Escaping the snow. And heat. And mental stagnation

Without sounding like a broken record (or, stop me if you’ve heard this one before), I’m not exactly a man of the great outdoors. But I’ve now reached the two month mark of my stay here and Bishkek has started to strangle the life out of me. One of these days – yes, really – I’ll sit down and take the time to discuss in greater depth what Bishkek is like, but for now suffice to say that I find it uninspiring and drab. I think, therefore, that I shall make it a point to escape to the countryside as much as possible.

Spring is here and the temperamental weather has been up and down: one day hot and clammy, the next chilly with snow flurries. But late last week, on a day featuring a nasty snowstorm and icy cold temperatures, four of us made arrangements to flee from Bishkek for a weekend getaway. And so last Saturday we travelled three hours away into the mountains, to a small village of 16,000 called Kochkor. Part of the allure was that its name means ‘go away snow’ in Kyrgyz. So we were promised no snow, at least at sea level anyway. And a quiet interlude from the hustle and bustle of the thriving megalopolis that is Bishkek. We were sold.

But first, what’s so wrong with Bishkek?

I’ve been savouring Laurens Van Der Post’s ‘Journey Into Russia’ during my time here, and I’ve found many an inspirational passage that has resonated deeply within me. I’d dare not call it a ‘travel book’, though it’s easily one of the finest pieces of prose ever written on travelling in Russia. And even though it was first published in 1964, so much of what the author observed would still hold true today. But in particular, this continues to strike me:

‘Capitals, I believe, should be the end and not the beginning of a visitor’s schedule. They should be reserved to gather together and sum up all the ravelled ends of one’s experience as they do the life of their nations, otherwise they tend to turn all that follows into a kind of protracted anti-climax’.

Now I obviously live in Bishkek, but as I’ve struggled to get a grip on what I do and don’t like about the place, I keep coming back to that statement. In order to really put into words how I feel about the city, I feel like I need to see more of life outside the capital first. And then I’ll attempt to capture my thoughts into perceptive little chunks for everyone, myself included, to digest. Consider all that a long-winded euphemism for ‘procrastination’.

How I almost got myself a girlfriend. Almost…

Joining me on this trip (not like I arranged the whole damn thing or anything) were Brian and Kristen of Burana Tower/snowball in the back/‘good job being an asshole’ fame and Elizabeth, who you may remember as the one who Shanghaied me into downing that odious ‘small vodka’ shot. I can truthfully say that we’ve matured remarkably since that little episode.

It was a holiday weekend – Nooruz, the Persian New Year, which is celebrated across much of Central Asia. There wasn’t much of anything special planned, but the quiet solitude of a Kyrgyz village was in and of itself soothing enough. We shopped a bit for shyrdaks (traditional Kyrgyz rugs), had yet more lousy, fattening, sheep lard-doused local food at the only two cafes in town, took photos at the gaudy silver chrome Lenin statue (one of the only monuments in town), and meandered about through a decrepit park with rusty, tetanus-rich, Soviet-era playground equipment replete with chirpy, bright-eyed children incessantly approaching us and greeting us with ‘hello! hello! what’s your name? what’s your name?’ Those were the only English phrases we heard all weekend. The local English teachers must have it really easy if those are the only phrases they teach. But in fairness, these kids (and I’m generally no big fan of the whippersnappers) were quite cute, friendly and even borderline adorable.

One young girl named Zafie, who I think might have been Uzbek, immediately took a shine to us. Well, me, anyway. Barely had we exchanged names and various other introductory pleasantries – the usual where are you from, what do you do, how long have you been in Kyrgyzstan, are you married? - when she asked me for my phone number. Quite audacious for a 12 year old, I’d say. I mumbled some excuse but then she asked again. And looked quite disappointed when I wouldn’t fork it over. If only I knew how to say in Russian, ‘look sweetheart, you’re a bit too young for me, and besides, you speak no English, I speak little Russian, I’m only here one day, I’m not taking you back to Bishkek with me, I can barely hold a conversation on the phone with someone my own age in English, let alone bad Russian…’ Okay, you get the idea. Though come to think of it…I think I can actually say most of that in Russian. I’m making some progress after all.

I think she invited me, and only me, somewhere or other. But I politely declined and rejoined my companions, who were busy frolicking in the park and taking pictures with all the other children. I sadly never got a picture of Zafie, though she has a few of me. And I was slightly hurt when she gave Elizabeth a green hair clip as a present, though as I’ve recently cut my hair I wouldn’t have much use for it. She did, however, buy us all little lollipops, bless her kind heart.

Living [it up] with the locals

Kyrgyzstan has a good network of homestays, which are easy to arrange from various Community-Based Tourism offices. In fact, it’s said that Kyrgyzstan is perhaps the most well-organised and easy-to-get-around places in all of Central Asia, especially when it comes to low-impact, grassroots tourism (with that in mind, I can hardly wait to visit the other –stans). The best choice of accommodation is usually in the home of a local family, who can also feed you more sheep and horse fat if you plead and pay them enough for the privilege. We had a slightly awkward moment when we were invited into the family dining room for a bit of bread as we were on our way out to dinner. We’d already respectfully declined the offer of dinner at the home, though in retrospect it may have been a bad idea. With the Nooruz holiday, the family had put on one hell of a spread. So we were sat on the floor, around a low table with the extended family in attendance, drinking a pancake like batter that tasted of stale, weak beer, and eating fried bread (palatable, at least) and a beet/ham/mayonnaise/cheese/sheep lard salad. But because we’d not committed to eating at the home, the four of sat there like lemons not knowing how to act or what to do next. In the end, I took one for the team and begged leave of their company, probably committing an egregious sin against their kind hospitality in the process.

I end things there for now. In part II, I’ll talk about Sunday’s trip hiking in the mountains. From a literary perspective. You can start salivating in anticipation now.

Hmmm...Should I?

What the hell - my father would be proud

The finest engineering known to mankind

Would you let your children play on this contraption?