3-8-2008
I woke up feeling stable and well enough to finally leave Osh. After choking down a small breakfast with a bit of dizziness and tolerable nausea; I was ready to explore Kyrgyzstan.
At around 11am I met up with a motley crew of fullbrighters, PCVs and Mercy Corps volunteers. I met up with the interesting and kind hearted crew on their way to observe and document the ‘Cock Fights’ of Bazaar Korgon.
We piled into two shared Taxis and left Osh around 11:45pm. We spent the next couple hours trading stories, and soaking in the beauty of Kyrgyzstan’s gorgeous countryside. Windy roads cut magnificently through grassy rolling hills, each consumed with an abundance of sheep, horses, and cows. Kyrgyzstan doesn’t have traffic jams; the only real transit nuisance is the livestock that spills onto the roads.
I enjoyed watching children and men riding along the grassy hills with their muscular horses, and keeping the livestock in line with their sticks. I found distinctive beauty in the villages we drove through……..time stood still here. People gathered at the wells to fill water jugs, donkeys were used to plow fields, old bearded men with tall traditional hats sat on benches holding their cane and speaking slowly amongst themselves.
After arriving in Bazaar Korgon (about 20km from Jalalabad) we drove through a maze of dirt roads, mud houses, and inquisitive locals before arriving at a secluded barn and horse stable.
We were greeted with affection by the gristly old men guarding the gate, and escorted to the cock fighting area. There must have been over 150 people crammed into the small rectangle shaped barn. The crowd squatted, sat, and stood in an oval shape around the 15x25ft fighting area. Men outside the barn held their cocks with pride, as they prepared them for future battles. We were greeted mostly with curious stares and overall acceptance. We had broached a venue that had obviously not been visited by many outsiders.
I was not sure exactly how I felt about watching cock fight. I was there to view a cultural event, and to observe and understand a Kyrg subculture more than I was for the thrill and excitement of things.
Should I feel bad about attending, and watching a callous activity that is both illegal and highly frowned upon in most civilized societies? After all they are only birds, and quite low on the food chain for that matter. I also justified my presence by thinking about how ugly and worthless looking the birds are,……… banged up roosters are far from being cuddly and cute. I of course would completely object to puppy fights, or koala bear fights, but I found cock fighting surprisingly easy to digest.
I had mixed feelings and emotions as I watched two roosters peck each others faces raw. The battle action was minimal besides a lot of pecking, a few sloppy headlocks and the occasionally swift jump kick to the face. The atmosphere of the event was almost laughable…….here were about 150 grown men, squatting intently around a couple of roosters pecking at each other. Most of the men watching had money on the fight, therefore the faces in the crowd showed a dark blend of seriousness, nervousness and fear.
I felt as if I were watching a welterweight boxing match……..a few weak hits, a lot of dancing around……..and a disappointing anticlimactic ending.
About every 15 minutes the fight would stop and the cocks would be snatched up by their managers for a bit of a cool down period. The managers would swallow water and spit it into the bird’s faces, and asses;………it was hilarious to watch grown men spitting water up the asses of haggard looking birds. In retrospect I suppose this is the way to cool these roosters down and prepare them for another round of pecking.
I frankly found the cock fighting to be a bit on the boring side. My amusement and pleasure came mostly from watching the people interact, and soaking up the bizarre atmosphere of the event. Birds pecking at each other for an hour, and having the fight be a split decision………..was a bit lame. I was under the impression that these birds would fight to the death. I wanted to see a swift jump kick, followed by a beak through the heart.
These Cocks are lifetime fighters, and have the scarred up faces to prove it. So I ask myself what is more humane, the Kyrgyzstan cock fighting where the birds peck at each other for an hour and never die, or South American style where they equip the birds with razor blades in hopes to create a bloody battle that will last no more than a couple minutes. Perhaps the latter is more humane because in the end the bird feels less pain and endures less suffering;……..a razor to the neck seams to me a bit less inconvenient than 10,000 sharp pecks to the face.
I will attempt to refrain from mentioning any revealing details about my new friends due to privacy reasons, but I will reveal that I was lucky to have met them. I thoroughly enjoyed hearing about their interesting lives, and the stories of events that shaped their careers.
One guy in particular, a well established American photographer named Thatcher, became a real inspiration to me. He has traveled the world, worked for many humanitarian NGOs….. and has established himself professionally as a well known and respected photographer. Throughout the incredible challenges faced, he has maintained an incredibly humble and jolly attitude. He has the exclusive ability to selflessly embrace other cultures and spread warmth and happiness to those around him like a plague;…… this is something I am both inspired by and envious of.
After a full day of cock fights, we met up with a crew of PCVs and headed to the disco. The discothèque reminded me like a junior high dance. It was filled with locals celebrating women’s day be pounding vodka and sloppily dancing to American hip-hop music.
Toward the end of the evening I began to feel a bit exhausted and weak. It was my first full day out of bed in well over a week. I was quite proud of myself for making it through the day without physically collapsing, and maintaining social enough to make friends.
Day two in Jalalabad was great; I was able to sleep in, and regain some of the energy I had spent the previous evening. After a day of laziness and relaxation I met up with a crew of PCVs for some shashlik (meat skewers) and a couple beers.
The sun was shining as we drank beer, and conversed about things such as Peace Corps bureaucracy, traveling, dog bites, and Brian Boytano. I fully enjoyed hanging out with the J-Bad PCVs and being goofy Americans. Spending time with this wonderful group of PCVs lifted the weight of loneliness and depression from my shoulders, and gave me a shot of energy for future adventures.
Traveling alone can be a bit of a challenge at times. My recent spell of brutal food poisoning was my most recent and significant hurdle. I was not sure if I would be able to continue my journey after being completely physically and emotionally drained by a week of pain and agony. I am mentioning this only because I want to make clear that these shallow ruts along the road are leveled off by the uplifting and warm characters I meet along the trail.
After a few days in Jalalabad my health was almost 100%. My appetite and excessive energy has not returned, but the warm weather and pleasant sunshine saturates my body with joy and happiness.
3-11-2008
At around 1:00pm I walked about 3 miles to the J-Bad bus station where I caught a shared taxi to a small village called Akman. After being dropped off on the main road; I walked the 1.5miles into Akman……..and enjoyed every step.
Akman was a rural paradise……….perhaps many will not feel the same way about this village as I, but nonetheless I really enjoyed its exquisiteness and purity.
As I walked along the dirt road through the small village of Akman, I was meticulously observed by locals with curious stares. Young boys were riding bareback in pairs on muscular horses. Others were riding donkeys through the streets carrying jugs of water or other farming supplies. A cluster of women were standing on the edge of a small river, collecting water in large metal jugs before carting them off to their homes with makeshift wheelbarrows. All the men were wearing either skull caps, or the traditional tall white hats with black trim.
I made my way to Meghan’s(PCV) school and interrupted her class do to a bit of Q & A with her students. I have visited numerous schools throughout my journey and have often taken the role as honored guest; which involves being bombarded with questions. One boy in particular asked me a question that showed significant contrast and painted a vivid rural picture that differed greatly from other schools I have visited thus far.
He asked me “ do you have any sheep”………..a simple yet important question in Kyrgyzstan. I told him I did not have any, and asked him if he had any. He responded by saying that he had eleven sheep.
This was noteworthy to me, because I compared it to a time in Turkey when a student the same age asked me if I liked “Bush”.
These kids don’t worry about politics, they are too busy being kids, and taking care of their livestock. Their parents don’t teach them which world leaders to hate; they simply work hard all day and night in order to survive and live their lives the way their parents and ancestors have lived for hundreds of years.
This story may appear to be relatively insignificant, and unworthy of a second thought. Nonetheless,…. to me it was more than a simple question about sheep. It painted a picture of rural purity, and an essence of life without politics, war, over-consumption, capitalism, and greed.
Upon arriving in Meghan’s classroom she greeted me with a warm smile, and quickly returned to her lesson. She taught with enthusiasm as she played a learning game with her knowledge-hungry students. I fantasized about how my own Peace Corps experience would have been if I were a TEFL, and how great it would be to be around cheerful kids all day……..but then I remembered how I was barely able to control the 6 year olds during my bi-weekly kindergarten classes in Chirpan, Bulgaria.
I have a lot of respect for anyone who can keep kids under control and learning throughout the day; whether it be in Kyrgyzstan or any other country around the world. Allah knows, teaching is not an easy thing to do.
Meghan lives in a small painted mud house on the edge of a narrow river. It was a typical village home, chickens running around the yard and occupying the trees, ninety or so sheep grazing in the yard, several cows tied to trees on the side of the house, a small barn for the sheep, and an outhouse. I loved it!
After a quick cup of tea and some nan bread, we went on a walk around her village. We walked through the dusty streets of her village, and were greeted with both welcoming smiles and curious stares. Young boys were hauling large vinyl bags on donkeys, while the girls were lugging around large metal water jugs. We walked through the rolling hills past the cemetery and back toward the village, stopping once briefly for a chat with a women living on the hillside. While walking back through the village streets we came across a group of men squatting and standing in a square formation next to an unfinished mud house. Women and children were sitting on a collapsed pile of bricks on the side of the house while watching the men at the head of the square speak. We had stumbled upon a local election, the men were voting on what to name the street they lived on. It was a typical dusty village road, with seemingly no significance. However to the villagers, the road was more than that; no longer would they live on a nameless road in an undeveloped village, they showed pride and honor as they solidified their status and named the street after a hero of Kyrgyzstan.
3-12-2008
I slept in until about 10:30am, and then headed to Bazaar Korgan with Meghan. We stayed up late the evening before enjoying wonderfully heartfelt conversations about just about everything. We spoke together as if we were old friends. Meghan has a huge heart, and is the type of girl that you can immediately feel comfortable with. She reminded me a lot of my good friend and former site mate in Chirpan. After a long time away from family and friends, it is really nice to find people that you can really talk to. And thankfully I have been fortunate enough to meet a few people like this on the road. It is what keeps me sane.
Traveling has become a lifestyle; it is a way of life that is not always easy on the body or mind. I am not longer on vacation, I am simply living a nomadic lifestyle. Throughout my journey it has been imperative that I meet people that lift my spirits, and portray inspiring amounts of humanity. If I had not met such people, my adventure would be shallow, dry, dark, painful and my personal growth would become horribly stunted.
After a quick lunch and beer with Meghan; we hit up the public banya. The public bath was in a hard to find back alley mud building with peeling blue paint. The shower room was reminiscent of something you would find in the basement of an abandoned warehouse. A dirty bathtub, rusty metal pipes, paint peeling off the mud walls, and a home-made shower head made of sheet-metal and twine. It was wonderful to finally shower, a significant amount of time without bathing makes you really appreciate indoor plumbing.
After the banya Meghan and I met up with two Kyrg women who work as anti-bride-napping activists.
Bride-napping:
-80% of marriages in Kyrgyzstan come from bride-nappings
-57% of these bride-nappings are non-consensual
-92% of the women kidnapped eventually consent and stay to be married
When I first heard about this phenomenon; I was shocked, but naturally found it laughable, mostly because the problem was so impersonal, and distant.
I briefly mentioned bride-napping in my Turkey Blog after learning about it through some RPCVs (returned Peace Corps Volunteers) who served in Kyrgyzstan.
Now that I have actually spent a significant amount of time with the people of Kyrgyzstan, and have learned about this problem from local women; I no longer find it humorous. It is absolutely terrifying and disheartening to know that women everyday are being kidnapped, raped, and forced into loveless marriages.
How Bride-Napping works:
-A young girl is selected at random from the streets of Kyrgyzstan (usually from a larger city, or nearby village) and forced into a car. She is driven away screaming and kicking,……but shown no compassion by her aggressors. The future groom’s sisters, aunts, and grandmothers force the girl into their home and restrain her in a corner of their house.
Tears, screams, kicks, and desperate pleas are laughable to the aggressors during this process…..The women know that with persistence they will eventually be able to psychologically break the young girl as if they were breaking a horse.
The grooms relatives will tell the girl she must stay and force a veil on her head that symbolizes marriage (ownership). The poor girl will cry, scream, and yell for hours but will see no pity or kindness from her captors. They will tell her to quit crying, to submit, and to stop being stubborn. They will tell her she is disgracing her family by saying no, and that they will not stop until she submits to the marriage.
During this time, the grooms parents will contact the girls family and offer them a dowry, usually some livestock and money. The parents almost always agree, which makes it even more difficult for the girl to say no to the marriage.
Meanwhile the women will threaten the young girl with curses, and tell her over and over that if she refuses she will be cursed with bad luck and will live in misery the rest of her life.
After the young girl is no longer able to handle the vicious abuse, she unwillingly submits. She is now wearing a veil that signifies submission, and is locked into a room that evening with the groom in order to consecrate the unity (be raped).
This is usually how the story ends, because all women are fully aware that a girl without her virginity is disgraced and undesirable in Kyrgyzstan. If she does not follow through with the marriage; her own family will not take her back, she will be cursed, disgraced, and disowned. However, if she submits to the marriage, she will have sacrificed everything she has worked so hard for in her former life.
The poor girl is forced to drop out of her university and throw all her aspirations of happiness and prosperity out the window. Her once promising life and career is now shattered because she is forced to marry a Sheppard. She is now more or less a slave for her husband’s family in the hills of rural Kyrgyzstan.
-OK………..this story may seam a bit dramatic and even unbelievable, but I assure you this is a very real problem in Kyrgyzstan.
As an example of how real Bride-Napping is; I will tell you a true story:
Meghan (my friend) was hanging out with her “Shepard friend” in her village when he excused himself to take care of some family business. He told her that he had to help his cousin bride-nap a girl from the village. Meghan (PCV) told him that it was wrong, but he only shrugged his head and told her that family is family, and tradition is tradition.
That evening a 19 year old girl from the village of Akman was bride-napped. She became absolutely hysterical; she was in love with another man and adamantly refused the marriage. The groom’s relatives spent hours and hours trying to break the girl psychologically, but she still refused. She begged for mercy and understanding, but received no compassion from her captors.
After being presented the dowry, the girl’s father agreed to the marriage. At this point the poor girl was desperate and helpless. The girl was forced to say the only thing she could think of to get out of the grasp of these evil women. She told them that she was not a virgin. After telling the women this over and over and adamantly refusing the marriage, the women cursed the girls and allowed her to escape their home with her womanhood intact.
The next day, she was nagged relentlessly by her own grandmother. She was told that she is disgracing her family, and that she must go through with the wedding to save her family’s good name. Often if a woman refuses to marry, the community will assume she is refusing because she does not want her potential groom to find out she is not a virgin.
Oksokols (white beards) as well as old women have the highest status in the community, so basically what they say goes. The girl’s Grandmother relentlessly berated her with guilt. Over and over she was told that she is disgracing her family and that she must follow through with the marriage or she will be disowned………………………..What were her options??
This story ends tragically,………..the psychologically abused girl went out to the barn in her back yard and hung herself. In her pocket was a note that said “tell my father I am still a virgin”.
-The town’s reaction to this tragic event was very cold. In order to save face, both families, and the community at large told people that the girl was mentally ill, and was not a virgin.
-Unfortunately the people of this particular village and the majority of people throughout Kyrgyzstan, are unwilling to admit and unable to recognize that bride-napping is a major problem. Cases such as the suicide in Akman are becoming chillingly frequent throughout Kyrgyzstan.
Any young girl walking around Kyrgyzstan is a potential victim of bride-napping. Young Kyrg women will never walk anywhere alone and are in constant fear of being kidnapped. Imagine walking to university everyday and living with the fear that you may be kidnapped at any moment and never attend another lecture again. Bride-Napping happens to everyone: rich and poor, in villages and in big cities.
A separate example I will only briefly mention (for her privacy) is the case of a friend of mine, an American girl who was kidnapped for more than 3 days. She was simply taking a taxi from Bishkek to Osh……..and wound up bride-napped in a mountain hut with no running water, or electricity…..just a room full of crazy women……..this happened less than a year ago. It goes to show that in Kyrgyzstan, even westerners are not exempt from this tragic and traumatizing crime.
Moving on………………………….
After a day of relaxation, cleanliness, and enlightening conversations with the anti-bride-napping activists…Meghan and I left Bazaar Korgon and headed back to Akman.
After greeting Meghan’s host family I sat on the river and soaked in the village atmosphere as Meghan went into the house.
The sun was going down as I watch young village boys, two per horse gallop bareback along the riverside. They were helping their fathers and brothers with the sheep and cattle. It was like watching cowboys in a movie. Large herds of horses, sheep, and cattle were being forced along the narrow river by young cowboys whipping their animals with thin sticks. I witnessed one kid attempt to make his donkey drink out of the river, the bank was steep and the donkey refused to go near the water……….it was entertaining to watch the young kid unsuccessfully attempt to force his donkey to drink for about an hour.
After about an hour and a half of sitting on the riverbank in peaceful silence and tranquility, Meghan came back and sat beside me with tears in her eyes.
She had spent the last hour being yelled at by her host grandmother. And it turns out that I was directly responsible for this horrible lashing.
Last weekend Meghan had hosted Thatcher at her place so they could hang out and take pictures of rural Kyrgyzstan. They also went on a walk around the village……….
Basically, some of the villagers saw Meghan and I walking around the village and hillside and found it peculiar that she had spent two consecutive weekends with two different men. We were the talk of the town at the watering hole………This is not a figure of speech, villagers actually get all their gossip while filling up their water jugs at the watering hole.
So, what happened was that an old woman from the village came to Meghan’s house and yells at her host-grandmother about how Meghan is disgracing her family. She was told that the whole town thinks she (Meghan) is being a whore.
-It turns out that walking around the village is reserved for people who are either married or seriously dating.
Meghan was caught off guard by her host-grandmothers anger and disgust. She was told over and over that she was shaming their family and that she was foolish to have gone on a walk with me. How could she disrespect her family like that? What was she thinking?.................Meghan did not know what to say, this minor cultural mishap had turned her once pleasant living situation into a living hell. She did nothing wrong;………a simple walk around her village turned into a cultural blunder that caused her once serene home life to turn into a painfully awkward and cold living situation.
I felt quite bad about this because I was directly responsible…..and poor Meghan had to deal with over an hour of verbal abuse from Grandma.
Meghan and I sat on the riverbank for a long time trying to make sense of the situation…..but how could we possibly comprehend something like this………the concept was way to foreign to understand……..our only choice was to accept it. And Meghan’s only real choice was to keep walking on egg shells and hope one day to shed her reputation as the village whore. ( She is in fact well liked and accepted by her community, this misunderstanding quickly blew over, even with Grandma)
3-13-2008
I woke up early and took a shared taxi to Bazaar Korgon, then had to wait about 3 hours for a shared taxi to Arslenbab. While I was waiting I was befriended by a crew of locals who took me to the café for a bit of chai. We spoke only Russian, which meant our conversations were simple and often lost on me. I tend to be a curious figure for local Kyrgyz men. Often the men attempt to interact with me by joking around about drinking vodka and chauvinistic sex. Most of the people I have met around the bus stations have been a bit on the crude and obnoxious side. The drunks in this country make me feel incredibly uncomfortable; alcoholism appears to be a dire epidemic in Kyrgyzstan.
It was drizzling rain and overcast as we drove up the steep hills through rocky fields saturated with horses and sheep. We drove along a narrow road that hugged the river tightly, and was swarming with school children and livestock. The drive up the mountain to Arslenbab was slow and beautiful. Children no older than ten were slowly riding donkeys along the road loaded with seemingly unliftable piles of sticks and grass. Shepard’s grazed their livestock along rocky cliffs, and hills that seamed even too steep and jagged for mountain goats.
Kyrgyzstan has a quiet yet vibrant appeal to it. The people of rural Kyrgyzstan smile and seam to be happy with their busy yet simple lives. I feel as if I could live here and be happy…….beautiful mountains, slow pace, simple lifestyle, I suppose I am just drawn to the relaxing and romantic essence of rural Kyrgyz life. Nothing is as it appears however; I am sure the day to day lives of these mountain villagers are rough, tough, and full of pain. From a distance it is easy for me to imagine the simplicity of it, without mulling over the details that make the lifestyle potentially unbearable.
The mountain village of Arslenbab began at a melting snowline; it was visually obvious that a large amount of snow had melted within the last week. Snow and mud was the theme of the town’s landscape, plateau and cliffs on my left, and rolling snowy hills leading to a large mountain range in front and on the right. I had arrived in a mountain paradise.
Upon arrival I was immediately greeted by a trekking guide who worked for CBT (community based tourism)……he quickly took me to his office and set me up with a local home-stay not far from a 60M waterfall.
I slept in a 12x12 room separate from my host family’s home. It had a small wood stove and several thick blankets (Tishuks) on the floor to sleep on. After settling in to my room I hiked to the small waterfall and sat in peaceful contemplation for about an hour. Later I hiked to a nearby cliff overlooking the village and read for a few hours.
{I have been reading and trading books throughout my trip, and thus far have read: Ideas & Opinions: Einstein, Warrior Politics: Robert D Kaplan, Eastward to Tartary: Kaplan, Under the banner of Heaven: Krakauer, Into the Wild: Krakauer, Into thin Air: Krakauer, The essentials of Ghandi, around the world in 80 days, The old Testament, Angela’s Ashes, Catch me if you can, From Beirut to Jerusalem: Freidman, Three cups of tea…Next up is ‘The Great Game’….}
After nightfall the first evening, my host and his friend came into my room for dinner on my floor. We ate some plov (rice and meat) and were able to discuss a variety of subjects. My host’s friend: a scruffy looking 55 year old with a shadowy beard and a scull cap, is the German teacher at the local school, he also speaks almost fluent English. He was a great guy; we discussed the Uzbek-Kyrgyz conflict that took place in Osh and Ozgun in 1990-1991.
He said the violence in the region had erupted because life was no longer being controlled and regulated by the Russians. Essentially old Kyrgyz-Uzbek tensions were released because “the teacher had left the room”………..and the students were now left to scuffle without consequence. Most of the fighting was over land and hundreds of people died during the conflicts.
I suppose the hostility and fighting was inevitable….the border of Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan is ludicrous. Stalin’s attempt to geographically split up the clans of this region into two separate nations resulted in a border that looks like interlocking fingers. …… The plan failed to a certain extent because it was impossible to geographically split up the clans without some clans ending up in the wrong country. This is why cities such as Osh have an enormous Uzbek presence…….and remote villages like Arslenbab are over 98% Uzbek.
3-14-2008
I have really enjoyed Arslenbab so far, the small village is situated at the base of a beautiful mountain range, and is cut in half by a shallow river. Walking through the steep muddy streets men greet each other with warm handshakes and smiles while saying “Asalaam Ahalikum” (peace be with you in Arabic).The bundled up children will never miss an opportunity to say hello and goodbye to you while walking along the village’s muddy roads.
Day 2:
I woke up at around 8:00am and after a bit of tea and a quick breakfast with my host family, I hit the trail. My goal of the day was to hike 3.5 miles up the snowy mountain and reach a 120M waterfall. The CBT guy had told me the previous morning that I needed a guide and snow shoes in order to reach the waterfall. I prefer to hike on my own and at my own pace, which lead to my decision of attempting the waterfall hike solo and without snowshoes. The snow was thick and wet, but the sun was shinning……it was a magnificent day for a hike.
In order to properly plan my ascent, I began by walked around the village and asking locals exactly where the large waterfall was. After I gathered enough general info about it’s whereabouts; I began my hike. I used common sense to find the waterfall; I simply followed the river up stream. This turned out to be a valuable and affective way to gain elevation while avoiding the thick snow. The rocks along the narrow riverbank were bare, which allowed me to gain ground at a solid pace. After about two hours of following the river up stream; I came upon a steep slope that would potentially lead me to the waterfall.
The only problem was that it was covered with waste deep snow. I proceeded to climb (swim) straight up hill and used bushes and trees as a sort of anchor and rope. It was a slow and difficult climb……I slipped and fell several times on my way up, each time tumbling down hill about 20ft before becoming lodged in waste deep snow. The snow hardened around me instantly, and I felt as if my legs were stuck in the snow with suction cups. A couple times I fell at such irregular angles, that I was afraid I would twist my ankle. After several long frightening falls, and a few nearly vertical climbs up rocky cliffs; I made it to the top.
I had climbed to a small cluster of trees about 60M above the waterfall. It was a beautiful view; I was sitting at the edge of a 50M cliff and peering down into a mostly vertical canyon. I pulled out my lunch of chocolate cookies and dried fruits while enjoying a bit of rest and rejuvenation.
My view of the surrounding mountains was spectacular; it made the last hour and a half of climbing up steep hillside and deep snow well worth it. I was soaked almost up to my waste from melting snow, and my boots were about as waterlogged as they could possibly be………but it was warm, sunny and I was on top of the world.
As I was packing up my things and getting ready for my decent, I carelessly stepped on a snowy mud patch and slipped about 8ft down toward the edge of a 50M cliff. I was able to stop myself about 4 feet from the edge.
I have not had a close call like that for ages, I was genuinely terrified. Fear and adrenaline kept me in stationary almost comatosed contemplation for the next 30 minutes. I was much more cautious from that moment on.
Going down the hill was a piece of cake; I practically swam down the hill. I was soaking wet already, so more wet snow up my pant leg was hardly bothersome.
After the 3hr hike back to my room; I washed my clothes in a bucket, set them out to dry, and then proceeded to take a well deserved 2 hr nap.
3-15-2008
I woke up to boots that were still soaking wet and my legs feeling like lead. After a bit of hazy contemplation I decided to take it easy. I watched Indiana Jones in Russian and later went on a short hike to a nearby cliff. While sitting on the edge of the cliff; I read and listened to music for about 4 hours as I overlooked the magical mountain village of Arslenbab.
3-16-2008
I woke up refreshed, had quick breakfast with my host family, said a few words of farewell, then hiked down to the main road and caught a shared taxi to Bazaar Korgon.
After arriving in Bazaar Korgon I was forced to bargain with a cab driver for about an hour before I could get a decent price for a shared taxi for Karakol. The two hour drive to Karakol was absolutely breathtaking; snow peaked mountains, jagged hills, rocky multicolored cliffs, massive canyons, and a vibrantly glowing green-blue river that led to a large reservoir.
-Jumping ahead a bit…….I will say that the drive from Bazaar Korgon to Bishkek has the most beautiful scenery I have ever seen.
I arrived in Karakol about 2.5 hours later and was a bit surprised at what I found. Instead of arriving at a vibrant town of 65,000 inhabitants; I found a dirty, desolate, mountain town of less than 15,000 inhabitants. I was confused…………I walked around the main road with a small map asking locals if they were able to help me find our location on the map. After many strange looks, and a lot of confusion, I figured out what had happened. I was in the wrong Karakol…….the other Karakol was on the other side of the country and situated on the edge of Lake Issykul.
Once I had come to the realization that I was far from anywhere, I decided to make my way all the way to Bishkek. Within 30 minutes I was able to flag down a bus to Toktogol (about 100km north). I arrived in the small town of Toktogol about 1.5 hours later. I quickly realized that my transport and lodging options were severely limited in Toktogol. This resulted in me standing on the edge of the road with my thumb in the air hoping to catch a ride 300km north-east to Bishkek.
The first hour consisted of nothing more than blank stares and curious faces. It began to get dark, so while standing on the edge of the road I began to scope out possible crash pads. Behind me was a white abandoned shack with broken windows and a visibly stable roof…………that would be my contingency plan.
I waited just under 2 hours before a black Audi pulled up and agreed to take me into Bishkek. The guy drove like a maniac, but got us through the two mountain passes and into Bishkek in record time. I arrived in Bishkek at around 10:30pm……and quickly met up with my hosts Nick and Jessica.
My hosts were great, Jessica is a warm, adventurous American girl, and Nick is an intelligent humorous Britt. They both teach English in Bishkek.
Bishkek: Big, Ugly, Soviet blocks, lots of Russians.
3-20-2008
After a bit of R&R in Bishkek, I took a bus to the town of Cholpan Ata on Lake Issykul. I met up with a crew of PCVs and enjoyed some great dialogue and a taste of Russian malt liquor known as ‘Baltica 9’.
3-21-2008
I had been looking forward to this day for months! March 21st is Narus, which is the Islamic New Year. Narus is the biggest and most fascinating holiday in Central Asia. And I was in the perfect location to enjoy it in style.
We headed to the airport (a concrete strip of road surrounded by fields) at around 11am. The local airport was the central point for Narus celebration in Cholpan ata. About a dozen yurts were set up by locals, and a large stage hosted a variety of performances throughout the day.
{a yurt is the Central Asian version of the Indian TP)
We began the celebration by visiting a series of yurts owned by friends of the PCVs I was accompanied with. Each yurt contained a U shaped floor table filled with all varieties of Kyrgyz cuisine.
We were treated like honored quests as we consumed mass quantities of fermented millet, horse meat, black tea, and various other traditional Kyrgyz dishes. Our hosts were warm and hospitable, with smiles that were genuine and welcoming.
I had never been in a yurt before, and was amazed at how unique and beautifully decorated they were.
Onto the main event………………….
Ulak-Tartish or Pull-Goat: also known in Central Asia as Buzkashi, is the single most awesome sport known to man.
I have been dreaming about watching this game for months……..and at last the time had come.
How it is played:
Two round alters are placed about 100yds apart. They are about 7ft wide and 4 feet high, with a shallow whole in the middle.
-Two teams of about 5 horsemen line up in the middle of the field between the two alters.
-The ball: A furry 100lb goat is killed about 15 minutes before the game starts. The head is chopped off, and so are half of all four limbs.
-The goat carcass is placed in the middle of the two goals about 50 meters away from the horsemen.
-The men are then signaled to begin, and they charge the dead goat, and try and pick it up.
-They use their horses and body’s as weapons as they wrestle for the goat, and try and take the carcass to the alter and drop it on top for a point.
- The game has the look and atmosphere of rugby on horses, the men who play this game are tough as nails, and are often bloodied and injured by the brut violence and intensity of the game.
-Many men(players) wear soviet era tank helmets to prevent head injuries.
I loved it! It was fast, aggressive and savagely violent. The amount of power, toughness, and equestrian skills it takes to play this game is astonishing.
During the game I witnessed a high speed fall that resulted in a brutal trampling and a powerful horse kick to the guys back. He stood up like a cowboy……in obvious pain, but unwilling to display it to the crowd. Within minutes he was back on his horse and fighting for the goat carcass.
Watching Buzkashi was the highlight of my Central Asian adventure. It is a sport that I will most likely never see again. I feel quite lucky to have had the rare opportunity to witness this incredible sport while in Kyrgyzstan. The sport has been around since the time of Genghis Khan. It has been said that the sport originally was played with human corpses, and was used as a battle exercise for soldiers. I am not sure I would have enjoyed the sport quite as much if it were played with a human corpse.
3-23-2008
Well it is a double holiday, both my birthday and Easter Sunday.
I took an early bus to Karakol (the real one) and met up with a crew of locals and PCVs for a bit of an Easter celebration. We all tossed money down on a 5 month old lamb and slaughtered it for a feast. A PCV named Karina (future med student) slaughtered the animal by slitting its throat over a plastic bucket. I had to turn away…….I don’t really have the stomach for that sort of thing.
The feast was great, even though I am not a huge fan of lamb; the meat was deliciously seasoned and turned out pretty good.
Overall the day was mediocre……..I would have preferred to spend my birthday and Easter with my extended family, or some friends from America…..but such is life on the road.
Wow I am getting old……26……I am beginning to feel a bit pathetic. I am 26 years old and have absolutely zero material possessions and am unemployed. I can’t help but compare myself to friends of mine who have graduate degrees, fiancés, and own their own home. I have absolutely no regrets about my life choices thus far, however I find it difficult to avoid the gravitational pull of the American dream. It is a challenging to take the path less traveled, while feeling equal to those who are successfully living the American dream.
I have no genuine fear of failure, and have lofty goals for my future, however I find it impossilbe to ignore the fact that most of my peers are enjoying successful relationships and well established careers. Here I am dinking around in Asia, I have not worked a day in 6 months, and will soon return to the USA penniless, homeless, and jobless at age 26.…Well,….this blog is running a bit long, so I will stop thinking aloud.
4-1-2008
I am currently back in Jalalabad, I really enjoy the people here so I decided to use Jalalabad as my last hub before heading to China. I have spent the last couple days planning the next leg of my journey and trying to piece together this Kyrgyzstan blog. A lot has happened in the last month, so I apologize if this blog appears to be hastily written and is generally unreadable. I find it to be an enormous challenge to adequately describe the things surrounding me and the thoughts consuming my mind.
I have decided that I will head to Osh next, where I will try and hitchhike to Sary Tash. Sary Tash is the last town before the Chinese border. It is also technically a town in Tajikistan, but from what I am told a Tajik visa is not necessary. From Sary Tash I will wake up early and hitch hike into China to a town called Kashgar. From Kashgar I will take the less traveled lower Silk Road route. Instead of the easy route: 2 day train ride to Uramqi from Kashgar, then a 2 day train ride from Uramgi to Beijing. I will travel around the southern side of the Taklamakan Desert before heading North-East to Beijing.
I am relieved to get out of Central Asia without any dangerous encounters with the locals. Kyrgyzstan in particular is not the safest country in Central Asia. Things are relatively safe during the day, but can be quite dangerous at night. Gangs of drunks, and young Kyrgyz thugs often assault and rob foreigners during late hours of the day. I know a PCV in Karakol who has been beaten and robbed twice while walking home after dark. I will admit that I was a bit paranoid as I walked through dark roads at 10:30pm in Karakol. A few nights ago, I had to walk 2 miles along dark streets to the Karakol bus station in order to catch an 11pm bus;……the entire time I feared I would be a victim of an attack. Anyways,……I will conclude that Kyrgyzstan is quite safe, but walking around in Kyrgyzstan after dark is never a good idea.
OK……Sorry………I will not write another word. I miss you all, and I look forward to coming home this summer. Congrats to my close friend Ryan Schrenzel for tying the knot. I am sorry I was not there buddy.
Over and out,
Trevor
Here are a few Photos:
Bazaar Korgon Cock-Fights:
Bazaar Korgon:
Me and Lenin-
Akman (Meghan’s village):
Meghan’s yard:
Arslenbab:
Village gas station-
Small waterfall-
Cliff overlooking the village-
Village kids-
The hike to the large waterfall-
Lunch above the large waterfall-
Large waterfall-
Too much sun on my hike-
Pit stop in Toktogol:
Cholpon Ata and Narus:
Rock drawing 800BC-
Yurt-
Getting ready to cleans their faces-
Outside Narus:
Kyrgyz vulture, trying to get a bit of marrow-
Too much booze-
Pregame Buzkashi:
The real deal-
