The second city of Kyrgyzstan is Osh – not to be confused with the common Tajik word for plov – which is located in the South of the country among the lush and densely-populated Fergana Valley. The Fergana region, which includes important fragments of the modern Tajik, Uzbek and Kyrgyz republics, is the true heart of Central Asia – the seat of all its historically important politics, the location of its most famous surviving architecture, and the source from which emanated some of the greatest intellectual developments of the 11th to 13the centuries, including the birth of modern medicine and the translation of then-obscure Greek philosophy, to say nothing of the rich contributions to Islamic exegesis, poetry, etc.
Osh itself can lay claim to an ancient heritage, being a major stop along one of the several “Silk Road” caravan routes from China to Iran, and later Syria, but in relation to the capitals of Samarkand, Bukhara, Khiva, or even Kokand, it was a second-tier urban center, if not at times even a marginal one. Still, in comparison with the modern capitals of Bishkek, Tashkent, Astana and Ashgabat – none of which existed even 200 years ago – it’s mere existence for almost a millennium lends considerable cultural credibility (or gravitas).
But Ferghana is a melting pot, and always has been. That made life especially tricky for Soviet “ethnologists” when they tried to divide up the former Russian Imperial governate of Turkestan into smaller ethno-republics. Their solution – laudable in theory more than in practice – was to conduct a census, assemble a tremendous amount of quantitative data, and then create – from scratch – political borders based on the “revealed” majority ethnic groups. In some parts of Turkestan, this made sense. Big clusters of almost exclusively self-identified “Kyrgyz” lived in the eastern Tien Shan bordering China. Load of people who spoke a variety of Uzbek dialects lived along the Syr Daria river.
But Ferghana was a melting pot. Non-Iranian ethnic Persians (now “Tajiks”) often spoke Uzbek. All Kazakhs were known – to Russians – as “Kirgiz” until the 1920s. And what of intermarriage? Or how about the dozens of other smaller ethnic groups in the region, like the indigenous Kara-Kalpacks, the immigrant Cossacks and Tatars, or the displaced Uighurs?
The Soviet solution was threefold:
1) To simplify data collection, individuals could only choose 1 “ethnicity,” and this must be chosen from the list of “approved” ethnicities compiled by Soviet ethnographers.
2) Borders would be drawn with great attention paid to the majority ethnicity, even when this required neighborhood-by-neighborhood divisions, or “enclaves” – islands of one ethnicity within a different ethno-republic, but governed by their “mother” country.
3) Whatever the flaws, once the ethnicities and borders were established, they were law. Some details could be appealed, but the system, and the right of the Soviets to define the people and the land, was irrefutable.
There were some obvious blunders. Samarkand and Bukhara were bastions of Tajik language, culture, “ethnicity,” etc., not only historically, but contemporary with the census. But giving these major urban centers to the Uzbek republic was much easier, and had the double-advantage of nullifying the strong Tajik families that had traditionally controlled them. In return, the now-miniscule Tajik republic was given a bizarre arm of territory stretching north, then crookedly arching East into the fertile Ferghana – of course, it was entirely populated by Uzbeks at the time.
So the region has never been clearly demarcated – borders remain in dispute, and political boundaries in no way correspond to borders of ethnic inhabitation. As a result, in the post-soviet era, there are many ethnically Uzbek citizens of Kyrgyzstan, Russian “Kazakhstanis” (to differentiate them from ethnic “Kazakhs”), etc.
Osh today is a city of 60% ethnic Uzbek population, and a strong number of ethnic Tajiks as well, to say nothing of the other state-less minorities. In theory, the result of this is that Osh feel more “Central Asian” than Bishkek or Dushanbe – or so the common sentiment is among my American acquaintances. Having spent a whole 23 hours in Osh, I’m still not sure how much I buy that. Dushanbe certainly had a lot of Persian/Iranian connections, but I don’t think it was “Little Tehran.” Likewise, Bishkek is closely linked with Almaty, itself a strong tie to European Russia, but must still feel tremendously different, if not foreign, to the average Muscovite. I think it’s all just as “Central Asian,” but this term – as a general way to describe the similarities of the region – is of decreasing value as the 5 republics differentiate themselves further with each passing year.
So – other than ponder Soviet Nationality Policy, what did I do in the few hours I spent in the ancient city of Osh?
After another hop over the mountains on a trusty old AVN-20(?) twin-prop, this on sporting a sleek 50s kitchen décor to compliment its two non-functional Samsung flatscreens, I arrived in Osh at 1600 hours with my new travel buddy, David, a journalist formerly with the NY Times and now a semi-freelance specialist on the FSU (former Soviet Union), based out of Kiev.
David had a car and a guest house arranged, and I was not about to argue. We later went out for the largest skewers of Shashlyk I’ve yet seen, and foolishly ordered two each. Along with a crazy room-temperature crab/corn/cucumber/mayo “salad” and a few slices of very fresh watermelon (Ferghana is known for it’s melons), I was more than stuffed. We made it back to the guesthouse by 2230, and I elected to call it a night. The main event was still ahead tomorrow.
After waking up at 8, showering, and being treated to an enormous breakfast (sweet rice porridge with cheese-covered French toast) David and I parted ways. He actually had work to do. I got to be a tourist.
Lonely Planet has been a good friend to me in my travels, but the Central Asia book was last updated in 2007, and suffers some annoyingly outdated info, as well as poor, or at least confusing, editorial choices. For example, the Lenin statue does show up on the LP map of the city, but it doesn’t make the list of “Sights and Attractions” as would usually be the case for a public work of historical interest. Albeit, every major city had a Lenin Statue, they are all more or less the same, and the further the USSR fades into history, the less interesting they (presumably) are. Certainly, LP didn’t offer any encouragement for tourists to bother with the Osh-Lenin.
As it happens, I was in the area anyway coming from the South of town. Plus, I’m always curious about when the Lenins show up – usually after being removed from their former places of glory. Not so in Osh.
First, it’s the biggest Lenin statue I’ve ever seen. Anywhere. Ever.
I know the Eastern Europeans have been more proactive in destroying – rather than relocating – lots of their Lenins, but I made a point last summer of checking out the post-Sov museums, statuary parks, etc. And it’s fair to point out that I haven’t yet actually been to Russia, which may or may not reverse my claim. But for now, I’ll affirm that the Osh Lenin dwarfs the best I could find in Tallinn, Warsaw, or Budapest. And it hasn’t moved an inch. There is stands, its back still to the river that bisects downtown Osh, and his eyes locked on the huge Osh regional administration building – the capital of Osh oblast (state) as well as city – his arm outstretched in a gesture of either forward progress (“Onward Comrades!”), or oblique ownership (“All of this is Mine!”).
It was pretty spell-binding, even though the once-thriving kiddie-park around his base is now closed and fading. I should point out that virtually even Stalin statue has been gone for decades (his birthplace Georgia is one conflicted exception), but Lenin has managed to hang on, usually as a lesser-saint in the new Nationality pantheons; still an important figure as the Central Asian states rebuild their history and identity.
My next stop was the main event – Suleyman-Too (“Solomon’s Throne”) – the large mountain the rises steeply from the heart of Osh and is rumored to have been a sacred mountain described in the Qur’an (and I think also in the Talmud/Bible). Regardless of historical fact, it has been a site of pilgrimage for centuries, and was just this summer dedicated as an World Historical site by UNESCO.
Geographically, the “throne” is an oblong rise with 4 separate, irregular peaks running down its length from East to West – something like a battleship profile. Scattered around the base of the throne are a variety of attractions with a variety of attractiveness. The small, non-descript mausoleum and neighboring mosque are on the lower end of the scale, while the Dom Babura shrine at the peak and the various museums are of considerably more note.
I started at the “Historical Museum.” For a 50 som ($1.10) entrance fee, I was treated to displays (in Russian) about the geology, climate, and agriculture of the Osh region (oblast). Past the natural history wing, I roamed through a hall which began with prehistoric tools and “Neandertal” sketches, and wound its way over millennia up to the present. Some of the more impressive displays were the working Kyrgyz textile loom, or the selection of Kyrgyz handicrafts such as clothing, hats, and the famous felt rugs that adorned the inside of every Yurt, and are now adapted as pot holders, car seat covers, etc. It was pretty strong on semi-modern (18th-19th century) artifacts as well, including several well-preserved Qur’ans, a bizarre array of weapons suspended as if in a spider web, and all the pottery shards required to make any museum of antiquity feel self-important. The Russian/Soviet section was not as impressive as the very similar “National Museum” in Dushanbe, but it did have some unique trinkets. A model of a Kyrgyz-made battle tank, a soviet-era record player, and a traditional Kyrgyz ornamental wood carving featuring Lenin and the Heroes of the Revolution, rather than the usual Manas heroes. It even had some recent trinkets, like photos of all the Kyrgyz MPs from the Osh region, or a great display on the first Kyrgyz in space (from 1997). Best of all, it even has one or two sentences in English for every exhibit, ranking it a solid A- among Central Asian museums.
In front of the “Historical Museum” is the 3-storied Yurt (at left). I took a peek inside, and not surprisingly it was a large open area, covered in carpets, and featuring more handicraft displays. I decided to pass on the tour of the interior, leaving me no excuse to further put off the hike to the summit.
For those of you diligent enough to read every post (and god bless the both of you for your patience), you may remark on the proximity of this endeavor to my recent “glacier hike.” I returned from Ala-Archa on Saturday night – bruised and exhausted. Sunday I did very little. Monday I flew to Osh. Tuesday I went to Suleyman-Too. To whatever degree my legs will eventually recover, it had not made much progress by this point.
Luckily, the Suleyman-Too summit is a well-traveled path, and as such is made considerably easier by a long series of cement stairs. This makes the step-by-step process of ascent less stressful, but nothing can nullify the altitude. The lack of any flora above knee-height does not reduce the experience of being an unfortunate blob of brownie-in-the-baking.
At the top is a nice summit with a huge Kyrgyz flat, decent views of the Osh cityscape (not the most interesting in the world), and a small temple originally built in the 14th century, and since destroyed and rebuilt at least twice - most recently in 1980. It's called Dom Babura ("Babur's House") after its original constructor - Babur, a local king who dedicated it upon his ascension to the throne at age 14. Now, it is a place for making prayers, and for some discrete graffiti on its tin roof. In addition to this little temple, many religious Uzbeks and Kyrgyz tie pieces of cloth to the bushes all over the mountain - one for each prayer.
At the top of Suleyman-Too, I saw perhaps the most remarkable/unusual sight last - a kyrgyz photographer wearing an Oklahoma City Thunder jersey. For those of you not familiar with the name (even I took some memory jogging), this is the "new" NBA team relocated to OKC just last year and formerly the Seattle SuperSonics. After the New Orleans Hornets left their short stay in OKC, the city, which has survived for decades with minor-league champs like the Blazers and the 89er/Red Hawks, was apparently thirsting for more professional basketball.
I didn't know anyone had actually bought Thunder jerseys yet in OKC - let along Osh. Is there some bizarre exchange program I don't know about?
On the back side of Suleyman-Too is the "Historical-Cultural Museum," which deserves a much better shake than Lonely Planet gives it. Sure, it's a soviet-era museum that was created by literally dynamiting the heck out of the holy mountain to carve a giant cave and then affix a giant metal scar over it. In the end, it actually looks pretty cool, but manages to be about as sacrilidgous as possible. Inside, where it's wonderfully cool by the way, are displays of the major "cults" historically active in the region. This includes displays like models of Zoroastrian burial chambers, Fire Worshiper temples, Shamanism totems and clothing... and the Qur'an. In typical Soviet subtlety, the "superstition" of Islam is shown to be just another of the invented beliefs of the pre-soviet primitive population. That the museum continues to operate with this basic assumption in the heart of the Fergana valley is testament to how lasting an effect "scientific" categorization can have.
Running along the south base of the throne is an old Muslim cemetary (there is a strong preference for mountains and other elevated place for these - I'm not sure why), and even more exciting - construction of a new Mosque! As I've said perhaps too much, there aren't a lot of mosques in Kyrgyzstan relative to its population, and while Osh certainly has Many more than Bishkek, they do tend to be small and unimpressive. The new mosque (I couldn't find a name) is about 80% completed, with its magnificent double-dome in place, and one of its 4 minarets already completed. It's an ambitious project, but it says a lot about the growth (or resurgence, if you prefer) of more traditional (though not necessarily fundamental) Islamic practices in the area. It's also the first time I've ever seen a mosque mid-construction.
For lunch I passed a place advertising itself as the "California Café." The selling point was its combination of the Californian state flag (bear, star, etc) and the Kyrgyz national flag. No idea what the back-story is here, but the prices were good, the salads were all named after hollywood celebrities (I had the "Angelina Jolie" - chicken, tomatoes, vinegar, corn and lettuce), and they even had "vegetarian fajitas" on the menu. I was skeptical, but also curious. In retrospect, it was more like they made a mexican veggie stew, and just rolled it up in what were honestly not-bad tortillas. The salsa was more like spicy Ragu, and the sour cream was rather sweet, but as far as Osh goes, it was a hit.
I had two stops left before I had to catch my flight back to Bishkek. First, just out of curiousity, I visited a site my map called "Yak-40." This was much more literal than I anticipated. I thought it might be a statue, or some dedication to the aircraft that made up such a large % of soviet commercial air traffic. Instead, it was just a decomissioned Yak-40 sitting in the middle of a park. Not raised in the air, not in some sort of "action" pose. Just parked on the grass, as if awaiting it's clearance to taxi. The absence of engines, and our 8 km distance from the actual airport were the only things disproving that assumption. The tail-number still bore the CCCP designation (which, by the way, is pronounced "S-S-S-R", not "Cee-Cee-Cee-Pee" - - silly Cyrillic), and the Aeroflot logo still has the hammer and sickle at its center.
Next and last on the check-list was the Bazaar, which stretches across both sides of the river for about 1 km. Most of this is the usual bazaar fare - don't fool yourself into exotic visions of spices, silk, handicrafts, and goats - it's mostly adidas, DVDs, cheap jewelry, simple pattern dresses, and leather belts. At the south there are some "souvenir" shops that sell the more traditional Kyrgyz and Uzbek hats, carpets, slippers, etc. At the far north is the "business" end, where they make hardware supplies and sell more useful homemade workboots, etc. In the middle is consumism fluff, and a decent food market selling fresh fruits, vegetables, and melons as well as recently-slaughtered meats and mass-produced toiletries, candies, etc.
Having gotten my fill of "color" as the ex-pats unfortunately refer to any activity outside the US embassy or the established ex-pat bars, I snagged a taxi and was, for all intents and purposes, done with Osh.
And it was just about right. It was hot, and I hadn't been drinking enough water. I could have stayed longer in Osh, but there weren't any more "highlights" to check out, and after 2 months in Bishkek, my craving for more cultural experiences like greasy bazaar food or getting lost in back alleys is at an ebb. for now.
I would have liked to check out one of the operating mosques in Osh, and made some attempts to find one, but all in vain. Maybe next time.
Another AVN-20 flight, and I was back in Bishkek, headed immediately for the Radio Azattyk offices to finish some work before my mentor, Gulaiym, took off for Moscow.
Only a few days left, and I still need to get to Issyk Kul and give Bishkek the formal tourist treatment. It almost makes 23 hours in Osh look like a reasonable schedule.
Almost.
Weber (on the lamb)
