Sunday, July 26, 2009

Issky Cool?

First, let me explain how bad the headline pun is. Issyk Kul is the major lake in Kyrgyzstan, and one of the largest resorts in all of Central Asia. It's slightly salinated, which keeps it from freezing over in the winter like all the other mountain lakes, and it's super-clear, basically enormous (3rd-largest mountain lake in the world), and somehow has nice sandy beaches. The name literally means "warm lake" (Issyk=warm, kul=lake), which makes its common english name all the more unfortunate: "Issyk Kul Lake."

Also, as the only resort in the country, and one that is acknowledged as being superior to anything it's much-richer neighbors and come up with, Issyk Kul is a source of great national pride in Kyrgyzstan, and as a result, a prominent talking point. Bishkek doesn't have anything to be ashamed about, and while the countryside is just that - country - the slight inferiority complex this perceived lack of development causes results in an even greater elevation of the significance of Issyk Kul. No Kyrgyz is satisfied with a foreigner's visit until they've seen Issyk Kul. When I first arrived, I was asked when I would go see it, and since then I've been asked - several times every week - if I've been, why haven't I been yet, and when am I going. It was unfathomable that I simply wouldn't go while I was in the country.

And this is not just for tourists - like Paris in the summer, Bishkek practically empties on summer weekends as families and young singles jet down the highway for 5 hours to the resorts at Cholpon-Ata, or the more frugal beach towns of Tamchy or Karakol. Evidence can be found in the suspiciously not-cramped disco dancefloors and usually-smokey local bars.

With only 3 days left before my Kyrgyz departure, and a friend over-nighting at Karakol after being an election observer and before starting a 5 day backpack trek, I had just the time and opportunity I needed to get going.

Rather than drag this on endlessly, as I'm wont to do, I'll cut out the musing about "what it all means," or some deep analysis involving suppositions and assumptions I'm not qualified to make, and just cut to what I did and what I saw.

Following the Kyrgyz Presidential Election on Thursday (July 23), and seeing that nothing was likely to happen, I hopped in a shared taxi with my American Fullbright buddy Evan, and two other random kyrgyz, and headed for Karakol. Had I wanted to make my life easier, I would have gone to the small beach town of Tamchy, just 3 hours away. Had I wanted to see the "jewel of Kyrgyzstan," I would have gone to the Cholpon-Ata resort, 4 hours away.

But I wanted to both see the lake, and spend time with my 2 good American Fullbright buddies, Evan and Kara, who were setting off on a 5-day backpack trek from Karakol on Saturday after spending Friday at the beach. End result: 6 hour taxi ride, plus a taxi driver who didn't know his way around Karakol (it's pretty small - think... Kerrville?), and a random 30 minute stop at a local auto repair shop (after we reached Karakol) where a variety of mechanics took turns pounding the inside of his front tires with a giant metal pole - what back home we call a "fix-it stick." In the end, it took 7 hours, with the last one conducted entirly within 5 blocks of our guesthouse. Total taxi cost: $12.50 (ended up $22 round-trip).

The guesthouse was awesome - Kara got setup there while she was out in the region (or oblast) doing election observing. That proved rather upsetting for Kara, but on the plus side, she got a free trip to Karakol, found a good place to stay (also $12.50/night), and could commiserate with the other kyrgyz at the hotel that night over serveral rounds of vodka, or what in the FSU counts as an evening of "light" drinking.

The following day Kara was quite bored as she waited for Evan and I to make our way across the northern half of the country. As I said - Karakol is not a very big (or exciting) place.

Upon arrival and check-in, we immediately headed for the beach. The hottest part of the day was already gone, and we wound up essentially spending a sunset at the beach - not too shabby. We ate Evan's "baby," the enormous watermelon he purchased mid-taxi ride. We stopped at one of the hundreds of road-side produce shacks, and almost everyone in the taxi decided they needed a watermelon (this included the taxi driver - I abstained). Evan was the last to realize how badly he needed one, so by the time he made it back, the trunk was 'full-o-melon, so he got to carry it on his lap for the remaining 4+ hours.

The beach was - and I apologize to my Kyrgyz friends - underwhelming. It wasn't much of a beach actually, just a sand/mud outgrowth of a reed-infested shallows in a small inlet near Karakol. The water was cloudy, and only warm by glacial standards. Across the bay were two decomissioned factories and one old chemical plant. This was the "safe" bay. On the other side of town, there was a beach surrounded by old Soviet-era military weapons factories and testing zones. I'm not sure how "unsafe" that really made it - locals didn't seem to mind - but rumors are something I pay close heed to anytime they involve actual landmines.

After managing to finish off 1/6 of Evan's "baby" (is more or less looked like we decapitated it), we got ready to call our taxi driver back (the Karakol beach is north of town), only to see him walk right past us in nothing but his shorts and dive straight into the lake. Apparently picking us up was all the reason he needed to come to the lake a little early himself.

Once we were dried off, full of watermelon, and only a little sticky from the lake, we decide to change back at the guesthouse before dinner. I should add a key element of this choice was that Evan, like 90% of everyone at the lake, didn't bother with a swimsuit, instead choosing to go for a dip in his boxers. Whether briefs or otherwise, underwear clearly seemed to be the favorite Kyrgyz men's bathing suit. However the downside to boxers is that some (ahem) don't have a close-able fly, and as a result Evan kept accidentally flashing anyone who became too curious about what that abberration was in his green/navy plaid pattern shorts.

For dinner we hit the only cafe in town (again, Kara's scouting turned handy), and enjoyed some really wonderful and bizarre eats. I had "Brizol" which can only be described as a Kyrgyz intellectual cousin of the pancake-sausage corndog. Instead of serving my thin burger in a sandwhich roll with ketchup, mayo, tomatoe and cucumber, they instead cooked a large thin burger, wrapped it around the tomato and cucumber, then magically fried and egg around the entire "meat burrito" and garnished it with piles of mayo and ketchup. I won't say it was a new taste explosion, but the mechanics of its construction continue to intrigue me.

After much debate (my last real nigth in Kyrgyzstan, their impending 5-day backpack, and the general assumption that drinking, rather than not-drinking, should be the norm), we decided to buy a *small* bottle of vodka and enjoy it together back at our guesthouse with some cherry juice. Man, how I'm going to miss that Cherry juice!

Evan took the crown for best toast(s), and I'm pretty sure Kara out drank us both. I blame my relative lack of Russian exposure.

The next day they were kind enough to help me secure the proper taxi before they geared up for the mountain trail. I had a mere 5.5 hour ride back to Bishkek in a car with 3 women and a young child. Poor thing didn't even make it 30 minutes before it started vomiting.

Well, that's a slice of life on the lamb. I did drive along the Issyk Kul shore for many miles, and can attest that the majority of it - not just the resort part - is breathtakingly beautiful. While my in-lake experience was a deflation, I still had a great time, am now allowed to leave the country unmolested, and got to spend another night with two very cool people. No loss in that.

tomorrow I finish buying my last souvenirs, get everything crammed into my 2 bags, and kill some time until my 3 am Monday flight.

It's been a roller-coaster of a summer, and while I'm filled with all sorts of bittersweet comments, I'll hold onto those until time and perspective have helped me clear things up a bit. And until after I recover from jet lag's virtual lobotomy.

For now, I can say that after 2 months of eating more sheep parts than I really care to admit, and enjoying a comfortable, if not ever entirelyfamiliar lifestyle, I am ready to get off the lamb. Or at least to put the metaphorical "lamb saddle" aside for a short time and give normalcy its due. Normalcy, and leafy vegetables.

But it has been a fun ride.

Weber (on the lamb)

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Election Conclusion

If you're really, really curious, then you should just parouse all the headlines on the eng.24.kg website for July 23-25. For the rest of you, here's the short version:

Voting started at 8 am; apparently at some polling stations people were lined up to vote. As the day continued, reports of "voting irregularities" started coming in from all directions. This was a surprise to the CEC (state election committee) since it declared the vote would be "free, fair and transparent" from the start, and a surprise to foreign journalists like myself in that we assumed the Bakiev regime had enough time to rig this thing in such a way that elections observers - who are only in country for 3-5 days - wouldn't be able to see them doing it.

In order for a Kyrgyz election to be valid, 50% of all registered voters must cast their ballot. Since only 1/3 of the Kyrgyz population is registered (and some people lost their registration status after voting for the opposition in the 2007 parliamentary campaign), this isn't as infeasible as it sounds. However, the official statement that 40% of all voters had cast by noon seemed to be stretching it, with at least one - as possibly many more - instance of polling stations opening their doors with pre-filled ballot boxes. There were lots of Zombie Voters (my term, and proud of it - citizens who've been dead, often for years, who still manage to vote Bakiev), and an as-yet unconfirmed number of double-voters. One wry joke of the day involved a middle-aged man who voted opposition in 2007, and was complaining that this time he wasn't allowed to vote. Another man suggested, "oh, you voted, maybe more than once, you just didn't know it."

Around this time, 2 of the opposition candidates, including the primary one, Atambaev and Nazaraliev, called a press conference to announce that due to the pervasive and incredibly high number of voter fraud, the election could not possibly be conducted legally, and they were therefore withdrawing their candidacies. Interesting approach on the day of the election, especially since their names of course remained on the ballot, and they continued receiving votes all day. But not many - according to the CEC, Atambaev received only 7% of the official total.

After that "bombshell" the CEC held its own press conference, denying Any election problems and seeming dumbfounded why Atambaev and Nazaraliev would try to discourage voting and blacken the image of their "transparent" election process.

Irregularity reports kept coming in- - from some people. OSCE, OHDIR, NDI, and other western-based agencies were practically knocking down doors with their pages of witness-observed falsifications, ballot trashing, ballot-stuffing, multi-voting, zombie-voting, etc. And that's with less than 200 observers in the entire country. Other orgs, notably the CIS and the SCO were, not surprisingly, congratulating Bakiev and the CEC for one of the best elections they've ever monitored. Like a tobacco-funded health study, these orgs are designed to offset criticism and validate the status quo.

Over the day, the opposition began promising major public protests by night fall when the election tally was announced. In response, several major opposition figures - including the few members of parliament left in the opposition and Atambaev's campaign managers - were arrested from campaign headquarters and taken to jail. This caused some small protest in NE Kyrgyzstan (Atambaev's home region), which was quickly dispersed with non-lethal grenade launchers. Despite the ire and promises of the opposition, this was the biggest protest of the day.

Once the official election results were posted - an astonishing 79% participation giving the incumbent Bakiev 83% of the vote (followed by Atambaev - 7.9%, no-confidence in any candidate - 3.4%, Sariev - 2.9%, Nazaraliev 0.6%, Umetalieva - 0.4%, Moltuev - 0.3%). It should be noted that Moltuev - who has always been an oddly pro-Bakiev "challenger" - immediately congratulated the CEC on such a fair election, having himself earned a total of 8,284 votes nation-wide.

That night, after the results were announced, there was supposed to be an opposition march against the CEC offices. Instead, 20-30 people showed up in a park, acting more sociable than agry, and were later told to go home - protest cancelled.

The next day, the OSCE gave it's official report. While technically only going so far as to say that the Kyrgyz Election "didn't live up to the standards promised by the CEC" and "didn't show the progress we were hoping for," unofficially OSCE staff confided that they were disgusted and even personally offended by what one off-the-record source called "one of the worst elections we've ever monitored."

In an attempt to be constructive, OSCE reports usually don't discuss specific infractions, just a general sense of how their observers felt the day went. But with a little vodka, some observers are known to talk, and the specifics are pretty pathetic. More than anything, it's hard to say to what degree Bakiev cheated this election, and to what degree fear of a later Bakiev repercussion caused people to cheat the election for him. Observers were threatened, physically, if they didn't leave a precint so the numbers could be adjusted. Tallys were simply negated, and the number of votes decided upon at random. Officially, No candidate except Bakiev won a majority in any single polling station - including their home towns. One observer noted this was not true when they left a polling station - which recorded an Atambaev victory. Even though it was a small country station, with fewer than 1,000 total votes, local gov employees considered it too much of a job risk to post their station as officially going to the oppositon - so it was "fixed."

So the elections were not free, fair, or transparent. No surprise there. The tactics involved were more blatant than anyone expected, and the CEC, CIS, and SCO self-righteousness was worn further down the sleeve than anticipated, but the end result was the same.

It took the CEC less than 24 hours to review the (literally) piles of voter fraud eye-witness reports and proclaim the election results valid.

A better (and shorter) take can also be found here:

After the FUBAR that was the US 2000 elections (thanks, Jeb), I don't feel like standing on any high horse when it comes to free-and-fair elections. In fact, I have my suspicions that later historians will trace the ebb of American voting transparency to the introduction of electronic (no paper-trail) voting machines.

But for now, the long path that has taken me through Central Asia this summer is winding to a close, and off to the left I've had a very good view of a collosal "democratic" 24-car pileup. The wreckage is everywhere, and while there were no hollywood-style fireballs, there certainly were a number of serious injuries, obvious wrong-doing, negligence, and virtually no ambulances in sight. This is the view of a semi-informed observer meandering past the "most democratic state in Central Asia" - a title for which it still, unfortunately, qualifies.

And no amount of US $ or US army bases - I'm sorry, transit centers - is going to change the carnage of principals. Quite on the contrary, the "friendship" and "partnership" which Obama has carried over from the Bush admin. only strengthens the status quo and gives credance to this style of overt corruption. Like a drug cartel in the Columbian forest, there is no reason to cloak one's vices, because in this Great Game there are no universal principals or material consequences, only benefits to be handed out to those who maintain power.

And that's a slice of life that is not specific to Former-Soviet, Post-Colonial, Western/Eastern, Islamic, Impoverished, 3rd world, or any other convenient categorization.

And with that, it's time for this little lamb to pack up the Yurt and get moving. The harvest is over; the season is changing, and I'm heading home.

Weber (on the lamb)

Friday, July 24, 2009

Election Wrap-up

Well, after many hours of waiting and lots of big talk, nothing really happened, which isn't such a bad thing.

As the election day proceeded, there were more unofficial reports of fraud from both sides - one district in the south had its entire vote eliminated when the ballot boxes arrived at the polling station pre-filled (opposition, Ak Jol, and foreign observers all agreed to just dump them).

As the day progressed, there was big talk from Atambaev and Nazarliev about joining forces and making a protest march on the Central Election Committee offices. Technically, they were already planning to have a victory celebration, and just announced that instead it would be a protest rally (as it obviously always had intended to be).

I went to the site, gorky park, and observed about 1 dozen bored police officers (mostly women) just sitting around. As time passed and it grew darker (gorky is not well lit), the making-out couples trailed off, and it became apparent that one small cluster (maybe 30 people) sitting in the dark might not be entirely social. About an hour after the march was supposed to start, someone came up and started speaking to the group. They huddled around him, then, rather casually, dispersed in several directions. Speaking ot one of them on the way out, the "agitation" was apparently cancelled.

My journalist friend at Opposition HQ said they were all pretty disheartened. But to be honest, this opposition hasn't been very impressive.

With gorky a bust, I went to the main city square, Ala-Too, but it was absolutely business as usual. Ever since the president installed new fountains, benches and gardens in teh square in early June, it's been a popular family spot every night, even until pretty late. Tonight, it was no different. Children eating icecream, young people holding hands, and old people chatting on the benches. Extremely chill.

I did hear some disturbing reports of voter fraud - it's not a surprise that the election was rigged - at all - but general concensus was that the president was savvy enough to do it all ahead of time and not in fron tof the international observers he brought in to confirm it.

Apparently not.

The OSCE will publish its official report of any violations it witnessed this afternoon, and I'm curious to see exactly how itwas graded. People here generally think Bakiev would winn a fair election, but that hasn't stopped rampant fraud from his supporters, which tends to inflate a realistic 70+% into the kind or ridiculous figures that were common in the Soviet era.


In one instance I heard of, an entire region shredded their tallys and just created new numbers when it was apparent that Atambaev actually won. If this had been reported, they would have all lost their jobs, so the OSCE observers were asked to leave so that the numbers could be "reconsidered."

Pretty blatant, but not directly Bakiev-induced. Indirectly, yes.

Well, it's all still a bit muddy, if quiet, so I'm off to spend the weekend at the Issyk Kul lake resort, and will post again when things clear up in a day or two.

thanks for paying attention to Kyrgyz Politics.

Somebody needs to.

Weber (on the lamb)

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Bishkek Election Update

For those actually interested in following the insanity, here are some bit-by-bit items:

+ Start with some good background info, courtesty of Radio Azattyk:

+ More deep background and longer article, only for the really curious:

+ President Bakiev publicly declares he will allow no "destabilization" efforts during the elections. I.E., any protest of the results will be seen as a coup attempt, and treated accordingly:

+ A good look at what happens inside the polling stations, and what the official party line of the incumbents Ak Jol party members is:

+ According to Kyrgyz law, more than 50% of registered voters must vote for any election to be valid. That seems unreasonable in a country of such vast low-population areas, and general political apathy. But consider that in Bishkek, a city of over 1 million residents, there are only 338,000 registered voters (and a full 221 polling places for them to vote).
Here is the vote figure by Noon: http://eng.24.kg/politic/2009/07/23/8597.html

+ Bakiev has been very forward about allowing Western Election Observers into the country this year, but the Central Election Committee (hereafter CEC) still keeps a tight rein on exactly which Western observers make it through. The Helsinki Committee (a respected OSCE affiliate) just learned today that they have been denied: http://humanrightshouse.org/Articles/5042.html

+ This is Really interesting. The perception of Bakiev as an almost-all-powerful autocrat lead many to speculate that shortly after his re-election, we would see parliament pass an amendment changing the 2-term limit set in the Kyrgyz constitution. But not so, says Bakiev himself, on the day of voting: http://eng.24.kg/politic/2009/07/23/8596.html

+ Then there's this - according to the Bishkek Election Committee (state org), opposition campaigners are demanding to check voter's passports at polling stations. This type of ID-checking is illegal for non-authorized (state) officers to request. So, just to be clear, the first accusation of voter fraud actually goes against the oppositon: http://eng.24.kg/politic/2009/07/23/8598.html


So far today, I've visited a few polling places, and everything seems to be genial. Citizens come and go on lunch breaks, and it's all very casual. There is no intimidation at the polls, nor even a very strong police presence (contrary to the predictions of veteran democray agents here). But I'm only seeing downtown Bishkek, which is guaranteed to be the whitest of the white gloves in this process.

I'm heading back out now - don't expect too many more updates. This isn't Iran, I'm not much of a journalist, and I don't even know what you call Twitter-bytes (there is some controversy).

But I'll do what I can to share with you the (potentially) interesting developments of this generally uneventful day in Kyrgyz politics.

Weber (on the lamb)

Bishkek Election Primer

Today is the big day. Kyrgzy Presidential Elections.

For those of you who haven't been soaking this up for 2 months, here's the rundown:

Kurmanbek BAKIEV - the incumbent, he was elected President in 2005 following the "Tulip Revolution" that saw peaceful mass protests force the former president (and soviet-era leader), Aksar AKIEV, into exile in Russia. Since taking over the presidency, Bakiev has committed all the sins for which Akiev was ousted - gross nepotism, private ownership of state industries, centralization of power, and increasing repression of opposition and media figures. His campaign posted, billboards, and TV ads have slogans like, "Bakiev: Real Presient," or "Bakiev, of course."

To be honest, most Kyrgyz I've spoken to think Bakiev is good enough, or to quote one, "he's the only candidate with presidential experience." Touche?


Almazbek ATAMBAEV - the lead opposition figure, Atambaev is a knotty puzzle. He was formerly a Prime Minister for Bakiev, but resigned in protest following the heavily-rigged 2007 parliamentary elections (in which his Social Democrat party got slaughtered by the president's Ak Jol party). He's not technically a candidate from any official party. He registered as an independent, and then a collaboration of minor parties came together and named him the candidate for their "United Peoples Movement." In the last few days, he's become Very aggressive, speaking publicly about where his "victory celebration" will be held after the voting closes - it is generally acknowledged that he has a snowball's chance in hell, making this all the more puzzling. Some think he's trying to setup a protest/coup. I've never seen more than 300 people at an Atambaev rally, so I just don't see that happening.


NAZARALIEV - despite looking unfortunately like a chubby Mussolini in his prolific campaign posters, Nazaraliev is actually a wealthy and well-respected doctor and beneficiary. He's built a hospital, and campaigns loudly on the premise of "100,000 questions" he has for Bakiev about his poor governance, and "8 ideas" Nazaraliev has to improve the country. He would technically be considered the 3rd most-likely candidate, making him, to keep the above analogy, an icicle in Satan's crotch.

Tamir SARIEV - He entered the race along with everyone else, passed the televised Kyrgyz language test that knocks out 2/3 of all candidates, and has generally been pretty quiet. He's a successful Kyrgyz businessman by virtue of owning the Tien-Shan Legend bottled-water company. It has been widely rumored that he's running as a way to make money. Basically, the tacit agreement is that if you don't make too much of a fuss in your campaign, and don't be too hard on the president, then nobody really looks too hard at where your campaign funding goes after the election. This is generally accepted as true for all candidates, not just Sariev. I mention it because he has been especially quiet, and very business-savvy. He did found his own political party (Ak Shumpkar) to validate his candidacy.

UMETALIEVA - she is the chairwoman for a major NGO consortium in Bishkek, and the only woman in the race. If elected she would be the first female president of Kyrgyzstan. But that's not actually such a huge thing. While having a woman president might shake up Kyrgyz society just a touch, in all the Post-Soviet countries women are active in the workplace, involved in politics, and successful in business, simultaneous with some stereotypes, sexism, and illebral social structures. If she got elected, it just wouldn't be as earth-shattering as Obama in America, but it would be unusual. Of course, that won't happen. Her platform is basically that she wants to show that a woman can run for president (not actually be one).

MOLUTEV - I haven't heard anything from this guy but quick one-liners about how Bakiev isn't so bad. He declined a radio debate with the president (no offered to any other candidates) because he had no policies that he disagreed with the president about. He has no posters, and as far as I can tell no campaign, though he did comment (to Radio Azattyk staff) that he thought "Bakiev is being very patient. If I were him, I would arrest any journalist who writes such things about me." When a candidate thinks the incumbent is the ideal president, I'm not sure how much of a 'candidate' he remains.


So the gist is, this is a one-horse race (Bakiev), with a loud pony (Atambaev) wandering around the track, and a few geldings watching from edges, happy to be out of the barn for a bit and enjoy the fresh hay.

It should be said that the "democratic" coup that toppled Akaev in 2005 wasn't anticipated either, but I must say that any chance for dramatic change today is exceptionally low. Still, the thunder Atambaev is putting out suggests there might be lightning somewhere, but I just don't see it. There is a sizeable opposition attitude in Kyrgyzstan, but it has nothing to do with any of these Bishkek-based politico-elites. The south of this country (Osh region) is becoming more and more swayed by Islamic hard-liners, who are taking notes from Taliban refugees. Islam in general holds more sway down south - and that's not a bad thing. Most of the mullahs and imams are very moderate, and generally encourage people to avoid politics all-together (that's not such a good thing). But Taliban and Taliban-influenced Kyrgyz and becoming more vocal. That none of the presidential candidates represents these religious opposition movements only demonstrates their lack of actual grassroots support, and the difficult situation of a "democratic" system which excludes the opinion of a considerable percentage of its citizenry. Imagine if the US electorate had to choose between Republicans and Libertarians. Or Democrats and Green Party. My point is, when a huge chunk of people don't feel like they have any political recourse or representation, eventually, cutting them out of government could cause some trouble.

But not on an election day that they don't even care about.

That's the primer. Polls opened at 8:00 am this morning, and close at 8 pm. If anything's going to happen, it will be tonight. Tomorrow the OSCE gives its report about the degree of election freedom/fraud. It should be interesting to see how much they're able to uncover.

For a more professional look, and some good perspective, check out this article posted today in the New York Times based on a recent visit by several NTY journalists to Bishkek - they actually got an interview with Bakiev, which is pretty remarkable, even if he didn't say anything interesting.

"reporting" from Bishkek,

Weber (on the lamb)

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

23 Hours in Osh

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)

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Glacier Hike


Central Asia is not exactly the standard "Tourist's Paradise." The visa situation makes international travel frustrating, sleeping arrangements are not always up to international standards, nothing can be done on-line, and there really aren't many museums, historical sites, or other standard attractions of note. And then there's the fact that it's 11 hours and half the world away (ok, only 6 hours and a 1/4 of the world for Europe/Africa).

But the one thing Central Aisa has going for it - and Kyrgyzstan more than any other republic - is "Eco Tourism." While I find this term a little convenient, being of great feel-good appeal to the liberal-minded backpacker set, it more accurately refers to "Environmental Tourism." In other words, there's great things to see/do, but they are the result of a lack of human effort, rather than impressive human history, artistry, etc.

Camping, hiking, horse riding, mountain climbing, etc. etc. Don't expect room service (or toilets - flushing, sitting, or otherwise), but the views will be breath-taking.

Having been in Bishkek almost 2 months, I've still spent almost all of my time in Bishkek. I can literally see the mountains every night and morning from my apartment, but with the exception of my short excursion to the foothills within my first week, and my recent tourist hike in Tajikistan, I hadn't yet really embraced the mountainscape that covers 90% of the Kyrgyz Republic.

So when my compadre Kara - a fullbright scholar in Bishkek studying the effect of US-Russia relations on NGO operations - offered to bring me along on one of her bi-monthly weekend day hikes, I was rarin' to go.

as a younger fellow, I did a good deal of hiking, and though I haven't been much of an outdoorsman since heading off to college 9 years ago, I've maintained a self-image as a capable guy on the trail. What few rugged experiences I've had since have generally borne this out.

This has created a sense of confidence bordering on blustry, which, to date, has not been shaken, and thus I volunteered to join Kara, who has been hiking the Kyrgyz mountains twice a month for the past year - including the winter, for "whatever she wanted."

There were apparently 3 options, but I never made it past her description of the first. After she uttered the magic word, "glacier," I was hooked, and no amount of her cautions about it being "intense" phased me in the slightest.

It's interesting that the Eagle Scout patch doesn't better reflect the effect it has on one's brains-to-balls ratio in matters of wilderness acumen. I picture a shrunken voodoo-skull and the tail feathers barely masking some Texas-sized truck-nutz.

(by the way, my grandmother reads this blog, so for the record - Sorry).

Kara and I met up on a Saturday morning at a local mega-grocery store to stock up on supplies. This was only going to be a day hike, so I grabbed a 1 L bottle of water - "nyet gaz" - and then snagged a Snickers. The day's first sign of my impending doom - which I'm proud to say I did recognize at the time - was when Kara instinctively shovelled 2 2.5L water bottles, 2 packs of nuts, a couple pastries, and a giant bag of M&Ms into her basket. I hadn't even realized I would need a basket. I did a quick mimic, and blundered (arms full) to the check out register. Since this is Kyrgyzstan, the full 15 lb. load cost a whopping $5.

We next made our way to a taxi, and after some negotiation (I am SO jealous of my Russian-speaking friends on this point), were headed South - into the mountains - to Ala-Archa.

Officially, this state park 20 minutes south of Bishkek prohibits camping, campfires, hunting, fishing, sheep herding, and mountain biking, but as Kara noted, "we're likely to see them all." In addition to being a favorite jumping-off point for serious trekkers, Ala-Archa base camp is also a friendly rally point for many Kyrgyz to get out of Bishkek and spend a weekend cooking Shashlyk (kebabs) and drinking beer - with or without the wife & kids.

In addition to the word "intense," which was repeated several more times as she described the trail to me on our drive, Kara told me that I could expect the hike to proceed in 4 phases: Steep, Level, Steep, and Steeper. As a demonstration, she confessed that the last time she did this trail was in March (winter) and at one point actually had to dig her way UP through a snowbank.

To my credit, I only remained giddy about such a challenge until we were 1/2 way through phase 1. Thereafter, I settled into an attitude that was enthusiastically upbeat, but considerably more sober.

By the time we reached Phase 2: Level, I was exceedingly glad for the break, but increasingly concerned about what I'd gotten myself into. From about 3 km away, we could see a distant waterfall (center of this pic) cascading down from 30m above the ridgeline we'd hiked up to. We were meant to not only hike to this waterfall, but then to go up and over it; only then would we start Phase 3. In truth, this was a lovely segment. A gentlegreen slope rose to our left before suddenly terminating in vertical rock outcroppings, and to our right was the boulder-strewn river valley we climbed out of in phase 1. I tried to keep my eyes moving, but the approaching waterfall was enchanting with its siren's call and ominous challenge.

Once atop the waterfall - no small achievement, but pale in comparison with what was to come - we rounded a corner to view a long grey ridge that stretched like a dinosaur spine - ever upwards and slightly to the right, out of view. It was dusty and rock-strewn, with pebbles constantly scattering downhill like schools of fish. I had thus far only drained 1 of my 3.5 Litres, so it was time to get serious about hydration. This incline wasn't fooling around, and we adjusted our pace and break schedule to accomodate it. This also allowed an opportunity for some light banter on the common subjects of Politics, Americana, and the Daily Show.

After a few more bends, and no let-up in the grade, Phase 3: Steep ended at no uncertain point. The water path again leapt upwards, falling by a series of trickles down an almost-sheer rock face. The thin pounded dirt that signified our trail stopped suspiciously at the rock a few meters from the water stream. If this were a James Bond movie, one of the small bushes nearby would house a lever or button to open the secret entrance which could make such a termination rational. For Kara & I, it just meant "up."

The nice thing about traveling almost totally vertically is that you put on a lot of altitude in a hurry. And you get to use your hands! Mercifully, the 80% grade didn't last long, and was soon replaced above this water feature by a more reasonable, but still brutal, 60+. It was as if Jack got suckered into using the Giant's Stairmaster. Hands remained necessary allies, and knees became the target of hungry rock outcroppings.

Of the trip's total 1000m ascent, the majority was achieved in the mere 2.1 km of phases 3 and 4. It became comically ridiculous how many times we'd come around a bend to see the trail mocking us - ground already at eye-level a few feet in front of our face. But the nice thing about cartographic distances is that they are fixed. So long as you keep moving - one foot in front of the other - they must eventually end. At the risk of being insensative, I would suggest that the Bhutan Death March would have been much more brutal if it were the Bhutan Death Loop.

Eventually, the incline faded - more like it finally acquiesced to our silent please than that it actually ended. The grade reduced, but stubbornly refused to drop below 10%. We were rewarded with a quite valley of vibrant green moss and radiant purple flowers along the now adorably small, but ice-cold, stream. At sight of the next 20 m waterfall - which we did not have to hike over - we were done. "Rukat Hut" - base camp (at right). After 4 hours on the trail, we took a hard-earned snack break.

But where was the glacier?

"Over the hill or Around the bend."
We compromised by hiking up the hill, then along the ridgeline to its turn. There the glacier sat, hunkering between lifeless sheer rock cliffs and flopping its girth over a valley of small boulders. It was difficult to gauge how far off the actual glacial mass was, or what exactly the terrain leading up to it might entail, but I hadn't come this afar to leave with a mere kodak interation with my first real-life glacier. Like the unfortunate Bear Man, I wouldn't be happy until I got close enough to touch it.

As it turned out, the distance to the glacier wasn't so far - probably about 1 km - but the network of valleys and ridges to be crossed, and their composition exclusively of loose small boulders, added tremendously to the effort. Though quite morbid, the best analogy I could think of was the effort to traverse piles of skulls and bones. Dry, brittle, loose, unbalanced, and often shifting by the dozens as weight was put on them. Going up was at times like climbing the wrong escalators (I know Weber boys aren't the only ones to try this), and going down reminded me of rollerblading
staircases.

Adding to the difficulty was the "hidden glacier" underneath it all. While the magnificent and fierce white blob was quite obviously a chunk of menacing ice and snow, the entire valley surrouding it was actually glacial with varying thicknesses of loose rocks on top. This contributed to the rocks' lack of stability, and meant that if you made it to the bottom - no more loose rocks - you were rewarded with all the traction of walking on black ice.

It was rough going, and I could tell Kara's patience and good humor were starting to wear thin in the face of my adolescent exuberance. This was farther than she'd come before, and for good reason. Who really needs to Touch a glacier, anyway?

After an hour of scrambling and sliding, sore ankles and nicked knees, we took an entire 5 minutes to soak it in, take a few photos, and turn back around. It was 4:30 pm; we'd taken 5.5 hours to tag the glacier, and had only 3.5 hours left until dark. Perhaps a good reason why many people hike to Rukat Hut, spend the night, and hike back out the next day.

But Gravity can be a wonderful thing, and the prospect of being "homeward bound" doesn't hurt either. What hurts are knees.

Without being too pompous, I can assert that on the way up, I was able to keep up, or even outpace, my partner. In total fairness, she was operating with an incredible handicap, having been out drinking and clubbing until 5 am that morning. Thank god. Nonetheless, for the downward leg, she was smoking me.

My left ankle felt tight, and the whole leg started shaking anytime I stopped (forgot to bring a banana, I guess). My right side was even worse - the knee was screaming with every jarring impact as we back-traced the Giant's Stairmaster. My otherwise reliable Keen hiking shoes had already seen a fair amount of use, but by this point they'd been virtually de-treaded, and slid effortlessly over loose gravel or smooth stones alike.

After jack-hammering my way down phases 3 and 4, I tried to savor the relative flatness of the green valley hike. I hadn't even noticed it on the way out, but this phase wasn't so level afterall. A minor incline had snuck past my attention, and now this small but constant downhill angle palgued my battered bones and ligaments.

Kara, it seemed, was having no such problems, and would hold up every now and again to check if I was OK. The fact that my knee really did hurt too much for me to notice the tenderness of a bruised ego was another saving grace, I suppose.

Phase 1 (round 2) was by far the worst. I didn't remember most of this path from so much earlier in the morning, but I was pretty sure it used to be shorter. Do rivers really dig valleys this fast?

More sliding, knee slamming, jaw clenching, and eventually, relief. We reached Ala-Archa base camp at 7 pm, 8 hours after we left and just 2.5 hours since we touched the glacier. We made good time on the way down, mostly because we essentially never stopped. A Rolling Stone gathers no swelling (unless you're referring to the band).

I don't speak Knee-ish, but I'm pretty sure mine was cursing by this point, and counting down the days until its bionic replacement would arrive. Maybe I can even get the Steve Austin sound effect.

Kara & I hitched a ride back to Bishkek with a young family leaving the park, stopped off for a big chinese food dinner, then split ways to go hose off and gelatinize in our repsective apartments. Kata's late night was (finally) having an obvious effect, and I had clearly over-reached my own threashold.
But I did make it to the glacier.
And I even made it back on my own power.

Whenever my new knee arrives in the mail, I'll be happy to blindly set out on another insane hike with a fit, experienced, young 20-something. It may make my body hurt, but it makes this 28-year-old feel even a bit younger, and certainly "intense."

Weber (on the lamb)


Monday, July 20, 2009

Bishkek UHF

I've made a few friends in Bishkek, and have occasionally been able to keep myself quite busy. Nonetheless, at the end of the day, I go back to my very nice flat, and usually end up watching some Russian/Kyrgyz TV while I make dinner, work from home, or just relax. While satellite or even cable are very popular, even common, in Bishkek and other major Central Asian cities, I don't have it. Too bad - cable usually means CNN, BBC, ESPN, EuroSport, etc.

Instead, I have broadcast TV, which for most Americans brings up images of 3 local network affiliates, soap operas, and only slightly-less-cheesy primetime dramas. Oh, and PBS. Yippee.

In Bishkek, it's a slightly different picture. There's still local news, and sob-loads of Russian soap operas. But there's also BECTN, the Russian CNN, MTV.ru, and a strong presentation of American movies - dubbed in Russian.

While this is an odd barometer of life in Bishkek/ the connection between American pop culture and the world abroad, I was mesmerized by the cinematic offerings, so I started keeping a list. There is very little bias in terms of genre, and while most of the movies are more recent (some VERY recent - i.e. not even on HBO yet), that I think is to be expected - it would be more odd if movies from the 70s or 80s were suddenly popular. Marketing goes a long way - I pass by Harry Potter billboards on my way to work every day.

So here it is, with minimal commentary - the movies I've watched (in Russian) while in Bishkek. (* denotes a movie I hadn't seen before, thus have now only known in Russian)

the League of Extraordinary Gentlement
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
The Rundown
*Bolt
*The Mummy 3
*National Treasure
*2500 BC
*Mr. Wilcocks
The Salton Sea
Stardust
The Green Mile
iRobot (3x - they must love this one)
*Babylon A.D.
Kill Bill vol. 1
*Kill Bill vol. 2
Rookie of the Year
The Postman
*Ghost Rider
*Deathrace
That Thing You Do
*Thelma & Louise
The Departed
*Aquamarine
Meet Joe Black
*Hairspray
Love, Actually
Fargo
Basic Instinct
*Hellboy 2
*Scorpion King (prequel)
The Incredibles
Man of the Year
The Little Mermaid
Wall-E
*DOA
Run, Lola, Run
Ronin
*Man School
Fool's Gold
The Dark Knight
Evolution
*Fearless
Gladiator
Saharrah
*Too Fast Too Furious (at least 2x)
*Superstar
Harry Potter: The Prisoner of Azkaban
X-Men 3: The Last Stand
*X-Men Origins: Wolverine
Van Helsing
*Mall Cop
*Spiderman 3
A Knight's Tale
*Election
*Girl with the Pearl Earring
Pride & Prejudice

Ok, it trends slightly towards big macho action flicks, with a certain fetish for Vin Diesel, The Rock, Hugh Jackman, and (oddly) Nicholas Cage.

On a side note, I've also found Chip 'n Dale: Rescue Rangers, which has been a little slice of nostalgia heaven. Even in Russian, it's funny when Monty's moustache goes crazy over the prospect of "CIP!" (Siir - russian for Cheese).

I'm not saying you can just watch this laundry-list of cinema in Russian and get the "Bishkek Experience," but in retrospect, I can say that my perception of Bishkek would not be the same had I not been shaped by these particular Hollywood insertions.

Eternal Sunshine, Joe Black, and Salton Sea were especially poignant being so far away from my loved ones. And I must ashamedly admit a certain affinity for Wolverine, Man School, Rundown, Evolution, Saharrah & Fool's Gold (you got me, Sean William Scott & Matthew McConaughey).

On the other hand, Babylon A.D., DOA, Faaaaast/Furious, 2500BC are all equally crimes against humanity in any language, even their grunt-infested dialects.

Oddly, I'm feeling the urge to watch sappy teen drama when I get back to the states. Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist, anybody?

Save me from myself.

Weber (on the lamb)

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Dushanbe Day 7 - Farewell Tajikistan

Nothing much to report today - I woke up early, got on a trolley bus, and navigated through all the usual inconveniences of air travel. It turns out that I did not need to register while I was in Tajikistan (this is what I'd been told by my hotel even though Lonely Planet insisted all visits over 3 days must register in addition to having a visa), so that was a $100 fine I didn't need to pay afterall.

The Dushanbe airport's departure building is tremendously more comfortable than the shed (honest) in which they conduct their international arrivals and customs. I'm not saying it was much, but then, the bar hadn't been set very high upon my arrival the prior week. In theory, this is all "temporary" while the new airport is being constructed - except there isn't any construction underway, or anyone pledged to provide the funding. I'd guess China will eventually chip in - they're building EVERYTHING else in Tajikistan (major tunnel mountain passes to Kyrgyzstan, all roads throughout the country, several hydro power stations, and there's even a rumor of a direct Tajik-China railroad - that would be HUGE).

Leaving was easy enough, and the plane (same model as the one I took down... AVN-20, maybe?) was only half-full, leaving plenty of space to spread out. Good thing, since my pack wasn't considered big enough to be checked as luggage. Odd system.


On the flight to Bishkek I made a point of not dozing, and was rewarded with some great views of the Western Pamirs and some of the many mountains that make transit in Tajik so incredibly difficult.

Back at Manas airport, the US presence was unchanged. Technically, when I left the US was still preparing to withdraw by August 11 (a new agreement had been reached for a 1-year extension, but hadn't yet been signed - it was a source of some local tension that, as late as July 1, the US had made no preparations to leave even though a new agreement had been denied up to that point), but the new agreement was ratified by parliament last week.

I'm not sure if the half-dozen US Air Force cargo planes (mammoth C-5s, C-17s, and one C-130) had even shifted around parking spaces in my absence. While I was gone, US military also started making refueling stops at the invitation of the Turkmen government (quite unusual), and I saw some US cargo planes at the Dushanbe airport as well.

Foreign deployment of US forces and equipment is not new, but it usually involves US air bases, independent of local control and out of the public eye. The "lily pad" approach in Central Asia seems to be gaining local popularity (it's a direct way for poor govs to get $$$ for facilities rental), but I don't think Russia, or more importantly China, is that happy about it.

I had a little trouble with my Kyrgyz Visa. While it was called a "sinlge entry" visa when I got it in Bishkek, it was infact better thought of as a "stay here but don't leave" visa. I left, and thus it shouldn't have allowed me back in Kyrgyzstan - but I had to try. The Manas airport entry visa costs $70, and for that price tag, I can afford to stand in line for an hour and test my luck.

Alas, on this particular Wednesday morning, the Kyrgyz foreign passport desk had an especially efficient (and I must say quick-witted) staff on duty. The odds of that happening are Vegas-low. Since it's Bishkek, this didn't get me in any trouble, just sent me to the back of the line, and I had to buy another (3rd) Kyrgyz visa. This one also single entry, but not expiring until July 30.

So - if I miss my flight on the 27th, at least I can't be arrested right outside the airport.

It was a good week in Dushanbe, and now that I'm back in Bishkek, it seems like I have such a short time left. Only 12 days! That's barely enough time stock up on souvenirs, watch the July 23 "election" and make a side trip - Issyk Kul or Osh???

How does 12 days seem like such a short time when 7 days could provide such outlandishly long blog posts?

One day at a time, I guess.

Weber (on the lamb)

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Dushanbe Day 6 - Batting Clean Up

One day left in Dushanbe, and it was devoted to dotting the i's, rounding off the corners, and putting the finishing touches on a great Tajik week. I didn't make it to everything in the Lonely Planet guide (which was last updated in 2007, and still largely accurate for Bishkek, but almost useless for Dushanbe) - the remaining targets were: Museum of Musical Instruments, Tajik Painters Union Exhibition Hall, Writers Union Building facade, Hajji Yakoub Mosque, souvenir shopping, and dinner at Salsa - the Ecuadorian restaurant.

The day didn't exactly go according to plan (souvenir shopping was a near bust, the Painters Union was closed, and the Museum was too hard to find to be worth the effort), but the day did go well enough. Here's a recap:

After a quick breakfast snack and some time spent on correspondence (yes, in addition to this blog I do still have more to say!), I was heading to the museum at 10 am, only to discover that it didn't open until 11. Unfortunate since I had this nice chain of sights proceeding North. So plan B - flip it. I grabbed a bus to the NW end of my route, and started back south. First stop was the Writers Union Building - which supposedly had a really great facade.

But I never found it. Or at least, I was never sure if I found it. Either I walked right past it without noticing, it has since been demolished, or it was the bizarre huge circular building I found perched upon a hilltop a little further west. Surrounded by rows of columns and capitals, one large (non-functional) fountain, and two matching apartment complexes (with an ornate archway between them), it was certainly a remarkable building, but not really what was described. I walked around the grounds, got some great views of the "outer" Dushanbe, and was the only person in my line of sight in any direction.

Just north of this bizarre construction, were a few empty lots, a lot of dirt piles, and one enormous crater - either the beginning of a new major building project, or the remains of a previous one. The ambivalent meaning of such sites was reinforced immediate to the west, where a series of concrete foundations (in all manner of interesting circular shapes) suggested again the start of a new mega-luxury hotel complex - but the burned grass around it, and a few remaining rubar-enforced concrete pillars suggested perhaps the opposite was true. All in all, a very weird location. (see my Dushanbe Google Map)

This left me standing at the edge of a clean construction site, looking across dirt fields and rusting car chassis at the back end of cinderblock walls and residential alleyways. Like the Kyrgyz village I visited (but unlike most of Bishkek), the residential areas that were not concrete hi-rise apartments were mazes of high cinderblock walls enclosing various clusters of family homes. All very inviting and comfortable inside the walls, but totally undistinguished and forbidding via stoic neutralism from the outside.

And rising above these concrete canyons, I could see the dome and minaret of the only mosque in Dushanbe, Hajji Yakoub - my next destination.

The distance between me and the Mosque was about 1 km - an easy walk if I strolled back to the main road. But after a hike in the mountains, and my solo excursion to Hissar, I was craving another not-too-risky test of my savvy, and in the end, the temptation of the unknown was just more than I could resist.

Walking down winding streets - most of them paved, and just wide enough for 2 cars at a squeeze - I was under constant surveilance. Small kids, old women, middle-aged men. Some were walking about their business, others spending their day in the scant shade the high walls afforded. I was less than 1 km from Rudaki - the glittering backbone of Dushanbe, and the center, as well as the furthest extension, of all things tourism - but this was a totally different Dushanbe. Not surprising that "tourist" Dushanbe wasn't the same as "real" Dushanbe, and in fairness, had I walked a few more km in the other direction, I probably would have found even more discrepancies (paved roads, for example, I'm sure don't extend that far into the periphery).

Luckily I had the mosque's dome to guid me, otherwise any hope of maintaining directionality would have been lost. I was hoping for a direct route - that of course was ridiculously naive.

After a good bit of wandering, many confused Tajik onlookers, a few too many roads turning only in the direction I didn't want to go, and more than one lucky guess, I was staring down one last straight road back to Rudaki. I was just north of the mosque (slight overshot), and walking past the Hotel Avesto, supposedly one of the nicest of the remaining Soviet-era hotels. Certainly, the taxis were especially shiny (the drivers spend all morning washing their cars so as to attract the more upper-scale Western fares).

It wasn't a very adventurous detour, but I had to cross a comfort threashold (literally the line from grass to dirt that demarkated the end of manicured Dushanbe) and had come out unscathed. I could liken it to taking a first airplane ride. It seems like such a risk, but by the time you land, you and the other hundred passengers go about your day as if nothing remarkable happened - because it didn't.

Now, the Mosque. (background information is in grey - skip if desired)

Islam in Central Asia is a hot topic, and one which I am very interested in investigating. The short version is that Islam didn't arrive in Central Asia (Uzbekistan, Tajikistan) until the 9th/10th century. Thereafter, it became the dominant force in the region, and in fact it was Islamic empires based in Central Asia that achieved some of the highest accomplishments of Islamic art, science, medicine, theology, etc. by the 11th-12th centuries. Turkish and later Mongol invasions curtailed these political movements, but also adopted and for the most part further spread Islam as a source of social solidarity. Still, Islam wasn't especially entrenched in the sparsely populated mountains or steppe that would become Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan, and some suggest it was nothing more than a companion to the existing folk religions until the 18th century arrival of the Russians.

Russians had a lot of familiarity with Islam by that time. Though much forgotten today, Russia was the original "European" power to confront Islam - which it had to do in order to expand from the small principalities of Muscovy into the modern "European Russia" which was controlled by the (Turko-Mongol Muslim) Khanates of Crimea, Astrakhan, and Bashkiria until the 17th century. Today, we call these areas Tatar, and despite intense Russification, they remain ethnically turkish, and religiously very Muslim.

The idea (so strong in the west) that Russia is one demographic whole couldn't be further from the truth. Russia, as a modern country, is more culturally/ethnically/linguistically diverse than the United States, even than the US in the 1800s.

So - Russia had experience "dealing" with Islam. Its original practice was mass conversion to Christianity, encouraged by economic motivations and/or brute force. This didn't always work so well (everyone converted, then 50 years later, when restrictions loosened, whole villages converted back to Islam), so later Russians (especially Czarina Katherine) took a different approach: encourage Islam, and incorporate it into the state body (like the pope in medieval europe - hiearchichal, nominally independent, but usually a vassal of a strong dynasty).

It was also thought that Islam, being "more civilized than savagery, but less civilized than Christendom," could serve as a stepping stone: convert one generation to Islam, the next to Russian Orthodoxy. You can imagine the eventual success rate.

All of this is to say that Islam in the territories of the Russian Empire (of which all of Central Asia was included by the 1870s), was a complicated affair - sometimes persecuted through hostile action, sometimes engaged in intellectual or benevolent ways (like many modern christian missionaries), and other times officially ignored, or even encouraged and supported. The mosques built from the Czarina's treasury is a fascinating example of the more complex side of history.

And then there was Communism.
Officially, all religion was anathema to socialist progress, but realistically even the most ardent Soviet recognized the deep-seated religious fervor of the common citizen, Russian Orthodox as well as Muslim, and while many policies existed to eventually discourage such supernatural attachments, the real history was a constant series of give-and-take. During WWII, for example, when the gov needed people to volunteer, virtually all religious restrictions were eliminated, and the various religious leaders were given prominent Soviet support to call on the citizens to protect the Revolution in the name of God.

Actually, even at the height of religious repression, the Soviet government maintained several regional offices of Islamic clerics. They were compromised, to be sure, by their Soviet employers and athiest censors, but a Soviet-sponsored Central Board of Islamic Affairs is not the same as Marx's abolition of the Opiate of the People.

Where the hell is this going? Sorry - I digress.

The point is that mosques did exist during the Soviet era, though they were tightly-controlled, and generally restricted to as few mosques as the local government could expect would not cause rampant public disorder.

In the ancient cities of Samarkand, Bukhara, and elswewhere, this meant reappropriating as many of the ancient mosques as possible - grain storage, animal shelters, even a few "Museums of Science/Athiesm" to really turn the knife. Some were destroyed outright, but many still remained.

In the new Russian cities - places that didn't exist before Russian colonization, like Almaty, Bishkek, or Dushanbe - this meant that any mosque would be built under Russian supervision, and the number to be built would be approved by Moscow. This number tended to be 1.

The Bishkek mosque - ostensibly serving a population of more than 1/2 a million muslims, is about the size of a big McDonalds. Its dome is made of pressed tin, and it's lone minaret (with a nicely ornate cap), barely reaches 40 feet in the air. It's courtyard is enclosed only by an iron fence, and the entire structure is basically one open room. It was a slightly larger version of the mosque I visited in Manas village, population 1,200 families.

Not so Dushanbe!

Hajji Yakoub (at right), also a relatively modern construction, is the size of a moderate midwestern High School, with offices and classrooms built into the three 4-story walls surrounding the inner courtyard. The entire structure is covered in blue and white decorative tiles, and the outer gate is equally impressive as one is coming or going. The inner courtyard is huge - and I'm told it is used itself as a sanctuary by laying out rugs to fill the entire space with worshippers when the sanctuary itself overflows. It also has only one dome and one minaret, but both tower above the surrounding houses, gleaming in blue tile (ok - not from the back. Oddly, from the rear, the dome has no decor, just its basic brick construction shows through).

I haven't traveled widely enough to give this much context, but let me say that while the Dushanbe mosque would not be among the top 5 most impressive if it were in Istanbul - a city of a thousand mosques - it would certainly occupy a respected position in the middle of the pack. To keep the allusion, the Bishkek mosque would not be allowed within Istanbul city limits.

Having picked my jaw up off the paving stones and finished reverently wandering around its voluminous interior, I left the Hajji Yakoub mosque and proceeded south in search or Tajik Painters Halls, souvenir shops, and the elusive Museum of Musical Instruments.

To make a long post short(er), I'll tell you that the Painters' hall was closed, the souvenir shop was unimpressive, and the Museum of Musical Instruments was not so hard to find, but by the time I got there, I just decided I would rather not bother.

The afternoon was spent at an internet cafe, with another quick side trip to the bazaar.

For my last night in Dushanbe, I had my heart set on trying out this Ecuadorian restaurant, Salsa. I invited a few other new friends along, but the drawback of having a Kyrgyz cell phone is that it doesn't work in Tajikistan, so we never ended up connecting. Ah well.

Salsa is located at the far North of the center of town, but just how far I didn't fully appreciate - until I walked it. I will point out that my 3 mile walk took place literally within a few meters of a trolleybus line the entire time, but with each passing intersection I became more determined to do it all by foot - regardless of how far the seemingly endless tree-strewn sidewalks stretched. I finally made it to dinner a little after 8 pm.

And it was great. A Very nice place, with reasonable prices. I immediately indulged myself in an enormous plate of chips (eh) and salsa (yum!). Not sure how I felt about the main course (traditional mexican fare like Burritos and Tacos were available, as was Italian or Tajik, but the raison d'etre was the Ecuadorian specials themselves), I elected to follow up my corn/pico salsa with some gazpacho. I have had better - this was fully minced, and was essentially pureed garlic and tomato with silantro. Still, it tasted nothing like Lamb or Fat - progress.

Despite the slight bulge in my midsection, I decided to push ahead. When will be my next chance to try some Ecuadorian?

I went with the Llapingachos - fried potatoe paties with onions and cheese mixed in and served with a crazy peanut and cilantro sauce. Bizarre, but pretty dang good. They also served it with a very familiar boneless chicken breast - ah sweet, white, protein.

I left quite satisfied, and a little guilty. That was more food than I needed, and the total tab of $11 was also a touch extravagant. But it was the crowing achievement of my week in Dushanbe, so long as it didn't make me sick (cross fingers), now was hardly the time to start making regrets.

Weber (on the lamb)