A bit of doggerel on Kyrgyzstan's finest moments

Or, a coruscating wrap-up of 5 months of mayhem and shenanigans

Horse-riding and blistering burns in the countryside…drunken wedding shenanigans… bizarre medical treatments…being stalked by a student and yelled at by a ‘prostitute’…almost getting jumped by the Kyrgyz army in the bathroom…grabbing the undercarriage of a bouncer at a nightclub and almost seeing a repeat of the Latvian broken rib experience…wonderful new friends (and one very special one)…and the Vagina Monologues in two languages. These have been among the numerous gems and highlights during my time in Kyrgyzstan.

Bishkek really came alive in the spring

How many different synonyms for c$#% in Russian?

Quite a lot, I tell you. I wouldn’t normally see something like the Vagina Monologues given the choice, but the opportunity to see it in Bishkek was way too good to pass up. I saw it first in English, a performance that brought out about 95% of Bishkek’s ex-pat community. I then saw it a couple of weeks later in Russian. Sadly, I’ve forgotten all of the crucial vocabulary, but for the life of me I’ll never fully understand how the Russians (or anyone, for that matter) can translate the likes of ‘coochie’, ‘snatch’ and 'poontang'.

The Baltica Challenge

Not necessarily the best range of beers in the world, but rather good nonetheless, Baltica – brewed and bottled in St Petersburg - comes in 7 or 8 different numbered varieties, with numbers 3 and 7 being the most popular. Elizabeth hit upon the idea of doing the ‘Baltica Challenge’, which involved a small group of us getting together and drinking all of the available Balticas in numerical order in quick succession. This is something bored English teachers do in foreign countries and it was tremendous fun, believe me. Our first attempt was a roaring success, though the second ended in colossal failure. Pictures of this epic night do exist, but for the time being I’ll withhold those. It’s for the best.

A bit of drunken buffoonery never does anyone much harm

A few weeks back one of the teachers, Andy, married a local woman, his former Russian teacher. Naturally all the teachers were invited and a generally festive good time was had by all. The evening confirmed to all of us that the glory and spirit of the Soviet Union is alive and well. On various occasions, the MC came out dressed as Lenin and then Brezhnev, to the accompaniment of old Soviet anthems. It was a real treat, replete with gorgeous food, copious amounts of vodka and the usual sloppy dancing characteristic of weddings in the ex-USSR. The night ended with yours truly feverishly dancing topless, waving his shirt over his head to the melodic tunes of Dr Alban’s ‘It’s My Life’. May I remind you that I’m 32 years old.

My Russian teacher Jyldyz and I at the wedding (look a bit more closely: I'm sporting the Sir Walter Raleigh look)

You'd never see this in the US

For three months I taught a class of local contractors at the American Embassy. They were a jovial bunch of 5 middle-aged men, and I’m pretty certain I learned far more Russian than they did English. But I’ll never, ever forget the time when, in a maudlin moment of nostalgia, the 5 of them in unison started gloriously chanting the tunes of the old Soviet national anthem. Once I’d got the hang of the tune, I hummed along. All of this within the confines of the embassy. Now if that doesn’t constitute treason…

Bonding time with old naked men

One of my favourite things to do wherever I go is visit the local banya (public baths). Many of my most memorable travel experiences have come from such experiences, whether Turkish baths in Budapest and Amman, slightly more plush and up-to-date ‘aquatic centres’ in Riga, or Swedish saunas in Edinburgh. Most of these places have a strict ‘clothing optional’ requirement, which in other words means everyone is starkers and foreigners naturally get stared at as some sort of spectacle. I’ve visited Bishkek’s main banya twice and it has failed to disappoint. There’s nothing better, more stimulating and utterly soothing than to be manhandled by a fat old Kyrgyz man whose ravaged, wrinkled hands go in search of every imaginable crevice in an attempt to get you as clean as possible. All of this on top of a marble table that’s given a quick rinse in lukewarm water after each customer. Nothing like throwing caution to the wind as far as communicable diseases are concerned.

An absolute treat on the inside

[Two disclaimers: I’m told the woman’s portion is far nicer and more luxurious; Kristen and Emma had lovely oatmeal massage treatments, though I best not share the full details; and I’ve never been to a Swedish sauna in Edinburgh.]

The Kyrgyz army: cognoscenti of the fine arts?

I thoroughly enjoyed my numerous trips to the Opera and Ballet Theatre, taking in ‘Carmen’, ‘Spartacus’, ‘Rigoletto’ and just recently, ‘Swan Lake’. The quality of the performances was always shaky, but for around $2-3 a ticket, one really can’t complain. Whilst watching ‘Rigoletto’ from the first row of the balcony (where I was the only spectator), I noticed approximately 150 members of the Kyrgyz army occupying all of the last 5 rows of the floor section, thus constituting well over half of the patrons in attendance. I hardly think they all came voluntarily, as most seemed bored and their applause was perfunctory at best. But during one interval, I popped into the bathroom, and was promptly met with about 150 sets of penetrative, inquisitive eyes that all seemed to be asking the same question: what the hell do you think you’re doing in here son? I froze, hardly knowing what to do. Each urinal and stall had a queue of soldiers about 10 deep, and there was little old me ready to get a beating for daring to intrude upon their private little get-together. I stood there meekly near the entrance, calming waiting for each and every one of them to finish. As they filed out past me, I was met with either hostile stares or fits of giggles (and probably a fair few insults). Once they’d gone, I attempted to do my business, though was faced with the biggest case of stage fright in my life.

The fine hospitality of the London School

The school here has been, on the whole, very kind and generous to the teachers, taking us on various day and weekend trips. Recently, a few of us visited the home of the owner of the school, mere steps from Lake Issyk-kul, Kyrgyzstan’s pride and joy. The lake was absolutely freezing but the countryside and calm serenity were a much welcome relief from the scorching heat of Bishkek. Not having learnt my lesson from Arslanbob, where I was in pain for days after a horse-riding trek, we again set off on horses one fine Sunday in search of a supposedly therapeutic salt lake of sorts (the poor man’s Dead Sea, allegedly). The start was way too ominous for my liking. Barely had I got seated and comfortable on my horse when another, smaller horse suddenly galloped off, mine following in rapid pursuit. Now, I had just been told that to get these evil beasts to stop, one must yell ‘drrrrrrrrrrrrr’, with the rolling of the ‘r’ crucial to the horse’s understanding. But I can’t roll my r’s, so I was helpless to stop it. I’m not sure how far and fast we went, but I was terrified and my friends were nowhere to be seen. At one point, when the horse made a quick pivot and turn, I almost went tumbling off – just the mere thought of this was enough for me to feel a slight twinge in my collarbone. Once the horse had finally been corralled by one of our guides, it took an awful lot of convincing for me to get back on another one (no way was I getting back on the same one). The rest of the day was overall quite uneventful, the most serious traumas being severe burns for all of us - for a week afterwards my forehead and nose were a mess and I looked like a leper and Brian looked like he had 2nd degree burns on his thighs – and yet again more pain in sensitive spots for both Brian and I. It’s a good thing I’m not so keen on having children.

While Emma stayed tough, Brian and I walked it back

Kyrgyz showers in the countryside

Emma, Kristen and Brian on the shores of Issyk-kul

That is not a receding hairline...let's call it windswept

A note on hospitality and other ‘default’ settings, pedantically-speaking

It was Alex, a former student of Russian here, who alerted me to this theory. If you look at a guidebook to any country, most of them will not hesitate to praise the hospitality of the people. Alex called this a ‘default setting’. In other words, when you can think of little else to describe a country, use the word hospitality (in slightly less PC terms, if a country is shitty and has nothing going for it, use ‘hospitality’). Now, this is in no way an indictment or statement on Kyrgyz hospitality, for I have little to complain about. I’m merely relating an interesting point that has a good deal of validity to it. Outside of the school environment (meaning, besides the school itself and my students), whether in Bishkek or in the countryside, I wouldn’t exactly say that we’ve encountered tremendous hospitality. It’s been nothing like the hospitality of Georgia, Armenia, Jordan or Ireland amongst many other places. Nor has it been anything like what we encountered in Arslanbob, which to remind you was around 99% Uzbek. It will be interesting, for comparative purposes, to see how Kyrgyzstan fares with Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan.

While I’m on the topic, 3 other prime examples of default settings:

* while watching a football match that has no clear rhythm or where it’s difficult to decide which team is controlling the pace and flow, use ‘scrappy’. I find this an amateur term used when your adjectives and powers of analysis have failed you.
* when describing a book or film you disliked and your adjectives and powers of analysis have failed you, use ‘pretentious’. This can equally be applied to people one doesn’t like.
* when out at a place you’ve never been to before, or after you’ve met someone new who either intrigued or annoyed you, use ‘random’. As in, ‘last night was so random. I met the most random guy at the most random bar.’ I thank Grant for bringing this to my attention, and since then I’ve realised just how prevalent this is. When your adjectives and powers of analysis have failed you, use ‘random’.

Some random guys washing themselves...in beer

The pleasant surprise that were my students

For the most part during the past 4 years of teaching, I’ve been fortunate enough to have had lovely students and pleasant classes (with Spain being the unfortunate exception). I left my last teaching gig in Latvia thinking that that was it, I’d had enough of teaching and needed a break. That says nothing about my students in Latvia: they were exceptional and I left on an extremely high note: I just didn’t want to risk Tefl burn-out. So it was with some trepidation that I returned to teaching and this gig; yet from the very first day it has been nothing but a positive experience. I’ve had some of the most motivated, eager, friendly and hospitable students and if this is it for teaching English, I am once again leaving on a massive high.

Last-day food and drink with some of my favourite students (or as Kristen said, you couldn't find nicer, sweeter people anywhere on the planet). Begimay (in the middle in red): 'Daniel, will you take me to London with you?' Me: 'I don't live in London!'

Another wonderful class who gave me a shirt and traditonal Kyrgyz hat as gifts

Sartorial elegance at its finest

Spring and summer has brought out the very best in female fashion…and I’m talking only about the T-shirts and their wonderful slogans. I’m convinced that the vast majority of girls and women wearing these shirts haven’t the faintest idea what the message actually means. Here are some of the best:
1. ‘If we are what we eat, I’m fast, cheap and easy’ (as worn by a non-English speaking middle-aged shopkeeper at Osh Bazaar)
2. ‘Remember my name: you’ll be screaming it later’ (as worn by a plump, elderly woman)
3. ‘So many man, so many mind’ (if ‘man’ were ‘men’, this might have a ring of logic to it)
4. ‘Let’s put some ornament on it’ (I don’t quite get it)
5. ‘Girls today you be the sexy’ (always a good idea)
6. ‘No Cash, no Crisis’ (with the ladies or economics?)

But easily the best, which is indicative of the mentality of the women here. Remember kids, in Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union, the man pays for EVERYTHING without exception:
7. ‘No Romance without Finance’

Priceless.

[though I’m not sure anything could top the shirt Magnus and I saw in Yerevan on a 15-year old who spoke not a word of English. On the front: ‘Did I make you cum twice?’ On the back: ‘Was it better the 2nd time?’ Sorry for the explicit details, but ‘cum’ was 3 times larger than any other word on the shirt.]

Kyrgyz medical ideas rooted firmly in fact

* If a woman sits on a cold, hard floor, then her ovaries will freeze and she’ll never be able to give birth. This is a medical fact.
* If you have both the door and window to a room open thus creating a draft, this will lead to severe ear, eye and lower back pain. This is a medical fact.
* Eating ice cream in winter will give you strep throat. This is a medical fact.
* A warm boiled egg will cure any ailment. This is a medical fact.

An epic night at the disco-theque

And lastly, arguably the finest night out I’ve had to date. Five of us – Brian, Kristen, Brian (a different one, an Italian/Belgian hereafter referred to as Italian Brian), Joe (another teacher) and of course me – went to Platinum, one of Bishkek’s more upscale dancing establishments. After a few cocktails at a similarly swank location, we were all in good form on this particular Friday evening. Italian Brian ran into some Iranian and Jordanian friends of his, along with a couple of Turkmen girls. One of the Turkmen girls broke a glass. Then so did one of the Jordanians. They departed. I was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, and despite not having had anything to do with this malarkey, was presented with a bill for approximately $10. It’s a common feature of the former Soviet Union that one must pay for any broken dishes or glasses; in fact, most menus feature a price list on the last page of the menu.

Now, my Russian hasn’t improved to the point where I can have an intense argument with overbearing and muscularly insolent (not to mention morally insouciant) bouncers over the deafening music of the club, but with a little help from Italian Brian, I thought we’d somehow managed to persuade them that we were not to blame. Case closed.

But alas, some time later, whilst dancing, the bouncers approached me on the dance floor and motioned for me to come and join them for a ‘chat’. Despite Kristen’s best efforts to dissuade them, I voluntarily acquiesced and went over to work things out. This being on the fringes of the dance floor, many people were of course watching events unfold.

These guys weren’t exactly being polite and cordial and my temper was starting to fray. But I didn’t dare think of doing something stupid in public, with hundreds of potential witnesses probably happy to see a foreigner getting pummeled and then turfed out onto the street in a crumpled heap of bones and blood. But I was getting increasingly agitated and at this point Italian Brian was nowhere to be seen. So it was left to me and Brian (the other one, my dear good friend) to weasel our way out of this misunderstanding. Brian’s contributions were invaluable: the extent of his Russian at that point was ‘nyet’ and ‘normalno’, neither of which were particularly helpful.

Mere words can hardly describe my next choice of action. As the bouncers continued to jostle and incredulously violate my personal space, I waved my finger slowly in front of one of their faces, quite intentionally flicking his nose in the process and saying in a childlike voice, ‘no no no no no’. I then impetuously snatched the bill from out of his hands (which they kept thrusting in front of my face), ripped it in half, and threw it back at his face. This incensed them even more and my rage was about to boil over. I desperately felt like I was going to snap. My fists were clenched at my side, and although I’m not exactly known for my sangfroid in situations like this, I’m not a violent person and at no point was I about to whack this clown. So, with them almost on top of me, with loads of prying eyes looking in our direction, I was left with little other choice: I gave one of them a swift, firm grasp of the old undercarriage – what else can a man do in a situation like this? This was the fuse that really set them off, for almost at once, the two goons grabbed both of my arms and literally picked me up and dragged me across the dance floor and out into the foyer. Brian valiantly tried to stop them but they did their best to savagely elbow him out of the way. Before either of us were fully aware of what was happening, we were bundled into a small room near and the door slammed shut. I was fuming, too angry to be frightened, though I was suddenly faced with flashbacks from Latvia, which coincidentally enough occurred almost a year ago to the day. After a few minutes we had calmed down and amazingly the door was unlocked. We left the room and were confronted by Mikhail, the showman/MC of the club. He was unbelievably helpful, friendly, considerate and spoke excellent English. After explaining our ordeal, he apologised profusely and invited us back inside. Later I was to find out he was gay.

The rest of the night proceeded smoothly enough until it came time to leave. After resolving a bit of a mix-up at the coatroom, Italian Brian and Joe came barreling out of the club in a frenzied dash saying ‘come on, run, let’s go, let’s go’. We didn’t ask any questions but it transpired that on this occasion, Joe had actually really broken a glass and was damn well determined not to pay for it. Try explaining that one to the bouncers.

We all went back to Platinum a few weeks later, a night largely without any more serious shenanigans. But upon entering, Mikhail recognised me, greeted me with a radiant smile, and calmly told me ‘no fighting or trouble tonight, behave yourself’. He then said ‘you make me pleasure later, eh?’ While I stammered with an appropriate response, he quickly added, ‘it’s okay my friend, I’m joking, I’m joking.’

Without a doubt, Bishkek has had its moments.

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My time in the region is not quite complete. I depart on 4 July for just over 2 weeks of travelling, starting in Kazakhstan with a weekend in Almaty with Emma and then spending the bulk of my holiday going it solo in Uzbekistan. I may try and write quick updates from the road but I’m not making any promises. I’m returning to Bishkek hopefully in time for the presidential elections on 23 July, before jetting out in early August.

That’s the story for now.

The start of something. Or, what have I got myself into?

A brief disclaimer

As a self-professed Luddite who has never really got round to embracing the blogosphere in any great depth, I feel as though what I’m about to embark upon is anathema to everything I stand for. But alas, there appears to have been some demand – a handful of friends out there anyway – and so I’ve thus given in and started my own ‘blog’. I’m almost ashamed of myself. Not having read too many blogs myself, I’ve always found the idea of them to be self-indulgent little flights of fantasy. Or, as my friend Grant said, if ‘you have an idea without the ballast to constitute a proper essay and a shaky command of grammar, then what you have is a blog’. Very well-put. Or as Dennis has stated, ‘it is vain to sit down to write before you’ve stood up to live’. I figured that I’d done my share of living and it was time to sit down and put a few words to paper, so to speak.

My intentions here are noble: I want to provide an outlet for my friends and family (well, my sister at least) to follow my travels/travails (depending on your perspective). I’ve kept a few of you in the loop over the past few years, but now I reckon I’m ready to share my tales with a slightly bigger audience. It seems a bit of a shame, really, to only now be starting this after the past few years of fun and games on the road. Perhaps I’ll revisit a few stories every now and then, and finally reveal the full lowdown on prison visits in Nigeria and broken ribs in Latvia. But those are stories for another time.

I also warn you in advance that, if past habits are anything to go by, I may go off on seemingly random little tangents about all sorts of things: politics, sport, business, corruption, fashion, philosophy…we’ll see. But my intention is to maintain some semblance of a focus.

Now that I’ve explained my somewhat solipsistic rationale for this little endeavour, let’s move on to the here and now: Bishkek. This is the adventure that almost never was.

I thought my last year in Latvia was it. I wanted to ‘take a break’ from teaching English, and I figured I’d give things a go in the US for a bit. After all, it had been over 6 years since I’d last lived and worked over there. I did sort of haphazardly look for jobs, mainly in NYC but also in Boston and a few other decent-sized cities, but it really was never meant to be. And besides, despite wanting to take a break, I absolutely knew I would miss the lifestyle. My flatmate Mark in Latvia said as much, and I knew even at the time that he was right.

So after a bit of agonizing over Georgia and Kyrgyzstan, I opted for the latter. A good choice? Seeing as I’d been wanting to come to Central Asia for so long, absolutely. It’s barely been a week thus far, so for the time being it’s a bit too early to tell. I’m impatient, yet I’m not entirely sure what I’m impatient for. I want things to happen fast, and I get a bit down and flustered if things don’t work out as quickly as I’d like. But then I’m impossible to please and I never know what I want, so thus…

[at this point in my little missive, I’m starting to ask myself where the hell I’m going…and where to go from here…and, how do these things work?]

I had a few ideas in my head about what to expect from Kyrgyzstan. I’ve long been enraptured by Central Asian yarns of high adventure, about the ‘Great Game’, the geopolitics of the region, etc, etc. But what one gleans from a book is never the same as the story on the ground. I wanted to come and see this place for myself, find out the reality of the situation.

And something else just hit me today as I was explaining to my students why I’ve come to Kyrgyzstan. I’d never thought of this way before, but a bit of a joke turned into a bit of great thinking: three years ago, I started this teaching English adventure in Ukraine. After a stint in Spain, it was off to Latvia. I spent most of June last year in the Caucasus, taking in Georgia and Armenia. Suddenly, it seems like I’m circumnavigating Russia via the former Soviet Union. It oddly never seemed like it at the time, and those of you who really know me know that I never plan too far in advance, but it now appears rather logical and obvious. In fact, I’m quite proud of myself. It’s all falling into place. Logic would dictate that at the end of all this, Russia would be the final destination, or piece in the puzzle.

As for me falling into place, it was an eerie arrival. I was fully aware that the US Air Force has established a base here in Bishkek, which they share with Manas, the local airport some 30km outside of town. Various others had written of the strange feeling of arriving at the airport to see civilian airliners lined up alongside C130s. Sadly I missed out on these early impressions, as my plane landed in a thick pea-soup fog. In fact, I couldn’t see a thing as I looked out the windows and we suddenly touched down when I thought we were still thousands of feet in the air. The journey to my new home at 5am was enshrouded in that same dense fog, and I hardly knew whether I was coming or going I was in such a bleary-eyed state.

My first week here was somewhat rough. I had a nasty bout of jetlag which I’m only now slowly beginning to shake. I had the week off (thankfully the school likes to have its teachers ease into things with a 1-2 week settling in period), but I got a bit antsy and didn’t know what to do with myself. I met the other 7 teachers, most of whom have been here for at least 4-5 months, as well as the local staff and some of my new students. This has been one major difference between previous teaching assignments: at every other location I’ve started with a group of other teachers at the start of the school year in September (except in Ukraine, where it was only me), whereas here I’m the new guy suddenly crashing the party.

But no matter: the other teachers are friendly and have been welcoming. On our first night out together they regaled me with stories of crime and police harassment, things I eagerly look forward to. There would appear to be a significant risk of petty crime against foreigners here, but that’s to be expected in such an economically depressed former Soviet [insert your word of choice here]. At one point I thought they were about to take bets on establishing an over/under on when I might be expected to face trouble (3 weeks? 4?). The biggest threat to foreigners comes from the police, who rarely pass up an attempt to extort money from you. They lurk on every corner, glaring intently at me every time I pass by. Luckily so far, I’ve not been stopped, though it’s surely only a matter of time.

IR Theory 101

As for Bishkek itself, I’ve explored a bit here and there, meandered about the massive, wide boulevards and endless reams of concrete and statues, paeans to heroes from the glorious Soviet and Kyrygz past. My friend Magnus would no doubt make two astute observations about this place, as he is wont to do. First, this place is unbelievably ‘Sovietsky’. If you thought Yerevan was Sovietsky, you haven’t seen anything yet. And second, it’s a terrible city in which to wage guerrilla warfare. As it is, Kyrgyzstan is, geographically, a horribly convoluted country whose borders, like all the Central Asian states, cuts across and divides up different ethnicities and religions. The north is more Russified than the south, where a greater majority of ethnic Kyrgyz live. And towns like Osh near the Fergana Valley, a hotbed of militant Islam and a mere few kilometers from the border of Uzbekistan, feature a substantial population of Uzbeks and Tajiks, both of whom are severely underrepresented in Kyrgyz government. When the Soviet Union went belly-up in December 1991, the entire region hardly knew what to do with itself. In a sense, Stalin had carved out the countries of Central Asia into neat, convenient, easily manageable republics; independence had the effect of creating a set of 5 full-blown Russian inventions. The Soviet policies of strictly controlled borders, forced population relocation (Germans, Russians and Ukrainians to Kyrgyzstan, for example) and the redrawing of the map of the region, has left the 5 ‘-stans’ in a post-independence mess: economically depressed, ethnically and politically divided, and with Islam relegated to something of a secret religion, to be practiced only in private and away from the prying eyes of the state.

But what do I know? I’m only spouting off the ideas I’ve gathered from books and the news, it’s probably all horribly inaccurate. The point I’m trying to make goes back to Bishkek’s geography vis-à-vis the Magnus Briem school of international conflict: with its wide boulevards and overwhelming stretches of concrete plazas and wide open spaces, this place is not at all suited to guerrilla warfare, unlike say, Baghdad or Beirut. So despite its close proximity to the Kazakh border (not a threat) and the fomenting unrest in the south, Bishkek in theory is a much safer, secure place than, say, Tashkent. But I don’t want to get into Uzbekistan’s politics just yet.

[besides, with the American military just down the road, we should have nothing to worry about.]

Here's a handy wee map: http://www.lonelyplanet.com/maps/asia/kyrgyzstan/

My intention there was merely to provide a brief, cursory overview of Bishkek’s architectural splendours and sights. And instead I digressed to offer a half-baked analysis of Kyrgyzstan’s post-Soviet dilemma. Forgive me. I wish I could say it won’t happen again, but it almost certainly will.

Other than the architectural monstrosities, I’ve visited a couple of bazaars - Osh and Ortasay- which are far, far cheaper than the overpriced local supermarket. You get an amazing array of goods on display, though many are of dubious quality (such as the $5 kettle that lasted me 4 days). At the very least, they offer a colourful and eclectic slice of native life, even if they can be quite chaotic and frenetic. It’s all part of the fun.

As many of you are aware, I’m a bit lost without a steady reading supply and decent coffeeshops where I can lounge about, whiling away the afternoon with books, newspapers and general people watching. So that was my mission last weekend, and although I haven’t yet found anywhere to meet my high, snobbish standards, I did have a couple of very mildly amusing situations. First was the bookstore that I was told featured a ‘small selection’ of secondhand English books. Small indeed: there were about 15. The only one of any interest was a collection of short GK Chesterton pieces, many of which I’ve already read. But otherwise, it was a pathetic, pitiful collection on hand: Happy English, A Guide to Memorize English in Plenty (sic) and an issue of National Geographic from September 1989 were the highlights.

Then I called into Metro, apparently one of Bishkek’s prime expat and sports-watching watering holes. It was only 1pm and not many people were around: a couple of Englishmen at the bar and a table of 8 Americans (from the base?) drinking cocktails. On the only two TVs were the Australian Open semifinal and a nature documentary – tranquil scenes from ocean life interspersed with footage of natural disasters, accompanied by electronic, ambient variations of music from ‘Phantom of the Opera’. I was thoroughly enjoying, from a distance, the Nadal-Verdasco semifinal, which was at 4-4 in the final set. Then one of the Englishmen asked the barmaid to turn it to some football, she duly obliged, and I ended up missing the thrilling finale in favour of West Ham v Liverpool…from the 2006/7 season. With the time difference (6 hours from the UK, 11 from EST), there’s was no way live football would be on at 1pm local time. And I’d rarely object to watching football, naturally, but in such circumstances I was livid. To coffeeshops and books, you can add a steady stream of sports to my requirements for contentment. As for the Super Bowl…not a chance I was watching that with a 5.30am local kickoff time, seeing as Metro opens at 10am. And yes, I am bitter that I missed such a thrilling game.

Oh, and shortly after that, the waitress asked me how to make a White Russian. And this is Bishkek’s premier expat spot? They’re asking me how to make a mixed drink?

I’ll no doubt be going back, as there aren’t really any other places to choose from, and beggars can’t be choosers of course. I mean, the cup of tea I had was decent, if overpriced, and it’s a comfortable enough spot to spend a few hours watching football.

Dated cultural reference anyone?

Oh, and just before I left, one of the Americans was complaining to the waitress that she had forgotten the tequila in his Long Island Ice Tea. For whatever reason, the image of Ian Brown shouting ‘Amateurs! Amateurs!’ in the BBC studios way back when popped into my head.

Enough is enough for now

I don’t plan on all my posts being this lengthy. Unless something truly wild and unexpectedly adventurous happens (like, I get my head smashed in at some seedy bar after trying to steal some Russian mafioso’s Kyrygz girlfriend), I aim to make these commentaries as succinct and to the point as possible. If you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading and please do share any comments, whether positive or [constructively] critical. In my next dispatch, I’ll share details of my living conditions and teaching specifics. Try and contain your excitement.