Kyrgyzstan in a Word(s)

My experiences in Kyrgyzstan have been a bit too eclectic to put into a single post and maintain any semblance of flow. As I’m too lazy and/or time-pressed to write more than one post, I’m resorting to the list format once again. Please enjoy.

1) The vowel usage

This is more of a love-hate thing for me, actually. I love that they—both the country and the Kyrgyz people themselves—have chosen to use a letter that is only sometimes a vowel not once, but twice in their name; that’s a gutsy move, and I have a lot of respect for them since they didn’t cop out and use a more orthodox letter, such as “E”. However, as someone who couldn’t read until the third grade spelling has never been my forte, and despite being in the country, I’m relying on Word’s spellchecker even as I type this. While I could write an entire post about words that I find difficult to spell (“maintenance”, for example), I’ll save you from such ramblings for now.

2) Dried fruit mix

I love dried fruit—love dried fruit. Some of my earliest memories are of eating apples straight from the homemade fruit drier Momma Wolf used when I was a kid. To this day, even the faintest aroma of drying apples gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling inside, and sends me back to a time when I used to open the dishwasher and use the door as a stool in order to reach the kitchen counter. Ah, memories… That tangent aside, the point is that I really like dried fruit, and eat excessive amounts of it when I have access to it. I’m not particularly sure why, but this country’s bazaars (and they’re just that, bazaar) is some kind of dried fruit haven. They have every fruit you could imagine—presuming said fruit is conducive to growing in the Central Asian climate—dried, in towering heaps, and labeled and priced in Russian. And if you’re like me and have trouble choosing just one type of fruit to buy a kilo of, there are sacks of premixed fruit available. That said, the quality isn’t quite up to par with Momma Wolf’s dried apples, or even soulless, corporate dried fruit—such as Craisins—for that matter. Somehow I don’t think that any amount of love or quality control went into the drying process here; I recently found a clump of feathers in my apple/apricot/small indistinguishable black fruit/raisin mix. I’m not really sure how that came to fruition (I suddenly wish I knew the etymology of that word), but I can only assume that the rest of the bird is somewhere in that sack in Bishkek. I don’t envy the poor soul who gets that fistful of mix.

3) Watermelon.

Now I realize that I just ranted for almost 300 words about dried fruit, but I also love non-dried variations as well—in particular, watermelon. There are literally heaps of melons lying on the street here—cheap, delicious, enormous, and unexploded. I wish that they were a little smaller, since I’m only one man, but that hasn’t stopped me yet; public bathrooms are cheap and relatively commonplace, but there don’t seem to be any real social qualms about peeing in bushes either. Things could be worse?

4) Leaded gas

I realize that this isn’t just a Kyrgyz thing, and that it has serious environmental impacts, effects brain development, etc., but where would all the old Ladas be without leaded gas? Which conveniently brings me to my next point…

5) The Lada

“Oh give me a home, where the Ladas still roam, and the beer and sheepandgoats play”

I think I could make a song about this—maybe later. To those of you who never experienced the joys of a Soviet lifestyle, the Lada is the workingman’s car. Small, majestic, prone to breaking down, and cheap, the Lada still has a stranglehold on the Kyrgyz car market. I’ve given this some thought though, and based on how I’ve seen them used, I’ve decided that the Lada isn’t so bad; it’s everything that you could want in a car.

Need to tow your cattle into town?  The Lada comes with an aftermarket trailer hitch.

Want to make some money as a taxi and pick up that stranger on the highway who is in-between Marshrutkas? The Lada seats the whole family, and then some—no seatbelts necessary.

Bought too many sheep at the bazaar? Throw ‘em in the trunk—it’s huge, and easily washed via hose.

Lumber on your roof rack weighing you down? Good thing you don’t have to worry about those heavy, Western airbags when calculating the load on your suspension.

6) Bananas are worth their weight in gold

And everything else is unfathomably cheap. I recently bought two bananas; for the price of five, I could have gotten a 6 hour, 300 km Marshrutka ride. After how poorly I spent my money in Greece, I had started to have concerns that my money supply would run out before the end of this trip. However, everything is so cheap here that just paying with a 1000 Som note (~20 USD) results in looks of horror—people don’t have large enough bills on them to make change. Then again, while I love it now, there’s going to be a period of serious culture shock when I get back to the US—even the FungWah (RIP) seems pricey to me now

7) People assume I’m Russian

At least until I speak. Then—the logic on this one still eludes me—they assume I’m Czech. I’m clearly Caucasian, but because I don’t speak Russian worth a damn, I must be from the Czech Republic? I’ve gotten this several times, but (1) it’s just nice to not be asked if I’m Australian, and (2) I love being greeted in Russian. And while the conversations usually require me saying “I’m sorry, I don’t understand” several times, there are still those—few and far in-between—occasions when I hold my own and answer questions to the satisfaction of the other person. Shout out to you, Katya Burvikova (my Russian teacher who will probably never read this because she doesn’t know this blog exists).

8) Teacup stray dogs

I have no problem with small dogs, I think they’re cute. That said, I also don’t think they’re particularly functional. And in a land where functionality is held in an especially high regard (please see point number 5), it seems strange to me that their stray dogs—whose ancestors were, at some point, not stray—would be noticeably smaller than those of other countries where I’ve traveled. This could plausibly only mean one thing: at some point in the Kyrgyz history books, someone released herds of very small dogs into the countryside. When I picture that, the imagery that comes to mind is fantastic. Please pause for a moment and see what your imagination wagon can come up with. Also: spay or neuter your pets.

9) Driver’s side inconsistency

Kyrgyzstan—like any sane country—drives on the right side of the road. Their steering wheels, however, commonly come in either the left- or right-hand side variety. I’m not sure why all these right-hand side driving cars are here—I assume there is some rational business reason behind it—but it has made my experience as a passenger thrilling. You see, boys and girls, most roads here are roughly 2.5 lanes wide, which makes passing slow-moving trucks and Ladas relatively easy. However, even when drivers can see the oncoming traffic they’re moving into, they tend to pass with complete disregard, relying on their horn rather than waiting until passing is safe. When drivers are on the right-hand side though, they cannot see oncoming traffic until they are literally in the lane of said oncoming traffic; the passenger’s vantage point, however, gives them a complete view of the large trucks that are about to crush them. Don’t worry though; the good news is that if I’m writing this, it means I’m still alive.

10) Oh right—it’s actually a beautiful and relatively safe country

I’m sure this one will trip most people up. Even in Athens, which is not that far away as the crow flies, I had to have an excruciating conversation with a pharmacist who was trying to convince me not to come here; while I convulsed in coughing fits (I was just there to buy cough syrup) he explained to me—in exhaustive detail—why I would never come out of Central Asia alive. Firstly, I’m still alive, and secondly—after a bit of broken Russian—the people here have been nothing but friendly and welcoming. Moreover, the scenery is fantastic, and if I had a tent, sleeping bag, warm clothing, and actual shoes, I could spend the next 3 weeks hiking around Lake Issyk-Kol (read: where I am at this exact moment) and still want more. It’s the second largest alpine lake in the world, but you get my point. My other point is that Clarks are not designed for usage outside of cities—they use the term “boot” loosely—and my feet hurt.

Happy trails,

JHW