered if the car would hold one more.  I made a note to contact Bes Qala later that day.

Went back to the guesthouse after politely scraping off the bread-maker.  Checked emails – nothing from Bes Qala, or from another Pole who was also looking into an Aral trip.  As I sat there typing, a middle-aged British woman entered the guesthouse and asked the clerk (the prospective au pair) about Aral trips – said she wanted to do a daytrip and hire a taxi to share.  That sounded interesting – I chimed in and said I’d be interested in doing that.  We made a plan to get back in touch that night – the woman, Kate, wanted to see if she could find anyone else to further share the costs.  I was still interested in the 2-day camping trip – the daytrip with Kate would just be to Moynaq, the former harbor/port which is now 150km from the actual (new) shoreline.  I thought about the two options…the camping trip would bring me to the actual sea, and would be much more of an adventure, but would not be that cheap and would require me to trust the guesthouse with safe storage of my stuff for a couple days – probably OK, but not a given.  The daytrip would only be to the former shoreline, but would be cheap, quick, and would expose to the most obvious devastation of the Aral tragedy.

Tried to find the Bes Qala agency office – no luck.  Many street names have changed around here and no one knew the street location.  Finally rang the fellow, Tazabay – he told me that he’d see the Poles in a couple hours, ask them if they wanted another person along, and stop by my guesthouse with the answer.  If I took this route, I’d be screwing Kate…but I hadn’t sealed the deal with her and she’d have to be an adult about it.

Went back to the guesthouse – one of the staff was roasting a goat’s head on the floor of the café – quite a sight, here it is:

Besides dealing with the Aral trip, I also had to think about accommodations in Nukus, my guesthouse looked to be fully booked in another day or so.  Another hotel, Hotel Nukus, couldn’t tell me if they’d have a room for me when Jipek Joli was full – so I was a bit caught out.  And I needed to get some Uzbek sum, it was Sunday and that was proving difficult.  A very busy day of planning – it’s no wonder that I have little time for writing and other optional activities, travel planning can consume your entire day.

While I was napping both Kate and Tazabay came by.  I went downstairs and saw Kate’s note to the effect that we should meet at 8 a.m. the next day for the taxi trip.  Also, Tazabay had told the staff that the Poles would accept one more person, i.e. me.  I had to make a decision, and chose the daytrip – cheaper, easier, and fewer risks.  I’d see less, but that was OK, I’d see enough.  Called Tazabay and opted out.  Needed a drink after all that, so went to the Sheraton, my Nukus home away from home.

Alisher was at the bar, eating and chatting with the bartender.  I apologized for my drunken behavior the previous night – he didn’t seem to mind, but he also seemed a bit cold and I wondered why.  Oh well, I hadn’t made a best friend, so it goes.  I had dinner and a couple beers, then went back to Jipek Joli and watched some Rome before crashing.  I had to get up early for the ride to the former Aral coastline in Moynaq.

Had a lot to do before this all-day trip – turn on water, shower, shit (very important – Moynaq sounded like the edge of the world, not just the former edge of the Aral), have a quick breakfast, walk to the Hotel Nukus to meet Kate, try to change money.  The Hotel Nukus eventually found someone who could get me Uzbek sum, at an OK rate – I did it.  Meanwhile, Kate was harried – there was no water in the entire hotel, so she had found two buckets and gone to a nearby well for shower water.  I told her to relax, no real hurry, I was still dealing with the money situation anyway.  She told me she was low on sum too – I had worried that I’d be torturing her if I was unable to come up with sum, but it turned out that she was in the same boat.  I worry too much, don’t I?  I’m becoming a real Jewish grandmother…

We finally got our act together, found the taxi Kate had hired, and got going.  We saw the 3 Poles in the hotel lobby before heading off – wished each other a good trip.

It was a 2.5 hour drive to Moynaq…Kate was talkative and we had a wide-ranging chat.  She’s a fairly hardcore budget traveler – usually stays in dorms, doesn’t eat much, rarely flies, etc.  She teaches history in a UK high school – Russian history is part of her curriculum, and she’d been to Russia three times…but I spoke more Russian than she did.  I guess Americans aren’t the only ones who don’t bother learning other useful tongues…

Kate told me that I’m an ‘odd American’ because I don’t have an upswing incantation at the end of my sentences.  Apparently Aussies always have that upswing, and Americans do too – for whatever reason, probably my long overseas exposure, I don’t.  We also talked about our various language peeves – I hate the Valley Girl brand of speech where every third word is ‘like’…Kate went on about the foul mouths of British women (I second that).

Moynaq, as expected, had been devastated by the loss of its raison d’etre, the Aral Sea.  The town, probably never much to look at even in its heyday, was dusty, bleak, and eerily quiet.  A sign welcomed us, but was an early indication of the brutal irony of the town:

Town hall had another:

Finally, we reached the former shoreline, which is now a cliff leading not to water, but to sand.  Where the Aral once was is now a desert that resembles, but is perhaps even more desolate, than the Gobi.  A row of beached ships lies a stone’s throw away from the cliffside – they’re lined up so well that I suspected they were arranged for tourists.  No matter – the point was made.  Take a look:

I walked perhaps a kilometer out into the ‘desert,’ and saw a few more ships.  The ground went from sandy to crusty, the areas farther from the shoreline went dry more recently (although it has been a long while) and are thus a bit less sandy/dry.  The wind blew stronger out here, I got hit with some sandy gusts.  Moynaq must have some awful sandstorms.  Salty deposits, and maybe fertilizer runoff, are in certain patches.   And you can see where four wheel drives (the Poles are in one of these) head off towards the new coastline, 150 or so km off.  Kate and I wouldn’t be going up there, but what we saw in Moynaq told us enough.  The place is a tomb, and it was created by man.

But never fear – the Russians have come up with a scheme to bring back the water.  Step 1?  See for yourself:

I had to wonder whether this is the planet’s revenge for man’s meddling – are we simply a stain or virus which the Earth is trying to expel?  I go back and forth between thinking that man has the ability to destroy the Earth, and thinking that despite anything we could possibly do (nuclear warfare, etc.), the planet will survive and eventually we’ll be gone, despite all of our accumulated knowledge and capabilities.  Whatever the case, the misuse and disappearance of 50% of the Aral Sea and its consequences are virtually a criminal act, or at least criminally negligent…and after seeing it, I thought less of mankind and its glorious achievements.

Rode back to Nukus, Kate chatting all the way.  Got back, head still spinning from what I’d seen and learned.  It was only about 3 p.m., had some time, so went to the History Museum – they have some fauna and flora exhibits, and supposedly the very last Caspian Tiger, killed in the 1970s, stuffed in a corner.  Fairly interesting.  Upstairs is the Savitsky Museum’s extension, a large floor’s worth of paintings and other works.  This building is old-style and without much in the way of aircon – I saw a tray in one room with water in it, meant to provide some relief for the paintings.  The former Savitsky building must have been much like this – truly shocking, considering the merits and value of many of these pieces of art.  I gave some $ for a donation as I departed, but I think one of the big Western, or Russian museums really needs to pony up here.

Went back to Jipek Joli.  They had a cancellation so I could stay another night – coolio.  Watched the news at 7 p.m. that night, but my interview wasn’t on – not sure what they did with that.  Oh well.

Did a few errands, then over to the Sheraton for dinner.  No Alisher tonight…did see the Korean guy for a minute.  The staff at Sheraton knew me pretty well by now, they brought over a Sarbast without my asking.  Excellent.  Quiet night, no women dancing…just as well, I was in a contemplative mood from the daytrip.  Ordered some food – the waitresses here always ask me if I want ‘adin’ (1) of a dish.  Odd…I mean, I’m not going to order two of the same dish, am I?  Perhaps it’s just a form of smalltalk…

Did I mention that the Karakalpak women are lovely?  I swear the talent here, and in Uzbekistan in general, is exceptional – I don’t want to overstate matters and fall victim to the recency effect, but Uzbeki women (including local Russians, those of mixed parentage, and Karakalpaks) are top 5 in the world.  So there.  I didn’t say getting to know them is easy, but they don’t appear unusually prudish or conservative, it just takes some dedication and time.  Two things which I often lack…

Great night out – cool and clear.  Walked back to the guesthouse.  Walked by the Savitsky, was heartened to see a guard posted there.  Of course, he was stepping out for a smoke, but at least they have the budget and wherewithal to hire a guard for the place.

Kate had told me that her daypack was stolen in a dorm room in Beijing – more evidence that dorms suck and should be a last resort.  Her camera was in there, with all her photos from a trip to Mongolia.  I offered to copy my Mongolia pics for her, she had a spare memory card, and she was grateful.  I wonder if, in her shoes, I’d want the same…photos just aren’t the same if they’re not intimately familiar to you.  There are exceptions – for instance, old friend Don sent me this one, in response to my question about whether there are any cities that rival Bishkek in terms of having tall mountains so close to the city.  This is a professional photographer’s shot of Seattle, with all the photographic bells and whistles:

Pretty impressive…I’ll take a photo like that for my collection any day.

Watched more Rome, finished Season 1.  Now onto Season 2.  Caesar is dead and Rome is in flux…tempus fugit.

Nukus is an Internet wasteland, there’s really just one café and it’s full of game-playing little brats.  The guesthouse has access, but the keyboard had some problem and now it was gone for repair…or not.  Ugh.  Had to wait a half-hour while some little kid finished his Doom-type game at the web café.  And then the connection was awful, sending a simple email took 5 minutes.  Left much to do for my return to Tashkent, where the infrastructure is much better (but not great).

Took a ride on the ferris wheel behind Savitsky, there’s a modest little kiddie park and I haven’t been on a ferris wheel in memory.  It was alright – very slow, but you do get fairly high up and I took a few decent photos which I won’t bother to post here.

Went back to the guesthouse.  Feet hurt, so didn’t go running, did some yoga instead.  That felt terrific, my legs and back were tight and the yoga loosened them right up.  Had dinner at the guesthouse, just some pelmeni (dumplings), then walked around.  It was my final night in Nukus, the next morning I’d fly to Tashkent.  Found a decent bar called Neo, had a couple beers there.  Walked back towards Jipek Joli, decided to make a final appearance at Sheraton.  Walked in – and was greeted by the amazing sight of a gang of local women and girls dancing.  It was a ‘women’s party’ for a girl getting married soon.  I sat at the beer and feasted my eyes, along with the bartender/DJ, whose job I started wanting badly.  The girls were dressed to kill, on this Tuesday night – even when walking around town, the locals tend to dress well.  Karakalpak women are taller than other Uzbeks, and rarely wear jeans or pants – almost always dresses or skirts.  Very girly – but I like it.  And they seem to love to dance – I really might have to come back here one day.  Nukus itself isn’t much, but the locals are…

One old guy came in, had a quick shot of vodka, paid and left, all in under 2 minutes.  Wow.  He looked Russian, so I wasn’t that surprised…I was actually impressed.

The party started breaking up – I struck up a conversation with a woman who spoke English, turns out she had been an exchange student in Nebraska – at least one of us has been there.  A couple other girls spoke some English too – Nukus was full of surprises.  Maybe I should become an art historian and work for peanuts at the Savitsky??

Went to the airport in the morning – newish facility, not bad at all.  Checked the registration card that the guesthouse had given me, you should keep these papers in case they want to check them on your way out of the country.  The guesthouse only had me there for 2 nights, not 4, so I edited the end date.  Looked OK, hopefully they won’t be checked, but it should hold up if so.

Checked in and borded the Antonov-24.  I think this was the first time I’ve carried my large bag to the plane itself, and handed it to a guy inside the cargo area.  Hey, it was easy and I was 100% sure the bag was on the plane!  The plane probably had 30 seats, if that, not the smallest I’ve flown on but it was a basic model – no bells/whistles.

There were a couple German guys on the flight, they were also marveling at the ‘carry your own fucking bag’ system.  Seemed like amiable guys.

Read up on Ukraine during the flight, I’ll head to Kiev on August 18^th and need to get up to speed on that country.  Another stop in my grand FSU tour.

Exchanged my broken cheapie Japanese handfan for the airplane’s safety card – which is nicely laminated and which should serve me well as a manual fan in the hottest of places.  I’ve had the little Japanese number for nearly 3 years now and will miss it, but it’s gotten warped and the handle is busted, and it isn’t that user-friendly anymore.  Gotta get back to Japan to get another couple of these…

My Russian nickname is Misha.  In Ubzek it’s Musa.  Just thought you should know.

Read that the coach of the Russian men’s hoops team is a Jewish guy from Framingham, Mass. (my hometown) named David Blatt.  Random.

Got to Tashkent.  The airport is not large, and is incredibly close to town – probably 3 km at most.  You land, carry your own bag, and in 10 minutes you’re in the city.  I love that.

Checked back into Hotel Orzu – same staff, friendly faces.  Went to Bierhaus to have a drink and access wifi.  But after 5 minutes the connection failed…ugh.  Spent the next couple hours hunting down a place with working wireless, apparently the problem was system-wide.  Finally learned that Caravan, a touristy restobar, had a network and went there for a bite.  Spent a couple hours there, clearing my emails (lots of attachments), updating virus definitions, downloading podcasts, and calling my father on Skype.  Computers really are yin and yang – they are incredibly useful, but take up too much time.  I can’t imagine how my life would be if I hadn’t taken that high school typing class – I can crank out about 65 words a minute.

I realized the other day that I really miss riding motorbikes, it’s been a long time since I had one at hand.  Yet another reason to return to Southeast Asia before too long…

Noticed that PriceWaterHouseCoopers has an office right near my hotel.  So does McCann-Erickson Advertising.  Tashkent…more to it than meets the eye.

Went for lunch yesterday to the Central Asian Plov Centre.  Plov is the Uzbek national dish, it’s a rice pilaf concoction with bit of fatty lamb mixed in.  Yum yum.  I had a bit of trouble finding the place, I was walking around with my guidebook, and I noticed a couple waitresses giggling and looking at me.  Apparently they’ve seen no end of foreigners doing precisely that…

Anyway, the food was pretty good, way too filling.  Didn’t feel like doing much else that afternoon…but had some emails and bookings to arrange, so went to the Grand Mir to surf their network, they have one too.  Spent two hours in there…two hours seems to be the magic number of hours when I have a full slate of computer stuff to do.

Went out last night – found a decent Korean joint and had another bibimbap feast.  Then decided to hit FM Bar, a gentlemen’s club which is fairly raucous.  Walked in, and a guy at the bar waved to me.  Turned out to be one of the Germans on my Nukus-Tashkent flight – random.  I invited him to my table, his name’s Thomas and he’s been based here for 10 years.  Quite a stint – all the people in the bar knew him and pretty soon our table was full.  I stayed way too long, drank way too much beer, and slipped more than a few 1,000 sum notes in dancers’ g-strings.  Gotta love these (moderate) Muslim countries.

My head still hurts, I’ve written enough for this week, and have caught up this blog with current events.  Feels like real-time – feels like teen spirit.  Over and out.

Samarkand proved to be more of a normal city than I had imagined.  Its claim to fame is that it was Tamerlane’s capital, and the home of several renowned monuments like the Registan, but it’s also Uzbekistan’s second-largest city, with about half a million people.  It’s not an officially-designated ‘museum city’…years ago the Soviets chose 3 cities for this category – Suzdal (near Moscow, in the Golden Ring), Khiva (where I am right now), and another I can’t remember – maybe Merv in Turkenistan.  Those places were essentially frozen in time, deliberately – but Samarkand, and Bukhara, have developed and are full of color and life today.

My first night in Samarkand, I went out for dinner and found a decent enough place called Alt Stadt.  There used to be a lot of Germans (mostly Mennonites, I think) in this part of the FSU, Stalin sent ‘em here to be far away from the WW2 front.  A surprising number of Uzbeki citizens speak German.  He also sent thousands of ethnic Koreans here – and today you’ll find them making bibimbap in Tashkent, speaking Russian to each other.  Very weird.  Apparently Stalin, in his infinite wisdom, sent the Koreans here to get them away from the eastern theater, where war with Japan was looming.  He didn’t seem to know that Koreans and Japanese hate each other, and that the likelihood of Koreans spying for Japan was next to zero.  You run across so many of these sorts of stories in this part of the world…

After dinner I went over to a place I’d spied earlier in the day, Café Blues.  When I walked in, around 10 p.m., ‘Babe I’m Gonna Leave You’ by Led Zep was playing and I knew I’d like this place.  The barmaids were two Russians, Svetlana and Oxana.  Svetlana spoke solid English and I told her about the time I was walking up to Sacre Coeur in Paris and Robert Plant was descending, his arm around some goddess.  Plant’s famed mane was flowing behind him, in the wind, and it seemed like something out of a Zeppelin song about Valhalla…

Svetlana is a huge Zeppelin fan, and we bonded quickly.  Just about music, mind you…

The bar was very relaxed, and kept playing good music – Hendrix, CCR, and so on.  Reminded me of Mac Bar in Hiroshima – a place to visit at around 2 a.m., when other bars let out.  Mac’s owner/operator has a wall full of CDs and he loves to take requests, even from gaijin…he played ‘Terrapin Station’ by the Grateful Dead for me during my last visit there and I think we were the only people there who knew that song.  I should make a promise to myself to take my brother-in-law Dave, the human iPod, on a worldwide music bar tour one day – consider the bar list under construction and the promise filed.

One rough moment that night – I still had Delhi Belly from my fruit blowout in Tashkent, and the bar had no t.p.  I grabbed a couple napkins from a table before making my deposit…but still had to resort to water and hand, something I hadn’t had to do since visiting a Tibetan monastery near Dharamsala in ’92.  Friend Jan and I were heading back up to McLeod Ganj, I was stricken, and had to make use of nearby river water for my hygiene.  Not as bad as it sounds, but I still prefer conventional means.

Friendly people in the bar – I bought a big bar of chocolate and shared it with everyone in there, and a local guy turned around and shouted me a drink in return.  A trade I’m happy to take anytime.  Life has been colorful lately…

Next day I did my serious sight-seeing tour.  Had breakfast at Antica (my guesthouse) with some Germans and French folks – Antica was full, despite this being the heart of summer and officially ‘low season.’  That made me think – Uzbekistan must get pretty stretched when it’s high season, there aren’t that many hotels, trains, restaurants, and you’d really need to be on top of bookings to get what you want.  I think coming right now, despite the heat, makes decent sense – perhaps two weeks earlier would be even better, because August is Euro holiday month and that probably trumps Uzbeki summer heat.  July might be a smart time to visit – not sure how the crowds are in ‘winter,’ when the weather is apparently superb.  Anyway, my point is that this place wouldn’t be much fun if you were bumping up against busloads of Japanese and Europeans…

Went to see the famed Registan, a set of three Muslim madrassahs started by Ulugbek, grandson of Tamerlane, and finished by later rulers.  Ulugbek’s madrasseh, finished around 1470 or so, is the first and still the best-preserved – the other two have required more upkeep and still don’t look as good.  You’ve doubtless seen pics of the Registan, it’s Central Asia’s calling card, but here it is anyway:

Paid a guard cop a few bucks and went up a minaret for a wider view:

Despite all the hype, the Registan holds up – I found it almost breath-taking.  These Muslim structures are hard to beat – the Registan, to me, is much more impressive than Notre Dame or any of the churches in Europe, for example.  I do have a taste for the exotic, sure…

I’m no architect, but it’s not hard to see similarities and relationships between Muslim buildings in Central Asia and those to the south, in and around Delhi.  The Jama Masjid (mosque) in Delhi looks a fair amount like the mosques here in Samarkand, including my next stop, Bibi Khanym mosque.  I’m sure one of the tour operators is running a package with stops in India and Central Asia to see the great Muslim mosques, madrassahs and forts – if not, they should get on that. 

In fact, Uzbekistan might be a good ‘testing ground’ for those interested in seeing India, but aren’t sure they can handle the heat/crowds/poverty/filth/chaos.  Uzbekistan also has brilliant sites – not as many as does India (nowhere does) – and a few of the downsides, including brittle infrastructure.  If you find Uzbekistan hard to take, don’t go to India.  But I am damning the former a bit here – Uzbekistan is actually pretty user-friendly for tourists – not particularly dirty, not crowded, very few touts/pushy vendors, etc.  So perhaps it’s not that great of a ‘screen’ for potential India tourists, after all…

Bibi Khanym mosque was impressive, as well.  Here it is:

Went across the street to the mausoleum of Bibi Khanym, who was a Chinese wife of Tamerlane’s.  Snuck into the basement/tomb area with the help of another tourist who had found a way in.  Didn’t stay for long – not much to see down there.

Wandered around Siob Bazaar for a while.  Bought some pastries for lunch – wasn’t that hungry, the heat was oppressive (probably nearly 50 Celsius in the direct sun, 40 or so in the shade) and that tends to stunt my appetite.  Which was good, given that I had lots more to see and do that day.  Stayed far away from the fruit – by now I had given up on immodium and grapefruit seed extract for self-medication, and had put myself on ciprofloxacin for a few days – that was starting to pay off.  Not something you want to do that often – I’ve met travelers who use that as first option, not last resort, and I think that’s crazy, you want to give your body a couple days to try to fight off the bacteria first, and if that doesn’t work, well alright, move on to meds.  I think this is the 2^nd time in two+ years of traveling that I’ve had to use antibiotics, and that’s not too bad.

Walked up to Hazrat Mosque, on a small hill just to the northeast of the city, en route to the ancient site of Afrosiab – ‘ancient Samarkand.’  They wanted 3800 sum to enter – about US$3.  Not that much, but the inflation here is sick – since my guidebook came out, perhaps 2 years ago, entrance fees have doubled/tripled, and I was already getting sick of dishing out relatively large amounts (by local standards, anyway).  I made to walk out of the mosque, they came down to 1500 and that was more like it.  Had a cup of tea and some bread with the caretaker…very friendly and curious.  Met a handyman there who asked me my name – I told him, and got his, Ibrahim.  Then we played the ‘Michael Jackson?  No, Michael Jordan’ game – thank god for those two other Michaels, otherwise I’d be doomed to utter obscurity.

Walked towards the Afrosiob area, where there are ongoing excavations (probably only in cooler temps – didn’t see anyone digging that day).  Randomly came upon a large Jewish cemetery, not mentioned in my book. 

The book did show, on the map, an ‘old Jewish quarter’, and in the Bukhara section had a bit on the Jewish population there…but I was still struck, minutes after hanging out in a mosque, by this place.  Of course, the fellow tending the place was a Muslim, we salam’ed each other (in a Jewish cemetery – I have a lot to answer for next Yom Kippur), then I spent a half-hour walking around, taking pics.  Won’t show any here – it’s probably poor taste to post photos of specific tombs (I don’t think I’d like it if some random blogger did that with my relatives), but I will say that the names and faces (often shown on the tombstone – common in the FSU) were fascinating and didn’t much resemble those you’d see in, say, Boston.  We Jews got around and adapated to local customs…and as I’ve written before, usually it worked out.  Muslims keep an eye on Jewish synagogues in places like Rangoon and Calcutta, there’s no rancor, and I find it sad that the Jews of Uzbekistan, India, and other lands are now mostly in Israel.  I prefer a world that’s shaken (or stirred), not straight up.

Got to the Afrosiob area, the first place to visit was the local museum, which was deserted.  No one came over to get the fee from me till I was almost out the door.  Decent exhibits, Afrosiob is thousands of years old and has 11 layers of civilization.  Which is 11 more than Detroit.  And there were some English captions, so I had a small clue about what I was looking at.

Next stop, more interesting:  the tomb of the Old Testament prophet Daniel.  Apparently Tamerlane raided Susa, Persia in the 14^th century and brought Dan’s body here – although the Susans still claim to have it too.  As I entered the complex, I met a few locals there – including an Uzbek who had lived in Forest Hills, Queens, and who was sporting a nice iPhone.  What would Daniel think of that?

I don’t recall specifically what Daniel said or did – something to do with lions, methinks.  Or maybe he turned Cheeze Whiz into pizza margherita, I don’t know.  His tomb is beside the River Siob, and is quite plain – just a few old markings.  What is unusual is that it’s incredibly long – they say his body, even in death, grows a couple centimeters a year, and they’ve made a coffin/tomb that’s the length of an entire rectangular room – here it is:

Who knew old Daniel was buried (apparently) in Samarkand?

Walked on in the heat.  My kerchief was soaked and I wrung it out a few times – for some reason, I found that very satisfying.  Got to my final Afrosiob stop, Ulugbek’s Observatory.  Ulugbek (who also built the first Registan madrassah, see above) was not a man for all seasons – he was bookish, worldly, and a scientist, in an era of tyrants and murderers.  He was eventually beheaded by his own son, who took over, but was soon bumped off too.  The Observatory was worth the visit – good little museum with details about Ulugbek, and the actual observatory itself, which features some sort of chute like you’d find in a mine – not sure how it worked, had something to do with water reflecting moonlight.  I guess Ulugbek was smarter than I am.

The Observatory’s manager was interested in talking to me, but as he couldn’t speak English he enlisted his cute assistant – who I was interested in talking to.  They don’t get many Americans out here, and he asked me about 50 questions before I succeeded in escaping. 

I walked back towards town, with just one more sight on my hit list:  Shah-i-Zindar, the Hall of Kings.  Is this starting to sound like Lord of the Rings?  Central Asia is sort of Middle Earth…

This place is a corridor with mausoleums on either side, the first was built for Mohammed’s cousin and companion, and others went up over the centuries.  Impressive place – although it’s apparently been over-restored by the government, an accusation also leveled against other sites around Uzbekistan.  In any case, it’s quite a sight.

Random thoughts and observations, after a long-day of sight-seeing:

-I still can’t believe the Celtics are NBA champs.  Pinch me twice.

-Read an Internet newsclip title:  ‘Cheech and Chong Reunite as Feud Goes Up in Smoke’.  Finally.

-Oxana at Café Blues looks a lot like my old friend Sheila O’Brien from NYC.  A Russian version of an Irish-American.

I took a long nap after running around all day in the heat.  When I told Aziza, the owner of Antica Guesthouse, what I’d done that day, she was amazed at the ground I’d covered.  Of course, the locals don’t do much of anything, to their credit – sit around drinking tea, playing chess or checkers, covering up if they must go out…

I mentioned to Aziza that I’m Jewish, and she told me a bit about the Jewish community in Samarkand, most of which is now gone.  There is a small synagogue remaining, which I didn’t get to.  But she knows well the old cemetery and some of the folks in there…

Aziza herself has some Jewish mannerisms and even her speech reminds me of some Jews I know.  Perhaps it’s more ‘old world’ than ‘Jewish,’ not sure, but she had Jewish grandmother written all over her.

Back to Café Blues that night.  The manager fellow is a huge Ritchie Blackmore addict and insisted on playing a video of Deep Purple in concert in 2004 or thereabouts…a bunch of geezers still cranking out ancient heavy metal hits.  Svetlana rescued me by putting up something else.  Deep Purple is OK, but I generally don’t feel like 2 hours of it…

Next day did my blog update (last week’s – I’m a few days behind).  Had lunch at a tourist trap chaikhana (tea house) across the street from the Registan.  It’s a trap because of the primo location, but the bill still came to only US$5.  Not painful.  And the national dishes are pretty good – plov (a rice pilaf dish), lagman (noodle soup), bread and Sarbast beer.  Sarbast is good stuff – perfect on hot days.  And the local breads are something – Frisbee-shaped, and unique to different regions.  Samarkand has fluffy Frisbee bread, Bukhara has flatter, but still puffy, bread, and Khiva/Khorezm has flattish bread that could probably take a bullet.  Uzbeks know and argue about these different breads all the time – me, I prefer the Bukhara stuff.

Posting the blog proved easy enough.  The first internet café I visited was heinously slow, but the second was solid and it didn’t take long.  No government firewall or blocked (English language) sites.  So I should be able to post more or less on time here, allowing for some torture with slow connections.

Had dinner that night at Antica, they prepared a feast that was much better than any of the restaurants I’d visited.  The hit was peppers stuffed with rice and meat – the peppers were juicy and plump, and the rice and meat were the perfect counterpoint.  They do have great fruits and vegetables in this country…

Didn’t feel like going out that night – writing the blog and eating so much at dinner made me groggy, so kicked back and worked my recent Lord of the Rings skein by watching ‘The Two Towers’ DVD.  I carry around, with my other DVDs, all 3 of the LOTR discs, but haven’t watched them in memory.  Thoroughly enjoyed the 3 hours of mayhem and adventure – and was pretty sure a former client of mine is closely related to Grima Wormtongue, the facial and optical resemblance (really) is astounding (alright, Dick Cheney is not actually Wormtongue). 

Next morning, noticed that there were a couple Mongol Rally cars parked at Antica.  These guys set off from London, heading to Ulaan Bataar, where I’d seen a bunch of their cars at Dave’s Pub, the unofficial meeting place for the drivers.  They choose their own overland routes, and some/many go through Uzbekistan.  These guys were Italians, and had been going for 2 or so weeks.  Pretty cool.  Might ask old buddy Bryan, who knows engines, if he’d be interested in doing this rally sometime…

Went out to see a more few sights.  Walked by the main intersection in town – huge crowd was gathered on the sidewalk.  They were looking at a car that had been in an accident and was now resting on its side – not sure I’ve ever seen a car in that position, it reminded me of a Japanese ship in the waters off Coron that had gone down in the war:

They do have some spectacular accidents out here, people drive like maniacs.  I’ll never complain about Boston drivers again…

Went on to the State History Museum – great collection of ‘Samarkand, Then and Now’ photos.  I love those types of exhibits, it’s fascinating to see what a place looked like – especially the ordinary buildings and street scenes – 100 years ago.  The rest of the exhibits were OK – national costumes, art, etc.

Walked around the Old Jewish Quarter for a while – not many Jews there these days, but the place feels timeless and the street scenes are classic:

Didn’t last that long – it was again incredibly hot, probably 50 in the sun.  Checked emails at ‘Batman Internet Café,’ saw this headline:  ‘Canada Bus Passenger Beheads Seatmate.’  I always knew Canada wasn’t as benign as its rep…do you think it’s because they aren’t allowed to carry their own firearms???

Went to Café Blues for lunch.  Thought they had wireless – noonan.  Anyway, the food was OK and a couple beers prepared for a long afternoon siesta.  Tried to buy a candybar en route to Antica, but the heat was such that no one was selling them – they would have melted.  But it’s funny – they have empty wrappers at the cash point, which threw me off.  I guess they keep them in a freezer somewhere?

Before I got to Antica, I was flagged down by a cabbie I’d met earlier that day.  He was standing in a lot, looking at the sun through a dark glass pane.  An eclipse had just started, and looking through this glass was a good way to catch it.  I’ve written in earlier posts that I’m essentially flying blind in the FSU – no English newspapers, not much TV access, so replying entirely on word of mouth and the web for news.  Had no idea that today was an eclipse – good thing I’d been friendly with this cabbie.

Napped, then went for a run around the small park near the guesthouse.  Quite surreal – as I rounded the near end of the park, I passed by Tamerlane’s mausoleum.  Did that three times and then the heat overwhelmed the novelty and I pulled up.  Good enough for one day.  Despite the everyday heat (I wait till sunset to run), I have gotten myself back on the exercise horse – running most days, and enough abdominal, yoga, and resistance cord work to notice a difference.  After I left Goa, in mid-February, I’d been in an exercise vacuum for a bunch of reasons, and it was starting to get me down…now I feel a bit better about myself and I mean to keep this up.

Called my father, we spoke for a minute or so, then got cut off.  We did manage to talk a bit about the Manny Ramirez (Red Sox) trade.  Men talking sports – what more is there to talk about?

Went to Café Blues one more time – I was taking off the next morning for Bukhara.  It was a bit dull, but Eduardo, the house piano player, did a couple sets and that was excellent.  He apparently used to tour with Oscar Peterson and plays like him, and he’s talented.  For me, he played ‘America the Beautiful’ with some flourish – that helped make it a good night despite the general mellowness of the bar.  Then I said good night and walked back towards Antica.  Checked out the 2 bars in the Afrosiyob Hotel – the only real late-night places to go.  Both were dead, even though it was a Friday night.  Oh well.  Saw the writing on the wall and went back to Antica to sleep.  I wasn’t unhappy about that.

Thought ahead to upcoming destination countries – Ukraine, Turkey, Syria, and Israel.  Not sure if I know anyone in those countries, besides in Israel, and even in that country my contacts are few and tenuous.  I need to sit down and think about any old contacts to revive – visiting a place is really so much better when you have someone to show you around.

Next morning I checked email before catching my train to Bukhara.  Got some blog comments from old friend Don, who shared a photo of Seattle and Mt. Olympia looming above it, in response to my request for shots of cities with mountains close by, a la Bishkek.  And Laurie, the wife of a fraternity brother, is a journalist and wrote that she’d once been to ‘the stans’ but only as part of a press entourage and they saw almost nothing…so she was fascinated by my adventures here.  More comments, people…

So off to Bukhara, another Silk Road city of yore.  Bukhara was a separate emirate back in the day, and after the Russian Revolution defied the Soviets, who wound up bombing the place and seizing it in 1920 (old friend M. Frunze was the Soviet general).  Bukhara, while still a sizeable city of perhaps 250,000, is much smaller than Samarkand and has a preserved old city that visitors had raved about.  I wanted to see it…and also to check out the Jewish ‘remnants’ there, once Bukhara was 5-7% Jewish and also had an old Jewish quarter and existing Jewish synagogues and schools.

Denis, the Antica manager, drove me to the station and walked me over to the train.  Turns out Denis is a real hound-dog and likes to chase the local girls around – I should have offered to buy him a few drinks while in Samarkand.  Next time.

Train was full, but not in the Indian sense.  The trip was under 3 hours, and I was met at the station by a driver from my guesthouse, Komil, in the old town.  A Japanese woman came along – she didn’t have a place to stay yet, so I offered to split the cab with her and she accepted.  More on this in a bit.

Bukhara seemed the hottest place yet – as I’d been warned.  Close competitors:  Singapore, Vietnam.  Hard to say which is the hottest, but they’re all up there.  Hard to do much when it’s so hot – in this weather I usually take a nap in late afternoon, then try to exercise.

Bukhara’s old town in crammed full of madrassahs, mosques, and other sights, and it quickly became apparent that very little would sink in if I attempted to see everything on my own.  I got a guide, who was listed in my book, and that was a good call on my part.  Noila was a middle-aged Uzbek woman (who also could have passed for Jewish, I swear) from Bukhara who had been guiding for many years and was friendly and helpful.  She showed me around all the key sites in about 4 hours, and showed me the top artisans in town (without heavy buying pressure – that would have been annoying), as well as sharing some funny local stories and showing me some odd local products – including a weird wooden baby pacifier and a small tubular device you attach to a baby boy’s penis that funnels urine into a bottle – I guess they don’t use diapers here?

Bukhara has loads of madrassahs and a few functioning mosques.  The Soviets, in their infinite humor, turned one into a bar in the 1920s or 30s.  I believe that same mosque, Maghoki-Attar, is the one that was built on top of a Zoroastrian site dating from the 5^th century, and was also (much later) used by Jews as a synagogue at night, after the Muslims had done their thing during the day.  Tolerance, baby…

We visited a small building housing a spring supposedly called forth by biblical Job, who struck that ground with his staff and raised the spring.  Uh huh…I think not even the locals believe that story.

The tour culminated in a walk around the old Ark, the citadel/palace of the local emirs which was bombed and 80% destroyed by the Soviets in 1920.  The views from the top, of the old city, are spectacular, check it out:

Noila works at the Ark, so we parted ways there.  Total cost for 4 hours of guided touring:  US$20.  Not bad – the same rate as quoted in my book, which was reassuring given the inflation attached to nearly every other rate in the country.  As I walked back to my guesthouse, I recalled a podcast about Bukhara I’d listened to back in the Phils a year or so ago.  It was part of a PBS series called ‘Where Do You Live?’ and featured phone interviews with locals around the world.  A Bukhara woman talked about her town, and it sounded so interesting that it solidified my desire to come here.  I wondered if Noila had been that interviewee – when I get to a place with wireless I plan to download that podcast again and check it out…

Went out that night to check out the town – while walking around the Soviet/new part of town, saw some lights on a side street and went over to see what they were.  I came upon Pelican Café/Bar, a good find with cheap, cold draft beer and good food.  Total tab for 2 beers and a beef stroganoff:  US$5.  Coolio.  Then went to look for a late-night entertainment option, Bukhara is a quiet, small city without a lot of that, but I’d heard that the Bukhara Palace Hotel had a basement disco that got going on weekends.  Went there – the disco was closed for renovations.  Ugh.  Was also told that Oscars, a smaller place, was closed.  Heard about ‘Asia Underground’ back in old town, walked there and went in.  OK place – the usual FSU deal with reserved tables.  Stood by the bar and sucked down a few Azia draft beers.  Watched the locals dance and shimmy.  Not a remarkable evening, not that I had expected Tashkent-style nightlife.  One thing I did find remarkable was the consumption of Coca-Cola around here – nearly every table in the club had a 2-liter bottle sitting there.  I’m keeping my Coke stock…and might build up positions in McD’s and the like, lots of room to expand in this part of the world.  If a McD’s or Pizza Hut opened in Tashkent, there would be riots, I’m sure…

Had lunch after the tour at Kochevnik, a restaurant that serves Korean, Japanese, and Russian food, and is co-owned by an ethnic Korean.  This woman was there when I entered, and I told her I wanted 1) a cold Sarbast, and 2) bibimbap.  I get on these ethnic food kicks and can’t let go.  We discussed the bibimbap – with an egg, spicy, with kimchi.  She went off.  I drank my wonderfully cold beer and ruminated.  The food came – and was disappointing, it was just fried rice with kimchi.  And the egg came later – the waitress brought strips of fried egg, not a raw egg that you crack onto the hot stone bowl (here, missing) and mix in with the other ingredients.  This was no bibimbap – still, I was starving so I wolfed it down, vowing not return.  And I didn’t.

It’s so hot in Bukhara that when you leave your room and turn off the aircon, the cleaning woman turns it back on.  Really.  Never seen that before.  Usually they try to eke out every spare watt they can, but not here, or at least not at my hotel, Komil, which was a terrific little place.  Bukhara has lots of guesthouse options and other places should take a look at the hotels here and learn from them…

Took a nap – went for a run.  Nice broad avenues in the new city, got in 4-5 km in the twilight, not too too hot.  As I was nearly finished, a girl got in my way and flagged me down…we couldn’t understand each other, but she seemed amazed that I was a) out running in the heat, or b) an Apollonian god in all my glory.  I would like to believe it was b), but probably not.  Haven’t had that happen to me before…didn’t mind at all.  Reminded me of being in Toledo with friend Ken many years ago, we were in a photo shop and two local woman marveled at my hirsute, tanned frame/face and it looked for a few minutes like we were all going back to our hotel together.  Life should be like that more often…

Went back to Pelican Bar that night.  The barman introduced himself as ‘Sobir’, sounded like ‘sober.’  Great name for a barman – although not as good as another called ‘Arturo Pollo’ in an unnamed Latin nation.  Also met Artur, who helps out there and speaks good English.  The young ‘uns here learn English in school, unlike their parents, so are easier to deal with. 

Got invited over to a table by a group of 4 local guys.  Went over and sat down.  Regular readers will recognize a pattern here, namely that you’re never really alone in the FSU…even if you want to be.  Shared a Pall Mall and a few beers with them, friendly guys who spoke a bit of English.  My Russian has gotten better so can speak a bit in that as well.  Seems they’ve never seen a Western tourist in this bar, only Russians manage to find it.  I’m pretty good about tracking down the good local places – and eveyr night I was in Bukhara I hung out at Pelican.

A word about Soviet toilet paper – it’s like the plumbing, it’s terrible.  The paper is some sort of recycled material which is rough and crepe-like, the rolls are huge and look like they’d last forever, but they go quickly.  I bring this up because by now I’d gotten over my Delhi Belly and was able to ease up on emergency bathroom visits…

Spent some time the next morning on the web.  Bought stock (ADRs) for the Russian telecom companies MTS and Vimpelcom – had gotten a tip in Metro Bar in Bishkek from a guy in the industry, and my own personal observations and investigations had led to me think highly of these outfits.  Spent some time on the Monitor Group alumni network tracking down ex-colleagues in Turkey and Israel – not much luck.  Next will try Darden and Tufts. 

Went to the local bathhouse (hammom) for a steam and massage.  Didn’t go for the shave – the shaving guy seemed unhappy, but I’d shaved that morning (a rarity) and also am a bit edgy about the razors they might use in a place like this.  Anyway, you have to say no sometimes, and this seemed the right time.

Spent some time in the ‘hot room,’ which indeed was hot but not as hot as the 10^th Street Baths in NYC.  Got a massage – the masseur (no females in hammom, they have their own) was brutally strong and nearly ripped my arms off.  I prefer the softer ministrations of Filipina masseuses…

At the end of the massage, the guy rubbed ginger into my skin, and put some on my hand.  He told me ‘put it on penis.’  I put some on (superficially – I didn’t rub it in for 10 minutes), and he told me that it would make it ‘strong tonight.’  Yeah, baby.  I wondered if he could help me track down someone to help in that regard, but didn’t ask – I don’t like getting myself in further than I can climb out.

Then went back into the hot room, where in the space of a minute my entire body was burning, obviously from the ginger.  I was thankful I hadn’t really rubbed the stuff into my groin, because I was in some pain and I now wondered how ‘strong’ I would really be tonight.  I lasted about 15 minutes in there, then went out and got hot and cold water dumped on me by the masseur – that alleviated the stinging.  I’m no dermatologist but I wonder how good ginger is for the skin…

Had another good run that evening, then back to Pelican.  The owner was there that night and found this American intriguing – she couldn’t speak English so she rang up her daughter who translated via mobile.  Had dinner there, a salad with ham and cucumbers, then a very solid ‘julian’ which was a bowl of chicken cubes, mushrooms, and cheese – nice with bread.  And I tried their homemade house wine which was a little sweet but quite good as well.  Pelican really turned out to be a brilliant place, truly local and high quality.  Their pizza was also great and if I lived in Bukhara this would be my hangout nearly every night…at least until the Bukhara Palace Hotel disco got reopened!

Chatted with Sobir, and watched ‘Fashion TV’ on cable.  We jointly ogled for a while…then a shoot from Cebu, Phils came on, I recognized some of the scenes and islands in there.  Not sure when I’ll next be in Cebu, perhaps en route to the States early next year.  I do miss the place, it tugs at my heart for some strange reason…

Went to the toilet.  While relieving myself I looked around at the wall tiles – they were covered in graffiti, seemed strangely similar, and were entirely in English – turned out they weren’t random graffiti but were mass-produced products.  Weird – not sure I’ve seen that before, have you?

The weather seemed to be moderating, not quite as hot as it had been.  The evenings and nights were actually nearly perfect, about 20 Celsius and with a nice breeze.  More and more I thought that this was the right time to come to Uzbekistan.  Then I spotted a large Japanese tour group arriving and began to feel it was already too late…these tour groups are my enemies, I realize why they exist and what the benefits are, but for an indie traveler like me I fear and detest them.  I don’t have actual proof of getting screwed by any tours – only once, in Novgorod, did a large tour group in front of me keep me from getting into a bistro, and anyway that wasn’t my top choice – but whenever I try to book a hotel and it’s sold out, I blame large tour groups.  Always convenient to have a scapegoat – after all, it can’t be my lame planning, can it?

While in Bukhara, I watched the other 2 parts of the Lord of the Rings, and reveled in those near-perfect films.  I seem to be on a huge Tolkien/Middle Earth kick here…I might even venture to check out the ‘special scenes’ on the discs, something I never bother to do…

I was taking a shower one morning when I heard something at my door.  The Japanese girl was knocking – insistently.  I finally toweled off and opened the door.  She said the hotel wanted to charge us US$20 for the cab we’d shared a few days earlier…that sounded about twice as high as I’d thought.  I got the manager over – no, the cab was only $5 apiece, as I’d expected.   The Japanese girl’s English wasn’t good – and she was also a bit hysterical and anxious in general.  I was happy I hadn’t bothered to see if she wanted to get dinner or drinks beforehand, I’d considered it but I didn’t really take to her and now I understood why.

Noticed on a map of Uzbekistan that there’s a town called Bustan, which, when written phonetically in Uzbeki, is spelled Bo’ston.  Random.

Read on the web that Morgan Freeman was badly hurt in a car crash in Mississippi.  Shitty news.  Morgan’s one of my favorite actors and I hope he pulls out of it.  What have you heard?

Spent my last day in Bukhara checking out the 3 major sites just outside town – a major Sufi Islam mosque/mausoleum, the emir’s former summer palace, and a mausoleum, Chor Bakr, for imams/etc.  All nice, the palace was super-kitschy in a funny sense.  Nothing spectacular, but worth seeing.  Afterward, had the driver take me to a shashlik place recommended by some French folks I’d met at Antica in Samarkand.  They told me this place had the best beef and lamb, and the atmosphere was the real deal.

Found a table – the place was pretty full.  Ordered a beer, some beef skewers, bread and salad.  By ‘salad’ I mean a tomato salad, just tomatos and onions – delicious, particularly (really) with a bit of salt and a lot of pepper.  They even use a bit of salt on their fruit here – defeats the notion of healthy living, I suppose, but they do consume their RDA of fruit (esp. watermelon) and a bit of salt is probably OK.  I finished up, belched, and was nearly ready to go.  Then 3 locals came in, and as my table was nearly empty they joined me – standard operating practice here.  No problem, I was almost done.

They spoke almost zero English, we tried a bit of Russian, traded some information.  Friendly guys, two middle-aged and one around 20 or so.  They ordered lagman, bread, beers, and shashliks.  I asked for my bill – wanted to get back to town and chill.  One of the guys, Aslan, motioned for me to sit and relax – I complied.  From our halting conversation I found out that his friend were named Gustan (or maybe Guslan) and ‘George,’ not his real name but we’d been talking politics and this fellow was having some fun. 

I asked him if he was George Bush or George Washington – he said Washington.  I had to laugh, his friends did too – I guess they know our first Pres. even out here.  You can’t always be sure, by the way – don’t assume too much.

At the next table were a bunch of militsiya – cops and other uniformed/camoflauge-wearing personnel.  I glanced back a couple times but ‘George’ reassured me that they were off-duty and no problem.  I showed them my passport and they loved it – we spent 20 minutes going over my visas.  Meanwhile, ‘George’ had ordered a bottle of vodka and it came – Aslan poured us shots (the youngest guy was evidently driving so didn’t drink – admirable – I guess they do care about this sort of thing here, which is heartening).  We wound up drinking the entire bottle (cost:  US$2).  A absolutely classic afternoon – far more interesting/educational/enjoyable than checking out the 3 historic sights, by far.  Every few minutes someone would pour a shot and toast ‘George Washington,’ and we’d drink.  Our ‘George Washington’ didn’t look much like the real one – he had short, salt and pepper hair, a very Central Asian face, and a hefty build.  Should have taken a photo, but it slipped my mind – anyway, sometimes it’s better to be a subtle tourist and not too clumsy about it. 

Finally, we paid (I only took care of my own bill – they wouldn’t let me chip in for the vodka) and we headed outside.  Turned out they knew my driver – small town – and they laughed for a while.  My driver’s car wouldn’t start – he tinkered with it, then we just jump-started with it and headed back to Komil guesthouse.  A funny, funny, funny afternoon.

Went to the nearby Jewish Community Centre/synagogue – a couple local (Muslim, natch) ladies were sweeping the floors, one went and got a Jewish guy to come and show me around.  Small synagogue, but nice enough – there are about 400 Jews left in town, and there’s a second synagogue not far away.  I took a few photos, stuffed some sum in the donations box, and felt I’d done my duty as a good Jewish boy.

Walked to the old Zindon (prison) where a couple British officers had been imprisoned, then executed.  The place was locked, oh well.  Walked back to the guesthouse, it was again very hot.  An Uzbek girl selling ice cream waved…we talked and flirted…then I walked on.

Napped…exercised…walked over to Bella Italia for something different.  It had been closed the previous day, so I had been storing up my yearning for Italian food.  But all the tables were reserved – the place was half-empty, it was nearly 9 p.m. on a Tuesday night, but they said people were coming and they had no room.  I suppose they weren’t lying, but it was odd.  I again wondered how tourists would get on in ‘high season,’ and I left to go to Pelican, where I was pretty sure I’d get a warm welcome at the very least.

Had a few ice-cold beers at Pelican, and some good Russian food.  Observations arising from this and recent repasts:

-I love the taste of freezing cold beer.  Wine is great and I like the occasional spirit (Maker’s Mark), but if it’s at all hot outside I need a cold beer or three to cool off.  And given the FSU’s technical shortcomings, it’s not always easy to get very cold stuff – Pelican and a few other places seem to have cracked the refrigeration code.  Bless ‘em!

-In this age of calorie-counting and ‘food substitutes,’ I’m an outlier.  I like real butter…real cream/milk…good bread.  I really enjoy my food and thus I’ll always need to be good about exercising to work off the feasts I enjoy most nights.

Another, random observation – given how I travel and what I like to do while traveling, it’s nearly impossible to get a lot of (non-blog) writing done.  When I set off on this long journey (do I sound like Frodo?  I hope so), I hoped/expected to devote an hour or two each day to working on my book idea…but I really haven’t stuck to that and seem too busy (and lazy) to sort it out.  Travel planning, for one thing, is a demanding task and I notice that when I get lazy about doing it, I don’t see nearly as much, I stay in crappier places, etc.  Writing the blog every week is quite demanding…but I want to have at least one touchstone every week or so – many times I’ve felt like blowing it off, but know that if my backlog of notes gets too long, I’ll further procrastinate…so I stick to my blog-writing sked.  But the book may have to wait – probably until I’m done with serious travels and sight-seeing, and in a place where there aren’t many demands on my time.  I had thought Goa would be that place, but even while there for a few months, I seemed busy – with arranging my Vietnam trip, etc.  One thing’s for sure – my ability to construct excuses hasn’t dimmed…

Final night in Bukhara.  Went to Pelican, naturally.  No Sobir tonight, asked Artur to tell him goodbye.  I felt like a minor celebrity in there, by now I knew the entire waitstaff and some customers and I liked the vibe immensely.  Running into places like this is one of the treasures of traveling.

Watched ‘The Darjeeling Limited’ movie on disc that night.  What a stinker.  I’d hoped that a movie featuring Owen Wilson, with an Indian backdrop, would be a winner, but it was awful – bad theme, no plot, bad acting, impossible to fathom scenes of India.  Hugely disappointing.  I know that following the LOTR is a tough act, but this was shockingly bad.

Wednesday I traveled from Bukhara to Khiva, via Urgench, in a shared taxi.  Looked at my Treo – noticed it was August 6, the anniversary of the Hiroshima bombings.  Sobering to realize that.

Will write about my time in Khiva and other stops in my next posting.  This entry feels about finished, and I need to do a few things before watching tonight’s Beijing Olympics opening ceremony.  I hope I can find it on the guesthouse’s satellite TV, there seem to be 1000 channels.  Last night, inspired by the Olympics, I went for a run outside the city’s walls – Khiva’s old town,Ichon-Qala, is surrounded by an imposing wall, it’s pretty impressive.  Listened on my iPod Shuffle to Todd Rundgren, and to ‘Old Days’ by Chicago.  Running around this 3,000-year-old city, once a major caravan stop and slave trading center, listening to ‘Old Days’ – that felt a propos.  Consider my Olympic training underway – London 2012, look out.  And over and out, at that.

My final hours in Osh the Great were fairly calm. I exchanged some US$ for Uzbeki sum, one of the world’s most ridiculous currencies. The largest bill is worth about US$0.70, so if you hand over a Ben Franklin you get a stack of bills held together by an elastic. Imagined walking around with my pockets bulging in Tashkent, and vowed to figure out a way to look inconspicuous. One pro: no issues with making change from large bills…

I caught up on emails, and installed some Windows Vista updates, which seem to be coming a little too frequently for me. And as I’ve written before, I’m never quite sure what all these updates actually do – some are security fixes, others who knows. The only benefit is that sometimes I see a huge chunk of my hard drive freed up – are some of these updates cleaning up and rationalizing Vista’s use of my hard drive?

Had my final meal in Kyrgyzstan at the ‘Rich Men Café’ on the outskirts of town. This is the sort of place that the world needs more of – attractive waitresses, good sound system, and top-notch food and drink. I had a plate of eggs with red caviar (black was out of stock), delicious and for under US$2. Beers were cold and cheap. Had some perch, then some chicken with garlic and cheese sauce – terrific. And late at night, after downing some vodka, one couple got up and slowed danced…kitschy but I loved it. I felt like asking my waitress for a dance but this was the Fergana Valley and I might have been shot for my impertinence…

So Osh the Great was a decent enough place for a couple nights. Some aspects were pretty weak, if a bit cute – dial-up Internet (remember your old U.S. Robotics 56k modem?), lack of water/brownish water, power cuts when it rained, difficulty in making international phone calls (they use IP/Internet phone mostly here, even in the central telephone office – doesn’t always work that well). So that’s my excuse for not phoning home…

All that said, as you may recall I was here in large part to cross the nearby frontier, at the town of Dostuk, and enter Uzbekistan. Now I was ready to make that move, long-awaited and not without tribulation.

Before going to bed that night, I managed to catch Obama’s Germany speech on CNNi. Felt like watching history being made, and it provided quite a contrast to the current political realities (imagine Bush giving a speech in Europe – hah). To me, Obama helped make himself appear more statesmanlike and presidential…but I also feared how it would play at home to the hillbillies who would be easily persuaded that Obama was an internationalist and not someone in tune with ordinary Americans.

Got up early on Friday and got ready to head to the border. I was slightly anxious about this border crossing, as you can probably detect from my writing. I was concerned because:
-the Uzbeki government doesn’t like the U.S. government – we denounced the Uzbeki government’s Andijon brutality in 2005 and they kicked us out of the country (we had an airbase and some NGOs)
-it was a Friday, and if I couldn’t get across, I’d have to wait till Monday – at least I was fairly certain it wasn’t a holiday of any sort
-I had neglected to create my usual bogus air ticket ‘proving’ future departure from Uzbekistan, so if the border guards asked me for this, I’d be lacking. I did look up flight information to Kiev and scrawl the info on a piece of paper, just to have something to show
-getting from the border to Tashkent might not be that straightforward

Why was I so keen to go to Uzbekistan, anyway? When I was a kid I read a lot about the ancient Silk Road and the cities along the way – cities like Kashgar, Samarkand, and Bukara – and about the exploits of Tamerlane, whose capital was Samarkand. When the FSU imploded in 1991, Uzbekistan got the lion’s share of these historical treasures and I’d always wanted to see ‘em. And when I was working at Monitor, I had a colleague named Anna who was a Jew from Tashkent – she told me some colorful stories of the place. But she also cautioned me about/against visiting – I thought about going there around 2000, but she told me I would ‘definitely get robbed.’ That didn’t sound like fun, and I was also short on time, so I put it off. Now things had changed, and I’d not heard any issues about violence, etc. – at least nothing like I’d heard from bloggers about Bishkek!

Took a cab to the border, about 10 km from Osh. Just before the border, I exchanged my remaining Kyrgyz som for Uzbeki sum – and got a fat pile of notes. A fellow hanging around offered me a (shared) taxi ride all the way to Tashkent. Sounded too good to be true…and I don’t take first offers anyway. I said no thanks and took care of the money exchange. He kept hanging around…I pondered my options, which were to get in a shared taxi or marshrutka on the Uzbeki side, ride to infamous Andijon, and then change to another taxi or marshrutka to Tashkent. Likely total cost: about US$15-20. Like torture factor, given the heat, security, etc.: 8 on a 1-10 scale.

I hung around too, waiting for the border to open at 9 a.m. I felt about as well-prepared as I did when I crossed over from Laos into Vietnam – unsure of the administrative procedures, need for bribes, transport on the other side, etc. I wasn’t super-anxious, as this was a major border, unlike Nam Xeo in Laos/Vietnam, but it promised to be a long day.

I watched the taxi guy load someone’s suitcase into the trunk of his taxi. Perhaps this guy was for real. He asked me again if I wanted to go with him…I asked the price…he said 25,000 Uzbeki sum, which was a bit under US$20. I asked him a few more questions, I asked the randoms hanging around if he was a good guy, they said yes, so I gave in. I felt like I’d done enough thinking and due diligence, and if this guy could reduce the hassles of getting to Tashkent (at such a good price) I had no good reason, other than my usual suspicion, to say no.

The guy was Uzbek, and named Jasu. Reminded me of crazy taxi driver Wasu in Goa…I hoped Jasu wasn’t quite as insane or it would be a long drive. He found more passengers – two Russians and a Chinese Uighur from Xinjiang named something like Heyerla who was living in Tashkent. Good mix of peoples…5 total in the car now, which was the limit. I told Jasu I wanted the front seat, and got it – so no replay of the Bishkek-Osh shared taxi hell that I’d experienced a few days earlier. US$20 to go all the way to Tashkent, sitting in comfort – it really did seem too good to be true. Do you readers sense any foreshadowing here?

I put my pack in the trunk, and at 9 a.m. got in the line at the frontier. A guard outside the building checked my passport, and was surprised to see someone from ‘C-sha,’ ‘U.S.A.’ in Russian. One thing I like around here: everyone shakes your hand and says ‘Salam,’ guards and cops included. A bit of intro and pleasantry before getting down to biznis – I’ve always got time for that. Went inside and there things got hairy.

Meanwhile, Jasu and his car were also crossing, and out of view. I was a bit concerned about him taking off with my stuff – hence I’d recorded his license plate info on my Treo, just in case. I jockeyed for position in a crowd of about 30 locals who clearly were more skilled at this than I was. Where was the concierge???

I finally got to the front rank in the line – the queue was crazy and there was no clear front-runner. I handed over my fat blue passport…the guard eventually deigned to take it…he spent what seemed like eternity reviewing it. Then he got up and left the office, and was replaced by another fellow. My passport was shunted aside on the desk. I sweated.

Jasu showed up and took stock. He proved very helpful – he got the new official to pick up my passport and carry on…a notebook was produced and my data recorded therein – I think it was a special notebook for American troublemakers, none of the locals got in that book. Next thing I knew Jasu had my stamped passport and I had to move to the Customs area, where Jasu got me the required two forms, in English, which I filled out and got stamped. Then we were through, and Jasu directed me to his waiting car a ways off, while he helped the Chinese guy get through.

The process took a good hour, and if I didn’t have Jasu (who the guards obviously knew and trusted) I might still be there. I was thankful I had signed up with him on the other side of the border.

We started up and drove. Five or six hours to Tashkent, not too bad. Went through endless cotton fields – Uzbekistan is the #2 producer in the world, helped in large part by the water from the Aral Sea, which is now a shadow of its former self. Faces looked very different – Uzbekis are Turkic people, and they have different eyes, faces, and body types than the Kyrgyz. It was hot now – this country is flat, unlike Kyrgyzstan, and the sun bakes it in summer.

I soon found Uzbekistan to be a green country in more ways than one. The country’s police and security forces are everywhere – this is a police state. The cops wear a dark green uniform, hence the ‘green country.’ We were stopped at every checkpoint and motioned to the side of the road, Jasu had to take and show our passports and his docs. We always got through, but it was weird and aggravating – even after clearing the border, I felt like I was constantly getting vetted inside the country. I’ve never had that feeling before, not in Burma or in Russia.

The towns we drove through (including Andijon) were colorful – huge watermelons for sale everywhere, men in kafta (skullcaps). Jasu was playing local music on the radio – chanting and humming. We periodically had to stop and show our documents, but otherwise made good time. Jasu drove like a maniac, but there wasn’t that much traffic and I was cool with things. At one point we stopped and Jasu put on his kafta and went into a small mosque to pray. I just took a leak and got some water.

In the Uzbek language, Uzbekistan is written like this: O’zbekiston. Looks a bit Irish. The Uzbekis are slowly shifting from Cyrillic to Latin, so you see signs in both alphabets here.

We got into Tashkent around 4 p.m., with a one hour time diff (earlier). Jasu was turning around that same night and driving back to Osh. Fun. We dropped off Heyerla and then headed for my hotel. It quickly became clear that Jasu didn’t know where it was – I had a map and showed him. But that didn’t help much – we had to stop and check the map numerous times and I started getting pissed off. Finally, at my urging, we asked a traffic cop (who probably would have fined Jasu if I wasn’t in the car) and we got pointed in the right direction. So often it’s like this – a relatively smooth journey, but at the end an exclamation point of exasperation. Is this what telecoms people mean when they say ‘the last mile?’

Checked into the Hotel Orzu, which a Spaniard in Bishkek had recommended to me. Comfortable room, with aircon, shower and TV. Unpacked and switched on the TV – Lord of the Rings (Part 1 – The Fellowship of the Ring) was playing. In Russian, but I know the book and movie so well I could have provided the dialogue. I’m not a TV freak, but I sat there and watched for the last hour. I wanted to check out Tashkent and do a few things, but Tolkien trumps all…

Tashkent seemed a pleasant city upon walking around for a couple hours. Wide boulevards, not crowded, clean enough. Then again, I’ve spent a lot of time in India so perhaps nearly anything appears clean and peaceful to me. The city is ancient, and was a major stop on the Silk Road. But a huge earthquake leveled the city in 1966, and the rebuilding effort was a major effort, and propaganda initiative, for the USSR. There’s still a bit of old city to the northeast, around Chorsu Bazaar, but much of the city is new and modern.

I got a local SIM card, and didn’t even need to provide my passport. Made photocopies of my guidebook map (it was across two pages in the book so tearing out the pages would have been messy) and my passport/visa – now the underlying nature of Tashkent, anticipated by me, became more clear. The passport copy got stuck in the photocopy machine, so it took two tries and I had to insist on being given the first, bad copy – I dislike the idea of my passport information sitting in the trashcan. Then the power went out, and/or the machine blew – and I had to hunt down another place to do the map copy.

Sent some texts to overseas friends. Harsh rang me up from Bangalore – he’s in the midst of a major life change, his wife is pregnant, they’re moving to Boston, and he’s likely to change jobs. Wow. Ken gave me a call too – he was meeting with the head strategist for Russian mobile giant MTS – I had asked Ken what he thought about investing in MTS, as it seems poised for serious growth in the CIS (Commonwealth of Independent States).

Went for a beer at Ye Olde Chelsea Arms, a pleasant woody place. They quote prices in Euros so that got a bit ridiculous. Later that night I went out to the Broadway area, and hit some bars there – FM Bar and another (Akhmatman?). Pretty good fun. Eventually checked out the other well-known venues in town – Sky Bar, SMI, and Diplomat-S. The latter was rocking – quiet outside, but inside the dance floor was mobbed. I chatted with a guy from Cameroon who told me not to piss off the security in the bar, as they wouldn’t hesitate to break heads. Good advice. Between these bars I generally used ‘local taxis,’ i.e. regular cars that stop for you when you have your hand out…then you negotiate a price. Decent system, although I still prefer regular taxis with meters, which you just don’t find in these countries.

Next day I did some sight-seeing. Took the Tashkent Metro to Chorsu Bazaar, to the north of the city. The metro is not to the scale of Moscow, for instance, but is useful and clean. Very sleepy – more than enough personnel in there, so you get personal service. I had attendants coming up to me and asking me if I needed help – you won’t get that in many places!

Found the Chorsu Bazaar stop easily enough and got off. And quickly found myself in the midst of perhaps the most extensive and coolest bazaar I’ve ever seen. I’ve yet to visit Damascus and other Middle Eastern hotspots so will reserve judgement till then, but will say that Chorsu was well worth the visit. Sure, there are the usual crappy clothing booths and knickknack kiosks, but the fresh fruit and food aisles were unbelievable, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such good-looking fruit anywhere, in such amounts. It was like looking at a monster still life picture from one of the Old Masters. And while wandering around the place, I thought about my diet, which I think is generally a bit light in the fruit department. I get enough vegetables, but for whatever reason I tend towards meat, dairy and breads, must be in the DNA, my father is like that as well. One issue with fruit is cleanliness – you need to be careful with nearly everything except bananas and mangos. So that’s my excuse, take it or leave it.

I decided on the spot to make a life-change and embrace fresh fruit. I bought a couple peaches and washed them off with my bottled water. They were delicious. Bought a handful of pickles, also excellent. Got some pears, some grapes – finished those off too. Probably hadn’t eaten so much it since sitting shiva for my mother, so many people brought fruit baskets that I ate fruit nonstop for days – and had diarrhea as a result. I wondered if history would repeat itself…but I couldn’t stop eating this incredible fruit, with the juices covering my face and hands it was an almost auto-erotic experience…9 1/2 Weeks in Tashkent???

Chorsu, besides its offerings, was also well-organized and seemingly pretty clean, and great for people-watching. An Uzbek version of Boston’s Fanueil Hall?

One issue I have with many bazaars is that they’re chaotic, and often filthy – wandering around gets old after a few minutes. But here I spent at least three hours, and wasn’t annoyed or put off at all. Maybe I need to revisit my mindset regarding these markets…

As I wrote earlier in this post, Uzbekistan is a flat, fertile place, unlike Kyrgyzstan, and the locals aren’t nomads, they grow things. And Chorsu is where a lot of it ends up, evidently. Really very impressive.

After filling my belly, and walking right by the kebab vendors (my usual stop in most markets), I found a place to get a haircut. This might be another adventure in living. The guy didn’t speak English but I managed to tell him my origins and that I came from New York, which seemed to impress him. Not many Americans in Uzbekistan – that won’t be news to you. So the barber went right to work on me, and gave me his ‘A-game’ – he cut every stray hair on my head and neck and gave me the best haircut I’ve had outside Japan. I tipped him well (but not too well – I don’t want to upset the nature of things).

Left the bazaar, finally, and headed to the History Museum. Got in…and immediately felt momentous churnings in my lower intestines. Wonderful. Asked about the toilet, was directed there – no paper, and I hadn’t brought any. Wonderful. The revenge of the fruit was showing up more quickly than I had imagined possible. I didn’t feel like I was ready for the emergency hand-water procedure, so decided to put off toilet use until absolutely necessary. Which was soon enough – I was on the 2nd floor of the museum, reading about national hero Amir Timur (Tamerlane to you and I) when a moment of truth arrived. I managed to get out of the museum in record time – the matrons were surprised that I blew off the 3rd floor, where the teachings of the deeply esteemed First President of Uzbekistan Islam Karimov are enshrined – but I indicated gastric distress and they understood.

I didn’t get out of Hotel Orzu for hours. I wasn’t gravely ill, I just had a disagreement with the bazaar fruit and was paying the price. Wasn’t sure if I hadn’t adequately washed the fruit – that might have been the issue. Or it might have been a different hygienic issue, or even just my body protesting at the introduction of so much fruit, a relatively unknown category. In any event, this reinforced my general aversion to eating fresh fruit, unfortunately. Cooked vegetables and a few select fruits are evidently the way I need to go…

Felt better that afternoon and went out exploring. I took a couple Immodium to help prevent further surprises.

My guidebook calls Tashkent ‘gritty’ but I disagree, at least with regard to the city proper. I’m sure the outskirts are like that in Russia, endless apartment blocks and desertia. But the city center is livable and not bad-looking, and it’s groomed a hell of a lot more than, say, Bishkek is. It is hot as hell this time of year, but that helps keep the weaker tourists away and that’s a reasonable cost-benefit for me.

Had a late lunch at a Korean place. Lots of Koreans living here, for some reason. Had a great dish of bibimbap…and wondered why I had so rarely been eating Korean food. Probably because Korean restaurants aren’t great for solo travelers, they’re often set up with the barbecue cooker at the table and eating Korean is a fairly social event. But bibimbap doesn’t require such elaborate measures and I should really be checking out Korean joints more often…

Went back to the hotel, still feeling a bit weak. Over the ensuing few days I’d have to pay attention to my GI tract, but eventually recovered. Learned a couple lessons from the experience, namely that my system isn’t bulletproof despite all the travels, and to avoid (or at the very least extensively wash) fresh fruits.

It was now Saturday night. Went back to the Chelsea pub, it was pretty dead so just had a couple pricey Carlsbergs there, shared weird photos on cameraphones with the bartenders (I had a stoned Mona Lisa, a bartender had a video showing a black guy stretching his mouth like a comicbook scene) and got some laughs, and moved on.

Exchanged texts with Radik in Bishkek, he was going to the disco with his sister and a couple foreigners. He wrote that I was popular and greatly missed at Radison in Bishkek – that warmed my curmudgeonly old heart.

Walked to disco Club 25, which was supposedly one of the best in town. Bought a ticket (10,000 sum – not that cheap) and peeked inside. It was only 10 p.m., still pretty dead. Walked across the street to a cellar place called Bierhaus, which I’d walked by earlier. This place proved a little gem – I got a seat at the bar and was served by a cute waitress who spoke some English and recommended the unfiltered beer and some cheese and chicken snacks, and had no attitude, unlike the haughty Club 25.

Spent a couple hours there – the waitress was good fun, and the beer production manager showed up and sat next to me. He spoke little English, so the waitress translated – he turned out to be a Tartar, the first one I’ve met. He had just been in Turkmenistan, where he said (I am skeptical, mind you) that you can buy 40 liters of petrol for US$1. True or not, his beer was terrific – I had 5 before stumbling back to Club 25. Promised myself I’d show up again at Bierhaus – they also have wifi, a good drawing point for me.

Went in. Fairly crowded now, loud music and extensive strobes. Went to the bar to get a drink – stood there for a while. Was starting to wonder if I’m getting too old for bigbox discos – like Chris Rock says, you don’t want to be the old guy in the club. I didn’t seem to be much older than other people, so wasn’t self-conscious – it was more a matter of having fun or not. Waiting for drinks: not fun.

While waiting I made eye contact with a woman lucky enough to have a seat there at the bar. I asked her what she was drinking. She said ‘Orgasm.’ I said that I’ve had those before, or something similarly clever. She said ‘I like the name’ and smiled. Suddenly waiting for a drink didn’t seem so bad.

Eventually got served – got a vodka tonic. Went over by the dance floor and attempted to blend in. The music was actually very good and soon I felt in the mood. This was fun. Every now and then I glanced over to the woman at the bar, who seemed popular – surrounded by 3-4 local men. I thought about asking her to dance, but didn’t want to get mixed up in anything – there’s apparently a mafia/jeunesse doree presence here and they can badly screw up your holiday.

After a while the woman came over to the dance floor, and stood next to me. We chatted for a while, I was about to ask her to dance but she beat me to it. Didn’t bother me one bit. And pretty soon we were very into the beat – in a Greco-Roman clinch and doing a bit of grinding to the latest Russian pop hits. This was unexpected…and fun. If the mafia were going to get me tonight, I was going out in style…

After a half hour of so her friend came over – she wanted to go. But I got Katrina’s phone number, and promised to ring her the next day. I quite liked her – at least from a lens of drunken mayhem – and wanted to see more.

Slept well that night. The next morning, I asked to change rooms – I was in a room with twin beds, and wanted a king – both for comfort and in case I got lucky. Tempting the fates? Perhaps…

Went to the vokzal (train station), where I bought a ticket to Samarkand. The station is newish and beautiful – and nearly empty, unlike those in India, China, Russia, etc. Had to register with OVIR (Office of Visas and Passports) to be able to buy a ticket there. Whatever, it didn’t bother me. I sat in the OVIR office while a green man took out a notebook, opened to a fresh page, took out a ruler and pen, and ruled lines on the page. It was like being in 3rd grade again. Finally he finished and let me go. I got the ticket – for US$9 – and left.

In the metro, I was stopped by a greenie. The guidebook warns that this is inevitable if you use the metro, so have your papers in order. I did – and handed them over. The guy was so amused by my passport and its contents that I nearly missed the train – these cops/agents are like little boys, but with guns. Anyway, despite their omnipresence they’re far less intimidating than in Russia.

Uzbekistan is the ‘stan country’ that has probably been the most nationalistic – replacing scripts, kicking Russians out, and changing names of streets etc. No Lenin statues here, no Sovietskaya streets. There are still plenty of Russians here – perhaps 10% of the population – probably those with real skills, long family backgrounds, etc. And Uzbekistan has, like nearly all countries, invented and embellished its ‘heros’ – Tamerlane is an obvious one, he was a major world figure and conqueror, sure, but I’m not too sure he’s in a league with Chinggis Khan and Alexander. Anyway, he’s the man here in Uzbekistan so you better not forget it.

Went to Mustaqillik Maydoni, the newish center of town where there’s a brand new Senate building where the usual rubber-stamping takes place, and various buildings and monuments. The WW2 monument, the Crying Mother, commemorates the 400,000 Uzbeks who died in that war. All the names are listed on moving plaques and it’s quite something.

Had lunch at the brilliant Tre Bochki, Three Barrels, which sits along a canal and has a German beer recipe from 1514, supposedly unchanged. I had a couple half-liter unfiltered beers, and three plates of various snacks – delicious, and total damage US$10. I think a place like this would be huge in the States, the snacks alone (herring on bread, pickle & cheese plate, beet salad) are so much better and less arterty-clogging than the potato skins/nachos/fried mozzarella stick crap you find in the homeland…

Some advice from this fine establishment:

Like I’ve mentioned, I saw cops everywhere. Slightly annoying/heavy presence. Once I had to stop myself from toying with one of them – I wanted to gawk at him, then run away as fast as I could and see what happened. That would have been gravely unwise, and I didn’t follow through – but in a parallel universe I did and I’m still in prison there. It is true that I have an authority problem – as an adult (now, finally), I detest being told what to do by others, and dislike being monitored by stupid, insolent public employees. So there.

Went back to Bierhaus, where I got onto their wireless network and did a few computer thingies. Had a couple more beers there – rendering myself unable to go and do the Tashkent Hash House Harriers event later that day. Anyway, it sounded relatively lame for a Hash – mostly walkers, mostly families, and the cost only 1,000 sum – for sodas and transport. Very unHashlike. I stayed away – probably a good idea considering the 37 degree heat.

Had dinner at Turkish joint Efendi that night – excellent kebab plates, for a song. Listened to a few new podcasts while waiting for my food. Called Katrina and made a date for the next night, my last in Tashkent before heading to Samarkand. Then went back to the hotel and crashed.

Next day, took care of a few errands. Wanted to book a flight to Ukraine after my time in Uzbekistan, so went to the Uzbekistan Airways (massive) local office. Not the most efficient place, despite its seemingly modern look and feel. Had to shift lines a couple times before getting to an English-speaking agent. At one point there was a guy in front of me with an Israeli passport – probably an Uzbeki Jew who got out years ago. Made a booking to fly to Kiev on August 18, a couple days earlier than I wanted (my visa here expires August 20), but there aren’t Tashkent-Kiev flights daily so the 18th was close enough. I wanted to pay with credit card – but only had my Visa in hand, and they just take Mastercard. Had to return to my hotel, then back again with that card – noticed that one customer, a cute woman, had been dealing with an agent for at least an hour now. Ugh.

Paying was torture, I had to see two different agents, then the credit card machine was down. Finally a technician got it running, and I was finished. Total time there – nearly two hours. Oh well.

BTW, my local SIM card lets me surf the web, and it’s nearly free. I had to figure out how to configure it, but it wasn’t hard. Very useful when I just want to see if a reply has come through. Didn’t expect this feature in Uzbekistan.

Had a superb lunch at Bistro, an Italian place with a rocking Roquefort salad and nice mushroom pasta. Tashkent was surprising me in more ways than one…

Went to Amir Timur square, where there’s a huge statue of the man:

Someone removed Timur’s ‘long staff’, but left the cannonballs intact:

Don’t worry, I didn’t figure this out on my own, it’s a local joke…

Went into Mir shopping mall nearby, found a store that had pretty good singlets and bought a couple, mine were either lost or falling apart. In this heat you need some light shirts, the only issue is that it’s a Muslim country so outside Tashkent and/or when visiting religious monuments you should really wear something with sleeves. Still, singlets are great when you’re carrying your pack and moving around.

Took a cab to Khast Imam, the nation’s religious authority center. A few madrasahs and admin buildings there, the real draw is what’s purportedly the world’s oldest existing Koran, dating from 20 years after Mohammed’s death. Wow. The book itself is huge, it must weight 100 pounds, and is written on lambskin (no condom jokes, now). Impressive. Not many tourists there, just me and a Muslim family in traditional dress.

The complex:

On the topic of dress – it’s quite endearing here. Many women wear simply but elegant sundresses, and even the more conservative traditional robe-like dresses are cool. Some head-scarves but not too many. The men dress mostly like Westerners, so it’s the women who really stand out (like always).

Spent a couple hours chilling at Hotel Orzu. Watched LOTR Part 2 (The Two Towers). It occurred to me that Dick Cheney is actually Grima Wormtongue…

Met Katrina that night at a Syrian restaurant. Ate a lot, more than I usually do during a date – the food was terrific, and authentic. Katrina works for the US Embassy here as a translator and a psychologist of sorts – I suspect some embellishment but whatever, she seems accomplished and switched-on. Most nights she teaches tae bo to rich local women. And she’s a single mom with a young daughter, she got divorced a few years ago. We had a good chat and had some laughs. And that’s all I’m saying right now…

Caught the train to Samarkand next morning – was deathly tired. In my compartment were some local women, a Tartar fellow who spoke excellent English (his university major), and a Korean lass. There was a group of 24 Koreans on a package trip, I had to laugh as the ‘captain’ collected all their passports and tickets and dealt with the (flabbergasted) train ticket collector. East Asians really love to travel in these groups – I find them hilarious, but occasionally annoying as they overwhelm most systems they encounter.

The Tartar fellow, Yavdat, was super-friendly, and told me a story about the grave of Tamerlane, in Samarkand. On June 21, 1941, a Soviet scientist/archeologist opened the tomb – and verified that Tamerlane was tall, lame, etc. He also saw an inscription warning that whoever opened the tomb would be defeated by an enemy more powerful than me (Tamerlane). The very next day, the Nazis invaded. Quite a story – didn’t quite pan out, but close enough, huh?

The train ride was four hours – during much of it, we watched a Russian comedy show in which an Uzbek dwarf, a famous comedian in this part of the world, did a Napoleon routine, for one. Very funny, even though I couldn’t understand most of the dialogue. Made fun of the French, Napoleon’s size, etc. The Russians really do know how to take the piss with other peoples – they have a deep sense of humor and despite language barriers you really see this.

Got into Samarkand – the hotel had sent a driver. Checked into my place, a little B&B/hotel called Antica, very nice. Had a ‘welcome tea,’ along with 2 German lasses named Ina and Christina – I momentarily fantasized a ménage a trois in which I mixed up their names and they didn’t even mind. Walked over to Tamerlane’s grave, right near my hotel – how cool is that, I’m sleeping 50 meters from Tamerlane’s grave. A few shots of that tomb:

Walked around town – bought some Russian-made Immodium at an apteka (pharmacy). Owner/pharmacist was curious about me – not many Americans here, remember? He asked my name, I told him – he replied ‘Michael Jackson?’ I said ‘Nyet – Michael Jordan!’ He seemed to like that. I walked on.

Went to renowned local restaurant Karambek, where I had a beer and a couple superb shashliks. There’s a counter where the raw meat on skewers sits, you just point and they take care of the grilling. I probably had too much – the converse of my Chorsu fruit blowout. The walk back to Antica was long, but great for digesting the pound of meat I’d just inhaled. Bought a Coke at a little shop – the guy there asked me where I was from. Turns out he has a bro in NYC. Common story here – people are curious and friendly, like America/Americans, and often know someone there. From Samarkand to NYC – small world, baby.
Changed US$ to sum at Hotel President. The counter guy quoted me a bad rate, 1250 sum per dollar, I asked if I could do any better, and he said there was a national bank counter just outside the hotel. Went there, the rate was 1325 and that was more like it. Later I found a small shop where the owner flashed a thick wad of Franklins at me and quoted a rate of 1380 – better and better. But that’s black market and you gotta count every single bill – I might try this guy later on.

In all, a great and memorable day of travel – woke up with company, easy train ride in which I made some acquaintances and had some laughs, checked into a cool guesthouse, met some attractive European women, saw a historical sight (Tamerlane’s tomb), ate and drank merrily. My only errands were changing $ and getting some water and toilet paper – not complicated. Pleasure/errand ratio was very high…

Took a nap that afternoon. Had made very tentative plans to go out for drinks with the German girls that night. Got up and practiced yoga for an hour, first time in a couple weeks. Got rid of the soreness in my feet and legs. Went out to the courtyard, hung out for a bit – no sign of the Germans. Was hungry, and thirsty, so went out to check things out around town. Walked by the famed Registan, Samarkand’s calling card. It wasn’t lit brilliantly at night, but the deep colors of the domes could still be seen. Lots of people hanging around, relaxing after the hot day. Impressive setting and sight – I’d be back next morning for a thorough look and tour around. I was glad to be in Uzbekistan, and in Samarkand, a place I’ve wanted to visit for such a long time.

Went to look for a place to eat and drink – I’ll pick up this thread next entry, right now I’ve been at this for 3 hours and I’m getting blog fatigue. You probably are too. I’m now back on my usual posting sked, which is a relief to me – but at the same time, these places I’m visiting are so odd and endearing that my posts are long as hell. Time for a beer. Over and out.

Feels like I just blasted out the last entry, and here I am again.  In Russia and Kyrgyzstan it’s been hard to keep to a normal sked…probably because of the unpredictable yet unrelenting consumption of vodka in these lands.  Anyway, this post will do it for Kyrgyzstan…feels like I’m pumping out a project proposal, I wrote most of this starting at 11 p.m. on a Monday night in Karakol, eastern Kyrgyzstan.  Welcome to my world…

Left Bishkek via marshrutka (minivan), which they pack pretty full but less so than in Mongolia, say.  It was pretty much one person per seat, plus baggage wherever it fit.  The ride to the lakeshore resort town of Cholpon-Ata took about 5 hours.  Nice scenery once we hit Lake Issyk-Kol, probably the country’s premier attraction (along with its endless mountain panoramas).  The lake is ringed by the Tien Shan (Heavenly Gate) Mountains and is the world’s 2^nd largest alpine lake after Titicaca, which is of course our favorite lake by name alone.    

Went by lots of honey vendors – they call honey ‘med’ here, which I assume has something to do with ‘mead,’ honey brew.  I once had a glass of mead in Vilnius, Lithuania, and didn’t find it that appealing.  I’m told it takes a few glasses (or flagons) before you get a taste for it…

Also went by plenty of yurts selling koumiss.  I held off for the time being…I had a feeling I’d be consuming weird liquids again before long.

The ride itself wasn’t that much fun, to be frank.  I was in the 2^nd to last row, and opened the window to let in some air.  There were a few local lads in the last row, behind me, and after a few minutes they asked me to close the window.  The fellow right behind me was trying to snooze and the wind evidently was keeping him awake.  Just my luck. 

It got hot quickly – no one seemed to be bothered but me.  After some time I cracked the window – and after 15 minutes the guy pulled it shut.  For the rest of the ride we had this tug-of-war…at one point I really felt like turning and belting him, but he had his 2 buddies and I know well enough not to start trouble in places like this.  So I generally sweated, low grade, until the prick came to his stop and disembarked.  Then I pulled open the window – the chick across the way from me smiled when I did so. 

Got to Cholpon-Ata’s bus station – basically, just a little lot.  Tried to orient myself and find Hotel Apai, the place the family in Bishkek had set me up with (the daughter’s friend/boyfriend’s family owns it, I think).  Finally saw a distinctive alpine roof and windows which precisely resembled the hotel business card I’d gotten in Bishkek.  Headed that way, and got there in a few minutes.  It was pretty warm out, and I wanted to drop my stuff and head right to the beach for a swim.

But no…weirdness ensued.  The manager seemed a bit confused by my presence; I finally helped her understand I was Michael the American sent by the Djumasheve’s in Bishkek.  She motioned me upstairs to a huge room with 5 beds and said ‘800 som.’  I’d been told by Anisa in Bishkek that this was the price – not that cheap, but OK.  I asked the manager (or tried to ask her) if the entire huge setup (it was actually two rooms, with ensuite) was all for me – I wasn’t keen to dorm.  She then got on her mobile and asked me to wait a minute.  Eventually she handed me the mobile – it was Anisa’s friend, who speaks fluent English.  He told me that the hotel actually didn’t have room for me, but that they’d find me a room at a family home nearby.  Whoa, Nelly.

I wasn’t too sure what the fuck was going on…I’d been diligent in Bishkek about having them call and ensure the hotel had room for me.  And at first that looked OK, even though the room was large enough for a big family.  Then the reversal…I wasn’t all that kind to Anisa’s friend, and told him I’d probably be best off using my guidebook and finding something from there, at least those establishments would be used to hosting foreigners.  Hard to tell how he felt about that, but I told him I’d be OK and we ended the call.  Then I left Hotel Apai, hopefully never to darken its doors again.

Now, of course, I’d cut myself completely loose and was on my own.  I’m used to that state of being, but it was hot out and my pack felt heavy.  I took a peek at my book, settled on a place called ‘Green Home Stay,’ and headed that way. 

Cholpon-Ata is much larger, or to be precise much longer, than the guidebook map indicates.  The main drag, Sovietskaya – give me a break, will you – is a few km long and I was at the wrong end of it, something not immediately evident from the map.  Lonely Planet frequent readers will wince on reading this.  The walk was torture…nowhere near my St. Petersburg marathon, but still a hard slog.  I finally drew somewhat near, and saw a Tourist Information Office that looked close to Green Home Stay on my map.  The sign was in English…I went in, hoping for a bit of help.  The two women there did not speak English, but I was sweaty and they looked bored.  A match made in heaven.  They motioned me to sit…I helped them understand I wanted them to ring Green Home Stay and check on availability.  They rang…and spoke to someone…and eventually (10 minutes later – I was wondering what the bejesus they were on about) they said OK.  Good news.

I got up to head there – one of the two women was kind and went along with me to ensure I found it.  We walked for 5 or so minutes and there loomed Green Home Stay – a very green house set just off the main road.  She pointed me there, and went back to the office to await her next victim.

I went to the gate…I rang the buzzer…and waited.  No one came.  I did it again.  Nada.  I repeated, and occasionally yelled greetings in Russian, for 15 minutes, all the while a light rain falling (so light it didn’t cut the heat, I was still sweating).  I was very close to returning in a huff to the Tourist Info Office when a relaxed dude emerged from the house and walked to the gate, smiling.  He was so relaxed that he took the time to open the trunk of his Merc parked in the driveway and get something…only then did he open the gate.  We did our intros (his name was utterly unpronounceable) and talked a bit – I asked for 2 nights, he said OK, 400 som a night.  Decent.  He showed me the room – twin beds, a bit small, but doable for 2 nights.  He showed me the separate toilet and shower.  OK.  While I was setting in and letting the sweat settle, he stopped in and gave me some fruit from his garden.  Nice gesture.  He certainly seemed very proud of his property – he took the time to show me a particular tree in the garden – I think an apricot tree – on which he had grafted on a lime tree branch.  I’m no biologist, and maybe I misunderstood what he was saying/showing me, but I’m going with that story for now.

I showered and felt much better.  The annoying ride, and the Hotel Apai incident, were receding from memory.  Food and beer would complete the scene.  I walked a few minutes over to the Green Pub, renowned for its shashlik and beer selection.  Green Pub, but no English menu. Still, I knew what I wanted, kuritsa (chicken) shashlik, and they soon brought out two healthy skewers, with bread, onions, and beer.  Heaven.  I was now beginning to appreciate the advice the Djumasheves had given me, i.e. to visit Cholpon-Ata en route to Karakol at the eastern end of the lake.  I might bitch and moan in the moment, but thankfully I have a good experience filter which eventually separates the crap from the bliss.  And I can be an easy man to satisfy…

Walked down to the beach.  The town, on the northern side of the lake, is known for its white sand beaches, and vacationers come from Russia, Kazakhstan, and around to sunbathe and swim there.  You’re literally thousands of km’s from the ocean, so this is it baby.  Russians at the beach – utterly alien and hilarious.  Russian men, generally with large guts, favor sunbathing while standing.  Vendors walk around shouting ‘Rihba, piva’ (fish, beer).  There was a camel on the beach, kids could ride it for 200 som per 10 minutes.  In some ways it wasn’t that different from beaches favored by Westerners…people were having fun and relaxing.  But, as I’ve felt before, I was fully aware that this was Russia’s backyard and former province…and I could understand why they get pissed when we try to elbow in.  Plus, the Kyrgyz really do seem to get along with Russians, both ‘local Russians’ and ‘tourist Russians.’  It’s really quite something.

I put off swimming till the next day, it was already 5 p.m. or so and I was beat.  Went back to the homestay, took a good nap.  Got up, took a long stroll (sans backpack – much better) down Sovietskaya, looking for something to eat.  Settled on a little café selling plov, had a plate of that and a beer.  Wasn’t sure if I wanted anything else – I could have been happy catching up on my reading that night – but walked around a bit more, and right near my homestay I found Café Nurzat (Cyrillic: Hyp3at), an outdoors place with a DJ/singer and a bunch of tables.  Not that busy – it was only Wednesday night.  But what attracted me was the group of cute lasses dancing – the staff, taking advantage of downtime.  I walked through the gate and sat at a table.  The music was very loud, but it was pretty good – a mix of Turkish, Russian, Kazakh, and god knows what else.  Exotic, at the very least.

A cute waitress came over and took my order, and soon brought over my favorite Russian beer, Baltika 7.  I drank for a while, watching the dancing ladies.  Pretty soon my waitress (who had been dancing between orders) came over and I understood that she wanted me to join them.  I motioned to my beer and indicated that I would after a few more gulps.  She returned to the dance floor, seemingly placated.  I wanted a bit more booze in me before testing my moves.

Meanwhile, at the next table over, three locals were hitting the vodka very hard.  One of the guys was far gone…he came over to me and warmly greeted me, slobbering a bit in my ear.  I think he eventually understood that I didn’t speak much Russian and was an American tourist…but for the rest of the night he kept coming over and talking to me.  It was actually quite funny and not annoying at all, but my waitress tried to run interference and keep him from bothering me.  At one point the guy wrote his mobile # and gave it to me – god knows what he wanted me to do with it, he didn’t understand a word of English.  But he was friendly and I appreciated that.

And the aforesaid waitress did more than that…she came over again and this time got me on the dance floor, along with 5 of her co-workers.  The drunk guy also joined us and I tried to mirror their alien floor moves, adding a few of my own.  I’m a decent dancer (good for a Jew, anyway) and after a few drinks I can almost always hold my own. 

After a couple songs I was sweaty, and my beer beckoned, so I returned to my table.  After 5 minutes the cutie waitress came over and tried to get me back on the floor.  I again motioned to my beer and indicated ‘soon.’  And this pattern kept up for the next couple hours.  I played the beery rake, and looked pretty good in comparison to the drunken locals next door.  I had fun dancing with the girls…but always went back to my table and cooled off, usually until the waitress came over and invited me back.  Just to be even-handed about matters, and to avoid being a jerk, a couple times I went onto the dance floor ‘uninvited,’ which seemed to delight the waitresses. 

Around 11:30 or so, the table behind me filled up with locals.  One of them noticed my foreignness (on the dance floor?) and invited me to join their table.  One of the guys had been there for a while, he probably told his buddy that I was a tourist. 

Had a drink with these 3 guys – Ruslan, who spoke fluent English, Max, his robust buddy, and Azarmat, who had brilliant green-blue eyes – perhaps a descendant of Alexander the Great (or just some Russian).  Talant and I had a good chat, and he invited me out the next night.  He made some noises about ‘finding a girl for me.’  We exchanged mobile #s and made some plans.  Eventually it passed midnight or so, the DJ packed up, and I said goodbye to the lads and the girls and went home.   A lot more fun than I’d expected when I got up from my nap…

I thought a bit about my (for the most part) solo travels and the pros/cons of that state of being.  Sometimes you don’t feel that welcome sitting alone at a table, and sometimes you might not meet as many people (at least couples) as when you’re traveling as a couple or in a small group – you don’t have an opposite number to help you be sociable.  I have zero complaints, I’ve met more than my fair share of people (travelers and locals) during my wanderings, but you probably get my point.  The flip side is that I’m completely free to go to any place I wish, and do pretty much what I want when I’m there.  I can hang out in seedy bars all night…I can meet someone at the beach at 3 a.m…etc.  There are some real pros, methinks, with regards to meeting new people when you’re alone.  At least in this part of the world, when you’re solo, you don’t tend to stay that way.  Russians, and their ‘cousins’ here, seem incredibly welcoming of the solo person.  At Café Nurzat, for example, I never sat there alone for more than 5 minutes without someone coming over or inviting me to join their table.  I think that’s terrific – sometimes (as most of you know) I can be crusty and prefer my privacy, but if I’m in public I’m almost always amenable to meeting people and sharing their fun.

The world is such a fascinating and unpredictable place.  I’m daily surprised by the randomness of life…perhaps my imagination is impoverished and my eyes aren’t open wide enough, but I doubt that’s the case.

Slept well that night, but had to get up to expel the beer and vodka.  The night air was surprisingly cold…and damp…and it was very dark.  I had to get out my Petzl headlight and run through the grass to get to the outhouse.  For some reason I was reminded of camping in Maine…even in the summer the nights are chilly and the air’s heavy.

Next day, got up and went to the beach.  It was already crowded by 9 a.m., lots of vacationers.  The lake, as I wrote earlier, is ringed by mountains, and the view is breathtaking – I hope I don’t use that term lightly, I don’t think I do:

The water was cold, but after a couple minutes it felt refreshing enough.  The locals weren’t whinging, so I didn’t.  A guy walked along the shore with a python, offering photos with his reptile.  There was a parasailing operation in action.  The fish vendors prowled the beach blankets.  All of it good…except for the usual depressing case of the white folks wanting to get darker and the darker people taking pains to avoid tanning.  Most of those pasty Russians would never get anything but burned, but they tried anyway. 

Found a place called Dolphin Café.  Sat down and ordered a beer.  A girl came over and joined me, her family owns the place and she speaks decent English.  I had a bowl of pelmeni (dumpling) soup, which was OK but the lamb scent got to me and put me off.  At places like this, the smells of animal meat tend to get on everything…the bottled water even smells like lamb (well, the bottles do, anyway).  In Malapascua, in the Philippines, I recall that the bottled water and beer stank like fish.  They bring everything in by boat, and I assume those boats double as fishing boats.  Hmmm…

Eventually returned to the home stay.  Walked by Café Nurzat – the girls were already there, and one waved to me.  Good memory…or maybe I am that memorable.

Visited the regional museum, which had nothing posted in English.  The usual photos of General Frunze and former President Akayev, who was deposed in the 2005 ‘Tulip Revolution’ (sounds like they’re running out of names for these uprisings) and who has the world’s largest eyebrows.  Check it out:

He fled by copter to Moscow and now teaches philosophy there.  There are always second acts…

Went to an Internet café to catch up on emails, was falling behind.  The cost was crazy – not only an hourly cost, but also a per-megabyte cost.  And it’s not just for downloads, they count everything you look at, so the cost mounts.  I was there for 45 minutes and paid US$5-6 – a lot for this part of the planet.  Of course, Uzbekistan might be even worse…at least in Kyrgyzstan, they have no problem with openness and there aren’t any weird firewalls.

There are some ancient (5^th century B.C.-ish) petroglyphs on boulders in the field above the town, I wanted to see these so walked over there.  Relied on my Lonely Planet map/description of the route, and was soon lost.  Of course, I could have paid a taxi driver US$2-3 to take me there, but I’m too cheap.  In my defense, I did want some exercise, so let me use that excuse.  Anyway, I was soon amongst endless boulders but nothing was signposted or marked, and locating the petroglyphs looked impossible.  I saw no one around to ask.  I began walking back to town, and then I saw a young girl.  I asked her ‘gdye petroglyph?’  She didn’t catch me.  I used my hands to indicate markings on rocks, she got that and pointed me to the west.  I said ‘thank you’ (by now she knew I wasn’t Russian) and she replied ‘no problem.’  I love it.

Soon ran into a local lad, he provided further guidance, and eventually I saw some strangely dressed people – Germans.  Bingo.  The area is a national park of sorts, and there are small markers explaining various petroglyphs (put there by pre-Kyrgyz people), but only one was impressive, the rest were small and/or faint.  Still, they’re old – and with the rains and winters here, it’s incredible they still exist at all.  Worth the torture to get there, methinks.

Texted Ruslan about meeting up.  He called…after some confusion we decided to meet in front of Nurzat.  Easy for me.  Went to the Green Pub again for a late lunch.  Got BBQ fish, which was excellent, and some salad and beer.  Watched the Russian version of ‘Law and Order’ while I munched and gulped.  Went back to the home stay and napped for a couple hours.  Kyrgyzstan seems to make me nap – not a half-bad thing.

The bedsheets here are weird, BTW.  They have an opening, which I soon figured out is where you stuff the duvet, so that the sheet covers it and keeps it clean.  You always have to do this step yourself – not a big deal, but it just confused me till I sat down and worked it out.

Went out with Ruslan that night.  Started at Café Elita, an upstairs place with loud music and dancing.  We had an ugly amount of vodka, there, and afterward back at Nurzat.  My favorite waitress was there, Ruslan was trying to score her for me.  Eventually his buddy Azarmat showed up too, and we kept drinking vodka.  I can’t recall the end of the night…or whether I did any dancing…or whether I was overly frisky with my waitress.  None of that remains in the memory banks.  Ugh.

What unfortunately did stay with me:  I woke up in the middle of the night, lying on the bed in my little room, and I had to vomit immediately.  I sat right up, bolted for the door, and scored only 50%.  In other words, I made a mess both outside and inside the room.  And I was still drunk, and barely able to comprehend, much less address, my new situation. 

What I did:  I grabbed a surplus bed sheet from the dresser, and used that to wipe off the floor.  It wouldn’t have been that bad, but the floor was covered with a carpet (cheap, but still), so I had some work to do to swab things up.  I took the sheet to the shower outside and washed it off, but it still looked and smelled just awful.  I looked at my backpack – I had sprayed the very bottom of it, not badly but enough to warrant a thorough washing, so I took that to the shower and washed it off.  I hosed down the ‘material’ that I had deposited on the lawn, that dispersed fairly easily. 

So my remaining concerns were:

-Further cleaning of the carpet/the bedsheet/defumigation of the room, to get away with my crime (more on that in a minute)

-The drying of my backpack – I had planned to leave for Karakol this coming afternoon, but now I’d have to stick around and let the pack dry (might need further washing, too) – not a big deal, I had considered staying one more day, but not under duress

I went back to bed – it was now around 7 a.m., I had been up for an hour or so dealing with the mess.  I slept till Ruslan rang around 9 a.m., I said a few mouthfuls and went back to sleep.  Next I knew, there was a knock on the door, the owner wanted to show the room to a couple travelers.  It was now 11 a.m., and he thought I was taking off.  Ugh.  The two guys, a Brit and a Chinese, looked at the room and thought it too small.  Whew.  Not sure if they got a whiff, but I think they wanted something larger for the price.  I then told the owner, in that case, I’d stick around another night.  He was fine with that, and I had bought myself more time to set things right. 

I considered telling him what I’d done, but didn’t think he’d take it well – he seemed a fairly hard guy.  So I decided to remain cowardly and do my best to reverse the damage.  I spent the rest of the morning, surreptitiously, cleaning the room with soda water and deodorant (don’t ask), and sneaking to the shower to rinse things off.  My backpack did require another washing, I found more detritus on it.  Hallelujah.  I felt like a complete ass and cursed myself for not watching my vodka intake, the shit sneaks up on you and then you’re helpless.     

People were around, so I had to watch my step.  The family that owns the home stay was running around, and a few of them (and friends?) were hanging out in the communal outdoors dining area, eating and drinking.  It was only a Friday morning, but Russians don’t need much of an excuse to kick back and drink.

By 1 p.m. or so I felt like I’d done a thorough, if amateur, job, and lit some Indian incense to get rid of the smell.  I was also liberal in applying my aftershave to the carpet, in the hopes of holding off the entrenched smell as long as possible.  I went and showered, exhausted and annoyed with myself.  It’s fine to let yourself go and see where you wind up, but I am getting a bit old for idiocy like this.

Put on some fresh clothes, and felt very much like sleeping the rest of the day.  Went back in the room, and in a minute someone was behind me in the doorway.  Nadia was her name, she was somehow related to the family here and she asked me if I wanted to join them for a few drinks.  Perfect.  I hadn’t even considered daring to fill my stomach with anything yet today…now another heavy session loomed.  I very much wanted to demur, but in the context it would have been rude.  I said OK, and came over in a couple minutes. 

The group was Nadia, Yulia (the owner’s wife – the owner is Kyrgyz, I think, and Yulia’s Russian), Irina (I think a family friend?), and Alexei, I think the owner’s/Yulia’s son.  Eventually it became evident that Nadia and Alexei were an item, perhaps married.  All very confusing, and my head was pounding.  But everyone was affable, and Nadia was able to translate for all of us. 

The table:  shots of vodka, slices of kalbasa and cheese.  Relentless.  Somehow my stomach held its new contents, but I was concerned.  Meanwhile, it was a strange but fun group.  Nadia was super-friendly…Yulia was the usual matronly earthy Russian mama…Irina was the middle-aged woman without a man in her life, but eagerly seeking…Alexei was perhaps one of the most physically frightening people I’ve ever seen, he had a long scar on his left cheek, a badly mangled finger(s), and crusty/scabbed areas all over his arms.  Prison?  Car accident?  Drugs?  Check, check, check, if you ask me. 

Irina was interested in me, that quickly became obvious.  She wanted to know my age, my ideal woman (I said Asia – ‘exotica erotica’ – Yulia laughed at that), etc.  The shots flowed, we drank local Davidoff vodka and I probably had 10-12 over a couple hours?  Who’s counting?  I don’t even like vodka, but I am willing to take one for the home team…

I was having an unexpectedly good time, despite the memory and challenge of the vomit session very much on my mind.  I think I was relaxed enough, though, because the gang seemed to find me quite entertaining.  A cheapo karaoke machine was brought over, and we sang a few songs.  A far cry from the comprehensive machines/listings in the Phils and Japan, but good enough for a laugh.  The vodka shots did not stop.

We wandered down to the lake, joined by another family member, Maya, who spoke decent English and ensured that Yulia and Irina could communicate with me.  Nadia and Alexei had disappeared.  I liked Nadia, but was glad Alexei was gone, the guy looked like he was capable of the gravest of crimes and to be seated next to him at a major league vodka session wasn’t what I needed today.   I had been a bit too close to pulling a John Bonham, and now I was back for a second round.  For some reason these things keep happening to me – back to my dimestore philosophy bit earlier in this posting about being solo in this part of the world…

En route to the beach, Irina grabbed my arm and talked my ear off, with Maya occasionally bothering to translate.  I smiled a lot and tried hard not to vomit.

The usual theater at the beach was in full play…fish and beer for sale…python man walking around…fatties letting it all hang out.  We went in and got used to the chill…Irina was within 2 meters of me at all times.  She came over and gave me a kiss – I returned it, but with closed mouth and with a ‘good friends’ look on my face.  I think she eventually got the drift.  Very fun lady, but not attractive and not my type.  Status:  drinking buddy.

After 20 minutes we got out.  Yulia and Irina wasted no time ordered fish and beers for all of us.  Did I mention that Russians like drinking?

Eventually went back home.  The owner was hanging out, we talked for a while.  Turns out he’s a cop in town, and a former boxer.  Good fucking thing I didn’t spill the beans (like that metaphor?) about my dirty deed.  Good enough guy – he thought that Sylvester Stallone was governor of California.  Some confusion about Rambo (which I initially brought up, joking that I was an American spy in Kyrgyzstan) vs. Terminator.  I set him straight. 

He asked me to move rooms, a Russian family had just arrived and they needed the two beds in my little room.  Uh-oh.  Good thing I had been so diligent in cleaning it, otherwise I’d have been boned.  I said, sure, and went to move my stuff – to a room in the main house, upstairs.  The only issue really remaining was the dirty bedsheet – I stuffed it in a plastic bag and moved that along with my other things, the sheet was a lost cause and a dead giveaway, I had to ditch it somehow. 

The move went fine, I was soon ensconced in a room upstairs with 3 beds, and was happy to be away from my old room, for obvious reasons.  The cleaning lady went to work on my old room, vacuuming etc., and didn’t seem to find anything amiss.  Whew.  She finished, didn’t say anything about a cheap missing bedsheet, and the new family moved in.  Did I mention that odd things keep happening to me?  One thing I have learned is that you have to stay on top of your problems, because in many places you don’t know what the next minute will bring (e.g., unexpected change of rooms) and trouble can mount and overwhelm you.  More dimestore philosophy…

Went back to chatting with the owner.  He said a few things in Russian and made a motion with his arms which led me to believe he was screwing two of the women there, not quite sure but he had an evil chuckle which I’ll take as confirmation.  I chuckled too and tried not to vomit.  In the previous 20 hours or so I’d probably downed 25 shots of vodka, perhaps more, and 5-7 beers.  And my stomach was almost empty of food, so my body was running on grain alcohol.  Is this winning?

A bit later Deniss, the owner’s son (one of them, at least), came over and told me that 3 of his ‘best friends’ would be staying in the same room with me that night.  Yeah.  I was in no mood to dorm, but in no position to say no, despite having given the owner’s daughter (I think) 500 som, more than the usual 400.  She didn’t bring any change and I didn’t request any, and considered the extra 100 som payment for my bedsheet.  I can rationalize anything…

Had no choice but to take it easy that night.  Went out to walk around – I brought the soiled bedsheet with me, in an opaque plastic bag.  Tossed it in a bin not too close to the home stay – evidence disposed of. 

Had a single stick of chicken shashlik at a café, couldn’t stomach any more than that.  Slowly sipped a beer with the chicken.  Then over to Nurzat, third straight night, semi-fearful of the reaction from the staff re the previous night’s mayhem.  I was glad to see that they were again welcoming and weren’t horrified by my presence.  Perhaps I wasn’t that bad, and had been a happy drunk (I almost always am, but do get a bit frisky).  I later asked the one waitress who speaks English and she said I was fine, drunk but not badly behaved.  Shucks.

I was starting to think I’d get away with my deed.  I had a couple more beers at Nurzat, sadly my fave waitress was working in the attached shop and only showed her face once.  She giggled when she saw me…I suspect I was pawing her the previous night, or at least Ruslan was propositioning her on my behalf.  Speaking of Ruslan, we hadn’t spoken after his a.m. call and I was very happy to let that slide.  He’s a decent guy but I found him a bit sleazy and not longtime friend material.  So there.  I imagine he feels the same about me…

At Nurzat for the last time…not much dancing, at least not much by the fun staff.  Instead, a couple Russian women were on the floor – Russians really can be so exuberant, such a cold façade at times but they really can cut loose, and these two were.  One came over and asked me to dance – didn’t care/mind that I was a foreigner.  I wasn’t that attracted to her, but that was for the best – I had to behave tonight.  So we danced a couple songs, then I sat again and let my body continue recovering.

The music was terrific, as usual – exotic mix.  I really should try to get my hands on a mixed CD while here, gotta find someone to put one together for me.  Maybe in Osh…

By the way, a couple posts back I included a photo of a hot dog vendor in Russia called ‘Stardog.’  I wasn’t sure about the final Cyrillic letter, how a backward ‘s’ translated to ‘g’.  Now have figured that out.  There are 3 or so letters in Cyrillic that, when written in lower-case script (not typed), are very different from the regular letter.  For example, the letter ‘T’ (which is just like the Roman ‘T’), when you hand-write its lower-case version, is often written as ‘m.’  Weird.  Similarly, the Russian character for ‘G’ has as its written lower-case a backward ‘s’.  Make sense?  No big deal.  I just like solving these mysteries…

Went back to my new room around midnight, in much better shape than the previous night.  Felt reasonably sure of not repeating my feat.  Was about to settle into bed when my 3 roomies showed.  They had told me they’d be out all night, was hoping they’d come back at 8 a.m., when I’d be getting up.  I had wondered what they’d do all night, there aren’t any late-night places that I saw in town.  But Russians are resourceful and I imagined they’d be drinking on the beach or something similar.  But now they were back, already, and I was tortured.

They settled down fairly quickly.  One guy had to sleep on the floor.  Another chatted on his mobile with some chick for 45 minutes, until I nearly beat him.  Didn’t sleep that well, lots of snoring and the bed was lumpy.  Ah, the life.  Was looking forward to moving on to Karakol the next morning – would likely have much more privacy, and would get even farther from the scene of my crime.

Got up…packed…said bye to everyone.  The owner wasn’t around – fine by me.  I gave my metal water bottle to one of Ruslan’s friends, a nice guy who speaks decent English.  He and the late-night mobile chatter are ‘operators’ with Mobicom, one of the mobile companies.  What do ‘operators’ do these days, anyway?  I guess they still assist with connecting calls, but I can’t recall the last time I dealt with such a creature…

The family in my old room hadn’t said anything about a smell, at least not that I had heard.  I walked over to the minibus station and there was a vehicle to Karakol, a seat waiting there which I took straightaway.  We took off on the 2-3-hour ride to Karakol.

The driver was eager, as most are, to fill up the minivan, and he kept stopping and bringing more people in.  Eventually it got ugly – my legs were crunched together and I feared for my unborn children.  I suffered in silence, my stomach holding up pretty well.  I was over the worst of the vodka hangover…

Nice views of the lake and mountains as we went along.  Eventually some people got out and we were back to a manageable number of passengers again.  No stupidity with windows up and down this time…although by the end, when we neared Karakol, the front seat was full of old biddies with fried hair who kept the window up.  I was hot but didn’t do anything, I waited it out. 

Checked into Neofit Guesthouse, mentioned in my guidebook.  Got my own large room with toilet and shower, hurrah.  Very nice place – rooms are clean, plus the inner courtyard is a traveler’s bonding paradise – haven’t seem many places so conducive to sitting around a table sharing tales (and beers).  Immediately met Andreas the Austrian, who had ridden his Suzuki motorcycle from Austria; a cool Dutch couple; a young Frenchman with a thing for Apple computers and iPods; and an Israeli traveler.  I’d hang out with these folks for the next 2-3 days.

Karakol is the staging area for mountain and lake treks.  But I only had 3 days, I wanted to head to Osh and then to Uzbekistan and not lose days on my Uzbeki visa, so hard to come by (see previous entry).  So I lacked time for a lengthy trek…plus I had cut my toe, somehow, and it was painful.  So I decided to use my time to 1) see the town, which is modest, 2) catch up on my blog, which I’m doing, and 3) do some day trips.  And that’s what I’ve been up to since arriving in Karakol.

First thing I did upon checking in was to re-wash my backpack and pretty much everything in/around it, as a final de-puking measure.  The sun was shining and things would dry quickly.  Then went to Café Arzu to try a dish called breizol, it’s mentioned in my guidebook and is a ‘beef crepe’ fried in egg batter, and inside are vegetables.  Ordered that from the friendly lad waiter named Azarmat, who came over and sat at my table, eager to practice his English.  Here’s Azarmat:

And here’s the breizol, which turned out to be superb, probably one of the most unusual and tasty of the many foods I’ve tried around the world:

Check out the recipe online, it must be there, and probably isn’t hard to whip up.  I’ll be glad to try your recipe…

Went back to the guesthouse, the gang was still hanging around the courtyard. Some had recently returned from mountain treks and were busy washing and drying their gear.  A middle-aged guy walked into the courtyard, turned out to be Parco, the Spanish doctor I’d met the previous Saturday night at the infamous Golden Bull in Bishkek.  Random, yet normal.  We caught up and made some plans to eat/drink that night.  Neofit really is a great place, it’s perfect for us ‘flashpackers,’ not grungy, but still quite communal.

Did some sight-seeing.  Lovely wooden Russian cathedral:

Also saw a Chinese mosque, apparently build without nails by a Chinese artisan and 20 helpers.  Not particularly awesome, but worth a gander.

Went to the Tourist Info Office, very helpful – spoke English, friendly, informative.  Stocked up on water and toilet paper.  Went with Parco to the Internet café, caught up on emails.  Had dinner with him at a tavern nearby.  Returned to Neofit and had drinks in the courtyard with the gang there.  Had a good time, but eventually the conversation morphed into annoying traveler braggadocio, and I crept off to bed.  Was planning to get up around 6:30 a.m. to visit the Sunday animal market, so wanted to cram in a bit of rest.

Woke up at 4:30 a.m., for some reason.  Decided to use the time to catch up on my blog, and wrote the previous entry, which may well have been my longest posting yet – 18 pages or thereabouts. 

Around 7 a.m. we all got together and went to the animal market, which is one of the largest in Asia.  Apparently Kashgar’s market is much larger and more impressive, but this was pretty interesting.  A few shots:

They also have a section for used cars, a la the Bishkek car bazaar.  What I found most interesting is that while most of the animals sold were sheep/lamb, and some cows and horses, there was a completely segregated section for pigs.  These are unclean for Muslims, but there’s a sizeable Russian (Christian) population, and all the pig sellers were Russians selling pigs/piglets out of their trunks or cages to other Russians.  That was attention-grabbing, at least for me…

Went back to the guesthouse.  Spent the next couple hours polishing off the blog posting, then went back to Café Arzu for another round of breizol.  Like consuming a delicious brick of food…I am getting a little pudgy over here.

That afternoon, went to the Nikolai Przewalski Memorial/Museum 7 km north of town.  Azarmat from Café Arzu was kind enough to walk me to the bus stop – I’d been tipping him, and evidently no one else bothers, so he took to me (naturally).  He got me on the local bus, which is only 10 som (about 30 cents), but which gets unbelievably packed.  A lot like Indian public transport, third class.  I made sure no one was fiddling with my pockets – good thing I had my daypack with me, and my pants were Velcro/zip. 

Found my stop, got off and was finally able to breathe.  Wouldn’t be doing that again.  Walked up to the memorial.  Przewalski was the Russian Lewis & Clark, all by himself, he played a major role in opening the far east (Mongolia, Tibet, Central Asia) to tsarist Russia and he’s a real hero there, and even seemingly in Kyrgyzstan.  He died in Karakol around 1890 or so, and is buried here.  The museum has English captions, a first for me in Kyrgyzstan and perhaps a bit of evidence that they’re starting to understand tourism.  Hope so.  In many ways this country is getting there…no problem getting cash (some ATMs offer both dollars and som – very helpful), the phones work, the electricity supply is decent, the Internet is unrestricted (if slow), and the police don’t bother foreigners.  I doubt Uzbekistan will be as user-friendly…

Hitch-hiked back to Karakol, just held my arm out and a guy stopped and let me in.  Normal practice here.  Went to the Internet café with my laptop, and they had an Ethernet plug I could use.  Cool.  Posted the blog…paid some bills…checked emails…got stuff done.  First time in this country that I’ve been able to use my own computer online.  Caught up on podcasts too – I want to know what’s going on in the larger world.  I realize that I haven’t read a newspaper since I was in Mongolia – and those were crappy English weeklies.  Have been on the web, but I’m old-fashioned news junkie and love to read the paper every day.  I guess I haven’t consciously missed reading a daily paper here, or even a weekly mag like Time – you just don’t see these publications, at least not outside a 5-star hotel.  And I do feel like I have a bit more time on my hands, now that I’m not spending an hour reading the paper or a magazine.  Still, I’m looking forward to getting back in the swing of things…I feel a lot less informed about current events these days. 

Got an email from a college fraternity brother – he’s now the Guatemalan Ambassador to Canada.  Terrific news. 

Went that night to Salam Aleikum resto with Andreas the German and Yoni the Israeli.  This place was recommended by the family in Bishkek.  Had to walk a ways to the outskirts of Karakol to get there, but no problem.  Nice enough place, it’s styled as a huge yurt with the roof open to the sky.  Two waitresses were working – one was a very attractive Kyrgyz lass, the other a cute Russian.  Very friendly.  Pretty good food, I had borscht and a stew.  Shot the shit with the lads, we all had our travel stories.  Then headed out and went back to the Internet café to check a few things.

Saw a Yahoo!News headline:  Bolivia coca farmers planting rice.  Wow. 

Walked back to the guesthouse.  Walked by a café that seemed to have something going on upstairs, maybe a little disco.  Thought of checking it out, but decided to head home and chill.  Had a few things to do the next day and I could always check it out the following night.

Slept OK.  Got up and took a cab to the Jeti Oghuz Canyon, 25 km from Karakol. Felt the need to do some hiking, even with my toe bothering me.  Had the cabbie drop me in the so-called Valley of Flowers, which didn’t have many flowers (May is the season), but which was beautiful nonetheless.  A few shots:

Then walked out of the valley, back towards the local village.  An older woman was walking the same way, she was evidently getting her exercise – and had covered her head with a kerchief, to soak the sweat or to keep the sun away. 

Saw another impressive feature, a red-rock formation called Broken Heart that reminded me a bit of Ayers Rock and the Olgas in the Aussie outback. 

Walked on, by a Soviet-era sanatorium that looks totally decrepit and sad these days.  You couldn’t pay me to stay there.

Walked by yurts selling koumiss, and carts selling honey.  The old woman was still nearby, I was impressed.  I had stopped often to take photos, but she was making good progress and was nearly matching my speed. 

Eventually got out of the valley and onto the flat road to the village.  Walked for an hour, then came across a Tata SUV at the side of the road – a local guy was filling the radiator with river water and he and his companion offered me a ride (for a price) back into town.  Good deal – I got in and we drove off.  The price was much better than the morning cab’s, so I was happy. 

Had lunch again at Arzu, breizol and a salad.  This time it didn’t sit that well and I’ve been a bit off the past day.  Gotta get it out of my system ASAP, as I’m in a minivan to Bishkek tomorrow midday, then right after that in another vehicle – either minivan or shared taxi – all the way to Osh.  Total travel time – around 20 hours.  Fun fun fun.

Did my final rounds in Karakol.  Had dinner at a highly-rated place called Kench Café – pretty good food.  Had a drink at Salam Aleikum, ogled the cute waitresses, talked with them a bit.  And the manager there told me that the place is affiliated with Radison in Bishkek – makes sense, now I understand why the family recommended it.  I imagine they attempted to explain the link, but it was lost in translation. 

Went to the Internet café, got my hotel in Osh booked, worked on a booking in Tashkent for next weekend, extended my travel insurance, and tried to avoid checking my finances.  Then returned to the guesthouse and started getting ready to head to Bishkek/Osh.  Good little stint here in Karakol – wouldn’t mind returning one day and doing some heavy trekking around here, the mountains are really stunning and I love the relaxed vibe (and breizol).  Life is long, I might be back.

On Tuesday morning I got up early, packed, and walked over to the Internet café to check email.  Called the Hotel Orzu in Tashkent…hadn’t heard back from them on my email, so decided to short-cut things.  Got an English speaker on the phone and confirmed my room.

Called Marnely in Cebu and checked on her.  Her dad just had a stomach operation, but he seems to be doing fairly well now.  As for Marnely and I…that requires a bit more thinking.

Got a few hundred dollars from the ATM.  Uzbekistan may pose a challenge in terms of getting cash, so I’m bringing a lot in.  Of course, some of my bills are creased or ‘old’ and will probably be rejected by the banknote perfectionists there…

Checked out of Neofit.  Said bye to Ludmilla, the only one of the staff seemingly able to smile and provide helpful information.  She pointed me toward the right minibus station (Karakol seems to have 4-5 different places to catch these, depending on your destination) and I walked there.

I had to go back to Bishkek in order to get to my final (Kyrgyz) destination, the country’s second city, Osh.  I found a marshrutka (minivan) and got on board.  Operation Osh was underway.  There was some confusion about the van’s endpoint – Bishkek or another town en route, Balykchy…eventually it seemed Bishkek, so I felt alright.  Chatted with a guy sitting near me, he was traveling with his wife and child.  Very nice fellow – gave me some of their soda, and let me take their picture – absolutely classic:

We got going.  This was one of the better minivans, I had my own seat, none of this ‘seat-sharing.’  I was on the right side, so had superb lake views as we were heading west on the lake’s south shore.  The south shore is more wild and more impressive than the north – really something to behold.  Here’s what I mean:

Slept a bit, mostly looked out the window.  I had my book, ‘The Master and Margarita,’ by Bulgakov, with me, but the ride was far too bumpy to do any reading.  Which was fine with me.

Eventually got to the town of Bokonbayevo…there it became clear that I indeed had to shift minivans, so did that and it was OK.  My seat was less comfortable, but I still had the views.

Pulled into Bishkek around 7:30 p.m.  Noticed on my handphone that Radik had texted me – eerie timing, as I was only a couple km from Radison at this point.  But I wasn’t staying in Bishkek, just passing through.  I felt badly about not going over to Radison to say hi/bye to the Djumasheves, but I wanted to continue on to Osh and had to locate my next vehicle – another minivan, or perhaps a shared taxi.  So I replied and just said I was going now to Osh and wouldn’t be stopping in Bishkek.  Which was technically true…

Wandered around – couldn’t find any minivans to Osh, turns out they start from Osh Bazaar, a taxi ride away.  I wasn’t in the mood to go to another station, so looked now for shared taxis – i.e., a few passengers join together to share a cab.  Not far away I found these…drivers came up and hailed me.  I asked one the price per seat – he said 1,200 som.  About what I expected…I motioned him aside and offered 1,000.  He would only come down to 1,100, petrol is pretty high here, and I was too tired to fight.  Plus I suspect that even though we were out of earshot of his fellow drivers, they’re acting collectively to maintain a certain price point.  So I said OK.  I’d be saving on a hotel room that night, so I wasn’t incredibly price-sensitive.

In hindsight, I should have been pickier.  I wasn’t in a huge hurry – the drive to Osh is 12-16 hours and it was only around 8 p.m., so I would arrive before noon Wednesday.  Checkin time at hotels is noon or 1 p.m., so no real need to get in much before then.  The issues:

1 – the front passenger seat was already taken.  Granted, this is the ‘death seat’ and Kyrgyz drive like maniacs, but this seat is also by far the most comfortable.

2 – I had a rear side/main seat, but my window was busted, putting me at the mercy of everyone else.

3 – there were 3 of us in the backseat of this small model Merc…normal practice, but one of my two fellow rear-passengers was a large mammal, much like myself.  Very cramped.

Within a few km I was already unhappy.  I was warm, crammed in there, hungry and thirsty.  Despite all my travels, I still have so much to learn…  The woman sitting in the front passenger seat spoke some English so made it clear to the driver that I’d been keen for water and something to eat soon.  She was half-Uzbek and was traveling to see her Uzbek mother in Fergana. 

The big local next to me was not particularly friendly…he kept staring at me like I was behind bars in a zoo.  The woman on his other side was dumpy and silent.  The driver was a young guy.  I didn’t feel amongst good friends.

The big guy and I were both displeased at having to share the small space in back.  He seemed to know the woman on his other side, so instead of pushing her over, he jockeyed with me.  Fun.  Eventually we bonded a bit…we were motioned over by the cops twice, the first time the driver complied, the second time he just gunned it.  I voiced-over a police siren sound and that cracked everyone up.  After that the big guy (who had never put out his hand and introduced himself – almost unheard of here) was warmer and we at least tried to communicate and share some laughs.

We stopped at one point – I took a leak and got some water and snacks.  We were there for an hour…turned out our driver wanted to link up with his friend, driving another car, and travel together as a convoy.  Very good idea…but waiting so long for car #2 to show annoyed me, the main reason I took a shared taxi was speed, it can make Osh in 12 hours vs. 15 or more for a minivan.  Now that advantage was vanishing…and even the supposed comfort advantage of a taxi was non-existent.  I was ruing my decision.

The English speaker in front helped me understand what was happening.  I was hoping she’d prove cool and an ally for me.  But that wasn’t to be – she turned out to be a real prima donna, I hope not indicative of Uzbeki people.  I had asked (begged) her to keep her window slightly open to give me some fresh air, but soon after we got on the ‘highway’ to Osh, which ascends, she complained it was cold and shut the window.  Now I was warm and on the verge of sweating.  I got the driver to crack his window, but this was an ongoing battle and I was pissed off.  Really should have gone with a minivan.

Asian people (I realize here I’m lumping together approximately half of the world’s population and taking major liberties in generalizing…but I’m comfortable doing that) can be so odd about things like weather and getting around.  Women carry umbrellas to ward off the slightest sun…people (the Kyrgyz are terrible here) keep their windows up when in vehicles, not seeming to want any fresh air or cool breeze…the slightest chill brings out blankets and heavy clothing…and god forbid people (at least those with any discretionary income) actually walk more than 50 meters, nope, that’s low-class and you simply must take a cab.  I like most aspects of life out here, but these are my peeves.  My guilty pleasure?  Breizol…

Went through a few long tunnels – wondered which other country/NGO paid for these.  Certainly not Kyrgyzstan.  Remembered reading about a horrible story in which a car or truck stalled in a Kyrgyz tunnel – by the time people understood their predicament, 4-5 people had died from carbon monoxide fumes from the trucks in the tunnel.  Silently prayed that we’d sail right through – and we did.

Had an Ambien pill in my pocket – now popped that.  Tried to snooze a bit, it was now 10 p.m. or so.  But it was so cramped, and warm, that I didn’t slumber much.  Then we stopped – for dinner, as it turned out.  I was very woozy from the pill and was stumbling around – I’ve had this happen before, usually when I take a pill and before I lay down.  It’s sort of funny how out of it you get before you pass out. 

We went into a café, which was full of people like us.  Ate some mediocre shorpo (meat soup), some bread, and a bit of tea.  The big guy said something to me and then asked for 2 cups of something, which turned out to be vodka.  Hallelujah.  Choked mine down in two gulps, promising these would be my final vodka shots in Kyrgyzstan.  I made a note to read up on the potential biokinetic interaction between Ambien and vodka when/if I reached Osh…

The English speaker had stayed in the car, and when we returned to it/her we saw she was covered in clothing and blankets.  Give me a break.  It was about 16-18 Celsius, a bit under room temp but far from cold.  I wrote her off and crammed myself into the back seat, sighing/groaning.  Really should have taken a minivan.

Kyrgyz cars are like this:  spotlessly maintained, looking years younger than their manufacture date, but with a few defects.  The windshield is usually cracked, and some door and window handles are broken/missing.  I put this down to the difficulty in getting a new windshied for many makes, and probably the same thing for the door/window handles.  It’s easy to get a bucket of water and wash a car…much harder/more $ to deal with the other issues.

A very long night, dear readers.  I got about 12 minutes of sleep.  The windows were usually all closed, and it was warm.  The big guy hadn’t managed to shrink since we first met.  A few times the driver cracked his window…but only to light up and fill the car with cigarette smoke.  I felt like pulling out my Leatherman knife, holding it to his throat, and forcing him to open the window – in fact, all windows.  But I came up with a better, Gandhian approach.

As I’ve mentioned in many of my entries since entering Mongolia more than 2 months ago, the food in this part of the world is heavy (lamb meat/fat, dumplings, bread, cheese, salami/kalbasa) and makes me incredibly gassy.  So I often find myself farting or just between farts.  This can be embarrassing and requires close management, but now I was able to turn it to my advantage.  When the driver lit a fresh cigarette, and had cracked the window, I let a silent one rip and that seemed to get everyone’s attention.  Some conversation ensued…I pretended to sleep and look innocent.  Not sure if they pinned it on me…but the driver’s window stayed open, in fact he opened it further, and he had the English speaker crack hers too.  For the rest of the ride, when those windows went up, I acted aromatically and it worked like a charm.  Solving problems elegantly – that’s what I’m all about.

Around 5 a.m. or so, we reached the town of Ozgon, where in 1990 there were a few nights of very bloody Kyrgyz-Uzbek violence.  This area is nearly half Uzbek and is the result of Stalin’s gerrymandering…things have been calmish since then, but you never know.

More weirdness – the dumpy woman got out and was gone, and then the remaining 3 passengers, joined by a new fellow, had to change cars.  We got into a VW station wagon, which was roomier in the back.  And it wasn’t that long before we arrived in Osh.  Total journey was about 12 hours – very little of it comfortable or fun.  I said bye to the big guy, who really wasn’t that bad (just too big), and the English speaker. 

Found a taxi – needed to get to my guesthouse, called Tes.  Tes is an agricultural support organization/charity which helps Kyrgyz farmers ramp up their productivity.  They set up a small guesthouse to augment their finances, and I’d heard great things about it. 

My taxi driver had a mouth full of gold teeth, and a rather empty head.  I thought he understood the street address I gave him, but he took me to a random street where Tes most assuredly was not.  I looked in my guidebook and told him it was very near to Delfin Public Pool.  He drove some more, then stopped on the town’s main bridge.  He motioned me out, we walked over the bridge and he pointed down to a huge pool.  Delfin Pool.  Right.  But how was I to know precisely where Tes Guesthouse was?  I had been in Osh for 10 minutes…

Finally my brain roared into action and I called the guesthouse, which then told the cabbie where it is.  Not easy to find, in the cabbie’s defense, but he was still not that competent.  We finally got there and I brought my pack into the building.

It was only 8 a.m., too early for checkin, but they gave me a very nice breakfast and I chilled for an hour.  Then decided to use the time productively (I guess I still don’t really know how to relax) and see the town’s sights – if I got that out of the way, I’d be able to catch up on the blog and really take it easy.

Osh is an ancient town – ‘older than Rome,’ local say.  Not long ago they celebrated what they said was the town’s 3,000-year anniversary.  Perhaps…but little remains of those times.  Osh is Kyrgyzstan’s second-largest city, but it feels like a big town and quite Soviet, still.  I think the largest Lenin statue I’ve seen yet is still standing in a prominent position across from the municipal building.  Not an impressive place, Osh – I’d been told 2 days/nights would be more than enough, and that was sounding right.  I was only here to see the place, very briefly, then pass into Uzbekistan.  In a sense, just like my overall Kyrgyzstan plan…though Kyrgyzstan had proven a minor bonanza, open, friendly, with beautiful landscapes and other benefits.

Osh really just has one major attraction:  Solomon’s Throne, a small mountain inside the city which you can climb (stairs) in 20 minutes or so.  At the top:  a tiny mosque (Dom Babur’s), and nice views of the Fergana Valley.  There are a few mediocre museums at the foot of the mountain, but really the rock itself is what you come to see.  Here it is:

The other things I found interesting in Osh were the bazaars, which were extensive and had some unusual foods and items for sale (and lots of junk, of course), and the teahouses (chaikhanas), which were all over the place and which were great for people-watching and chilling.  These places serve beer, shashlik, salads, other food, and lots of tea.  Well worth a visit or three.

Osh is a world away from Bishkek or Karakol.  The Fergana Valley is ancient, conservative, and in many ways locked in time.  Many women here wear head scarves…you see a fair few mosques, unlike up north/west…the bazaars are everywhere – not many formal supermarkets, and in every way it feels traditional and clannish.  You don’t see that many Russians here…you do see many people here who are Asian but don’t look Kyrgyz – they have west or south Asian features, including some kinky hair.  I wondered what the Uzbeks would look like.  Seeing all this, I was glad to I’d come to Osh, the look and feel alone is far more intriguing than Solomon’s Throne or any other sight.

Tes Guesthouse was terrific too.  My room – not cheap, but worth it – had aircon, attached bathroom, and cable TV.  Had not had a room with that trifecta since the Philippines in May.  The only real issue:  the town’s water was shut off, probably till evening.  I was not particularly clean, having sweated in the taxi all night.  And I didn’t get any cleaner climbing Solomon’s Throne or walking in the bazaars, where I bought some decent handkerchiefs.  The staff at the guesthouse brought a large bucket of water, which I used to wash off a la the old bucket shower system in Ladakh…OK, but not super-effective or satisfying.  I prayed that the town’s water would come back on that night…apparently this is a major ongoing problem in Osh, at least in summer.

After my bucket shower, I lay in bed watching cable.  Without a doubt, the cable/satellite in Osh is the most diverse I’ve ever seen.  Hundreds of channels, from virtually every country imaginable.  I watched:

-a few rounds of the 2^nd Ali-Frazier heavyweight bout, from the early 70s, on one of the ESPN channels

-the iran music channel – the ‘iran beauty channel’ didn’t work

-a Russian channel with an advert about a slimming tool which goes on your waist and vibrates the fat away

-the 24-hour wedding channel (Russian, methinks)

-god tv – crazy preachers – and there were dozens of other (nearly all were US-based, of course) religious preacher channels spouting madness

-the Kurdistan news channel

-a show about the forsaken Jews of Ethiopia and how some Jews for Jesus-type outfit is saving them

-Polish soap operas

Really quite fascinating.  I’m not a TV person and go months without watching TV, even if I have it in my room.  But it had been months and I’d also been starved of news here in the FSU, so watched a lot on the tube, particularly BBC World and CNN International.  Was glad they picked up Radovan Karadzic in Belgrade – loved the full beard and crazy hair he grew to avoid capture.  One more homicidal maniac in custody.

Took a nap.  Did a bit of exercise.  Tried to call my father but couldn’t connect – not sure why not.  Some cute assistants at the telephone place tried to help me, but to no avail.  Went to a chaikhana for some beer, tea and kebabs.  I was solo, they put me at a table with 3 locals.  Not easy to communicate – but it was fun to try.  These 3 guys were the real deal, with beards and round Muslim caps, sipping tea and eating flatbread for hours.  No one there dying of stress…

Went back to Tes and watched a bit more TV, then went to sleep.  Got up the next morning, refreshed and recovered from the hellride.  Had a huge breakfast, a long hot shower (the water is OK for now), and sat down to type this entry.  Not much else to do today, will send some emails and pack my stuff again, tomorrow morning I head to Uzbekistan.  We’ll see how that goes…I plan to take a cab to the border, 10 km from Osh, cross the border – I hope without incident/bribery, get in some vehicle to Andijan (the major eastern Uzbek city), and then connect to Tashkent.  Will be a long day – but I will be armed with lots of different currencies, the proper paperwork, and a playful attitude. 

I’ll have up to a month in Uzbekistan.  Not sure what the Internet situation will be, in terms of connection speed and access to the full range of sites.  There may be some firewall in place, and it might interfere with my blog, given my comments about the president and Uzbekistan in general.  So don’t be surprised if you don’t hear from me for a few weeks, I’ll do my best but it may be that my blog access is blocked while in Uzbekistan, in which case I’ll just store up my entries until the next country, probably Ukraine but perhaps Turkey.  Then I’ll unleash the floodgates and you’ll have some reading to catch up on.

Kyrgyzstan has been a relevation in some ways – it’s a place that’s still stuck between its Soviet past and a fully democratic/market-oriented future, but at least it feels open and it’s slowly getting there.  The people have been mostly warm and welcoming, the scenery fantastic, and the mood hopeful.  I came mostly to get my hands on an Uzbek visa, but I’ve had a good time in this country and who knows – I might be back someday.  Over and out.

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.

July 4^th came and passed without much note here.  Was out that night with Ivo and his 2 German compatriots – a good night out, as detailed last week, but only because it was a Friday night and not because people here gave a rat’s ass about American Independence Day. 

Ivo took off on Saturday – I was back to knowing approximately zero people in town, so spent the day writing last week’s mega blog entry (have you finished reading it yet?).  That took about 4 hours…but it kept me out of trouble.  Which I found some of later that evening, taking the metro to the little basement music pub Ivo and I had found the previous night.

I was fretting in a minor fashion about not yet having gotten my St. Petersburg registration paperwork back from Nord Hostel…without that, I was somewhat exposed.  Marsha, the manager, told me not to worry, but you know me. 

As I walked along the metro passageway, I felt someone slither up behind me.  Sure enough, a cop wanted to speak with me.  He spoke in Russian…I replied that I was an ‘Americanski’…he said ‘passport, please.’  I was reasonably prepared for this, given my lack of blonde hair and blue eyes; I made a show of extracting 1) my dossier of train tickets, customs forms, and passport copies, then 2) my passport.  I handed the passport to the cop – he took one look at it, not even opening it, then gave it back and motioned me on.  His two flunkies, who were standing in front of me in case I made a runner, moved away.

The fellow was probably just looking for Central Asians to roust.  Or, if he was looking to hit up western tourists for ‘fines,’ he must have realized I was a bad one to bother.  My facial expression was probably a bit helpful to my cause – I wasn’t at all afraid of these boys, so didn’t display any apprehension.  It was more that I was getting tired of Russia and its weird contradictions, and I probably had a sour look on my face as I trudged along in the metro.  I think these cops feed off fear, that it makes them feel powerful and superior, and you can defeat them with 1) equal and opposite annoyance/pride, or 2)  insouciance – being obviously relaxed and unconcerned about the situation.  That’s my dimestore philosophy on the matter, anyway…

I mentioned that I was getting sick of Russia.  It’s a hard place to get anything done.  Two entire days in St. P. were spent taking care of train tickets, reconfirming my flight, etc.  It’s true that I whine about these things…but only in the blog.  This is a great outlet for my various frustrations…I almost never take them out on friends and randoms.  I felt like venting on Marsha for not ensuring I already had my visa paperwork…but I just told her I was concerned, and left it at that.  I could tell she was trying, at least once I voiced my concern…and I’ve found that whining and losing your cool are counterproductive 80% of the time.  I wasn’t happy getting tossed out of my room in Moscow on the eve of my birthday, but it wasn’t Sarmat’s fault, and by dealing with it I got myself a room again the next morning. 

After the cops stopped me, I carried on to the little bar, had a couple beers, there, then took the metro back to the city center.  Found a crowded little place, full of people dancing…had another beer there, then went back to my room.  I felt I had gotten a pretty good sense of the city, and would be taking off the next afternoon for the much smaller city of Novgorod, en route to Moscow.

Last day in St. P.  I went out…it started to rain.  Wanted to post last week’s blog, but couldn’t get wifi anywhere.  The hostel had a desktop, but I found a virus on it and didn’t want to risk getting it on my USB drive.  Torture.  Plus Marsha still hadn’t given me my paperwork…I really wanted it before leaving town.  Who knows what I’d need to show Immigration in a couple days’ time at the airport in Moscow?

I was in a black mood, and went back to the hostel, stymied.  Packed my bags, and plotted a strategy to get to the train station without getting soaked.  It wouldn’t be straightforward to get a ($$) taxi to come get me…I dug out some large plastic bags and found that my little pack, with all the electronics, would fit inside.  My large pack has a rain cover, so no problem there.  Then Marsha came in…she handed over my paperwork…she told me that the main hostel had wireless and that she’d drive me there straightaway…and she told me she’d take me to the train station later on, to avoid the rain.  Perhaps I’m too tactical these days, but I almost kissed her.  Then we went to the main hostel and I did computer stuff for an hour.

Still raining hard, so Marsha drove me to the airport.  She’s a funny person – morose in appearance and posture, but she has a wicked sense of humor.  I think I mentioned last week that she tagged me as an American spy…she kept up that line all week.  And she constantly asked me if I had yet visited any of the city’s fine ‘erotic clubs,’ e.g. Golden Dolls or Playgirls.  I gave it serious thought, but never got around to it.  I couldn’t tell if she was being serious, or just having a laugh. 

Just goes to show that keeping your cool does work.  If I had gone off on Marsha, I doubt any of her down-to-the-wire ‘presents’ would have come to me.  To thank her, I gave her my sleeping bag (clean) and my Mongolian yak hair sweater – which she could probably sell for a total of US$70 or so, or pass on to a friend or another traveler.  And I was happy to lighten my pack, even by just a kilo or two.  I kept my hiking boots and metal water bottle – I would likely need these in the future.

I texted my sister in Boston – it was the 13^th anniversary of my mom’s death, and we try to speak on that day every year.  Sometimes it happens, sometimes not.  She later texted back to ring her, but replied that I didn’t have enough credits on my phone card.  She tried me a few hours after that, but it was 2 or 3 a.m. local time and I was fast asleep.  Oh well…so hard to believe it’s been so many years, my mother still seems so alive to me.

I took a 3-hour train ride that night to Novgorod.  Sat next to a fairly cute Russian lass…tried to strike up a conversation, but she didn’t speak much English and we didn’t get too far.  Oh well…

I’d only have 24 hours in Novgorod, which was possibly the first capital of the early Russian state, and in any event a leading city until the rise of St. P. in the early 18^th century.  Novgorod was founded around 860 A.D., making it a pretty old city for these parts. 

Got off the train, nice to be in a modest station.  Got a taxi to my hotel, a 3-star deal called Hotel Sadko.  Room was perfectly fine.  Realized that I had not had a bathroom to myself since being in Beijing, about 7 weeks earlier.  Yeesh – no wonder my hygiene had gone downhill.  I took a long shower and had a shave, without anyone knocking at the bathroom door.  Then went out for a walk and dinner.

Novgorod is a terrific little city.  Not that many sullen Adidas track-suited young men hanging out in groups at street corners…not that many cars screeching by blasting Metallica.  Of course, you do see grannies sitting in bus shelters drinking bottles of beer – this is Russia, and beer is soda.

Novgorod has a brilliant kremlin and some classic old Orthodox churches.  The Nazis did their damage here, but things were rebuilt and the place is lovely.  Next time I come to Russia, I want to spend more time in places like this, and less in the huge cities.  The ‘Golden Ring’ towns and cities like Vladimir and Suzdal are also supposedly great places to visit. 

I think I’d enjoy Russia more the second time round…I know a few people, I understand the mentality better, and I’d feel less compelled to race from sight to sight.  Of course, having a nice expense account would help immensely…

Had dinner at an outdoor café listed in my guidebook.  Salad, red wine, and a chicken skewer with rice.  Hit the spot.  It was fairly chilly outside, but the air was clean and I felt at peace.  Walked around the kremlin a bit, but put off the real sight-seeing till the next day.

Read my next book, The Black Dahlia by James Ellroy, till about 3 a.m.  Good yarn – had trouble putting it down.  Haven’t delved into a crime thriller in a very long time – this is a good one.  I think they made it into a movie last year, but didn’t see it.  Did abny of you?

Got up – too late for the included breakfast.  Oh well.  Checked out, left my bags and went for a daylong walk around town.  Took a bridge over the river, got a nice glimpse of the kremlin:

Then went to the kremlin and checked out the grounds and buildings there.  Apparently Prince Alexander (Nevsky) marched from here in 1241 or so to fight the Teutonic/Lithuanian forces in the ‘slaughter on the ice,’ where the two sides fought on frozen River Neva, the Russians winning and Alexander getting his title.  When I was a kid I read about this battle in some comic book, which simultaneously glorified war and showed the horror in it.  I didn’t wind up joining the military…I suppose I got the right message.

Had lunch in the kremlin walls – there’s a great place called Restoran Detinets (old kremlin name).  Was in the mood to have some refined food, for a change, and went for a rich borscht and then a salmon in cheese sauce.  Finally, some real Russian cuisine – I probably didn’t try hard enough to sample the local cuisine while here.  Good Russian food, apart from the ubiquitous salads and soups, reminds me of French food – modest portions of top cuts of fish/meat, in a simple but tasty sauce.  That makes sense, given the influence of France on Russia over the centuries – I believe that French was actually the court language in Russia for some time, as it was in England.

Thankfully no tour groups came into the restaurant while I was there.  Earlier I had planned to stop into another place, Ilmen, but just as I was casing the joint a tour group of 30+ Norwegians came in and that sealed the deal for me.  I understand the logic for tour groups, I just hate coming across them as an indie traveler.

After lunch, went into the Cathedral of St. Sofia, perhaps the oldest church in Russia.  Beautiful paintings, devout worshippers, and an icon of Our Lady of Novgorod – which has a blemish above the left eye, supposedly from an arrow shot by enemy Suzdal forces.  Which struck, the icon supposedly cursed the Suzdalians and caused them to attack each other, allowing the Novgorodians to gallop out and chase them off.  Good legend, anyway…

Also saw the ‘Millenium Memorial to Russia,’ built in 1862.  It has hundreds of images of famous Russians, and is quite an impressive statue:

Walked out of the kremlin and found myself on a riverside beach.  Russians specialize in these things, so few of them live near the ocean and those are almost all cold-water ports.  I heard Sochi on the Black Sea is good, but a madhouse in summer – and the 2014 Winter Games will be held there, so it will get even more built up.  Not in the cards for me this trip…

It wasn’t that warm, but there were still a number of sunbathers and volleyballers…

Walked up to a small military memorial to WW2.  Behind it was a huge statue – not sure who it was, my guidebook wasn’t helpful, but I think it’s of Rurik the Viking, or perhaps one of his offspring, who founded Novgorod. 

Checked email – heard from Al in Ulaan Bataar, he sent me a few photos, including one of the riot forces on the streets, quelling disturbances there (which were brief and finished pretty quickly).  Here’s a birds-eye view from Al’s apartment in UB:

He also got his jetboat in, finally, and took it for a spin on the Gol River.  I’m keeping that job offer in mind…

Later on I walked on the far side of the river, to a statue of Alexander Nevsky himself, with some bird shit as pomade: 

Nice river walk – you get some good views across to the kremlin.  I also spent a bit of time in an area called Yaroslav’s Court, full of old churches.  This part of town used to be the market, and an old arcade façade still stands near the river.  Finally, walked by a monument to the Afghan War – Russia’s Vietnam (and/or Iraq?). 

A good day’s worth of touring, I was done by 4:30 p.m.  My train to Moscow didn’t leave till 9:20 p.m., so I had time to drink beer, hang out, and try to finish my book. 

Nearly the perfect day.  I saw some new things, had some authentic Russian food, enjoyed the sunny weather and spent only 10 minutes on the Internet.  I hadn’t made any friends in town, but that’s usually the luck of the draw and anyway I was leaving soon.  Novgorod was an excellent antidote to 2 weeks in the large Russian cities…as I wrote earlier, next time round I want to focus my time in places like this.

Had a couple beers at an outdoor pub near the kremlin…then had a good pizza at a place on the other side, near my hotel.  Finally walked to Hotel Sadko, sat and read till around 8 p.m., and got ready to head to the train station for my overnight ride to Moscow.  Overheard another foreigner asking for a cab to the vokzhal (train station), I asked if we could split the ride, and she said yes.  Kelly, from Canada, had been traveling for about 7 months or so, in the opposite direction – she had already gone around Africa and the Middle East. 

Got on the train – Kelly and I were in separate cars.  My cabinmates, at first glance, appeared dull…two older gents and a frumpy woman, evidently all Russian.  And they weren’t that cool about moving so that I could stow my bag under a bottom bench.  I braced myself for a silent ride, and broke out my book.

I didn’t have any drinking water, asked the conductor where the café car was.  He pointed the way – then one of the guys in my cabin asked me, in English, if I was going there, I said yes, but just for water.  He nodded and went back into the cabin.  Wasn’t sure what that exchange was for, but I went off to find some water.  Eventually got some…it turned out to be free, along with some basic food.

Went back to my cabin, with the knowledge that at least one of my cabinmates could speak English.  And I soon found that my initial impressions were dead wrong, as they often are.  Sergey, the English speaker, is a personable guy, and very welcoming – we were soon discussing business and politics as if we were old friends.  And Andrei was even more gregarious – he broke out a bottle of Russian cognac, a tin of fish, and passed it around.  He spoke little English but with Sergey there we could communicate.  Tatiana was unfortunately the odd one out – she was reserved, didn’t want to eat or drink, and mostly responded to questions Andrei or Sergey posed to her.  She did find the three of us funny (or odd), though, occasionally perking up when we said something provocative. 

The bottle of cognac didn’t last long – neither did the tin of fish.  Andrei broke out a packet of salmon and shared that too – I bought a few beers and passed those out.  We kept talking – I really liked Sergey, he’s a genuine guy who’s visited a few of the southern U.S. states and is fairly wordly.  Andrei, on the other hand, hadn’t seen much of the planet, and was an earthy sort.  Andrei’s an engineer, and Jewish as well – I nearly came off my seat when I found out he spent some time on a kibbutz in Israel and is a tribesman.  I would not have been surprised if cosmopolitan Sergey told me he was Jewish…but chain-smoking, heaving-drinking, raunchy Andrei, who, when I said I want Obama to win, said a few words in Russian and then added ‘nigger’?  Again, my beliefs and impressions were shown to be pretty shallow.

At one point Andrei got up to dump some garbage, including the empty salmon packet.  As he walked by me he managed to pour a few drops of the salmon oil onto my pants – you know how fragrant fish oil is.  I went to the bathroom and poured water on the pant legs, and worked a bit of soap in there.  I wound up putting the pants into a plastic bag and hoping my next washing would get rid of the smell.     

We went to sleep sometime after midnight, with Moscow arrival pegged at 5:30 a.m.  We first exchanged emails…I might just look at Sergey if back in Russia.  Not sure about Andrei – he’s the type of guy who’s fun to come across once…

Tried to sleep – but the aircon wasn’t working and it was hot as a sauna in there.  I got up to stand in the corridor, but did want to get some z’s.  Andrei talked in his sleep…and at one point got up and seemed to be cursing the heat as well.  Sergey got up a bit later.  At some point, perhaps around 3 a.m., the air got better and I probably slept an hour or so.  The conductor got us up at 5 a.m. and I felt like hell – as much from lack of sleep as from the booze.

Got off the train at Leningradsky Station and oriented myself.  Saw Kelly waiting near the metro station; this entrance seemed to be closed, but I thought the metro opened at 5:30 or even earlier, so I looked around for another entrance, and there was one nearby.  I guided Kelly there – she hadn’t yet been to Moscow and I wanted to help her out.  As we walked over to the entrance, we saw a cop take a street cleaning hose and train it on a drunk rummaging through a trash can.  That was a painful sight – the poor drunk was just looking around for something to eat.  The cop was a real Russian product – bull-necked, small eyes, huge cap, no emotion.  Kelly winced and I did too – but didn’t want to stick around and have the cop notice us, either.

Inside, the crush was awful.  The metro had just opened and everyone from the train and randoms too were in line to purchase tickets.  I had stupidly neglected to get a ticket during my previous time in Moscow and thus was bereft, like Kelly.  We were weighed down with our baggage, and the line was endless.  I noticed a metro employee helping passengers through the turnstiles…I saw someone passing her some rubles…I grabbed Kelly, pulled out 40 rubles, and gave her 20.  We approached the woman and each slipped her the cash – she let us through.  I have no doubt she has a nice side-business in letting busy people through every morning…good for her.  That saved us a huge amount of time and hell…we found our train and got on. 

Kelly had to stop and change trains, I told her how to do it, and went on myself.  I felt like a good Samaritan, as I had with the Swedish girl when I left Moscow.  Eventually I got to my stop, and back to Lenin Hostel, my Moscow base.  I didn’t want to wake up the staff at Lenin, so I went to McD’s for some coffee and ‘nourishment.’  Then over to Lenin around 7 a.m. or so, an hour I knew would be the start of the work day at the hostel.

Walked in…Sarmat was sitting at reception, bleary-eyed as usual.  We shook hands and I went into the common room to nap a bit and do some computer stuff.  Confirmed my hotel in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan, my next country.  Paid some bills.  Checked emails.  Saw that my Uzbekistan letter of invitation had arrived – good news.

Next I knew it was 10 a.m., and Sarmat was relieved by the lovely Nadia, who started at the hostel right before I left for St. P.  We chatted for a while, then my room opened up.  I went in and then took a much-needed shower – I think some of Andre’s fish oil was still on my bod.  Nice.

After that I grabbed a shashlik for lunch, and a beer too.  Back at the hostel, I sent an email to Valentin, the older Russian fellow who offered me a job the previous week.  I declined, and told him that I thought he’d be better off contacting my former employer, which has offices in Moscow and Johannesburg, and could put together a couple people to facilitate communications and help him negotiate with potential licensees.  We’ll see how he gets back to me on that.

Took a very long nap – 4 hours.  I’m pretty good at napping – one of my few skills.  Called Marnely in Cebu – turned out her dad was ill and she was pretty broken up.  I kind of wish I were there to help her out…did my best over the phone, and promised to call often to check on her.

The time in Russia was coming to an end.  I thought about my time here…about the people and the place.  Are Russians Europeans?  That was a question I wrestled with during my entire trip.  From Siberia, where the people seemed earthy and unlike other ‘whities’ I’d come across around the world, to Moscow and St. P., which were refined cities with all the amenities of modern life (but also lots of raw behavior and dodginess), I’d seen a decent stretch of the country.  ‘Scratch a Russian, get a Tatar,’ goes a Russian saying, meaning that beneath a white/Euro veneer lies an Asian.  Perhaps, perhaps – I saw some of that while here.  I couldn’t comprehensively answer my question, but I thought I’d developed some insight nonetheless into the Russian mind and character.

I was happy I had taken the time in Mongolia to learn how to read Cyrillic – that was incredibly helpful to getting around and taking care of things there and here, and in future destinations.  I only wish I had learned Japanese hiragana as quickly back when I lived in Tokyo, that would also have been helpful.  Lesson:  invest some time in this, it might make the difference in your trip.

Case in point:  I had to get up at 5 a.m. to head to the airport.  Said bye to Nadia, who worked the graveyard shift but still seemed fresh as a daisy and perky as well – I’d miss her.  I did get her email address and plan to stay in touch.  I was slightly concerned about the timing, my flight wasn’t till 10 a.m., but still, this is Russia and things happen (or don’t).  I could have taken a cab, but that was fairly pricey and I decided to try to get there on public trans.  By now I knew the subway system quite well and could understand the written and verbal bits, so got to my stop to the north of the city without a hitch and found the matrushka (mini-van) stop there.  If I couldn’t understand Cyrillic I would have had a very hard time.  As it was, I got on the first mini-van to Sheremetyeko Airport and was there by 7:15 or so.  Total cost: 80 rubles, less than US$4.  For once, a bargain in Russia.  There aren’t many places where you can get to the airport that cheaply…

The airport is pretty crappy – not that clear where departures are or when to check in.  I had to cool my heels for 40 minutes, which wasn’t that big a deal.  Immigration was shockingly easy – I just handed over my passport, the woman didn’t ask to see anything else.  I had my dossier, and have kept that just in case.

This was my first flight on Aeroflot – not such a big deal these days, they fly Boeings and not not Antonovs or Tupolevs.  Good thing, that.  And Aeroflot is on Skyteam, so I gave the check-in clerk my Delta # and that worked.  In the check-in line for my flight to Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan was the most bizarre collection of people I’d seen in memory.  A woman with bright red dyed hair stood there with her son and a dog in a little carrier.  A portly guy with b.o., all gold teeth, and a pasha hat was right behind me – till he shifted lines, as seemed to be the local obsession – anything to advance two centimeters.  An obsese Russian woman and her son, who wore a ratty baseball cap and had a huge bandage on his neck…finally, a cutie who was probably Kyrgyz.  The queues were fluid and confusing – I was not in a real hurry so just watched and enjoyed the mayhem.  In this part of the world, this is perfectly normal behavior – crazy turbulence – anything to make forward progress.

Not the greatest group of winners, to be sure.  I was surprised to see so many Russians on the flight, I had thought most Russians left around 1991, when the USSR broke up, and later in 2005, when the Kyrgyz government fell and there was a fair amount of anti-Russian discrimination.  Anyway, I’d soon be able to see for myself.

I sat down near my gate and waited.  A woman across from me spoke on her mobile in American English.  When she was through, I said hi and asked where she was from.  Boston, she said.  Me too.  I asked her if she’d spent much time in Bishkek – I wanted some non-guidebook intelligence.  She said ‘Chicago?’  I said, ‘No, Bishkek.’  Soon it was clear that she had never heard of Bishkek – she was flying from Moscow through Paris back to the U.S.  An American who’s never heard of Bishkek – now that’s an impression of mine confirmed.  But actually there’s an American Airforce base at the Bishkek airport – and lots of American contractors in town.  I’d soon get the opportunity – rarely sought, it should be said – to hang out with middle-aged American military suppliers and get their deep take on the state of play in Kyrgyzstan.  Do I sound cynical?  Stay tuned for my next report, to be filed in a few days after I get a sense of this ‘stan’ country.  Over and out.