Hahahaha!

Got this email from Gwen in Korea:

I've given up on sending your package to K-stan. It came back again and had been opened and taped back together.... and was missing a box of choco pies :/ I'm wondering how far it got and who took the choco pies. It seems like if it made it all the way there they'd either keep it all if they wanted it or send what they didn't want to you. On the other hand, choco pies are plentiful here and postal workers can afford them, so it seems weird that the thief would be here. It shall remain a mystery. I'll just send package to the US when it's nearing your time to go back.

Lookee what I got!

I ordered three airline approved cargo pet carriers, which arrived yesterday. Now I can take my cats with me when I leave in November. I only ordered them a few weeks ago, and I was worried that they wouldn't make it in time (I'm still waiting for that fitted sheet my mom sent me in January...), but they reached Bishkek in record time. The kitties will have plenty of time to get used to the carriers before we ship out. I had initially planned to ship the three older cats in cargo and carry Heelix on board with me... but she's growing so fast, she may very well be bigger than Lucy by the time November rolls around. I guess we'll have to wait and see.

Anger, disappointment, and a dead goat

Just a warning: this post is going to be quite bitchy. Feel free to skip all the venom and go straight to the photographs if you want.

For months now I have been looking forward to the National Horse Games Festival near Kochkor, mainly because of the opportunity to see Ulak-Tartysh, colloquially known among foreigners as “dead goat polo” – a pretty apt description. Unfortunately, while I did get to see dead goat polo, and while I did get some good photographs, the weekend was somewhat of a disappointment.

Eight of us had planned to go to the festival together, and the idea was to leave the school after work on Friday, get a van or two taxis from the bus station to Kochkor, spend the night in Kochkor at a CBT homestay, then take the CBT bus to the festival in the morning. It kind of worked out like that. Kind of.

Trent and Lynne had had a bad experience with the taxi they got a couple weekends when they went to Kochkor, so they were not looking forward to going to the bus station and negotiating for transport. They asked us if it was OK if they got the school to arrange our transport. While we knew this would be more expensive, we agreed, as we also knew it would be easier that haggling with taxi vultures in the dark. Nargiza, one of the school’s office staff, found a company which agreed to transport us for roughly 400soms/person (the cost from the bus station is usually 250-350soms/person, depending on your haggling skills and the availability of drivers to your destination), and we agreed. They called back later in the day and said that they’d made a mistake: 400soms was for seven people; it would be more expensive for eight people. Fine. We agreed. I guess at this point this company figured they’d take the foolish rich foreigners for all we were worth and called back to say that it turned out they didn’t have any vans available; they could get us 2 cars for 750soms/person. At this point we said no and figured we’d just go to the bus station and tough it out.

There is a person currently studying Russian and Kyrgyz at the school that we thoroughly dislike. He is unpleasant, rude and constantly says and does things which are inappropriate and offensive. Well, it was at the point where I’d just learned that I’d be haggling at the bus station after all (I being the best Russian speaker of our group), when this guy came up to me and informed me that he was coming with us. I blatantly told him that he couldn’t tag along, because our homestay only had 8 beds; he said this wasn’t a problem, as he had already been to CBT and booked himself a homestay for the night! When I asked *which* Kochkor homestay, he said he didn’t know, “number 27, some street” – as ours was #32 “some street” that was at least a small relief. However, at that point I was beginning to feel a bit stressed as to how I was going to negotiate taxi space for 9 people to Kochkor. Vans usually hold 8 people, and taxis usually hold 4. Taxi space for nine people was going to mean an extra car, at extra expense for everybody involved.

Luckily, at this point Nargiza came out and said she’d found someone with a 12-seater van who was willing to drive us to Kochkor for 466som/person. I admit I was relived. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure the driver of this van had never been out of Bishkek before. Not only did he not know how to handle the winding mountain roads, but he didn’t know where Kochkor was! On all my previous trips to Kochkor, it’s taken between two to three hours to get there. This guy crept along at a snails pace, constantly stopping to ask directions (not listening to me try to give him directions, since *I* know how to get to Kochkor), and it took us a full four and a half hours to get to Kochkor.

At this point I should back up and say that about fifteen minutes after we left the school, the Person Whom We Dislike realized that he’d left his receipt for his homestay in his apartment and didn’t know the address of where he needed to go. I told the driver that he had forgotten something important and needed to go back, but the driver refused to go back. He said that if we turned back after starting our journey, we would have bad luck on the road and simply refused to stop. Of course the Person was getting quite upset. I dialed CBT on my cell and handed it to him. CBT ended up talking to the driver and telling him the address in Kochkor where we would need to go. It turned out that he was staying at 27 Omuraliev Mambetsadyk, which was just a stone’s throw from where we were staying at 32 Omuraliev Mambetsadyk. Or at least that was the plan.

We arrived in Kochkor at 1:30am, which was much later than expected. Of course when we got to the village, the driver had to ask directions to 27 Omuraliev Mambetsadyk, and someone showed us the way to the street. There was one house on the street with lights shining and doors open, so he drove there. It turned out to be #32, where our hosts were up waiting for the 8 of us. I told the Person that his homestay was just down the street (which it was, dammit), but he refused to go there! He said he didn’t “want to wander about in the dark” and he would just stay with us. I pointed out that our homestay only had 8 beds, that they were only expecting 8 people, and that the people at *his* homestay were probably waiting up for him. He shrugged all this off, tossed his stuff on a bed (!) and then essentially demanded that our hosts make him tea, despite the late hour.

He went off to drink tea and left the rest of us fuming. Luckily one of the 8 beds was a double bed, and with Trent and Lynne being a couple it ended up not being a problem, but still! Of course, in the morning, the Person said that he’d paid in advance for his homestay, so he refused to pay. Who knows whether or not he had actually paid. Our host was gracious and said that she’d simply ask CBT to give her the money – although as he hadn’t reserved a room at her place, I’m worried she won’t get it.

Anyway, we got up a little before 7am, had breakfast and made our way to the CBT office in Kochkor, where we were to catch the bus to the festival. The place was overrun with foreign tourists. I swear every foreign tourist in Kyrgyzstan was there! I generally detest spending time in large groups of tourists, so this discovery did little to improve my mood.

We loaded into several buses and were driven about an hour and a half north of Kochkor into a high-altitude jailoo known as Sarala-Saz. We approached the jailoo, and I noticed that while the place was crawling with tourists, there weren’t all that many Kyrgyz about, and my heart began to sink. It should have occurred to me. See, here in Kyrgyzstan, people have a tendency to use the word “national” in the way that I would normally use the word “traditional.” (ex: Bullfighting is the national sport of Spain. Kilts are the national costume of Scotland.) It’s not exactly incorrect, but it does leave a certain ambiguity. We had been expecting the National Horse Games Festival to be a *national* event, with people from all over the country coming to participate. (People do still play these horse games, so it could have happened…) Instead, the moniker Traditional Horse Games Festival might have been more appropriate; it was essentially a demonstration of traditional Kyrgyz horse games, put on for tourists by CBT. It was okay, but not at all what I had expected. And not worth the trouble we went through getting there. Or the fact that the Person stuck to our group like glue the whole day.

I did get some decent photos:

The Sarala-Saz jailoo where the festival was held was gorgeous, and we were lucky that the weather was as well.

The first exhibition of the day was Kurosh, traditional Kyrgyz wrestling.


Then came Oodarysh, wrestling on horseback. The goal is to knock your opponent from his horse.


Next was Tyiyn Enmey (of which I got my best shots of the day). Traditionally, men pick up a coin from the ground while on horseback at a gallop. These guys used paper.


And lastly, Ulak-tartysh, dead goat polo. It was difficult to get shots showing the goat as it was dark like the horses. That fuzzy thing hanging off the black horse is the goat.


Just as rain clouds began to make their way over the mountaintops, we boarded our bus back to Kochkor.

On our way back from Kochkor to Bishkek, Katy, Mike, Mary and I shared a taxi for 250soms/person which took 2 hours 15 minutes to make it from the Kochkor bus station to our apartment building. Yeah.

Anyhow, the full set of 64 photos CAN BE SEEN HERE. Check them out!

Looks like it'll be another dark winter in K-stan

Last winter might have been the first time in history that Kyrgyzstan suffered rolling blackouts, but it won't be the last. Read the story.

Going to dinner back home will be so boring…

Going to restaurants and cafes here in Kyrgyzstan is always an adventure. You might end up with some kind of unidentifiable meat or you might be given some bizarre and foul dish as it was the only item from their extensive menu that the restaurant had available. Of course, those are the extremes. More commonly, you need to choose at least two items from the menu before you try to place your order, as a good 50% of the time they’ll be out of your first choice. When the waitress brings your food, be prepared for the wrong item to be brought, and for her to insist that it was indeed what you ordered. Sometimes it will merely be the dish ordered by one of your dinner companions, although occasionally it will be something totally off the wall which no one ordered. Sometimes extra dishes will appear on your table once everyone has already been served and the waitress will try to insist that someone at your table ordered it. ALWAYS check the bill. I don’t know if this is simply something local restaurants try to do with foreigners (assuming they’ll either be rich or stupid) or if they do this with everybody… but we find that a good 70% of the time we go to a restaurant (if not more) the bill is wrong. Sometimes it’s a simple mathematical error, which might very well have been made accidentally. (In most places, the waitresses add up the totals themselves, there’s no computer or cash-register to do it for them.) However, sometimes the errors are obviously *not* mistakes. Once, our bill was nearly double what it should have been… but the correct total had been written on the bottom of the check then folded over so that we wouldn’t see it, and the fake total had been circled. Another time, we were charged 20% for service and 40soms/person for live music. A quick check at the menu revealed that the service charge was 10% and the cost for music was 25soms/person! Usually, wait staff are very apologetic and willing to correct their “mistake” although occasionally you will have to argue with someone for a long time. I don’t know what non-Russian/Kyrgyz speakers do here. Going to restaurants in the US where what you order is available and where the service is reliable and honest is going to be thoroughly uninteresting after a year of this!

My mom bought a horse!

This person is not my mom, obviously.
Isn't the horse gorgeous? His name is Merlin.

Here's another shot...

Photos from the jailoo organized!

My photos from my recent trip to the jailoo are now organized. CLICK HERE to check them out if you haven't already :-)

Cats are Cute

Heelix gets bigger and fatter every day!

As does Bagira!

Grey Cat

Lucy
No, I didn't get a fifth cat.
Ben is pet sitting for this little guy.

Journey to the Jailoo

Sometimes I complain about how small my salary is; other times I worry that coming to Kyrgyzstan knowing how small my salary would be was a terrible mistake. But then I have weekends like this past one which I wouldn’t trade for any amount of money, and I know that I made the right decision when I decided to move to Kyrgyzstan.

Last Friday after work, Katy, Ben, Joe and I piled into our boss’s van, although she wasn’t there; we were in the company of her husband and son. We were driven eastward to Kara-Koo, the small village on Lake Issyk-Kul’s southern shore where we stayed both last month and in February. We arrived late and went straight to bed, and awoke bright and early the next morning, setting off without even having breakfast. We drove south from Kara-Koo, and wound our way over the mountains and into the valley below. We drove through several villages, and then began making our way slowly into the mountains.

Our destination was the jailoo (pronounced jai-low), or the high mountain pastures where the Kyrgyz traditionally spend their summers. Navigating the “road” (more like a vague, rock-strewn path leading up the mountainside) to the jailoo was difficult for the van, and it took us quite a while to reach our destination… but it was definitely worth it. Our boss and her daughter as well as a school staff member and her two children were waiting for us outside their yurt. Additionally, they had spread a large blanket next to the yurt, and on it was spread a gargantuan picnic, enough to make up for our lack of breakfast.

The day was perfect. Prior to our departure from Bishkek, our boss had called to tell us to bring warm clothes and rain gear, as it had been cold and rainy all week. However, we were greeted by perfect blue skies and ideal temperatures. From our breakfast blanket, we could look out across the jailoo, dotted with livestock, to the valley below. Beyond the valley, behind a small rise of mountains, we could even see the glistening blue waters of Lake Issyk-Kul. Paradise.

While we were breaking our fast, an elderly couple, distant relatives of our boss who reside nearby, ambled over. The man was 87 and the woman was 78. They both continue to live in the jailoo and care for livestock as they have for all of their lives. They invited us to come with them to watch them milk their horses and prepare kumis, a traditional Kyrgyz beverage made from fermented mare’s milk. They care for a small herd of horses, and had perhaps 20 mares and at least 10 foals. The man would lead a foal to its mother and allow it to nurse briefly. Then, as he led the foal away, the woman would begin milking the mare. They did this with every mare/foal pair, then invited us to their home to sample the kumis. The fresh milk was added to a large barrel of kumis, then stirred briskly. We were each poured a small bowl of kumis. The milk tasted sour, and had a smoky taste from the barrel. It was good, but difficult for us to drink quickly. Meanwhile, the man had an incredibly large bowl of kumis which he chugged in one gulp.

We returned to “our” yurt, and found that horses had been rounded up for our ride. Kumar, our boss’s son, rode the head stallion of the herd we’d just seen milked, while the rest of us were given horses rented from Kul-Tur, the nearest village in the valley below. I was quite pleased with my horse (although I would’ve much preferred the beautiful and spunky stallion) as he was both energetic and well-behaved. I felt quite comfortable riding him. Ben also had a pretty good horse. Katy’s horse was sluggish, while Joe’s was just plain lazy. Plus, I swear these were the gassiest horses in Kyrgyzstan. As mature as we all pretend to be, we couldn’t help laughing; a seven hour trek and these beasts were just as gassy at the end as they were at the beginning!

We rode up a steep valley lining a small stream, zig-zagging back and forth to make the journey easier on the horses. After about three hours, we reached a high point, with an incredible view of the valley. There we dismounted and unpacked our stellar picnic. We ate and then had a pleasant nap before saddling back up and continuing to head upwards towards Sunken Pass.

For most of our trek, we were not following any recognizable path (although occasionally a well-worn track would appear out of the weeds only to vanish again); however, as we neared Sunken Pass, the “path” widened to the point that it almost looked like a road! We reached the top of the pass and the view of the next valley was stunning. We all wished that we had time to continue on, instead of returning back the way we came. But, we had to get back. After four more hours in the saddle, zig-zagging our way back down the mountain, we returned to the yurt.

After a delicious dinner, eaten while watching the sun set through the yurt’s door, we quickly made preparations for bed. Ben and Joe were given a tent, although Katy and I got to sleep in the yurt with everyone else. The yurt had a stove inside (fueled by wood and dried manure) which meant that even though the temperature dropped rapidly outside once the sun set, we remained warm and cozy all night.

In the morning, the plan had been for us to go hiking; however, this was hampered by two things: we were all incredibly sore from having spent seven hours in the saddle, and the weather was overcast and chilly. We went on a short hike, but were relieved to return to the yurt to relax.

After lunch (this time joined again by the elderly couple as well as by a middle-aged couple who were also living nearby) we packed up our things and piled back into the van. By the time we reached the valley floor, the jailoo was already masked from view by rain.

The plan had been to stop at Issyk-Kul for a brief swim before starting our journey home, but the weather had turned cold and rainy, so that was not to be. Instead, we took some shivery photos of the lake then popped back into the van for the trip home.

The full set of 98 photos can be viewed BY CLICKING HERE. Please check them out! (I'm getting a super bad headache, so I haven't labeled them or put them in order. I'll try to do that soon.)

I'm back!

Okay, so I was only gone for the weekend, which doesn't exactly explain my week-long absence... Suffice it to say that not much of interest happened this past week. This weekend however was a different story. However, as I've got 250 photos to sort through, it will be a few days before you get to read about our latest adventures. Also, we now have scalding hot water... but no cold water with which to make it tolerable. Sigh.

Where has our hot water gone?

Away, that's where. Again. Grrrr.

Smack!

The other day in one of my classes, while my students were quietly bent over their desks doing an exercise, the silence was broken by a loud WHUMP! We all turned and looked through the glass wall separating our classroom from the hallway... and there, dazedly stumbling about the hallway was a pigeon. It had flown in through the open window and smacked right into the glass, fishbowl-like wall of my classroom. I went out into the hall to see if it was OK, and as soon as it saw me, it recovered its wits an flapped right back out the open window. Then we noticed the "bird print" that it had left on our classroom wall - complete with a couple of feathers. The poor thing had been completely in full flight when it smacked into the wall. At least it was OK, if stunned. Check out the bird print though!

Random pics from along Sovietskaya

Today I walked to the Central Post Office and back - 30 minutes one way along Sovietskaya, the main north-south road through Bishkek. It was burning hot, but a gorgeous day. Of course, I took some photos... and here they are:

See what's on top of that blue(ish) building? No? Scroll down.

Dolphins!

A very dry fish fountain


Many waterless fountain fish, gasping for air

It's not an open sewer... but it's not exactly clean water either.
Starting last month, the previously bone-dry ditches along every road in the city began to flow with water of dubious quality.

Yay :-)

This building has always intrigued me, although I'd never photographed it before. It's not really in a decent place for getting full shots of it. It's currently a sports center, but I wonder what it was originally...

A closer look

The sign says "Boxing Hall"

This little thing on the roof is fabulous
Meanwhile, this is NOT fabulous:

I took one look at this sign (they're all over town) and every fibre of my body screamed "SCAM!" He claims to be a millionaire representing the International Academy of Financial Success, and he's here to teach the Kyrgyz how to become millionaires. You know, for a fee.

I wouldn't trust this man as far as I could throw him, and we all know that ain't far! Plus, he apparently got arrested trying to sneak into Russia from Ukraine with forged papers.

And the logo here just screams "pyramid scam" to me.
Also, what's with центр разбития человека? I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that mean "center of the broken man"?

Check this out!

This is an article I've submitted to Everywhere Magazine focusing on the Altyn Arashan part of my trip to Karakol. It's a little more detailed than the original blog piece, so you might find it interesting. You also might want to vote "yes" on it while you're there, hint, hint :-)

Because my cats are so damn cute :-)

Heelix

Heelix

When I was sick, I kept a bucket by my bed...

The others have accepted Heelix :-)

Although this sometimes causes Lucy to hang out like a vampire bat atop my wardrobe where Heelix can't reach her. This would be why:



:-)

These two remain such a couple

And I bought lime green Hello Kitty sheets!!!