Weber on the Lamb

Issky Cool?

2009-07-26T20:55:00.003+05:00

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)

Election Conclusion

2009-07-25T18:17:00.003+05:00

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:

http://www.rferl.org/content/OSCE_Blasts_Kyrgyz_Vote/1784580.html

http://www.rferl.org/content/Withdrawals_Protests_Mar_Kyrgyz_Election/1783700.html

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)

Election Wrap-up

2009-07-24T07:25:00.003+05:00

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)

Bishkek Election Update

2009-07-23T13:42:00.003+05:00

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:

http://www.rferl.org/content/Kyrgyzstan_Opposition_Cries_Foul_Ahead_Of_Election/1782221.html

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

http://www.eurasianet.org/departments/insightb/articles/eav072209b.shtml

+ 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:

http://eng.24.kg/politic/2009/07/21/8578.html

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

http://eng.24.kg/politic/2009/07/23/8594.html

+ 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

2009-07-23T09:34:00.002+05:00

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)

23 Hours in Osh

2009-07-22T11:09:00.000+05:00

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 11^th 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 (18^th-19^th 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)

Glacier Hike

2009-07-21T20:42:00.010+05:00

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)

Bishkek UHF

2009-07-20T12:18:00.003+05:00

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)

Dushanbe Day 7 - Farewell Tajikistan

2009-07-15T14:55:00.000+05:00

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)

Dushanbe Day 6 - Batting Clean Up

2009-07-14T10:06:00.000+05:00

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)

Dushanbe Day 5 - Hissar!!!

2009-07-13T18:52:00.000+05:00

Coming off a tremendously excellent, though physically draining mountain hike, I decided that it was time to man-up and tackle the most daunting of my Dushanbe must-dos: Hissar.

The name refers to an ancient (Sogdian?) fortress about 30 km outside of modern-day Dushanbe, and while it is technically a moderate tourist draw in the pantheon of Tajik tourism, getting there requires 3 separate transportations (1 bus, 1 mashrutka/mini-bus, 1 taxi), and the navigation of two locations for which I do not possess a map. And there are no guides, much less English anywhere.

Truthfully, the trepidation with which I viewed the Hissar excursion is STRONG evidence of just how timid my travels have been. Still, in comparison with walking around the main Rudaki drag and bouncing between Museums and Souvenir shops, Hissar definitely required working with a much thinner safety net.

It didn't hurt that I had just met Alex - who happens to be a real traveler, spending weeks at a time hitch-hiking between small villages in rural Uzbekistan - and that, despite my weak-kneed spleen, I was pretty sure after our talks that I could keep up with him.

Emboldened by the challenge (also - note that the Auditors, knowing no better, lumped me in the same classification of "solo traveler" with Alex), and perhaps feeling my 28-year-old oats, I set out for an adventure on a Monday morning.

Here's the itinerary: walk to the bus stop across from the President's office. Take Bus 8 for 6 km (past the palacial Hyatt Regency and the high-tech fortress that is the new US Embassy). Exit at the Zanisar Bazaar. Wander around until you hear someone say "Hissar." If you're brave enough to walk into the crowd and shout "Hissar?" yourself, you could be ripped limb from limb by waiting taxi drivers.

Climb into In the Mashrutka (minibus), and wait until it fills up with 15 people (they do NOT go until full). 20 minutes later, you get dropped off at another, much smaller bazaar in the small town of Hissar. Here you again cross the street, and start looking for a non-shady taxi driver. If you happen to look like a crazy Western tourist, this will actually help for a change.

Hop in the taxi - again wait for it to fill up - and you're off, soon to be deposited next to a giant heap of earth, a reconstructed gateway, and basically no one else around.

The only structure at Hissar-proper is the gateway, which was obviously rebuilt in recent memory (using concrete and steel rubar behind the facade of clay bricks). It's still pretty impressive, and serves as the entry point to the grounds. It also (appears) to be the admissions point... except on Monday morning there was not a soul in sight. Anywhere.

But it wasn't locked either.

So I made my way past the turnstile, and started climbing up the side of the gate. It was pretty cool. A couple rooms, a large dome, two towers - both of which could be partially scaled! And the rest of the site - which is quite big - was equally abandoned except for a few goats, a small herd of cattle, and their rather uninterested caretakers. One can only imagine what they thought of a sunburned (and sweaty) American tromping all over their grazing area with a huge grin on his face and a zeal for higher ground and kodak moments. I pictured a flock of Japanese Nikon-enthusiasts wandering down NW 59th street in Oklahoma, enamoured with the rows of xeroxed ranch-style homes.

What Hissar was - exactly - is hard for me to say. Huge and Impressive seem certain. Only the earthworks remain - there are no foundations, etc. as it was all clay bricks and wood. But even the earthworks are impressive. Goat paths have worn it down a little, but the walls still clearly outline the circumference of the huge structure, including the inner courtyard, the "secondary hill," the main zigurrat, and the inner courtyard (with spring). From the vantage point of the Zigurrat (I am misusing this term for effect), you have the full outline of ancient Hissar laid out before you in all its majesty.

I don't know how else to make a giant mound of dirt sound exciting, but trust me - it was.

There is also a small museum and a medresa (I think) next to the fort, but apparently the museum was closed on the occasion of 13 July. Not a holiday as far as I can tell, but the Acme-sized padlock on the museum door was international for "You shall not pass."

The trip back to Dushanbe was the same in principle, but easier by definition. From Dushanbe, people go many places. From Hissar, everyone goes to Dushanbe.

Here's the kicker: Round trip (80 km, 6 different vehicles) cost me US $2.50

You're not going to beat that on the MTA.

Satisfied with my accomplishment (and even more tired/suntanned than yesterday) I decided to take it easy. My "Dushanbe To Do List" was getting thinner, and I still had one day left to play clean-up.

For lunch I decided on another cultural experiment - Southern Fried Chicken.

This is the only Western-style fast food restaurant in Dushanbe, and it's located on a big square next to the Opera/Ballet theatre, and conveniently across from my hotel. I sighted it as soon as I checked in, but had kept my curiousity at bay - - until now.

A few things to note:

1) No matter how familiar Americans are with the fast food restaurant concept, ordering in a foreign language - to say nothing of foreign script - immediately turns us into one of those annoying people who get all the way up to the front of the line, and then can't decide what to order.

I hate those people, but in Dushanbe I was one.

I just wanted Chicken Fingers, but knew neither the Tajik for "Chicken" or "Finger" and didn't feel like going all-out charades in the crowd. I knew they had them - I could see them. I could also see their picture among many other items on the back wall. That the words next to them (2 words, each 9+ letters long, and involving a few of the Cyrillic vowels I find especially challenging). After a few garbled attempts (so many consonants!), the 20something behind the counter was kind enough to proceed.

2) Franchise motifs don't need to make sense, they just need to be consistent.

The theme for SFC was nautical.

That might seem.... ridiculous at first, but follow me here. Southern Friend Chicken. Chicken from the South. The South - like the Mississippi river. Paddle boats go on the Mississippi river. Later, they used Steam ships. Steam ships go on the ocean, and need big anchors. In the Ocean, they catch fish with nets. Nets? Pirates climbed nets out of the ocean to take over the british man-o-war in Pirates of the Caribbean.

Therefore:

Southern Fried Chicken = Pirates

I rest my case.

Quite happy with myself, and satiated with some damn-fine imitation fake food (the fries and chicken fingers were spot-on Americana, while the "Coca-Cola" cup was actually full of the very oddly flavored Tajik RC Cola), I took the afternoon off to write e-mails and get this blog chain started.

That night, I had a dinner appointment with the Auditors and Alex from the previous day's hike. It was a good time, though they (auditors) insisted on eating at the most-expat-o-rific restaurant in all of Dushanbe. The food was quite good, I'll gladly admit, but we were surrounded by newly-landed tourists, embassy personnel, and a few of the elite Tajik nouveau-riche. Not my crowd. Plus, the beer (they only had Baltika!) was $3.50 per bottle. Compare with better selection and 1/7 the price ($0.50) at the shop down the street.

After initial protestations from Alex and I (both content to have water at that price), Nikolas (the Belgian) volunteered to cover the beer tab and insisted we join him. So it goes. We were late joined by a young Swede Alex met at his hotel - a fellow traveler, he's been to Palestine, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, China, and India - just in this trip. He's also a student focused on international economics, so with him, myself, the auditors and Alex (generally savvy fellow), we made a good time of it, then walked it back to the hotel.

One day left in Dushanbe, and just enough left to do that I can keep myself busy, but not rushed.

I need to get some relaxation on this holiday.

Weber (on the lamb)

Dushanbe Day 4 - Undercover B-Day

2009-07-12T22:51:00.001+05:00

28 years ago the first piece of government paperwork was filled out for Richard Ryan Weber, SSN###-##-####. Time has passed, and I'm still filling out forms, and verifying my identity. A lot has changed for me, but for most of the world July 12 remains a rather unremarkable occasion. A few jazz fans might note is also happens to be the birthday of soul jazz organ master "Big" John Patton, but the Sun doesn't exactly hold its place in the sky, nor the birds weave crowns of juniper in celebration. It's just another day.

And while I'm not a man opposed to a party, having been several times surprised (I am only so clever) by my sneaky friends and girlfriend, I prefer to either celebrate with my close friends, or, if they are for whatever reason unavailable, put it off until a later time. I've got 364 other days of being 28 before the opportunity passes. This is especially true these last 2 summers, when I've been traveling solo in mid-July. I don't mean to be a total Oscar (grouch), but it just feels weird to be the center of attention in a group of essentially strangers.

Last summer, I was thwarted by a very nice (and insidiously snoopy) project leader at a wildlife preserve in Serbia. Officially, she had to see our passports to record the number for local registration, but I suspect there were alterior motives and curiosities at play. The ensuing party wasn't much of a surprise, but it was a very nice gesture, and since dinner that night again left me somewhat wanting, the "birthday jello" - they don't do cake - was an important additional source of sustenance.

This year, I've been with another well-meaning group of semi-strangers since May, but this time it was my turn to be sneaky. For my birthday, rather than staying in Bishkek with co-workers and new acquaintances, I went to Dushanbe. Do not think the timing is entirely coincidental.

On this particular day in question, I arose early and made my way to the rendez-vous for a tour-group organized hike that I learned about from Rob & Mari the previous afternoon. I had very little info - sum: "it's a hike, it costs $20 (a little steep), and it meets at (apparently they said "near") the agricultural college at 10 am."

After some slight hiccups involving the time (did they say 10 or 9?) and location (the Taxi drive had no idea what the Agricultural College was - after some asking around, we eventually decided this was probably the Institute of Agrobusiness, which he then drove straight past until I decoded the Cyrillic and encouraged him to slow down enough for me to exit), I was about where I wanted to be. It took a little more work (spotting a tourist in the distance, and headed away, I started tracking him to the eventual meet-up location around a corner and behind a building).

In the end, some 30 tourists - mostly from Europe, but all fluent English-speakers - piled into an odd caravan of minibuses and SUVs and headed North. There were regular allusions to waterfalls and bathing suits; apparently everyone else was better informed than I.

In my car were a trio of European Commission auditors from Earnst & Young (sorry Duff), Rob from yesterday, and a young seasoned traveler named Alex from the UK. The Auditors, all in their late 20s, were Nikolas (Walloon), Julia (Russian), and Carolina (Romanian from Moldova). Pretty interesting crew, and we ended up sticking together for the rest of the day. The Auditors were just in Dushanbe for 2 weeks, working 9-5 (and sometimes 9-9) to check out an NGO's books. They weren't regular travelers, and marveled a bit, especially at some of Alex's tales (he's been to Uzbekistan and Iran in the past year).

When we finally made it to the trail head (there was some doubt about our vehicle - one of the "nanovans" - which we had to exit once to make it up a hill), it was time for sunscreen and stretching. The hike wouldn't be too strenuous, but as with most tour-run outtings, they were treating the group with kid-gloves.

And then we hiked. It was great. Wonderful views as we followed a small river up through a valley. The nearby stream dropped the temperature a good 10 degrees (down to 90 F) just by proximity. We talked, got sweaty, tried to drink enough water. Many of the hikers worked on their tan. I covered up like a leper in an elevator. My first hike in Kyrgyzstan had already removed several layers of arm-flesh, and I wasn't taking chances.

The terrain went up and up, and the day got warmer, but I was in my prime. Cheerful, hot, and excited. I'm not sure what it is I like so much about hiking - easy answers like "nature," or "exercise" don't sound very convincing - but it is something I haver to, despite the extremely rare instances when I actually embark upon it.

We got to the waterfall a few hours later, and most of the tour stipped down to their bikinis, boxers, or speedos. They were not universally young. The water was also apparently quite cold - it is glacial runoff, afterall - which I can tell you was obvious by the screeches they made, not anything else, lest your imagination run off with you. I decided to opt out of watersports. I was ill-prepared, not even owning a bathing suit, and not feeling all *that* European.

Besides - I came to Hike.

The way back down afforded more picturesque opportunities, and some more banter. Along on our tour (in fact, perhaps helping to organize it?) was the US Ambassador to Tajikistan. A good bit more involved than the Kyrgyz equivalent, she was winding up her tour in Dushanbe after 3 years and previous posts in Latvia and Turkmenistan. A smart lady, no doubt, she was quite gung-ho about not only the hike, but the foreign service as a career option. I must say that, despite her pitch that "not many people work for the same boss for 21 years without any regrets," I haven't exactly reached peace with the prospect of playing Uncle Sam's strong arm in whatever country (familiarity doesn't matter - it's all basically the same) I would wind up in. But it never hurts to feel professionally desirable, even if it's a job offer from the local McDonalds night shift manager.

I took a short, icy shower (the mojo of hot water at Hotel Vakhsh remains a mystery now for 2 days), and met up with 'Afar. He had invited me over to his house for dinner, and again, I wasn't about to refuse.

For dinner we had more Osh, as well as "salad" (any collection of vegetables), and the bitterest yoghurt I have ever tried in my life. I did manage to swallow the first big spoon full, but no amount of veggies or rice was going to cut that enough for round 2.

We talked more about Tajikistan, the civil war ('Afar's family is from the Garm district, where much of the opposition Islamic movement was formed), and watched Euronews. The big stories were about Obama in Ghana, the "Usually Pro-Democrat New York Times revealing the Former Vice-President Cheney kept a CIA operations Secret from Congress for 8 years", Uighur unrest in Xinjiang (and how it was no big deal), and international golf updates.

As the night wore on, 'Afar put in a DVD of a classic old Soviet cartoon called ну, погодни ("Nu, Pogodni" - no pictures, my sincere apologies!), which is quite similar to Tom&Jerry, or Roadrunner/Wiley Coyote.

It was good times, and as the hour got late (10:30 - all day in the sun makes me a virtual octogenarian) I made my way back to the hotel and collapsed.

28 years down, hopefully a good lot more to go.

And for most of us, July 13 is just another day. Even in giant digital lights.

Weber (on the lamb)

Dushanbe Day 3 - Things Not Found in Lonely Planet

2009-07-11T15:37:00.001+05:00

As promised, my new Tajik friend 'Afar met me at 9 am to get our day started. There was some confusion on whether or not I needed to "register" with the local passport office (in addition to the visa I already had), and he volunteered to walk me over to the OVIR office to sort things out. The office was closed (contrary to its posted Saturday hours), but the guard said my hotel should take care of that, not me. So we went back to the hotel. There, they insisted that since I only have a 1 week visa, I didn't need to register. I remain a little sckeptical, but so it goes. Needless to say, I would have been one confused monkey without 'Afar - there's zero english at OVIR and not much more at my hotel.

The "Business" end of our day concluded, 'Afar took me to the Museum of National Antiquities (not to be confused with the National Museum). This elegant and meticulously clean museum (no shoes allowed) houses a wide assortment of stone, iron, and bronze age artifacts found in the current Tajik territory. It also has some vases, muslim tomb stones, and a decent array of jewelry and other small household objects - Basically, what you would expect to find via small archaeological digs.
Then there's the Buddha. This mammoth 40ft reclining statue is about 65% original, and like everything else in the museum, was actually uncovered after being entirely burried. The photo on the wall next to it (depicting its excavation in an otherwise unremarkable plot of dirt) is pretty impressive. It's a really nice Buddha.

What was so strange about the museum is that it divided the finds by their sites, and to a secondard degree chronologically. But they were not sorted by "styles" or "cultures." For most of the past 7 millenia, Central Asia has been a crossroads; both a nexus of intra-empire commerce, and also a region of regularly shifting boundaries and the rise and fall of local powers. So when you first look at a wall painting, for example, it takes some close looking to decide if you're actually looking at something that is Hindu, Islamic, Chinese, pre-Islamic Persian, Hellenistic, or one of the other indigenous civilizations to arise in Central Asia contemporary with the Egyptians, Greeks, and later Romans. Some times it's more obvious than others, but there are also fusions - Hindu gods with blatant Chinese features; Sogdian statues of Alexander the Great; etc. And then there's the just-bizarre: the seeming figures of Romulus and Remus suckling from a wolf - but there was little contact between Central Asia and "Rome" until near the end of the Byzantine empire.

On the plus side, the Buddha (a major attraction) on a Saturday is a virtual tourist magnet. In Tajikistan, this means there were about 6 people in the entire building. And that was where we met Mari and Rob, two American NGO interns in Dushanbe over the summer to learn Farsi (closely related to Tajik). Actually, Mari (who is from Massachusettes) is part Japanese, and for whatever reason passes very easily for Tajik. 'Afar and I walked past, thinking, "oh, another American (Rob is as obviously mid-western as I am) and His Tajik friend/guide." We then heard them talking - in English - and 'Afar turned to me, a little crushed, "Her English is Much better than mine, yes?"

I tried to downplay the discrepancy, but I didn't have much to go on. Luckily, they shortly thereafter introduced themselves, and 'Afar was a bit relieved. Mari's an undergrad at Yale studying international relations, and Rob is a law student at UPenn, with an interest in eventually being a diplomat. Though this didn't come up until later, and was not a topic of much discussion even then, I would not that Rob is a Mormon, and Mari was at least raised Quaker. Just saying, we made an odd slice of Americana.
Shortly after we started parousing the museum, we were joined by several military guards (who refused to take off their boots, and thus had to wear blue plastic surgical booties instead - sorry I didn't have the guts to snap a photo). They, and their bomb-sniffing German Shephard, had to sweep the museum - apparently the President of Latvia was in town on a state visit, and the Tajik Vice-President was giving him a tour of the museum.
We were rushed out right about the time we had finished anyway, and decided to go together to the very large tea house (I cannot pronounce, or even remember, the Tajik name) that 'Afar recommended. It was pretty incredible. Basically a large banquet hall, the walls and pillars are all ornately decorated with intricate wood carvings in floral and geometric designs, while the ceiling is a multi-depth labyrinth of colors, carvings, and shapes. Sometimes inverted pyramids, othertimes full domes. Rob said it looked like some of what he'd seen in Laos. I have no comparison. Kyrgyz rejoice in certain crafts associated with a long tradition of nomadism - felt rugs, embroidery, etc. The Tajiks are sedentary, and this demonstration of their artistic/craft legacy certainly proved the point.

For lunch I had "Osh," which I was told was the primary traditional dish in Tajikistan. It turned out to be nothing more than pilov, no different from the Kyrgyz pilau in any discernable way. There was also Manti, Laghman, and Shashlyk on the menu. It seems that there are a lot of areas separating the Central Asian republics - politics, economics, language - but food is not among them.

Oddly - beverage does seem to be one such division. In Kyrgyz, Coca-Cola and Fanta are the king Western drinks, though most people prefer the barrage of "National" Kyrgyz drinks, a subject I'm overdue to blog about, but after one abortive effort, am still summoning the courage to test out more varieties. In Dushanbe, it's RC Cola (bottled locally) and "Royal Crown Orange," also a local specimen. That Coca-Cola and Pepsi are both absent in Tajik probably says more than GDP figures about the local economy/ international commerce.

We split ways with the interns after a long chat about Tajikistan, America, religion, politics, and Ibn Sina (Avicenna) - a major cultural identity figure in Tajikistan. I also gleaned info about a nature hike organized by a local tourism group for the 12th, and am planning to make it a birthday outing.
Afterwards, 'Afar took me to the Dushanbe Botanical Gardens. Bishkek also has such a place, and I think it's pretty common across the former Soviet areas. But while the Bishkek BG is little different than any of its other public parks, Dushanbe does it up right. Not only is there an enormous blue-tiled entry gate, but several square kilometers of landscaped terrain, manicured paths, and model "traditional tajik homes." They also have a series of large elaborate pagodas, and demonstrations of early (pre-industrial) ovens, water wheels, and even a suction-based, hand-operated oil-well. The crown is the "African Tree," a 50 ft. palm tree imported as a gift from somewhere in Africa (no info on-site, and generally just known as "from Africa"). 'Afar wasn't sure how long it's been in Tajikistan, but he remembers visiting it (in its hydroponically-sealed mega-pavilion) as a small boy.

I was of course reminded of the only Palm tree in Poland.
Perhaps the greatest use for the Botanical Gardens, especially on a Saturday afternoon, was for weddings. Videographers are huge in Dushanbe, and they spend at least an hour back-walking in front of "happy" couples as they pass various BG landmarks. I say "happy," not as any accusation of local martial practices, but because, no matter how happy you are for the first 5 or 10 such shots, after an hour in full wedding dress and 100 degree heat, it takes a very resiliant bride to keep her smile intact.

At the big gates the wedding really gets under way, with a herd of musicians (hand drums, clarinets, and a few enormous Tajik mountain trumpets) at the ready for a small price. The gates swing open, musicians play, and the friends dance in front as the couple makes their way toward whichever one of the half-dozen limos lined up are theirs. As soon as one bride is in her car, the gates close, only to immediately re-open for the next bride - cue musicians, start dancing, etc.

I think we saw 5 wedding parties in 20 minutes. Most were Uzbeks ('Afar says they tend to be wealthier, and thus can afford the musicians, videographer, limos), one was a Tajik. The dress was generally conservative - as is the norm in Dushanbe - but one bride was especially well covered (she couldn't see out of her veil, and was guided tiny steps at a time since her dress practically wrapped to her ankles). Oddly, the next was a Russian, and as short as the bridesmaids dresses were, I'm pretty sure the Bride secured the award for skimpiest ensemble. There was no music or dancing for the Russians, who did nonetheless have a videographer, and otherwise go through the same procedures - just much less jovially.

'Afar and I parted ways for some rest, but met up again later than night - I thought for dinner, but apparently just to go for a walk in the Central Park after dark. I'd been here before - seen the statue of Rudaki; the fountains; the lack of big trees - but at night it really did come alive. LCDs lit up the fountains, there was music, and children (on roller blades) everywhere. I had to confess that, to my knowledge, we didn't have anything like it in New York. I couldn't actually tell if this made 'Afar smile, but I like to assume it did.

It should be noted that the park is immediately in front of the new Presidential Residence, which displaced several hundred Tajik families to acquire the prime real estate. The park itself is still somewhat new, and the statue (formerly the place of Lenin) and lights were even newer. As I commented to 'Afar, now the president can go out on his balcony at night and see all his happy citizens (or subjects, depending on how much you link civil status with civil rights). Anyway - Tajikistan seems to be doing OK from such a specific, artificial vantage point.

Looking back the other direction, at a new grand palace with a gold dome built on old Tajik family homes and with unspecified funds (the entire annual budget for Tajikistan is $50 million, and this house had to cost a good % of that), the vantage was a bit more skew.

Weber (on the lamb)

Dushanbe Day 2 - Lions & Tourists & Ills, oh my!

2009-07-10T18:36:00.001+05:00

After the semi-success (new hat!) semi-debacle (Bactria what?) of Day 1's aimless wandering, I decided to get on-plan for Day 2. There are three major museums in Dushanbe, the National Museum, the Museum of National Antiquities, and the Museum of Musical Instruments. The second is supposed to be the best, and the third the least interesting, so #1 on my list (to save a bit for later) was the National Museum.

All Museums in Dushanbe are closed on Mondays (no big deal), and open from 8-noon, then close for an hour so everyone can go eat lunch, and re-open from 1-5 pm. So the trick is not to start a museum at a time when you'll be rushed to finish. I managed this by being extra lazy in the morning, enjoying a hot shower, and then luxuriously strolling up and down Rudaki avenue before finally settling into a little cafe I sighted on the way from the airport.

The cafe turned out to be much higher-class than I originally realized, but paired this with the kind of rock-bottom prices I was looking for. Day 2 was off to a good start.

The restaurant was also super-air conditioned, which I was finding helpful. For some reason, it felt especially hot today....

The menu was a mystery: only Tajik, no pictures, no other customers to steal ideas from. Luckily my cyrillic is improving, and I saw several different varieties of Laghman, a hand-rolled noodle dish I'm familiar with from Bishkek. In Kyrgyzstan we had only 2 types: Lagman in soup/broth, or stirfried laghman. Here were 5 different types - how to choose?

One was called "ъозо лагман" (Bozo Laghman) - winner.

Food came out, and I had a big bottle of "voda nye gaz" as well. I sure was thirsty. The plate was a huge helping of noodles stir-friend in a thick brown sauce. It was, to be honest, much more glorious (and semi-chinese) than the Laghman I had in Bishkek - all good things.

But I just couldn't eat much of it.

I've been fortunate in most of my travels, and haven't been bitten by the "travel bug," itself a euphemism for a variety of bacterial, viral, or even parasitic "co-travelers" one can pickup through casual contact, food, water, or just bad luck. In my 1.5 months abroad, I haven't been sick one day. That's not bad, even for state-side, but it does put a fate-kick-me sign on your back if you aren't careful.

I took my time with the food, wiped my clammy forehead, and bade my time. I wasn't "ill" in the graphic sense, just... not quite right. Since the only thing on my current agenda was the museum, an enclosed, air conditioned, casual experience, I wasn't too worried about over-exerting.

Now, the best thing to do when sick is the rest, get better, and get on with your journey. Only an idiot goes Rambo on such dispassionate foes as indigestion, fever, or nausea. Especially in 100 degree heat.

I am one such idiot.

Working on the theory of "how bad could a foreign illness with no treatment possibly be," I set out for the National Museum.

For a whopping 200 somoni (US $5), I was in, and directed down a small hallway. I saw topographical maps of Tajikistan. I saw samples of minerals prominent in Tajikistan. I saw trees, flowers, swarms of insects on pins, snakes in flooded bottles, dissected frogs, stuffed birds, and some very, VERY mangy woodland creatures arranged in Disney-esque tableaus. I even saw a small (micro-hyena?) with eyes clearly designed for his bigger brother. That was creepy.

Still not 100% with it, and a little disappointed (to be honest, my travel book said not to expect much from this one), I made my way back out of the hall, and toward the exit. The ticket lady - bless her - waved and clapped enough times to get my attention, and direct me toward the staircase. Apparently, I was just getting started.

When you call a place the "National" Museum, I guess there's a certain pressure to encompass all that you are proud of from your nation. Whether this means rooms full of the academic (mostly mathematical) treatises and textbooks written by your citizens, comprehensive figures on agricultural output, famous actors/composes/ballerinas... it's a mixed pot. On floor 2 the highlights were the shrine to the President and the room full of the many gifts he's been given by other countries. USCENTCOM gave him a nicely engraved box with a flag in it. The Senate of Poland awarded him a plaque. Thailand sent this amazing miniature palace. etc.

No one blocked the stairs, so I figured floor 3 was open territory, and I was in for a surprise. A full floor dedicated to WWII history and modern Tajik art!!!

WWII has a mixed nostalgia in Central Asia, usually celebrating Russians and the war as a Russian-only triumph. In the Bishkek Museum of National History, for example, the focus is on the Soviet Revolution, but mostly just the Russian contribution to it, and then WWII as the triumph of that (mostly Russian) effort.

Not so in Dushanbe.

This floor was dedicated to the Tajik contribution to WWII. It was awesome! Propaganda posters in Tajik! Posters with obviously Tajik men/women joining forces with their Russian brothers. Even one with the ghost of Ghengis Khan (arch-nemesis of all things Russian) waving his sword forward as if to say "This way my Asian prodigy!" (It actually does say something in Russian, but I have no idea what).

Pictures of Tajiks in Tanks. The medals of valour won by Tajiks. etc. Really, a great exhibit, and not something you get very many places (since it's sort-of-pro-soviet, which is odd in the post-soviet period, and also sort of not-pro-russian, which would have been odd during the later soviet era).

The modern art was also cool - actually some was really great. Most was more like traditional still lifes, but with items that were unique to Tajik/Central Asia. You don't see many boring paintings with a Hooka, or a skullcap in Italian museums (or so I assume).

The "actually" modern stuff was cool, but I know about as much about modern art as I do about any art - not much.

There was more, but it's just too much to recall. Hopefully the barrage of photos I illicitly snapped will help reveal more.

After the museum I still wasn't feeling great, so I went back to the hotel to cool down. I laid on my bed for just a minute... and woke up 3.5 hours later.

Apparently, even an idiot can be pushed only so far.

Refreshed by my biologically-imposed nap/heat coma, I headed out to find internet and dinner.

As I stolled down Rudaki, a young Tajik in a polo, dark shades, and a "US ARMY" baseball cap walked up next to me to say hello.

His name is 'Afar, he speaks very good English (his dad is an English teacher at one of the several universities in Dushanbe), and has worked for a few years with an American NGO in Tajikistan. We walked for awhile, then I asked if he would join me for dinner (the Georgia Cafe - highly recommended! TRY THE BLUEBERRY LEMONADE!). We talked about politics, tajik language, the imagined heritage, US policy, etc.

A couple gems:
"Is it true that in America, the african-americans are now the majority?"
"Aren't young Americans even more religious than their parents?"

And this zinger:
"Why did the value of the US dollar go up after the US caused the financial crisis?

We talked about a lot, and he asked if he could show me around more on Saturday. I'm always a little suspicious of such forward "local" beneficence. But then, what position was I in to refuse?

when you're on the lamb, your best bet is to follow any yellow bricks you stub your toe on.

Weber (on the lamb)

Dushanbe Day 1 - Walkabout

2009-07-09T22:14:00.003+05:00

Arriving in Dushanbe at 11 am, after a somewhat stressful flight (the airborn leg was fine, despite the soviet-era plane. the pre-flight boarding, on the otherhand, was a nightmare in undisplayed info combined with very lax departure times), I decided to hike from the airport to my hotel. This is usually a very bad idea, but the Dushanbe airport is right in the middle of town. In fact, it's presently more like a glorified bus station with a particularly big parking lot. I haven't been anywhere truly remote, but as for international capitals go, this was the most pitiful airport I've ever seen. Except for it's customs house, it was about the size of the Hondo (TX) regional airfield.

The hike should have been about 4 km, the only nervous part being that only the last 2 km of the journey was on the map I had. Never hike off-map: it's one of those golden rules. Long story short(er), I did make it to the hotel, but was a good bit sweatier than was perhaps necessary. It's 90+ by noon, and just barely over 100 as the afternoon wears on in Dushanbe's early July.

For the rest of the day, I just wanted to get my bearings. From reading ahead, I knew Dushanbe had several respectable museums, a few bazaars, and several other public buildings/parks worth checking out. It also has a wealth of international food choices - from the expected Tajik & Russian, to the more "exotic" Lebanese, Italian, French, and even Ecuadorian fare. In other words, Dushanbe had more to "offer" in a tourism sense than Bishkek. That, I would say, was my first surprise.

With a population of 600,000 and not a lot of tall buildings, you can surmise that Dushanbe isn't a huge place, but it does spread out. Having said that, everything I wanted to see is located along the main drag, a very long bit of a landscaped park/avenue called Rudaki (after a famous

Persian poet, claimed as a "proto-Tajik").

A lot of the public space is used to promote Tajik nationalism, which interestingly has very little (or even nothing) to do with the modern Tajik state. Instead, it's almost entirely focused on the past - even the imagined past. Sogdians, Samanids, and Sassanid empires join Alexander the Great as the forefathers of modern Tajikistan, even though in each the current Tajik territory was a tiny, and frankly very insignificant, chunk. Tajiks lay cultural claim the major metropolises of Samarkand and Bukhara - both now in Uzbekistan, and since these were the capitals of major empires - so they reason - those empires were actually Tajik, not Persian/Sogdian/Hellenistic, etc.

It's a bit of a leap, but they pull it off with gusto (and repetition doesn't hurt).

The most prominent statue in Dushanbe is of Ismoili Samani (at top), the founder of the Samanid empire, and nearby is the Central Park with a great statue of the persian/"Tajik" poet Rudaki framed by a frescoed arch. Between the two is a map of the once-great Samanid empire, stretching from southern russia to the persian gulf, from India to the Caspian.

Another item of interest I noticed in my wandering is the rare, but repeating, motif of randomly-frescoed buildings. This would be common on government buildings, but I've seen some beautiful, colorful, usually "inspiring" works on the sides of apartment buildings, grocery stores, etc. It's a great way to spruce up the neighborhood (and much richer than the usual white-framed pastel gov buildings), but I cannot find a reason to the rhyme.

Toward evening, I started looking for the Bactria Center. According to my Lonely Planet Central Asia book, this was somekind of "center" in which various NGOs sold handmade goods from the countryside to directly benefit Tajik families. And at 6 pm on Tues/Thursday nights, they did free movie screenings. And it's Thursday!!!

I was looking for a large structure, even a mall-like entity (movies... multiple stores...). The area in question was less precise than my map suggested, so I was forced to use the loop-and-look approach. After a few hours, and a stop off at the main bazaar to buy a much-needed hat, I finally located a large house with a red roof and a small plaque that said "Bactria center" just in time for the movie - sort of. According to the sign on the door, not only did Bactria Center close at 4 pm that day, it was taking a "season break" and would be closed from July 10 - August 10. Wah wah.

Only a little disheartened, I closed out the evening with dinner at a Lebanese/Syrian restaurant called al-Shams. It was quite tasty. The chicken I ate contained no bones or ligaments, and the tabbouleh was pure vegetal growth. A welcome respite.

Weber (on the lamb)

Dushanbe Overview (for posts July 9-14)

2009-07-08T21:00:00.001+05:00

After spending more than a month in Bishkek with few "touristic" opportunities (and frankly not all that much workload), I am now taking a 1-week "vacation" to the capital of Tajikistan, Dushanbe.

While in Dushanbe, my internet access/time will be limited, but I'll be living la vida tourist, so expect lots of photos, and blogs based more on itinerary and quick description than intense, pseudo-scholastic data and editorial drudgery. It's a return to the style of on-my-own travel for which this blog (and the iconic "lamb" by which is has become personified) was created.

Since I'll (hopefully) be doing quite a lot, but (probably) will not be updating this as I go, please forgive my use of the "backdated" blog, whereby I'll post events/items for the days on which they occurred, not necessarily the day on which they're written. Expect considerable errors in tense/foreknowledge.

"Little Did He Know..." and all that.

Thanks for your patience - I'm very excited.

(one "scholastic" note: the reason I'm so hyped about seeing Dushanbe is that while it shares so much of the Soviet history and legacies of the other Central Asian Republics - especially Kyrgyzstan - it's pre-Soviet history was quite different, and it's persian-based language/culture not only sets it apart linguistically from the rest of CA, but culturally the Tajiks see themselves as the legacy of Samarkand and the great Persian Islamic empires, not the Mongol/Turkish lineage. Taken even further, I've heard Tajik described as "the closest thing to Iran outside Iran," and given my US citizenship, and the recent events in Iran, that's about as close as I'm going to get for awhile. It should also be said that while the other CIS states were carving up the Soviet 'goods,' Tajik descended into a bloody civil war, just ended in 1997 in a bizarre, benevolent kleptocratic autocracy. It's a smorgasborg of interest. You might even consider doing a quick wiki-view).

Manas Ordo

2009-07-07T13:36:00.000+05:00

As I mentioned in an earlier post, my travels to Talas over the weekend brought me to exactly one tourist location: Manas Ordo.

It's an odd place for a variety of real, imagined, historical, and strictly political reasons. Something like a fusion of the Acropolis, Mount Vernon, and, I guess... Turin?

First the backstory, then onto my actual visit:

Manas is the epic hero of Kyrgyzstan, and serves as a unique cultural identifier (the two things separating Kazakhs and Kyrgyz, as far as I can tell, is flat vs. mountainous terrain, and a strictly-Kyrgyz attachment to the Manas epic), and also a unifier (prior to Manas, the "Kyrgyz" recognize themselves as many disparate and warring tribes, much like the Caucasus of the 19th century; after Manas, they have all called themselves "Kyrgyz"... the historiography here is shaky. I'm not suggesting this is actually what happened, but it is the official version that I've heard many Kyrgyz support).

But Manas is not a "Folk Hero" or a "Myth" - he is an Epic hero in the literal since - he is the protagonist of a long prose narrative. More than that, he is perhaps the most epic hero on the planet in that the epic of Manas is enormous, even by epic standards. The total of 500,000 lines is hard to comprehend, but for perspective, consider that it is 20 times longer than the Odyssey & Iliad combined. It beats the heck out of Gilgamesh, and is even longer than the Mahabarata, making Manas the longest (known) epic in the world. Ever.

And it's still a "living" epic - very much unlike the other examples. It is still recited (either in episodes or in week-long full-renditions) by Manaschi, professional epic reciters, who chant the poem in a lyrical style, but without musical accompaniment. There are many professional "lesser" Manaschi, who know only a few episodes, but only a few "Great" Manaschi, who know the entire epic, and are celebrated as national heroes, and occasionally even international celebrities.

The Manas epic has been transmitted orally since its composition (which some place as early as the 7th century, and others as late at the 15th - whichever is true, it also makes it a very Young epic), before finally being written down as last as 1885 (in truth, there was not much of a formal written Kyrgyz language prior to the mid-19th century).

Let me admit here that I have not (yet) read the Manas epic. It has been translated into English and is available in at least 2 versions. Perhaps I'll tackle that by the time I'm 30...

The story (from what I understand) is pretty standard epic-fare. A hero unites his people, defeats various local antagonists, and ultimately dies (heroically) and bequeths the challenge of continuing his efforts to his heirs (the succesive generatiosn after Manas actually make up 2/3 of the epic).

And here is where Manas Ordo (and I) come into play.

Manas Ordo is loosely translated as the "Throne of Manas," which seems to indicate both a seat of governance, but also an elevated place of observation. The title refers specifically to a small hill jutting up in the middle of a flat valley surrounded by receding chains of mountains. From this position, one can see a great distances down the valley, and also survey clearly (there are partically no indigenous trees in Kyrgyzstan) all the mountain slopes surrounding it. Speaking militarily, it's not the most defensible position - but Kyrgyz military tactics were never based on sedentary fortifications. These are horse people - to fight they needed open terrain, good intelligence of the opposition's movement, and an ability to watch their flank - all of which Manas Ordo provides.

From this strictly military classification, Manas Ordo took on greater symbolic value as the burial place of Manas after his fall. The bottom of the hill served as a cemetery for some time, but even this story is complicated. Like the misleading joke about Grant, no one is burried in Manas' tomb - actually, it's completely empty. Accordig to the inscription on the monument (destroyed centuries about but reconstructed in the late 1800's), it is the burial sight for the daughter of a local Khan - perhaps this is so, or perhaps as legend goes, the inscription itself is a ruse to throw off the enemies of Manas (mostly Chinese, who did actually defeat him) and not let them desecrate his remains.

From the late 1800s through the Soviet era, Manas Ordo was a hill, an old cemetery, and that was about it. It's located some 30 km outside the small town of Talas, in the far NorthEast of the country, making it technically more accessible than much of the otherwise mountainous terrain, but also making it very remote to most Kyrgyz.

Nonetheless, it did develop a small cult following, and the mountain was seen as a holy site, with occasional pilgrims coming for good health, fertility, etc. despite the attempts to mute such supernatural attachments by Soviet authorities.

In 1991, the Kyrgyz Republic became a soveirgn state with virtually no warning, and absolutely no political, economic, or social preparation for what that would entail. The full story of how the various Soviet Republics became actual state governments is a fascinating one, but one that will have to wait. For now, it's important to note that, in lieu of any other reason for considering itself a "nation" (in the ethno-cultural sense), Kyrgyzstan turned the "heritage" knob up to 11.

In 1995, Manas Ordo (state park/monument/cultural site) was built and commemorated on the (rather conveniently discovered) "1000th anniversary of Manas."

This new site included an enormous statue of Manas on a tremendous elevated pillar surrounded in a landscaped circle by more-than-life-sized bronze statues of his 40 loyal generals/warriors/advisors. The circle, which is at the bottom on Manas Ordo proper, leads into a path that takes visitors to various sites of "traditional" Kyrgyz culture including cooking, textile-making, etc. The path continues to the site of the "Manas Grave" itself (pictured at right), in all its reconstructed glory. Besides the mausoleam sits an enormous bolder - supposedly one of the ones that Manas himself lifted with his bare hands.

A path snakes up from the mausoleam to the top of the "Ordo" hill itself (below left), where one can catch your breath and enjoy the same sweeping view of the valley that for so long guaranteed the victories of Manas.

The journey is complete only at the foot of the hill, where a small but elaborate (dare I say, even Elegant) museum chronicles the life of Manas in miniature scenes accompanied by archaeological evidence of proto-Kyrgyz settlements and artifacts such as 18th-19th century swords, ornate horse saddles, and Chinese rifles. The entire museum interior is wrapped in stylistically-consistent murals depicting particular Manas episodes, and the heroes of the various pre-Kyrgyz tribes. Actually, it has Many similarities to the Museum of National History in Bishkek, which gives the same soft-glow treatment to the broader Soviet history - including wall-to-wall murals and larger-than-life bronze statues.

Interestingly, the similarities don't stop there. Being at Manas Ordo park is like being in any park in Bishkek. The landscaping is the same, the irrigation ditches are the same - even the tiles that line the sidewalks are the same. I was struck by this, and asked my accomplice Eleanora if these were used all over Kyrgyzstan?

"No - only Bishkek and Manas Ordo."

Puzzled, I asked why this was. "[They are the] only 2 big government projects"

And that's Very much what Manas Ordo is - a Big Government Project. Building on the epic that is one of the few uniquely Kyrgyz identifiers, the Kyrgyz gov built a shrine to its own imagined history, encouraged pilgrimages and elevated the religious aspect of the location, and reinforced Manas Ordo as a symbol of Kyrgyz nationalism, patriotism, and the positive future ahead.

14 years later, Kyrgyzstan has not fulfilled the many promises of its early independence fervor. There have been moments and areas of tremendous progress, and others of disappointments and even reversals of objectives. Whether Kyrgyzstan paints itself as the "Island of Democracy," the "Switzerland of Central Asia," or the "Home of Santa Claus," all of these glib descriptors ring hollow in the face of actual state policies and the failures of political, social, and economic development.

It's hard to fault a people who endured 60 years of repressive Russian chauvenism for wanting to reclaim some national pride - regardless of how well- or ill-founded such pride may be - but equally it's troubling to marvel at the manicured Manas Ordo surrounded by rural poverty, which seems to be the only "sustainable" situation in the Kyrgyz state (it's economic and political policies are self-acknowledginly non-perpetuating).

So what is the power of myth/epic? What is the cost:value ratio of national imagination? How much effort will a government with nothing to lose go to build a foundation of glittery sand?

But let's not keep the lens on poor little Kyrgyz. The experience of being at Manas Ordo would be well considered in comparison with a trip to the Alamo. Both are historical to some extent, though much more famous for the legends and half-truths that surround them. They both have a bearing on patriotism that is entirely artificial - When an American shouts "Remember the Alamo," they're really advocating for Texas separatism from Mexican political control, not some Western amalgam of "Live Free or Die." And they do build a certain currency, even cultish orthodoxy, around unknown, or even disproven "facts." No one knows how Davey Crockett died (one eye-witness account says he surrendered, then was shot; most movies/paintings depict him leading a final charge against the entire Mexican army). Likewise Manas may or may not existed, but the myth has overtaken even the Epic, which is a great case-in-point for anyone who studies myth and epic, or for most of the rest of us, who assume the two terms to be interchangable.

I enjoyed my time at Manas Ordo; it was interesting. But I would reiterate that what Manas Ordo gives one an insight into is NOT kyrgyz culture, heritage, tradition, or society. It doesn't even really give much of an insight into the Kyrgyz literary/epic tradition. More than anything, it is a demonstration of political power applied to its own self-substantiation. The fact that it is so thinly veiled, and thus easily perceived, from the heights of Manas Ordo, is an irony I'd like to pretend the Manas of my imagination would savor.

Weber (on the lamb)

Sometimes, It Takes a Village...

2009-07-06T20:51:00.000+05:00

So I went to a Kyrgyz village this weekend, and will now challenge myself to describe what I did/saw in less than 2,000 words. Here it goes:

Saturday morning I set out with my co-worker Eleanora to visit her family (Grandfather, his sons/daughters, and their young kids) for the weekend. Originally I was under the impression that we were going to Talas, a small town (but town nonetheless) in NW Kyrgyzstan which is, for reasons I haven't been able to figure out, the center of opposition politics.

We started at the Bishkek bus station, which is in fact more of a hub for shared taxis. These have a set destination, and leave as soon as all the seats are full. It costs more than a bus, but is faster and generally more comfortable. My 4 hour trip to Talas, for example, cost me $10.

Eleanora & I shared a taxi with 2 other young Kyrgyz women, including one who, oddly enough, spent part of last year living in Corpus Christi on a work-exchange program. Somehow, she got to Corpus on a program, but once there they had her working at McDonalds... so she went to visit a friend in Ohio. Weird story.

To describe Kyrgyzstan as "Mountainous" is rather more accurate that such a simple adjective should allow. Bishkek is the main exception, though apparently Talas is also positioned on a smaller flat valley as the arms of the Alatau mountains recede into the Kazakh step. Regardless, to get to Talas, we had to cross mountains which were very numerous, usually very steep, and generally not passable without extensive engineering.

Having said that, our trip was quite pleasant and easy. I don't know if this can be attributed to stubbord Soviet policies, or post-Soviet attempts by the Kyrgyz government to validate its sovereignty. Either way, the highways, limited as they are, are impressive in their quality and their audacity. Whether skirting along a narrow cliff, or brazenly switchbacking up a mountain face, they operate year round (and winters are a monster) with minimal signs of wear-and-tear.

At the apex, we stopped for a photo op (at top).

The tunnel (because you cannot go Over these mountains) was closed when we got there - a laborious process of dredging out the gravel was underway - so we enjoyed the sudden snowfall and some more views before proceeding into the heart of the rock. We emerged on the otherside, none the worse for wear, and no bolrogs in sight.

About 40 km shy of Talas the taxi pulled over, and Eleanora told me it was time to get out. I was confused, but since I'm regularly not included on the full details of our plans, I have learned to just roll with it.

We started walking down a dirt side road, past a barrage of cinderblock and mudbrick (but very "modern") houses, and shortly found ourselves knocking on a thin metal gate. This was her uncle's house, and within the compound its wall encompassed would be found most of her extended family.

The partiarch of the family was Eleanora's grandfather (whose name I never caught). He is 85, but remains very quick-witted, taking regular jabs (friendly, and apparently very funny) at Eleanora, who is 26 and unmarried. While Eleanora hasn't been back to the village for about a year, her Grandfather keeps up with her program on Radio Azattyk, and is anxious to talk politics (that is, to tell Eleanora what she needs to be more focused on, or what of her analysis he thinks she got wrong). He listens to a lot of radio, not only because he's a life-long news enthusiast, but also because he has been blind for the past 25 years. He also happens to be a Hero of the Soviet Union, though I wasn't sure if that was awarded as a result of his service in WWII, or his work on the Kolhoz (collective farm) thereafter.

The rest of Eleanora's family was very kind, and very comfortable having an American around, if not especially interested. They were excited to see Eleanora (especially the 3 young neices); I was a very well-treated after thought.

While Eleanora caught up and watched TV with the youngsters, I went for a hike in the hills next to the village. There were true mountains in the distance on almost all sides, and a pair of thunderstorms kept threatening to come down into the valley, but did not. Still, on the hill tops it put up enough of a wind to get interesting. Eventually Eleanora and the kids came to find me, and were gracious enough to give me a 2 minute horse riding lesson on the way back. I certainly didn't impressed them with equine expertise - I later saw a 5-6 year old galloping down the highway.

We went to visit another uncle before sundown, and we passed the village mosque. I've mentioned that Bishkek only has one mosque, which is very odd (they just broke ground on a second, much larger one, as part of the incumbent president's attempts to woe the "pious" vote). From the drive, I can say that most villages seem to have one mosque. Nothing fancy - large, square, one-room buildings with a metal, faceted dome and occasionally a small minaret. They tend to be more functional than decorative, and none are especially old. I asked if we could go inside, and after a slight hesitation (the issue was Eleanora as a woman, not me as a non-Muslim), it was decided that it would be OK. The two young mosque-keepers brought us in, sat down, and gave a short recitation of the Qur'an before explaining (all this through Eleanora's later translation) that Kyrgyz were bad Muslims, since women should wear the hijab and the Shari'a should be followed (I could tell that he was referring specifically to the punishment for theft).

On the way back to the house, I had a good talk with Eleanora about Islam in Kyrgyzstan, how most Kyrgyz consider themselves true Muslims, but do not participate in the rituals or dogmas that usually go hand-in-hand with such an identity. I likened it to most American Christians, which I think is a useful analogy, though clearly inexact. I do marvel at what it means to be a mosque-keeper in Kyrgyzstan; to hold to a very particular (and honestly unpopular) interpretation of Islam in a country where you have only minimal social authority. To preach that all women should wear the hijab in a country where the most common hijab-wearers are foreigners (Iranians, some Pakistanis).

We went back to the house for dinner (at 10 pm!), but I wasn't very hungry. Since arriving in the village at 4, we'd already eaten 3-4 times.

For dinner, Eleanora's aunt brought out 4 large trays of boiled noodles on top of which were various parts of boiled lamb. Sheep are a staple of village fare, and it is joked by non-Kyrgyz that this diet (and regular proximity) gives them a "cultural odor" of sheep.

I was given the largest such piece - a huge femur with kneecap including all manner of non-muscular tissue. The uncle then took a slab of lamb fat and began cutting pieces onto everyone's plate. To this was added a bowl of "lamb soup," which was really just the thick broth in which the lamb was boiled. I surveyed the situation, considered the challenge before me, and after 30 minutes, decided that - rude as it might be - I just wasn't going to be able to eat it all. I felt bad - no, I still feel bad - but I also didn't get sick, which is a plus I'm not going to play down.

I slept in a large room by myself on the ample mats (we ate at low tables, with thick padded rugs/mattresses stacked on the floor for sitting, and in my case, sleeping). The family got moving early, but I was fortunate to be a sound sleeper. Breakfast was tea with fresh-squeezed milk (the cow was in the backyard), bread (we had bread with every meal and snack - it was great), and more lamb-bits. I took it pretty easy.

While we waited for another one of Eleanora's uncles to drive us to our next destination, we played more with the neices, took photos, and enjoyed some of their fresh produce. They grow apple trees, potatoes, and carrots. I've had freshly-picked fruit before, but I think this was the first time I'd pulled a carrot out of the ground and sunk my teeth into it. Very good - incredibly sweet (for a carrot).

The uncle arrived, we said our goodbyes (more Eleanora than I), and then went to visit Manas Ordo, which is either a religious site, a national monument, or a low-expectation theme park. It is deserving of its own post, so I'll hold off for now.

From Manas Ordo, we took a mashrutka (minibus) into Talas proper to see what little there was of a town, and to find a shared taxi heading back to Bishkek.

It's impossible to know what you're getting with shared taxis. The one we picked looked really great - a very new, clean, comfortable white Honda mini-van. As it turns out, our driver was something of a jerk, and the trip was frought with minor inconveniences. We were 15 minutes out of town when the driver realized he left something behind, so we doubled back. One of the passengers needed to stop to pickup luggage along the way, so we detoured. Another passenger was on her way back to Russia, so we stopped a few different times to say good bye to relatives along the way. One such stop included a snack break at a yurt setup along the highway. There are many such "settlements" where families live for the summer, sometimes tending flocks, but more often just selling the Kumis and other "traditional" food and beverages that are harder to acquire (at least, fresh) in Bishkek.

Kumis, which I've alluded to before, is a Very popular "national drink," of Kyrgyzstan. It was described to me as "semi-alcoholic fermented horse milk." They weren't far off. You can tell by the taste that there's some alcohol in there, but I'm guessing it's less than 1%. Kumis makes some people sick; it doesn't make Anybody drunk. The consistency is just like milk, not any more thick (thank goodness). And the taste....

Sort of like bitter liquid goat cheese.

My vote is still out on Kumis. I didn't love it. I didn't even really like it. But I was able to finish off the enormous bowl/cup I was handed, and that was a decent triumph. However, unlike everyone else in the van, I did not purchase an extra 1 litre bottle to take with me.

As I mentioned, the driver was not especially nice. He drove that minivan like it was a ferrari in Milan, swerving around minor potholes and flying through the intense switchback curves. He dashed around every car we came upon, usually darting back into our lane just as the on-coming car, headlights flashing, wizzed by. At first this all seemed exciting, but as the swerves and brake/accelerate/brake continued, it took a toll.

In all, we had 7 people in the car plus the driver, and had to stop 3 times for people to get out and throw up. That number would have been higher had one kyrgyz girl not come prepared with her own plastic bag. I could blame the Kumis, but I'm pretty sure we just had a jerk taxi driver.

I am proud to say that, riled as the Kumis inside me was, it stayed where I put it.

It took a long time to get back to Bishkek, between all the planned and emergency stop offs, but it certainly was good to get back "home."

A day later I'm feeling exhausted, generally worn out, hungry, and greasy. Despite a month now in Bishkek, my system is not nearly acclimated to the savory (read "fatty") content of Kyrgyz food. I would kill for a salad. I even tried to order one, and instead got a large plate of slimy tomatoes with dabs of mayo. Not the solution I was looking for.

But at least I got out of Bishkek. And while I'm worried about making generalizations (as I've done here) about "Kyrgyz" lifestyles based on just this one trip, I'm content to say that I've seen more now that I had 3 days ago, and that I'll need to see a great bit more before I really have any clue what I'm talking about. Please don't take anything you read here as authoritative - these are just my (ignorant) observations and (foolish) contemplations.

I have 3 weeks left until I return to the states, 1 of which will be spent in Dushanbe, Tajikistan. I'm also supposed to visit the southern Kyrgyz city of Osh, and hopefully spend a day at Issyk Kul (a very popular lake/resort in NE Kyrgyzstan). That's a lot of movement, but after a month of sitting at a desk with little to do (but write over-long blogs) my legs are aching for the activity.

I'm sure you'll appreciate the time not-spent reading these digital blurbs as well.

So a good weekend in Manas village, and a good couple weeks still to come. Hopefully my busier itinerary will help me focus these posts on the more relevant details, but alas, I can make no guarantees.

Needless to say, for the moment, "on the lamb" is a better descriptor of my travels than has previously been apt. I very much look forward to getting off that over-used construct in the months ahead.

But not yet.

Weber (on the lamb-diet)

Reading Orientalism in Central Asia

2009-07-06T13:34:00.003+05:00

NOTE: This post gets pretty thick, and doesn't really tell much of interest about my trip. Feel free to skip it, and otherwise read at the risk of the better use of your time.

Last weekend I made an excursion outside Bishkek, making it the first time in the 36 days since I've been in Kyrgyzstan to leave the comforts of the capital. That's a pretty good testament to both my limbo situation vis. Radio Azattyk (they keep promising me work, but almost never delivering, leaving me stuck in town, but with nothing to do), but also pays appropriate tribute to my own lack of insistence or solo adventurousness.

For the weekend, I went with my co-worker Eleanora to visit her home village and the family she still has living there. I will post again shortly with a narrative (and photos) from the weekend, but first, a few thoughts as my recent reading, travels, and ample thinking time have allowed.

Like virtually everyone I've met in Bishkek, regardless of age, Eleanora was born in a village, grew up mostly in a town, and now lives with the rest of her immediate family in Bishkek (The City). To these three strata (village/town/city) should be added the truly-rural, which consists more of yurt-dwelling ranchers than the independent homesteaders of the American equivalent. From what I could see on my drive across the North of Kyrgyzstan, this last group, for which the term "traditional" is equally useful and misleading, is a pretty small percentage. It may be different in the South, but from what I've seen, it seems that the majority populace live in villages and small towns, with the larger remainder in Bishkek (1 million of total 5 million national pop.), and the smallest sliver in yurts.

But these categories, useful as they are for the moment, are not absolute: One family may have a daughter in Bishkek and a son in a yurt; or even some families may live part of the year in a Yurt, then part in a town/village. Regardless, the definitional boundaries are crossed regularly, and while some amenities (toilets, for ex) do not transition, most (ex: electricity, TV, Nike) do. So the yurt family watches the same TV programs as a Bishkek family, whether via broadcast, or satellite TV (admittedly more common in villages than yurts).

Further, since most of the Bishkek crowd are still closely linked to the countryside (whether semi-urban, semi-rural, or full-rural), many of the "cultural" norms are - if not identical, at least easily negotiated. The hipster urbanite with spiked hair and fashionably-ripped jeans will still stop off at a roadside Yurt for a fresh bottle of traditional kumis when traveling through the country side.

It is very difficult for me to think of a comparison based on my experience in travels elsewhere, but I think that's more due to the specifics of my previous itinerary rather than a comment on the uniqueness of the Kyrgyz situation. The relationship is like nothing I found in Europe, or most of the US. In these places, the young people still watch the same TV, and often dress more similarly than they might admit, but a certain cultural cache divides them. City kids are devoid of country experience (shooting, riding, working heavy machinery, etc), while I'm not sure how strongly the gap goes the otherway. The stereotypes of the extreme exist (redneck vs. city slicker), as I think they do in Kyrgyzstan, but in America some people seem to actually personify these stereotypes, while in Kyrgyzstan they are only an amalgam of the worst-possible traits in a population that mixes urban/rural characteristics regularly.

I'm no American studies expert, so I apologize if this is too-naive. My point is that in Kyrgyzstan, it is nothing like how I see America's bifurcated society.

"Tradition" is the all-emcompassing term under which this unity of disparate elements is fused. Few people in Bishkek are "native Bishkekers," and further, no one is more than 2 or 3 generations removed from the villages. More than that, the entire country is no more than 5-6 generations removed from an 18th-19th century version of nomadic yurt dwelling. Please don't misread - the life of a yurt dweller in the 19th century was NOT the same as that of a similar person from the 17th, 13th century, or 9th century. The "traditional" lifestyle is not eternally isolated in time, despite some (soviet) efforts to suggest otherwise.

What it gets me thinking about, honestly, is what America would be like today if we hadn't engineered the genocide of Native Americans. If there was a large body of the population that, when given the choice of "modern" / "Western" lifestyle, chose to adopt certain elements, technologies, ideologies, and reject others. It's hard for me to imagine, because while "education" about Native Americans was a big part of my childhood in Oklahoma, the entire discourse was framed on 2 pillars I now hold to be false: 1) "Indians" only existed in history books or living history museums, and 2) the "Indian" lifestyle, being "traditional," was unchanging over time.

The first was patently false, and should have been all the more obvious living in Oklahoma, while the second was ridiculous given the dual narrative of "primitive arrowheads" and the existing photography, universally showing native americans in full regalia (and often war paint) with rifles.

In looking at Kyrgyzstan, and only a small part of it, and only through the limited lense of my own social awareness, it seems to me that a great many of the methods by which we (here being Western society in general, and unfortunately as often Western policymakers or even academics) dismiss groups different than ourselves by relegating them to the classification of "traditional," and therefore timeless, incapable of improvement except through "modernization" (read, "westernization"), and usually only capable of that change w/ Western assistance.

For those not familiar with this line of reasoning, I am stealing quite liberally from a very important critique of Western scholarship by Edward Said, first published in 1978, and called Orientalism. It's a thick read, but if you've ever wondered how an Oxford (or Harvard, or Columbia - I'm not playing favorites)-educated Westerner can come to the point of speaking with authority about "The Arab mind," or just "the Arabs," as if an entire and horribly ill-defined group (Despite its common use, "Arab" is not a linguistic, racial, ethnic or religious category. It's some combination of these which changes to suit the needs of the person using it. see Darfur, for evidence) consisting of millions of unique individuals could have their personalities described through scholarly analysis of a classic literature they may or may not have ever read, or the political choices of an empowered (thus, by definition of having power in the colonized world, pro-Western) elite.

I'm beginning to ramble, and getting my threads quite crossed. Let me leave you with a few things to think about, and see if I can get some bites on the comments thread for a change.

1) Anytime you hear keywords like "The Arabs," (really, "The (anygroup)"), "Development," "Modernization," or "Traditional," keep in mind that these are not factual descriptions, but rather subjective, and usually judgmental ones, employed for a purpose that goes beyond description and involves intentionality. "Development," for example, implies first that one society or group of people is "less advanced" than another, second, that the "less advanced" society needs to improve, and third, that this can only happen through imitation of, or direct involvement by, the "more advanced" society.

2) It's hard to put Kyrgyz and other societies that maintain pre-Western social elements into comparison with America. It's easy for this difficulty to reinforce how much "more advanced" the US and the West generally is. Let's allow that if the Europeans (and even the freedom/human rights-loving US of A) hadn't massacred (there is no other word appropriate) an entire indigenous population, we would have a much better connection with the rest of the world. The resulting gap in understanding has more to do with a brutal and voluntary extermination of the autochthynous connection to North and South America than it does to an unprecedented leap in social/technological/cultural progress.

3) Anyone who tries to "deal" with the world must pursue one of 2 things: to understand the world we live in and the various people who inhabit it, or to control it for our own benefit. Those of us who self-righteously place ourselves in the former category are nonetheless all-too-often instruments of the latter, and the indirect nature of the resulting exploitation should probably not leave our consciences as clean as we allow it to.

4) If might does not make right (whether in schoolyard bullying or genocide), then the West has been wrong quite a lot, which problematizes its critique of others. Even drawing a line in history and declaring that, from this point forward, ethics should dictate behavior, is a problem when claims of exceptionalism are made anytime local rights run against US policy or interests (the catalogue of US-funded coups, etc. from the 1940s-1980s is just the most flagrant example. As more documents become available, you can be sure the same patterns will emerge, especially regarding the US "Salvation" of Iraq).

That covers a lot of ground.

And is a pretty bad blog entry.

But it's written (as if in stone), so rather than spending time trying to re-write over and over, I'll just move ahead to writing something more interesting and less tedious for all you wonderfully patient readers.

I do feel as though a slight weight is lifted, so thanks for putting up with my off-loading.

Weber (on the lamb)

4th of July - Bishkek Style

2009-07-04T18:06:00.000+05:00

As in many other (all?) countries with diplomatic relations with the US, the local Embassy is not only a projection of the US foreign policy apparatus and a help-desk for US citizens in the country, it is also very much a comfort blanket for ex-pats missing a taste of home.

The US Embassy in Bishkek is an odd setup for a comfort-anything. A few years ago, there was a bombing in Bishkek at the Osh Bazaar (the major marketplace). It wasn't huge, but it was a terrorist attack and, according to US intelligence officials, the attack was going to be targeted at the US Embassy - but it was decided that would be too hard.

The result of that independent finding by the US Embassy staff was that the US got a newer, bigger, even more secure, and even more remote Embassy compound. It is the only embassy in all of Bishkek that is not in the city center (instead being outside of town, and just down the street from the Presidential residence). Additionally, it it one of only 3 embassies to have a security fence (Russia, China, India are the others), and the US embassy has 2 of them, with multiple guard houses, check points, etc. It's a modern fortress, situated on a large open space (owned by the US to prevent any nearby construction).

Basically, it is as foreboding as possible. The small army of security guards (all local Kyrgyz in US-flagged uniforms) don't make it any homier.

And it was to this embassy that I journeyed on July 2nd to celebrate the 4th of July (Embassy was closed on Sat the 4th, and taking Friday the 3rd as its surrogate holiday, leaving Thursday the 2nd the only option for an official fest).

I went with my 2 American friends, Kara & Evan, both Fullbright scholars in Bishkek for the better part of a year by now. They generally avoid the embassy themselves (both in Kyrgyzstan to study local politics and work on Russian fluency), but it was the 4th, and there was the promise of "American" food.

Once we got through the road gate, the pedestrian gate, the metal detector, and the scanner (for loose items only - no backpacks allowed), the grounds themselves were quite pleasant. Lush grass, a few saplings (it's still new) and a building that would seem very familiar to anyone who

grew up in rows of Ranch-style homes in the American midwest.

I'm not suggesting it's a great representation of America, at least, not the positive parts, but it was a suitable place to have a big Burger & Hot Dog 4th of July cookout.

Evan had his hopes up about non-Russian beers; Kara made a deal with Evan to wear her ridiculous Kyrgyz heels (everyone under 40 wears heels in this urban pedestrian capital, usually of phenomenal design and unbelievable height) if Evan would pay for her dinner ($5); I had no idea what to expect.

We were apparently late - not having received the official invite, but just a fwd without the exact time - but there was some food left, and the live cover band hadn't stopped playing when we arrived. On the upside, our tardiness exempted us from the $5 cover charge.

The food was exactly what you'd expect at a government-sponsored public picnic in the states - the burgers were generic pressed patties, not ground beef, the hotdogs were greasy and of indeterminate meat origins, and the side dishes were colorful - cornbread & beans sat side-by-side with an "asian sesame coleslaw."

The lack of mustard (they had some, but being that Kyrgyzstan is a country practically afloat in Ketchup, this welcome US alternative had been expended long before we arrived) flagged my enthusiasm sligthly... that is, until I looked into the drink tubs.

Evan was out of luck - the only beer they had was Baltika 7, a Russian stand-by. But for sodas, they must have cleaned out the Marine PX over at Manas base, because there, bobbing in two 55-gallon transcans filled with lukewarm water, was a stunny array of Diet Dr. Pepper, Diet Coke, Dr. Pepper and even - yes - Mountain Dew!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!

The first 12 oz can of the Sacred Nectar was, I dare say, the best 25 som ($0.50) I have ever spent. There is no MD in KG, so this was the first reunion with my beloved beverage in more than a month. I don't mean to be obsessive, but...

Once we were seated, we quickly met the 3-4 other Americans that Kara/Evan knew, mostly some of the more relaxed embassy crowd. I find the Embassy workers are... difficult to describe politely. Not because they aren't nice, or smart, or well-meaning. They are all those things, and very friendly as well. But there's a certain ethos, a constellation of assumptions and self-perceptions that are either necessary to work in an embassy, or perhaps just inevitably adopted once you're inundated in it, that I find very... distasteful. Or maybe "unfortunate" is a better description.

In fairness, much of their bitterness about "locals" stems from their need to interact with local government and attempt to bypass the corruption that is completely unavoidable. Their job requires them to convince the Kyrgyz gov to do things that are in US interests, and the fact that the Kyrgyz gov may not want to run its country according to their dictates from Washington doesn't change the fact that such refusals only make an embassy worker's job harder.

I'm trying to be cognizant of such frustrations, and understand how living in a double-fenced maximum security island would convince one that outside the walls is a seething mass of deception, lassitude, and poverty-fueled anti-Americanism. But it's pretty hard for me not to make the obvious comparison with colonial administrators, bemoaning the "savages" for not being "enlightened" enough to understand all the benefits that "development" offers them.

Anyway, I will admit that meeting with the Charge d'Affairs and a few other high-ranking embassy personnel gave me some pause in such an assessment. These people do have a hard job, and are expected to work with some of the less cooperative elements in all of Kyrgyz politics. It makes sense how they come to such world-views, and being as their opinions are based on very direct experience (albeit from a fundamentally wrong-headed position), I'm willing to allow that my mostly-academic critique may not be the be-all-end-all analysis.

But it should be noted that Embassy people always want to "help the locals," so long as that help corresponds with US foreign policy objectives. Let's just acknowledge that, and move on.

The event brought together an odd group of people. Long-term expats (including a guy who's been in Bishkek for 15 years running an English-language news/culture radio program?) rubbed elbows with embassy politicos and marine guards; my small contingent of Fullbrighters met up with their friend in the PR bureau, and various other clusters of mostly-younger (interns) wandered about. It wasn't a full representation of Americans in Bishkek, but was a fair sampling, a total of less than a hundred, I'd estimate.

One particularly large group of 20-somethings grabbed our attention. We started taking potshots to identify them based on common stereotypes:

Missionaries? They sure are drinking a lot.

Corporate Interns? They look kind of casual.

Peace Corps? I said casual, not self-righteously dirty.

I was getting tired of the guessing game when I suggested to Evan that it would just be faster to go and ask.

He then made a fatal mistake. "Hey, if you go do it, I'll buy you two more Mountain Dews."

Game. Set. Match.

Upon my return, Evan had my 2 fresh MD's ready and I explained that they were a group of students from Sam Houston State College, a largely technical school in SE Texas with which I was already familiar (they have a great Radio, Television, Film dept., which produced one former co-worker at KRTU we had to replace after 3 months). Apparently, the contingent of some 16 people total, was a group of student volunteers who've come to Bishkek every summer for the past 4 years to organize and run a Bishkek Baseball Little-League.

Pretty darn random, but honestly a pretty cool outreach. They aren't trying to prove that Baseball is the best thing on Earth, just that it's fun, and not something Bishkek kids have access to otherwise. Plus, I think it's a great broadening-of-mind for the 16 mostly small-town Texans as well. Good trade, really.

There were also some interns with various Microfinance companies - a booming NGO/Business hybrid in Bishkek and many other countries (though no longer Uzbekistan).

It would be hard to top the experience of 4 MD cans (original, plus one I bought, plus my 2 winners from Evan) on a warm Bishkek evening, but the second spot certainly went to one particular Sam Houston student who elected to wear his Buckee's shirt to the party. It took a lot of work to convince Kara to come over and take the super-tourist photo (at left), but I think it was well worth it. Buckee's in Bishkek. Hard to beat.

The party wound down, and we found ourselves hunting a cab back into town with a new comrade, Dan, who works for the major microfinance company in town, FINCA. We weren't quite ready to call it a night, so we had the cab drop us off by JAM, where Evan had a former student working the bar.

A couple beers later it was suddenly vodka time.

Those Americans - they're incorrigible.

Made it home after another wilder-than-I-needed Thursday. Not exactly a down-home July 4th BBQ, and honestly the Embassy vibe (or was that the hum of the electric fence) creeped me out, but a chance for some good conversation, some free grub, 4 mountain Dews (I saved 2 for later) and a memorable photo: priceless(?)

Weber (on the lamb)

States and Stats

2009-07-03T12:06:00.004+05:00

A quick update to a few of my earlier posts. Following the very small "protest" in Ala-Too on June 30, today the opposition finally began its Bishkek campaign. Nothing overwhelming, but with just 20 days until the "election," the first signs of the main opposition candidate, Atambaev, showed up in the form of posters around town.

As with the earlier Nazaraliev (minor party) posters, these are exclusively confined to light posts, electic boxes, and public walls - in short, (free) public spaces. This contrasts with the incumbent Bakiev campaign, which involves more than a dozen major billboards around town and posters (just a red background with the name "Bakiev" in white) placed in home and shop windows. It pays dividends to show one's personal support of Bakiev, just as it is less risky to put Atambaev posters on things no one owns.

A few other tidbits made public by the (often pro-government) new agency 24.kg:

Bakiev (incumbent, Ak Jol party)

Current spending: $341,000 [how he got so many billboards, TV ads, etc. for this price is a mystery]

Total budget: $826,476,744

Atambaev (opposition)

Current spending: $104,384,534 [he must have spent this outside of Bishkek]

Total budget: $104,702, 325

Umetalieva (only woman in the race, just for contrast)

Current spending: $5,100

Total budget: $14,465

The Freedom House ranking of Democractic "progress" is also an interesting, if rather blunt, analysis. It notes that in 2008, Kyrgystan received a score of 5 for Political Rights and a 4 for Civil Liberties, both on a scale of 1 (Free) to 7 (Not Free).

Other 5-4 countries include Uganda, Thailand, Nigeria, and Lebanon.

The full report is here. The opening graphs (pie chart of Free/Partially Free/Not Free countries in the world) are hilarious.

According to these rankings, Kyrgyzstan is a "Partially Free State," though more recently (June 30), Freedom House for the first time classified the Kyrgyz Republic as an "authoritarian state," which is a far cry from the more common "island of democacy," or "most democratic in Central Asia" tag that often gets affixed to Kyrgyzstan by Western countries looking to do business with it.

the June 30 report was a mid-year assessment published by Freedom House including a fascinating breakdown of different elements (still on the 1-7 scale). The combined figure gives Kyrgyz a 6.04 ranking (anything over 6 qualifies as an "authoritarian state"). This is actually the first year Kyrgyz fits this definition (mostly in the 5.90s previously), thanks in large part to a slight up-tick in suppression of the media in 2009.

It's a short read (with a great table of data), so if you're actually interested, check this out: http://www.freedomhouse.eu/images/nit2009/kyrgyzstan.pdf

The important thing to note is that the numbers don't change AT ALL before/after the supposed "Tulip Revolution" of 2005. The President changed, but the government structure, degree of political rights, and civil liberties didn't waver one iota.

and for comparison, here is the neighborhood:

Uzbekistan (27 million people): 6.89

Turkmenistan (5 million people): 6.93

Takikistan (6.7 million people): 6.14

Kazakhstan (15.5 million people): 6.32

Russia (142 million people): 6.11 (first time Russia's over 6 since 1999)

So to reiterate: Kyrgyzstan is a country of somewhat open civil liberties, but very closed political operations. You can more-or-less do or say what you want, so long as you do not endanger the political status quo.

Still, I have a lot of problems with the basic assumptions of these reports, especially the insistance that countries must always be moving along the linear axis of "more" or "less" democratic - that's just not the case. Most countries (including the US) are varying degrees of semi-democratic, and they fluctuates in a very 3-dimensional space, often changing, but not often affecting their relationship to such a limited "free" vs "not free" criteria.

Most US citizens didn't want to go to war in Iraq (or to be less contentious, polls regularly show that most US citizens have wanted public healthcare for more than a decade). But the government "of the people" hasn't reflected this demonstrated public will. According to Freedom House, that's Democracy.

Conversely, the majority of Kyrgyz probably do want Bakiev to be president, even though the system doesn't really allow them to choose, and so this reflection of public will is called "Authoritarian - Not Free."

The reality is murky, and the loaded terminology of Freedom House and other "Democracy Promotion" agencies, chief among them the NDI, only exacerbate the misleading assumptions.

And this is what happens when I have a slow work day and too much internet access.

Weber (on the lamb)

Tomski jana Geeyarrii

2009-07-02T11:14:00.000+05:00

I owe you all a more thorough explanation of Kyrgyz TV - at my flat I only get local analogue broadcast, not satelite or even local Cable channels. These 15 channels are about 50% all-Russian, with the other half part-Russian.

Surprisingly, Russian MTV is one of the Broadcast channels, offering the latest music videos by Kanye West and Russian metal bands, as well as Russian-dubbed Scrubs, South Park, Sex with Tequila, etc.

The selection includes Russian Soap Operas (which are just as dramatic as their Western counterparts), a couple pretty good comedies (the Russian MTV show about a German family and the daughter's live-in Turkish boyfriend is shockingly interesting), BECTI (Russian CNN), and local channels which peddle in local news, Kyrgyz feel-good scenery montages, and international (mostly American) cinema.

I've been compiling a full list of the movies I've seen (in Russian) since my arrival a month ago. I don't have the full list with me today, but rest assured I'll post it soon. The current best representation of the extremes it covers are Thelma & Louise and the Dark Knight. Runners up are Babylon AD (may you rot in hell Vin Diesel) and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (I heart Jim Carrey).

They also air some classic American cartoons, like Tom & Jerry (the episode featured at right is "Texas Tom," with the hero in spurs & 10 gallon hat rolling an enormous cigarette to impress a barbi-figured feline), Bugs Bunny, and Roadrunner. This is especially interesting because for me, and I believe several generations before me, these characters ARE major cultural icons, whereas sometime in the past 20 years that ceased being the case. In America I can no longer talk to kids about their favorite cartoon characters, yet here, in Central Asia, 10 year olds still know who Tom & Jerry are.

It's also fascinating because here they don't retroactively apply the same PC filter that determines which classic 'toons I could watch as a kid. Jerry in Black face. Early Mickey Mouse. Some of the racier Speedy Gonzales shorts. All the racism and latent superiority that was an inherent part of American culture at the time of these cartoons' creation, and which we've subsequently tried to mask or bury, if not necessarily erase, is on full display on Kyrgyz broadcast TV.

This means I not only get to see familiar (cartoon) faces, I get to see some of the episodes that will never be on American TV.

Not getting too sentimental, but am I wrong that these classics are just that - American Classics? It saddens me that future generations won't have the minimal-dialogue, classical music, simple slapstick, always-cheer-for-the-underdog pop culture background. Can you even buy this stuff on DVD? Could you force your children to watch Tom & Jerry even after it's no longer available?

Would it make sense? Take "Texas Tom" - I get it, sort of, but I'm sure it would have been funnier for kids more familiar with the Lone Ranger/ Davey Crockett/ John Wayne phenomenon. Surely in the post-Bush era, "Texan" has a cultural baggage that is different than the spurs-and-six-shooter image.

I'm not attacking modern cartoons - in fact, I think a lot of them are great, both those targeted at kids and especially those that are not (can I get a Hazaah for the return of Futurama!).

But there is nothing quite like the classics - then again, if the classics are no longer relevant, are they worth propagating, or reducing to museum archival fare?

As always, I welcome your comments.

Weber (on the lamb)

Talkin' 'bout Irrevolution...

2009-07-01T12:56:00.008+05:00

Today I went with a few other young Azattyk reporters to cover a "flash protest" by a youth movement in the central Ala-Too square. My Kyrgyz/Russian being non-existant, and my friendly co-reporters having only basic English, it was difficult for me to comprehend what I was walking into. I wasn't about to miss "Youth Protest," but their nonchalance on the way there tipped me that this might not be the Bastille.

Ala-Too square is the center of downtown bishkek. It's located immediately next to the Kyrgyz White House (which is the President's office and the Parliament building) and across from the National History Museum. As recently as 6 months ago, the square was extremely well defined by its geometry. It was a giant concrete square, surrounded by buildings on 3 sides and the main road on the third. And that was it.

June 1, the "New Ala-Too" was opened, featuring enormous LCD-colored fountain jets, splashing pools, benches, and a maze of gardens snaking across the square in geometic flourishes. It's very vibrant, and has become a favorite social destination every night at dark, when the government sponsors a small fireworks show there.

My more paranoid American friends have noted how the new gards cut the once-open square into many smaller areas with limited transit between them. Said one, "It sure is a lot harder to assemble a large group of people with fountains and flowers in the way." Ala-Too was, notably, the site of all the relatively few large-scale protests that have occurred in Bishkek since 1991, including most importantly those surrounding the "Tulip Revolution" of 2005 which brought the current president Bakiev to power.

I tried to ascertain what, exactly, this protest was protesting, and the best answer I got was that it was pre-emptively protesting the upcoming election, which it is widely assumed will not be open, fair, or accurate, despite the presence of some 12 international observers from the OSCE, SCO, and other IGOs.

When we got to the square, it took some looking around. We finally found the group, unsure if it was a protest or a school field trip. Ok, they weren't That young... at least, not most of them.

They all wore white shirts with different politcal affiliations or slogans, including one person who was there representing the current majority Ak Jol party. I got the impression white was not so much the color of protest as the color of cheap screen printed t-shirts.

It was an opposition protest, so most present were supporting the main opposition candidate, Atambaev. The t-shirts with his stylized face in blue (at right). I thought were a good counterpart to the Moussavi and Obama trend.

All told, I would estimate the crowd at about 50 people, though I'm notoriously bad about such estimates. There were at least 20 journalists present, jockeying for photos or sound bytes, and they swelled the crowd noticeably.

Almost immediately the protest attracted police attention. There are always police in Ala-Too, making either a very safe place, or a potential tourist trap. Instead of confront the group directly, police just started gravitating toward the group from all across the square. Once about 6 officers and patrol men were around, one officer approached the group and asked if they had a permit.

The group did not - in fact, the need for a permit to hold a demonstration was only recently passed, another good election run-up legislation.

The officer lightly suggested that without a permit, they could not protest, but the crowd basically said they were going to anyway, so the officer drifted back to stand with his cohorts.

This exact scene repeated 3-4 more times as progressive more veteran/bolder officers joined the group. One finally stepped into the center of the protesters and explained that Ala-Too was a place for resting, not a place for action (as it was translated to me).

The lingering question: Where Was the place for action?

There was a sum total of 2 chants, and no marching. Mostly, it was milling about smartly in opposition regalia with placards and holding a protest - however loosely we define the term - in contravention of the law. Toward this end, it was successful.

A few of the protestors engaged the police in debates, one even had a copy of the Kyrgyz constitution (which specifically guarantees the right to assembly), though obviously the new permit law was made explicitly to override such a legalistic argument.

One student brought a komuz (essentially a 3-stringed Kyrgyz lute), which surprisingly added a very Hippie Granola air to the proceedings.

When it was all over (that is, after the police asked for the 5th or 6th time for people to disperse, and the crowd finally decided to mosey off), they stopped for a group photo by one of the new fountains.

It was an interesting experience more for what it wasn't than for what it was. The young people involved were enthusiastic, and one could tell they were ideologically quite fierce in their opposition to the political status quo. But they weren't spoiling for a fight, nor were they beyond having a few good laughs at some jokes from the various police officers who approached them, and were never especially stern.

Without being too harsh, it may be fair to say that this was a "democracy vacation" for most of them. Don't read too much into such term - all I mean is that they took 30 minutes (total) out of their regular lives of political frustration (but not Too much of it) and went to Ala-Too, put on a white t-shirt, told the police they had a right to be there, and then quietly disbanded, returning to whatever they were doing an hour ago. They took touristic photos of their "trip" and left with souvenirs (t-shirts, stickers).

I'm not sure if this was a demonstration of defiance by the "people," or just a clear indication of how little public discourse is still considered adventurous by the participants (it certainly isn't considered much of a threat by the "establishment.")

It was also interesting to watch the police response. They were immediately at the scene, either in small clumps or spreading out around the periphery. It seemed they were very interested in being present, to show that this was something worthy of their attention, but they really didn't do much to stop it. They asked people to go away, then did nothing. They suggested other places would be better to protest, but again did nothing. They spoke of the protest permit law, but didn't enforce it. Even going so far as to call this "light pressure" might be too far.

likewise, the media response was interesting. Cameras and video cameras were all over the place, with at least 4 different people interviewing individuals and police officers. The photography was informative - they were all up in the crowd, getting close-in face shots. This wasn't an attempt to "identify" the protesters, it was a recognition that from afar, the protest didn't look like anything more than a relative's graduation party. Only up close did it look... interesting. News-worthy.

There will be more such events as the Kyrgyz election grinds closer (vote day is July 23), but I don't expect them to get much, if any, more contentious. The main opposition candidate still hasn't made an appearance in Bishkek, and the t-shirts at Ala Too today were the first sign of his campaign I've seen since the season started June 18. In Bishkek, which has a significant number of opposition people, the public images availble are all-Bakiev, all-the-time.

More as it happens.

Weber (on the lamb)

Kyrgyz Cuisine

2009-06-30T15:16:00.008+05:00

Food choices in Kyrgyzstan are quite plentiful, but not especially diverse. It closely resembles modern Turkish food for obvious reasons (the Turks migrated to Anatolia around the 11-12th century from the Central Asian region), but the time interval and isolated evolution of tastes causes some important distinctions.

Traditionally, the "Kyrgyz" people, like their virtual twins the Kazakhs, were mostly nomadic, but it's more helpful to think of them as glacially-mobile ranchers than as an on-the-go Winnebago society. They took up semi-permanent residence in large felt-covered huts called Yurts and stayed in one location for a long season. When the season changed, they setup a semi-permanent settlement somewhere else.

What this means for cuisine is that they had access primarily to their own livestock, but also to crops they could grow quickly in small plots, which grow naturally, or that they could trade for - Central Asia was, afterall, the nexus of the Silk Road.

It is interesting that, some 400 years after the Silk Road all-but unravelled, and 150 years after Russian conquest, the radically reconfigured (and categorically created) "Kyrgyz nation" of urbanites and sedentary shephards continues to define itself by these lingering, and at times imagined, "nomadic" traditions.

Food is one such instance.

Here are the primary dishes of Kyrgyz cuisine, which are universally simple to prepare, rich and savory, and widely available in other international cuisines, despite the local insistence of the distinctiveness of the "Kyrgyz" variant

Shashlyk

There is nothing fancy about Kyrgyz Shashlyk - it is meat on a stick, roasted over charcoal. Unlike the more colorful examples from elsewhere around the globe, Shashlyk (which is refers to the unikely-Kyrgyz version of a kebab) does not involve any vegetables. It is chunks of marinated meat (usually beef or Lamb) sometimes interspersed with chunks of fat. It is usually served with raw sliced onions, herbs (cilantro?), and vinegar. I still cannot get anyone to tell me what the difference is between Kyrgyz Shashlyk and Kazakh Shashlyk, but I've been assured it is "totally different." I remain skeptical. These can be sold at fancy restaurants, or just by solo Shashlykiyya's (shashlyk cookers) along the roadside. Around $1.50/skewer.

Pilaf

An absolute mainstay, in Kyrgyzstan it's called "Pilau" and is a very static creation meaning rice cooked in oil then in a broth with slices of lamb and usually cooked carrots. There might be some boiled onions involved. This stands in great contradiction to my understanding of Pilav from back home, which was essentially any assortment of meats and veggies that was then cooked with rice. Various different nationalities claim their own "style" of pilav, but mostly this is just about the different ingredients, which within each country, are unalterable. Asking for pilau in Kyrgyzstan without carrots, for example, is wildly absurd. You can get pilau at restaurants, but I've found it more likely to be served at family gatherings (apparently, you don't go Out to just have pilau).

Manti

To date, this seems to be the most beloved of all Kyrgyz food insofar as every Kyrgyz I've met has either asked if I've had Manti, or tried actively to get to me to eat it. Don't let me paint this the wrong way - Manti is Not the "Haggis of Kyrgyzstan" - it's just steamed dumplings. That doesn't sound so bad, right? Even better, they're filled with meat (again, the lamb/beef differentiation is harder than one migth think) and grilled onions. But here's the drawback - "good" Manti also requires the presence of an equal 1:1 ratio of meet and boild fat chunks. Worse yet, the boiled onions, which are good, have the exact same color and consistency of the fat, so when you bit into a big which something, you're never sure quite what you're getting. The general slimy-texture (sorry Dim Sum fans, it's true) of steamed dumplings does nothing to cut down on the queasy reaction I get from the liquid grease and solid fat stuffed inside. They're usually sold at restaurants in bunches of 5 (which is a lot of Manti), positioned surrounding a lake of ketchup.

Samsa

Like much of Kyrgyz cuisine, the Samsa has a very direct connection to its cousin, the Indian Samosa, with one important difference: no veggies. Basically, a Samsa is the same thing as a Manti, but it's exterior dough is shaped differently, and it is fried (sometimes baked) rather than steamed. On the plus side, this dramatically decreases the slime-factor, but you still have an onion-or-fat minefield lurking insidiously inside the yummy crust. These are sold on the sidewalks for the unbelievably low price of 20 som (50 cents) a piece.

Laghman

Thank goodness for Dungans! This small "nationality" within Kyrgyzstan (off-handedly called "Chinese Muslims") are recognized as being distinct from Kyrgyz, but this particular dish is ubiquitous at Kyrgyz restaurants throughout Bishkek. It is hand-rolled noodles (no idea if they are wheat- or egg-based) with Lamb, onions, and various herbs and spices. It can be cooked in a broth to make a sort of irregular noodle soup, or it can be stirfried. Either way is super-good, though as with much other Central Asian cuisine, both usually involve the addition of a touch more grease than is "necessary."

Sharma

One of the two quintessential Kyrgyz fast-food options, "Sharma" is a derivation of the Turko-Arabic Shawarma, meaning "turning," in reference to the style of cooking in which a big pile of meat is put on a verical pole and cooked outside-in as it rotates in front of a flame. The cooked, exterior, is cut off and served while the next layer cooks fresh. The name is somewhat ironic in Kyrgyzstan, where I have yet to see a working constant-rotation cooker. The final product includes shaved meat (usually chicken, sometimes beef), french fries, shredded lettuce, and slices of cucumber and tomatoe slathered in mayo and ketchup, then wrapped up in a paper-thin (and universally stale) burrito-like pancake. More Moo Sui than Tortilla. It's tasty, but shockingly un-filling for all its girth. Hard to argue with, though, as a $1.20 (50 som) lunch-on-the-run.

Gamburger

the primary alternative to Sharma, the "Gamburger" is a hard nut to nail down. It's trying-to-be-a-hambuger-bun suggests this might just be a case of lost in transliteration, but the shawarma-style beef interior is a long way from a burger patty. Add the same cucumbuer, tomato, mayo & ketchup, and suddenly the differentiation comes down to just the packaging. Bready-bun, or flimsy wrap. There are a few stands that sell "Hamburgers," which are the same thing as a gamburger, but with an actual ground-meat patty, but these remain few and generally more upscale (franchised chains vs. mom&pop stands). A little pricier at $1.30 a pop.

And that's pretty much it. There are a variety of salads (pick 2 uncooked veggies, add vinegar), and a few other national foods I've yet to try, but these are the big ones, and it must be said, make up the overwhelming majority of "Kyrgyz Cuisine."

As for diversity, Bishkek is decidedly the internationl hub. Indian, Chinese, Russian, and even a rare Korean, Italian, or "American" - burgers or pizza - are around if you look hard enough. I saw an ad for an "American/Mexican" restaurant, but the menu wasn't tempting enough to even give it a fair shake. Perhaps I'll change my mind as the summer wears on.

It should also be said the above is a decent look only a "City Kyrgyz" food. I don't have any idea what they eat in the villages and countryside, though I'm willing to bet it involves a fair amount of pilau, lamb-everything, and more gristle than I've consumed in my entire life.

In short, the food is much better than my Estonian/Serbian experience. People here eat real food, but it does tend to be real heavy, and most of it didn't spring forth from soil. I do actually know 2 ex-pats in Bishkek who are staying vegetarians while they're here, but so far I've only seen them eat french fries and carrots.

Apparently the "wealth" of veggies I see at the markets now (exclusively as follows: cucumbers, tomatoes, potatoes, peppers, onions, eggplants) declines to practically nothing during the winter months. According to one coleague, "it gets old eating the same canned meat and bread for 6 months."

Another recent admonishion from a guy traveling the countryside: "I haven't had anything to eat but Snickers for 4 days."

Cost: 23 som (50 cents) each.

Why wait?

Weber (on the lamb)

UNdecision 2009

2009-06-27T17:22:00.000+05:00

(a campaign billboard at the busiest intersection in Bishkek reads: Bakiev, a Real President. the man in the photo is a janitor-turned-chef, thanks to Bakiev's economic reforms, or so the heavily-run associated TV commercial claims)

It is common in US scholarship, and even more so in journalism, to add a short tag, essentially the informal motto, after use of the term "Kyrgyzstan," as in: "Kyrgyzstan, the most democractic of the Central Asian Republics..."

As I said, the phrase is widely used - and for good reason. Kyrgyzstan is different from much of what can be found in Central Asia, and this phrase is an attempt to encapsulate the many elements that differentiate it from its neighbors.

However, it is also categorically wrong, and I'd like to highlight, briefly, how it is wrong, and why such a gloss has more serious repurcussions than simply bad diction.

Generally speaking, Kyrgyzstan is the most socially liberal country in Central Asia, and its government maintains more personal and professional freedoms and less direct control of the population than any other - including a not insubstantial degree more openness than its closes rival, affluent Kazakhstan.

We could simplify this to say the Kyrgyz Republic is more "Western," but only if we're prepared to define which Western this is - US, Canada, Mexico, Sweden, Italy, etc. I'm not.

From my observations, I would say that the "culture" is overwhelmingly influenced by the Russification (itself a brand of Europeanization) of the Soviet era, but that in Kyrgyzstan there has been a (political) choice to allow certain freedoms that are not present in, as an extreme example, Turkmenistan.

However, I think it's very important to realize that these limited freedoms are 1) Very closely limited - they are not absolute, and can be transgressed at the discretion of the government, and 2) they are a reflection of the government's choice, not the people's.

In other words, there is no democracy in Kyrgyzstan.

There are degrees of "freedom," and I would say generally "liberal" (in the classic sense - not the modern "left") social and political policies. But when the state tells you it is permitting (as in, with a state-issued permit) you to speak freely, rather than a people demanding and getting guarantees of free speech, there is a very different paradigm at work.

Let's take a look at Kyrgyz Presidential history.

Kurmanbek Bakiev was elected president 4 years ago shortly after he lead the "Tulip Revolution" against former president (and ex-Soviet premier) Akaiev. In essence, Akaiev's corruption and nepotism became so exacerbated that public will turned against him, and sensing this, a majority of politicians decided to make a play of their own. Bakiev was at the head of this movement. When Akaiev realized the game was up and he would need to exercise force to stay in power, he elected not to mess with it. An academic by training, he preferred to retire to a life of ease and teaching in Russia, along with his considerable fortune (amassed entirely since 1991).

Bakiev took over more than just the office. He assigned Akaiev's former assets to his own family and associates, and now after 4 short years of "development" assistance from China, Russia and the West, personally controls more of the Kyrgyz economy even than Akaiev did. It has been demonstrated, for example, that the majority of US economic assistance sent to Kyrgyzstan wound up in Bakiev's pocket: he paid his own companies large sums to do the work with no-bid contracts.

To portray the Tulip Revolution of 2005 as any sort of "Triumph of Democracy," as has been the norm, is simply disengenuous. There were barely even minor changes to the government structure, and one kleptocracy smoothly replaced another. The validity of Bakiev's "election" in 2005 is generally assumed to be valid - but strongly biased by an odd lack of competitors from outside his circle of associates.

This summer, the Kyrgyz Presidential campaign season runs from June 18 to July 23. Those 25 days are the only ones in which candidates are allowed to speak openly about their platforms, run advertisements, etc. At least, this is true for opposition candidates. The incumbent operates under different rules.

Some things to note:

1) Prior to June 18, President Bakiev had a sudden influx of media time. He wasn't campaigning (in that, he didn't Tell people to vote for him), but he did use the opportunities to "explain" how he has run Kyrgyzstan for the past 4 years, how the country had improved, and what plans he has for the future.

2) There is a vitural construction boom in Bishkek at the moment, with public works projects that have been mysteriously stalled for months suddenly on the fast-track. A major thoroughfare in downtown Bishkek was torn up 6 months ago and sat, un-paved & disrupting traffic, until 2 weeks ago. It is scheduled to "reopen" by mid-July. The main plaza of Bishkek, Ala-Too Square, just got completely renovated, including new patriotic statues, childrens' fountains, painting, a new Kyrgyz flagpole, etc. Everything proves that life is good - under Bakeiv.

3) Suddently, Kyrgyzstan takes center-stage on international issues. Whether it's securing $2 billion in aid and loans from Russia, dramatically kicking US forces out of Manas air base, or flamboyantly deciding US forces can stay (for a 10 fold increase in $), the past 5 months have seen Kyrgyzstan, and Bakiev personally, play a much larger role in international affairs than ever before. "I am a Big Man, and only I know how to deal with Big Powers," he seems to say. Let this be a lesson to Western-centric foreign policy experts: sometimes, geopolitical brew-ha-ha is NOT about US-Russian relations; it's not all about you (s-a).

4) Despite the sudden (June 18) influx of Bakiev posters, billboards, TV and Radio adds, there are virtually no other campaign ads in Bishkek. Whereas most local businesses have Bakiev posters in their windows, only one opposition candidate - the long-shot Social Democrats - even have posters, and these are universally affixed to light poles and graffiti walls - places that no one "owns" or suggests they support him publicly.

5) Opposition campaign headquarters and activists have all mysteriously wound up in the files of state security agencies as potential terrorists. Some have been raided, computers confiscated, or people arrested under these charges. They are usually released a few days later, with excuses about a "mix up." Often the computers are not returned in functional order - any files on them having been erased. Several campaign speeches have also been forced to disband when police arrived to "protect them" from anonymous tips of "terrorists" attacks.

Prof. Lincoln Mitchell talked about how the first 1 or 2 elections of a new state are actually a forum for democratic change, but once the regime is settled, they become only instruments of that regime and the status quo.

The argument runs like this: The powers-that-be allow an election to take place only because it is in their best interest. Elections help incumbents reaffirms their "democratic" credentials with their western allies, give them a public forum to strengthen their own popularity, and allow them to make a lot of $ through "encouraged" campaign fund raising (campaign expenses often come from state funds), all at virtually no risk. The outcome of the election is already decided - were it not, there would not be any "election" taking place.

My rant here is not about this system of government, what some stubbornly call a "semi-democratic" state. This isn't what I think is the best system, nor do I think most Kyrgyz would necessarily choose this system if given a choice, but that's a long way from the point.

My specific beef is that, however much or little the liberal social elements of Kyrgyz society mirror those of "Western Democracies," the people do not play a role in deciding the composition or activities of the government, so it cannot be, in even a technical sense, "democratic."

Yet I would stress again that it is different from the other Central Asian Republics.

The amount of personal freedom in Kyrgyzstan is Substantially greater than you will find in Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, or Kazakhstan. I don't have a frame of reference for Russia, China, Iran, Afghanistan or Pakistan (the other relevant regional players).

This is a good thing - No, it's great! But it's not democracy, and calling it democracy has a corrosive effect.

When Barak Obama (sorry buddy) congratulates President Bakiev on his Democratic credentials, this takes the wind out of any opposition movement that could try to proclaim otherwise (Bakiev: "If America say's I'm democracy, then I am democracy!"), and it undermines domestic democratic education. Central Asians (if they could be spoken of as a group) are still learning what "democracy" means. If the West points to Bakiev's system of Oligarchical Kleptocracy and says, "look, this is what we mean by democracy," then why would anyone want more democracy?

I will color this post one step further: I don't believe "democracy" in any institutional sense is a universal goal. It may not be the best for all countries because of civic, economic, or other reasons. In fact, a strong dose of non-democracy (lobbyists, extreme wealth bias, etc) is at play in America, and we seem pretty happy with it - or at least not so upset that we do anything about it (other than write long, sarcastic blog posts).

I think as a general principle, all people should live under a system of government which they are willing to accept (or at least tolerate) - that is, no one should be oppressed by their state. Under this rubrik, Kyrgyzstan (and America) are both within my "fine so long as they're happy" qualifier.

But let's not put an Apple in a Dos Equis and call it a Lime.

I didn't make any strong predictions before the US election because, to be honest, I had no idea how it was going to go. I didn't initially think Obama had a snowball's chance in hell, and as the day got closer, I kept expecting my cynicism to be vindicated. I'm glad it wasn't, by the way.

But I will go "out on a limb" in Kyrgyz politics.

Presidential Election Prediction: Kurmanbek Bakiev Wins in Landslide. Probably not a ridiculous, international-guffaw 90%, but maybe... 73% Bakiev?

And for those of you who think all this talk of politics is "risky" under such a regime, I assure you it is not.

One of the great results of being in total control of a state's political system is that you don't even need to bother with oppressing the opposition - so firm and absolute is your hold on power that they are simply not a threat.

Engaging them in debate, or attempting to silence them, on the otherhand, generates the kind of attention and international sympathy that you don't want (see Iran).

Let them make all the noise they want; you can't out-scream a hurricane (to apply a totally ill-suited analogy to Kyrgyz politics).

But don't point to the Eye and tell me it's clear skies, either.

Weber (on the lamb)

V is for Visa

2009-06-26T10:09:00.001+05:00

Getting in or out of a country, especially given the supposedly strident War on Terror and operations to disrupt the cross-border narcotics trade, would seem to present greater difficulties than what would be required merely to Not cross a border - that is, to stay in a country.

But not so!

The issue of Kyrgyzstan's odd border situation - with multiple "kyrgyz islands" embedded in neighboring Uzbekistan and Tajikistan, and reciprocal "tajik/uzbek islands" within Kyrgyz territory - will have to wait for another post. It's a topic of some interest, and admittedly has spring-boarded to local headlines over this summer as long-quiet disputes are flaring up and small pockets of actual terrorists (as opposed to the peaceful protestors usually assigned the title) have been caught traversing the largely-permeable border areas.

Instead, this is a post about one simple man's effort to stay right where he's at.

Upon arrival at Bishkek's Manas International Airport (another item of considerable international news recently with the dramatic (though not unexpected) reversal of the Kyrgyz threat to expel US military forces operating there since 2001), I initially purchased a 30-day tourist visa. Airport cost: $70.

The downside of the airport visa, which can be purchased "on arrival" with no prior planning, is that it can only be for single entry, and it cannot be extended. Once it expires, you must either be out of the country, or have gotten a brand new visa. Or so I later learned.

Originally, the plan was to get a 3-month business visa as an official intern with RFE/RL (known locally as Radio Azattyk). In the months prior to my US departure, this was proceeding along well until someone put 2 and 2 together. I was a US citizen coming to Kyrgyzstan for "Journalism" exactly during the period of the Kyrgyz Presidential Election.

Request: Denied.

So instead, as far as the Kyrgyz Republic is concerned, I am here as a Tourist. Thus far it's been more accurate than any ostentatious "journalist" credential would suggest. But it does require getting a second visa to stay for the duration of my internship.

How this went from being a simple formality into a week-long affair can be attributed mostly to language breakdowns and the legacy of Soviet bureacracry.

Friday, June 19 (Visa expiration in 10 days).

Having been abandoned by my intern advisor, who had to make a trip to Tajikistan at the beginning of the week, I made inquiries to some other Radio Azattyk staff. "So... what do I need to do about my visa?"

The response: "Um... we'll look into that."

One of the other tidbits of advice I had upon arrival was that the Manas airport visa was by far the easiest to acquire. It was recommended that when my first visa ran out, I should just take a weekend trip to Almaty (Kazakhstan, 5 hours by car) or Dushanbe (Tajikistan, airport). I could then get a new Kyrgyz visa upon re-entry at Manas.

I spent the weekend looking into this option, but it wasn't promising. Dushanbe was expensive, but viable - visa on entry at the airport and again on return to Manas. However, the airlines don't book on-line, so pricing out this option was a problem, and so was searching for flights/open seats on 1-week notice.

Kazakhstan was iffy about visas-on-arrival - they may/may not have required a letter of invitation, which I didn't have. Further, Kazakh visas took 3 days to get, and because it was "so close," there was only a few flights from Almaty to Bishkek every day, usually around 3 am. Ground transport return wasn't an option since they check visas at the border, and I wouldn't have one. Unless I got a Kyrgyz visa while in Kazakhstan, which was possible, but also took 3 business days - so much for the weekend - out of my planned 5-day Kazakh "transit" visa stay.

Confused yet? So the weekend went.

Monday, June 22 (V-minus 7 days)

It was decided that I would extend my current visa (see above), and that since my intern advisor was abroad, two other Azattyk staff would assist me (ok, to be honest, do it for me).

I insisted that this wouldn't be necessary. I haven't traveled widely, but thus far the most reliable truism I knew was that any country that wanted tourism (and who doesn't?) at least has a visa program that can be navigated by tourists.

Nonetheless, it was insisted that an Azattyk reporter, Eleanora, would accompany me to the Kygyz Ministry of Foreign Affairs, just in case.

Tuesday, June 23 (V-minus 6 days)

After much waiting and no small amount of josteling ("lines" are a totally inaccurate referrant for Kyrgyz-style ques), Eleanora was able to confirm that we would need an official letter of invitation from Radio Azattyk as well as 5 additional documents (verifying Azattyk's credentials), my passport, a passport-sized photo, and formal approval from the Kyrgyz government for my internship - approval that required a minimum of 10 days to process, and which, based on our earlier experience, I was pretty sure we would be denied.

This didn't seem to distract my Azattyk co-workers. They spent the day assembling the proper forms & letters.

I called the US Embassy (another full post if you're desperately curious. The US Embassy in Kyrgyzstan is not known as the most efficient/competent of America's various bureacracies abroad. From a journalistic stance, it is Extremely tight-lipped, even by Central Asian standards, and from the local perspective, it is not very involved with anything except official Presidential correspondence. On the up side, the ambassador is supposedly (finally) learning to speak Kyrgyz).

The Embassy told me that I needed to go to the Office of Visas & Registration (OVIR), that it would cost about $15, should be ready the same day, and that I wouldn't need any additional letters. I was given the address - 58 Kievska, very close to my flat.

I was also informed that I would need a new visa; it was only at this time that it was revealed that Manas airport visas were not extendable. On the plus side, my new visa would be multiple-entry (allowing for trips to neighboring Kazakhstan and Tajikistan later in the summer).

Wednesday, June 24 (V-minus 5 days)

Upon arrival at OVIR offices (58 Kievska, as US Embassy directed), we were told that we were in the wrong place. I say "we," but honestly it was all Eleanora. As in the Kyrgyz Ministry of Foreign Affairs, not only was there not a sinlge English-speaking visa officer, there weren't even any signs, forms, or directions in any language except Russian & Kyrgyz; the ominous exception being the letters outside the building, "Office of Visas and Registration."

A short walk later (and it must be said, 2 blocks closer to my flat), we arrived at the "Bishkek" bureau of OVIR - or so I was told. The building had no markings in English to denote it as such, and my scant knowledge of Cyrillic couldn't find any allusion to OVIR, visa, etc.

Here we were told that I needed to fill out 3 identical forms and attach 3 photographs to them. There was a copy machine in the corner - we were not to use it. In addition to the 3 forms, I had to have a letter of invitation from Radio Azattyk, my passport, a photocopy of my passport (which could be purchased), and $25.

When we got up to pay, I noticed the (Russian) sign said that 1-entry visas were (equivalent) $25, while multiple-entries were more. I asked if I could pay more for the multiple entry. It was at this time that we were informed that no, I was not allowed to have a multiple-entry visa (apparently under any circumstances). My Azattyk colleagues suggested I could visit Almaty at the end of July and just not come back to Bishkek - too bad my flight leaves from Manas, and cannot just be "switched" to Almaty.

On the plus side, I should have my visa (and be allowed to stay in Kyrgyzstan) by the next afternoon.

Downside - they hold your passport at OVIR while the visa is being prepared. In theory, I could tell any curious police officer that my passport was at OVIR, and if they were patient and dilligent enough, they could verify this... somehow. Needless to say, I felt very vulnerable for the next 36 hours without it.

Thursday, June 25 (V-minus 4 days - notably, only 1 more business day)

We arrived back at "Bishkek-OVIR" at 4 pm as we were told to. In theory, all I had to do was walk up, say my name, and get my passport. I again tried to dissuade Eleanora from coming along - Surely I can pickup a passport by myself!

Apparently, OVIR collects passports all day, then takes them to the back office at the end of the day. They then spend the entire day checking, verifying, and filling out new visas all the next day, and send the entire pile to the front desk at 4:30. The offices close (mercilessly) at 5, and any unclaimed visas are held until the next afternoon. You can see what sort of feeding frenzy this *might* cause.

We entered a small office packed with travel agents, local Kyrgyz (and their sons), and only a few other tourists. Most people who travel in CA do use tourist agencies, which take care of all the hassel of visas, etc. without the traveler present. This does make the room less crowded, but it also means that one person in line might take 6-12 times as long to collect and sign all the relevant measures to pickup a passport in abstentia.

After even more josteling, by 4:48 pm, I had a passport in my hand, and a decent assurance that it was mine. We checked outside, and indeed:

Richard Ryan Weber

Single Entry Tourist Visa

Expires July 28, 2009

(this was a major point - my flight out of country was for 27 July, and I was very worried that they would issue a visa for 30 days from issuance (expire 25 July) rather than from the expiration of my first visa (28 June). That would have been a big problem).

Eleanor and I stumbled out into the street. Checked the visa again, and took a deep breath.

It wasn't the type of visa I wanted. It wasn't the process I was told would work. But it was a visa.

I felt like celebrating - Victory! - but Eleanor had to get back to the station, and I was only 2 blocks from home. So I cooked myself some pasta (my staple), and stayed up late to watch another international football game (tough loss in the 88th minute by S. Africa to Brazil).

I don't know if I'll end up seeing Almaty or Dushabe - it is still possible, I suppose, with the purchase of a 3rd visa at Manas - but I do plan to get more distance out of Visa #2 than I have with Visa #1. Kyrgyzstan isn't a huge place, but there's much more to see than Bishkek, and it is perhaps time I started seeing it.

Especially if my "internship" has no other plans for me.

Weber (on the lamb)

Tourista pt. 2 - Bazaar!

2009-06-22T17:52:00.001+05:00

As part of the continuing effort not to leave Bishkek without seeing the relatively few "touristic" sites it actually has, I set out on Sunday for the Osh Bazaar, the largest open-air market in Bishkek.

The bazaar itself is about 3 km West of the city center, and as I live about 3 km East of the city center, it was going to be a good hike. Sure, there are buses and trolleys that run that exact route, but I brought hiking shoes to Bishkek for a reason.

It has finally gotten warm in Kyrgyzstan, so for a day of hiking, I decided to go with my "tech" cargo pants - thin material that stays cool and dries fast. It also has zip-off legs, but I've noticed that only Germans and children wear shorts (so far) in Bishkek - and I'm neither.

So in a t-shirt (who do I need to impress?), cargo "tech" pants, hiking shoes, and my trusty backpack (thanks Mary Tev, circa 1999), I set out for a "tourist" day.

The big danger in looking like a Tourist in Bishkek is not from pick-pockets or assault, but from the kind of low-level graft associated with the local police. They aren't out to hurt anyone or make a scene, they just want to see if they can scam or slip a few som (cash) off you through "inspections" or unusual "fines."

These are the tactics I had been told about, and was theoretically prepared to deal with.

For example, when a police officer asks to see your passport, simply hand over a photocopy. You can claim your passport is at the American Embassy, and they can't really follow-up because all they wanted was to shake you for some quick cash.

Further, you should never let police see, much less hold, your cash. Some of it will certainly wind up missing.

Finally, don't let police go through your bags. Ostensibly, this is a "narcotics" search, but in reality it is looking for more cash (to swipe), or in the worst-case scenario, the planting of narcotics in your bag, which is then results in threats of arrest and demands of payment (bribes) for you to go free.

Don't let this get you too freaked out.

First of all, these are commons schemes not only in Central Asia, but in much of Eastern Europe where I traveled last summer, and are frankly quite tame by virtually any international standard (I'm looking at you, Canada). I dare say anyone who has spent time traveling would laugh at this being the most nefarious threat.

Let it be known - after living in Bishkek for 3 weeks and frequenting several tourist hot spots, I've not experienced any of these annoyances.

Until Sunday. Apparently my "disguise," unintentional as it was, turned out to be a little too good.

Shockingly, my (first) run in was Not at the Osh Bazaar, but instead en route, as I was crossing through Ala-Too square, the epicenter of downtown Bishkek.

There I was, minding my own business, when Suddenly(!), a police officer signaled me over to his cruiser. I was, to be honest, surprised. One look at the officer (to my right), one look at the sidewalk straight ahead of me. Ignoring him and continuing on my way seemed viable, I could probably pretend I hadn't heard him, though the look had hurt those chances.

As I approached the car, I noticed there was another officer in the back seat, and a third sauntered up behind me to join them.

"Passport_" Hhonestly, not sure if this was followed by a "." or a "?"; the difference being more important than you might imagine.

Dammit. Sure, why not.

Hence proceeded a 10 minute episode of the absurd.

"Amerikanski?" "da."

After a quick passport parousal:

"Tejas?" "da."

The man in back looked through my passport over and over. The man in front tried to make small talk. It was generally polite, discussing how nice Bishkek is, etc. I kept looking around, impatiently until they found the business card for Parliamentary Vice-Speaker Isabekov (I snagged one on my visit to his office earlier and made a point of keeping it tucked into my passport).

I was hoping, smugly, this "ace" would resolve all my problems.

Not so, but it did seem to help a little.

"Isabekov friend?" "da."

There was a short pause, then my passport was handed back, and the police officers asked me if I wanted to buy them some cigarettes.

I declined, and proceeded on my way. No harm, no foul.

But it didn't bode well for later.

At the Osh bazaar, I made a point of keeping my eyes out for police officers. I managed to casually circumnavigate one officer, but was sighted by another as I paroused the impressive stalls of the spice merchants. The officer, and his assistant patrolman, approached me very politely.

"Hello, Hello. American?"

here we go again. - "Da."

"You are here with friends?"

"No, alone." (not the smartest solution. Alt= "No, my friend Bektash is somewhere.")

"Narcotics?" "Nyet."

Seriously. Why would an American be walking around in the most likely place in all of Kyrgyzstan to get searched while in possession of narcotics?

"tourist?"

"Da - tourist. Student."

Here I tried to play my Ace of Clubs - "Practicum (intern) with Radio Azattyk."

I had been told that police would not mess with Azattyk people. As an organization it is well known in Bishkek, generally aligned with the US, and not to be touched.

"Narcotics?" Like a Zombie Stallion, this was a dead horse they weren't going to quit beating (thank you, Colbert).

"Nyet."

"Please; you come with us to Police Station?"

Hm. tough call. I have no reason to go to the station, but how much more trouble am I going to go through by refusing? It's this kind of low level polite intimidation that I fell for.

"sure."

We had a nice talk on the way to the station (conveniently located within the Bazaar, but around no less than 3 corners. It was pretty isolated, but I felt a little more comfortable in that I never went through any doors (in other words, nothing locked me in).

At the station, they asked to see my passport. Sure.

Ace of Spades - "Isabekov?"

"Da" (no immediate effect - strike 2).

Then it was time to search my bag. Bummer.

I made a point of opening my bag one pocket at a time, taking out all the items (myself), and replacing all the items immediately back in the pocket they came from.

When they realized I didn't have any money in my bag (I don't carry more than small cash with me), they seemed less interested, but still insisted on me emptying my pockets. Bummer again.

Cell phone. House keys. Pen.

Reluctantly I pulled out my "wallet" - basically a plastic card holder with business cards in it. I slip cash into its fold, which can then be easily slipped out of the "wallet" when necessary.

"Azattyk" he asks again, seeing the card on top. "da." Maybe that ace wasn't a deuce afterall.

Then they proceeded to pat me down.

Not as much of a violation as you might imagine, but certainly annoying, and it did nothing to dispel the sense of authority. Being that I was wearing cargo pants, it took a little while.

They did find my cash (still in my pocket where I removed it before pulling out my wallet), and asked me to remove it.

I pulled it out one bill at a time and set it on the table in sequence, not in a stack. I wasn't playing this game very well, but James T. BumbleF*ck I am not.

"Ok, very good." It looked like I cleared this hurdle.

Then something surprising.

"Do you have any questions for me?"

Having just been physically searched, and I must admit feeling a bit intimidated despite the very low-key nature and abundant witnesses in the "station" (there were at least 6 people in the room). I was 95% sure they hadn't gotten anything of mine, so aside from another 10 minutes, and a sliver of privacy that honestly I wouldn't miss, I hadn't lost anything yet. The downside was, I wasn't thinking as clearly as I should have been. All I wanted was to leave.

"No, no questions. Can I go?"

"Yes, have a nice day."

I kid you not - "Have a nice day."

I was 20 yards away from the station when my brain kicked back into full gear. First thing I did was find a corner to re-count my money. all there. Then I did a quick inventory of my belongings in the bag - everything accounted for.

Then I thought of a question: "Can I take your picture?"

OPPORTUNITY MISSED! That would have been so Bold!

First, it would have given me a point of reference (I forgot to get the officers name/rank, another good way to limit casual abuses); Second it would have substantially reduced the likelihood of the officer getting testy, and finally, it would have been a great (very touristy) memento for this blog, among other things.

Plus it would have been Badass.

And I could have played it off along with either a) my Super-Touristic "I take pictures of everything" regalia, or b) my Azattyk "I'm a journalist" bluff.

So why did you just read an enormous post about a commonplace shakedown and the amazing thing I didn't do?

Because I accomplished 3 things on that Sunday, which are relevant to me personally, and hopefully of use/interest to the rest of you.

1) I finally went and saw the Osh Bazaar, a necessary tourist stop, but not really worth revisiting, regardless of police scrutiny.

2) Having been "through the process," I now feel considerably more confident in my ability to deal with it in the future. When the Isabekov card needs to be played, I will play it more forcefully. When that fails, I will use Azattyk more actively - "My Internship said to call their office before I go with any officer."

3) It put into perspective for me what intimidation is all about. I've lead a sheltered life. I've never faced repression, menace, or physical violence. I'm not one to confront authority openly - preferring to circumvent it in meaningless, petty, clansdesinely ways: I hoisted a "borrowed" french flag up the flag pole as a Senior prank in High School; I ran an underground satire newspaper in college; I registered as a Democrat but vote independently. Not exactly shaking the pillars of power.

Nor do I want to.

Many of my family and friends worry that I'm putting myself in danger by being in Bishkek, let alone discussing issues that are politically sensative.

I am, frankly, embarrassed by their concern. While I certainly appreciate where it comes from, I know only enough to say that I am far too cowardly to actually perpetrate the kind of actions that would attract hostile attention. Despite my principles and convictions, I have not - and will not - pursue them anywhere near the realm of that which could even possibly get me into trouble.

And the real journalists, especially the Central Asians in Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan - the people who do pursue information at great personal risk - can't possibly look upon my situation with anything less than derision. Not only am I doing nothing risky, I'm doing nothing risky under the umbrella of US citizenship.

So the "disguise" was really more of a mirror. I am just a tourist here in Bishkek, and I am susceptible to the same stupid tricks and intimidations as every other naive traveler.

On the other hand - let's check the scoreboard:

2 police inspections.
0 money lost.
0 bad experiences.

I guess that means I'm "winning" ?

Weber (on the lamb)

Tourista pt. 1 - "State" History

2009-06-20T17:47:00.000+05:00

Having now been in Bishkek for more than 3 weeks, I thought it was about time for me to go and "see" some of the "sights." As a city without an ancient history, or a sizeable national budget, Bishkek is rather lacking in the above-named "sights," and those with an appeal to an English-language traveler are even fewer. As all the travel literature on Kyrgyzstan reiterates, this is a country for "eco-tourism."

subtext - not a very good place for standard, urban, photo&museum tourism.

But it has a few to recommend, and I certainly couldn't claim to have spent time in Bishkek without giving them a fair shake.

Stop #1 was the State Historical Museum. In addition to being housed in a magnificent edifice of Soviet archetecture, the interior is even more mind-blowing. While a 150 som ($4) admittance price is a little high by Kyrgyz standards, the additional 200 som ($5) "camera ticket" was more than I was willing to part with for the honor of Kyrgyz history. As a result, the description will be limited to textual - sorry, MTV generation.

The Museum is essentially 2 floors, one focusing on the Soviet revolution, and the other featuring archaeological information from within the currently-defined Kyrgyz state borders.

The interior is dimmly-lit, with only focus-lights highlighting some of the main exhibits. The top floor, and thus the most distant, is for "local" history, which interestingly only includes Pre-History, and one display about Ghengis Khan. This is probably the most telling detail of what this Museum is all about. It says, de facto, "the History of Kyrgyzstan includes only Primitives, Mongols, and Soviets." This is not a minority opinion, despite its ridiculous reductionism.

It's also informative that the Museum repeats the Soviet-era "ethnology" studies. One display was especially informative: It shows the evolution of humans from our ape-like ancestors to the modern specimens. While in true soviet-style, it does not list the Kyrgyz as less-evolved than their Russian counterparts, it does establish a rule of difference. The "Mongoloid" family is shown as branching off from the "European" (presumably including Slavs), about the same time as the "Negroids."

Thus there are 3 types of people in the world: Europeans, "Mongoloids" (of which the Kyrgyz & most other non-Russian soviets, qualify), and African/"Negroids."

The chart doesn't demonstrate that these three operate in a cultural heiarchy, but it is implied. The European is dressed in medieval costume, the "Mongoloid" as a traditional nomad, and the African is almost naked. It's not hard to draw the conclusion.

Interestingly, the floor displays found objects of considerably craftsmanship and beauty contemporary with many similar objects I've seen in the museums of Turkey, Britain, and even the American West. In fact, in 2007 archaeologists discovered well-preserved ruins of a massive urban city at the bottom of Kyrgyzstan's largest lake: Issyk Kul. Their findings are still preliminary, but they believe the metropolis, which matches the size of ancient Athens, may well have been its near-contemporary.

What does it say then, that a country which has a potential civilized legacy tantamount to Greece, has only a few arrow-heads, vases, and horse-bridles, to account for its thousands of years of pre-Soviet existence?

Only that the history is not important to the modern imagined identity.

The Soviet floor is by-far the more impressive, containing numerous (more than a dozen) more-than-life-size facades which narrate the story of the revolution and an illustrated guide (to fill in the gaps) painted onto its ceiling. From the intellectual curiosity of Marx & Engels to the arrival of Lenin and the various types of proletariats (steel workers, farmers, mothers, etc.) that rose up against their oppressors/aristocrats/nazis/reagan.

The facades, which dominate the majority of the walls, are uniformly a rough-sculpted copper(?) painted gold. While they are wall-mounted, some elements are in high relief, and some are even free-standing scultures placed or connected to the piece.

Not only are they amazing for their incredible collage-ness (the crowds, the implied actions, the WEALTH of symbolic items they're holding), but also their size. They're not real-sized, but they are close. Everything about them is just a little bigger, a little bolder, a little... better, than the rest of us. "These were the Men & Women of the Revolution - peasants and paupers who, through collective imagination and careful manipulation, have litterally become larger-than-life. They are the everyman that today's everyman can only admire. Their revolution could never be repeated, all we can do is meakly carry on their proud tradition."

Sprinkled between the giant (full-wall) freizes are collections of documents, letters, maps & photographs. If you read Russian, I'll bet it's actually a pretty good collection. Being unable to appreciate the content of the works, I focused on the context.

the photos - every single one a straight-on black/white mug-shot of a revolutionary leader or participant - were absolutely terrifying. They weren't meant to be so, and perhaps that's not how others saw them, but I found each one haunting. It was a mixed assortment - mostly Russian, but with healthy representation from other pre-Soviet ethnicities, whether Georgian, Ukranian, Central Asian or even non-Russian europeans. Some were clearly of blue-collar stock, the thick necks and weary eyes were a giveaway, while others had the thin jaws and square spectacles of an avowed leftist intellectual.

What kept creeping me out was what they all had in common - not that they fervently believed that Marxism/Socialism/Communism was the inevitable next step in social evolution, and not that, some 90 years later they're all dead, but that only with a few very rare exceptions did they die of natural causes. These Revolutionaries were destroyed - ideologically and mortally - by the Revolution they championed.

It's not a new story, or sadly, all that rare. If the French Revolution was the archetype, and it was certainly the origin of the term "revolution" as a break with, rather than continuation, of gradual social change, then the maxim about revolutions eating their children seems both true and horrifying.

Just to be clear, I'm talking about Revolutions. Not separatist movements (US Revolution, for example), reformations (Russian Revolution of 1905), or power-shuffles (Kyrgyz Revolution, 2005). A true Revolution, in which social factors within society convulse in a massive-scale rejection of the pre-existing social order and/or leadership.

With few exceptions, such revolutions (big 4: French, Soviet, Chinese, Iranian) have required a considerable amount of bloodshed & destruction. Perhaps in the end they achieve a better social contract; I'm not interested in arguing for or against Revolution as an instrument of change. But I am engrossed by its monstrosity.

Looking at the faces of Revolutionaries, in what may well have been their police arrest photos, did nothing to diminish the beast. It was odd, though - clearly the purpose of the Museum (more so at a former time, but lingering now) was to instill pride, or at least respect, for the sacrifices these people made. I found myself looking at them and asking, "is this really what you wanted?"

We all fool ourselves into thinking that we are the arbiters of our own fate. Despite religious beliefs that would logically require predestination, or historical/social familiarity that demonstrates time and again that individuals are prisoners of their context, we as humans insist on believing that we determine our own path.

And for the rare revolutionary, I think this was actually more true than for the rest of us. They did play a role in determining their own fate; it just didn't happen to be the fate they planned on.

I guess the most salient point from the Soviet floor was that I was embedded in materials that were latently propagandistic, but in the context of post-soviet Bishkek, and the known brutality of this still-celebrated revolution, I was left at a loss.

What is one to do when you help create a world built equally upon your high ideals, and the base cruelty you were willing to employ, and was ultimately self-consuming?

It's a question I would have liked to ask a few of the individuals pictured, though I doubt I would have had to courage to face their answers. On a social level, it's easier to think in the abstract.

Given the the US track record (from the genocide of indigenous North America to the extravagant destruction of Iraq), I think it's a question we need not only pose to once-proud Soviets.

Weber (on the lamb)

Weak End Review

2009-06-20T16:08:00.002+05:00

Well friends, after a week of more text than you probably cared to even consider, the past 5 days have been... uneventful.

At least, they've been uneventful in the Weber World of Bishkek. The same cannot be said for Tehran, which if you haven't been following it on an hour-by-hour basis as I have, let me assure you is an important event you should at least be familiar with.

Interestingly, my lack of blogs have been tied intimately to my Iran news-hounding. I have been able to keep abreast of the Iran election situation through about a dozen news sites (NYTimes, CNN, EurasiaNet, RFE/RL, al-Jazeera, PressTV, UK Telegraph, UK Guardian, BBC, & NPR) only because I haven't had a single RFE assignment all week, and consequently don't have anything particularly interesting to write a blog about.

This week my intern co-ordinator was out of town working with some other visiting professors, and apparently forgot to give me any assignments before departing. Since she's the only person in Kyrgyzstan who is responsible for my internship, in her absence the rest of the staff has been very polite, generally busy, and had no suggestions for what I could be doing.

I am desperately hopeful that she will return to the office by Monday. If not, I may just get on a bus for Osh and spend the week as a tourist.

In fact, in the past 5 days I can point to exactly five items of interest, though at first glance none really seem worthy of even their own uncharacteristically-short blog post. They are presented here, in serial summation:

On wednesday I had dinner with a small cadre of other Americans in Bishkek - a fulbright scholar I met last week who's studying US-Russian relations in Kyrgyzstan while she hones her Russian and Kyrgyz, and some friends she invited along - another Fulbrighter (who's Russian is awesome) who is investigating perceptions of ethnicity in Central Asia (it's a big field), and an English language instructor trainer who's been in-country for several years.

It's a good crew, and I got along with them great. Very smart, very casual, and very interesting. We had a giant plate of Shashlyk (Kyrzy version of Shishkebab, but instead of veggies, the meat is separated by grilled gristle - which you are expected to eat... a post devoted to Kyrgyz Cuisine is long overdue...), and admittedly more vodka than was necessary.

How much vodka is ever, "necessary" you ask? Good question. I have no answer, but I'm sure that whatever amount it is, would be measured in grams, rather than "shots," as the glasses here are all a little less than double US-size.

Thursday the Kyrgyz Presidential election campaign officially opened. And nothing happened. A few opposition leaders were arrested, almost as an afterthought, and nothing else. No slogans, no posters, no demonstrations. Nothing. Tehran this is not.

Apparently, when the press refer to the lead candidates as "incumbent Bakiev and his strongest opponent, Atambaev," they leave out that even the "strongest" opponent has zero chance of victory. In fact, the pervading thought in Bishkek, when considering the Iran case, is how their government could have been so lazy as to let people think they had a choice in the first place.

Prof. Lincoln Mitchell said something interesting when I interviewed him last week. He said that the first 1-2 elections of a new state are a chance for Democracy to become more or less strong. But after a few more, say by election #5, the semi-democratic government in power has had enough time to consolidate its position and figure out how to control elections. The result is that elections, rather than becoming a tool of democracy, become a tool of the state - they are actively used to Prevent democracy by giving it a false-forum with a controlled outcome.

Interesting stuff.

Thursday night I watched the US futbol team get destroyed by Brazil - luckily I opted to go home and watch by myself rather than a bar, which would have been even more depresssing.

Friday I was invited out by the daughter of a co-worker and a friend of hers from the American University of Central Asia. I think it was part hospitality, part English practice. The fulbright Americans, who are here largely to improve their Russian, expressed their frustration with college-age Kyrgyz who insisted on speaking with them in English - as good practice - since in fact the Fullbrighters wanted to converse in Russian or Kygyz for the same reason.

I have no such reservations. Since I don't speak anything but English, and when traveling I am -oddly- very talkative, I'm quite happy to trade my services as an English talk-buddy for a little social time. If that social time involves German beer (and more Shashlyk), all the better.

Today (Saturday) I forced myself to do something worthwhile, so I did laundry and visited the "National Historical Museum" which is, honestly, pretty cool. I'll try to think it over a little more and get a post up in the next few days.

Wow - I guess it hasn't been that much of a lunar-landscape of a week. Sitting at an office desk with nothing to do but read news, facebook, and twiddle my thumbs for 8 hours every day made it seem pretty rough. I don't do "unbusy" very well.

Funny how last week, in the face of not-so-much to do, I wrote a ton, and this week - when I apparently do have a few things to write about - I wrote nothing.

What can I say - the Lamb is not a creature of habit.

Of course, the Holy Order of Nuns for Jesus would disagree.

Weber (on the lamb)

Football? Soccer? Futbol?

2009-06-15T10:51:00.000+05:00

Last summer as I traveled around (mostly Eastern) Europe, the backdrop of the entire experience was the concurrent Euro Cup championship. I watched Greeks boo the Turks in Athens, Turks cheer the Turks in Istanbul, and a variety of nationalities (Sweden, France, Holland, Poland) patriotically shout their various anthems at the television in our shared flat in Estonia. I watched Russia lose in an Estonian bar, and the Germans get slaughtered in a Polish beer garden. Not only was football (hereafter referred to as "futbol" to avoid any confusion with the fully-padded American homonym) ever-present, it was also a good lot of fun.

I started my summer 2008 trip watching the Champion's League final between Manchester United & Chelsea, broadcast from Moscow. Apologies to Duff and Larissa for that tough loss, still felt the next year when Barcelona knocked off Chelsea in the semi-finals before destroying Mann-U (a game which, again, started my summer travels in 2009).

In short, my experiences outside the United States have thus far been seriously intertwined in futbol. It is surprising then, and a little depressing, that despite this international intimacy, I had yet to actually watch an international game live (there is one exception, for which I will be eternally greatful to my friend Sam Chapa, who took me to a Mexico league game when I was on spring break in Monterrey - a welcome home team defeat of the hated Jaguares).

Further emasculating me, in my own eyes if not necessarily those of my inquisitors, has been my absence of familiarity with the MLS. For those of you who don't know what the MLS is, don't worry, you're in the majority. While it was initiated with some fanfare many years ago - "Finally, a professional US Soccer League!" - and it does retain some notable players of both domestic and international pedigree, MLS is not in America was even Rugby or Crickett is overseas. In short, most Kyrgyz children know more about the LA Galaxy than I do - and that's one of about 3 teams I could even name.

Luckily, this horrid course of events was, if not reversed, at least temporarily suspended yesterday, when I finally attended my first live match. Sadly, it was not the sell-out England-Kazakh match (for which one English fan was shot even before the artful 4 goals were scored), but for a locally-important Asian Cup group C game between Kyrgyz national champs FC Dordoi-Dynamo and the Kanbawza FC of Myanmar.

Full match report here, for those of you Really That Interested.

In Kyrgyzstan, futbol is by far the most popular professional sport, but it's necessary to add that this small country of rather limited means does not compare especially well on the international circuit. When you're based in Central Asia, travel is prohibitively expensive, and the ability to lure all-stars from the dynamo-factories like Brazil, Spain, England, etc. is diminished by the lack of secondary benefits for moving to Bishkek. It's just not the Riviera.

As a result, the games outside the spring inter-Kyrgyz league, are somewhat rare, and victories all the more precious.

The brightest hope for optimistic Kyrgyz is Dordoi, a league team based in mountainous Naryn (pop. 52,000 and incidentally the home town of a co-worker). Dordoi has won the Kyrgyz league since 2004, and the Asia Federation President's Cup in '06 and '07, while playing in the finals in '05 and '08. Yesterday's match was an opening step toward an '09 AFC cup.

The only football stadium in Bishkek is Spartak stadium, and truthfully it may be the only (or at least one of the few) stadiums anywhere in the Kyrgyz republic. Certainly it is the home stadium for the non-Bishkek Dordoi. Total capacity: 23,000.

Those familiar with futbol stadiums, or professional sports in general, will note this is not especially large. Compare with UT's Darrel K. Royal-Texas Memorial Stadium and its 94,000 seats, for example.

Still, as with most things in Kyrgyzstan, it is cherished and well-used. The pitch on Sunday, for example, was a forum of closely-matched, well-played, second-tier futbol (apologies, but it's true - perhaps even generous).

One result of the difficult financial situation is that almost every player is an actual Kyrgyz citizen (meaning ethnic Kyrgyz, Russian, Uzbek or Kazakh living legally in Kyrgyzstan) - again, those familiar with league play elsewhere will find this more shocking than others. The lone exception is striker D. Tetteh, originally of Ghana.

The match itself was just at one would hope for. A few players with especially clever footwork, good overall team play, a few spectacular shots, and generally good defenses. The steam let out a bit in the second half, and things got a bit rowdier in the last ten minutes as players started getting desperate, but for the most part it was clean, smart ball.

I won't deny that a team like Chelsea, or lets be honest, even Tottenham, might have made the Dordoi look less suaze, but for my money they looked good - and more to the point, I was flabergasted at how I had ever played the same sport as these athletes.

And that's because I didn't.

I realized the answer to a question which, to that point, I had believed to be merely nonsensical. Several Kyrgyz, and many other Europeans, have queried me as to why Americans refer to the beautiful game as "Soccer." My answer, being technically uninformed, was to assume that "American Football" got the name first (even though it's a terrible name, the sport having virtually nothing to do with feet), and thus "Soccer" was the poor consolation prize by which Americans could easily write-off not paying attention to the most important sport on the planet.

It turns out that "soccer" is the later invention, itself an Englsih slang from the longer "association football," that emerged in the mid-1860s, and was meant to differentiate it from "Rugby Football" and "American Football."

Anyway, what I realized yesterday is that, as a youth and all the way through High School, I didn't play futbol: the game of precise ball control, dynamic team movement, and complex body coordination; I played soccer: an arena for a few skilled athletes to outmaneuver a force of irregulars (many off-season football/basketball players), even the best of whom would have what by any international standard would be considered no proper familiarity with the sport.

And mind you, I didn't even play soccer well.

This is no excuse for my performance. As one of two seniors on the JV squad, I can attest that I'm not an authority on the skills invovled, but what struck me yesterday was how natural, comfortable, and... fluid these players were with the sport in which they engaged.

It was like watching seals hunt.

(not necessarily as pictured - I couldn't help myself).

My soccer games were more like watching a pack of walruses mark territory.

So what?

American Soccer is not - generally speaking - up to international Futbol standards? No big surprise there.

But consider, those few of you who've stuck with me this long, the enormous, perhaps even unbridgable gap between doing a thing, and being a thing-doer. Or to allow those of prurient minds less to hold onto, playing Futbol vs. being a Footballer.

My father once spoke to me about the unsettling propensity of oil-and-gas attorneys (his chosen profession) in Oklahoma who could boast of extensive experience, but no appreciable expertise. To (mis)quote him (in)directly, "You can practice law for 20 years, but if your title opinions are incorrect, and no one ever questions them, how does that make you qualified to teach Law?"

So I'll stop talking about Soccer and Futbol both, being horribly unqualified to lecture (further) on either subject.

Point of fact, I'm not sure what area I could lay claim to any semblance of "expertise." Perhaps the composition of ridiculously long blogs?

Well, that's something, I guess.

Weber (on the lamb)

Columbia Conspiracy

2009-06-12T17:49:00.002+05:00

In the past 2 days, I have conducted 2 interviews, attended 1 lecture, 1 court hearing, and spent 2 hours at a bar. In the process, I have met a total of 11 Americans, of which 5 are in some way affiliated with Columbia University.

That's just weird.

I'm still trying to determine if I'm meeting them because of a Columbia connection, or if it is indeed as coincidental as it seems. Certainly, there are some linkages, though there's also enough randomness and other affiliations to problematize the theory of CU magnetism.

For example, my two interviews (bios below) are both Columbia profs. They didn't come over to Bishkek as part of a Columbia-affiliated program, but certainly one of the reasons I knew they were in town, and thus setup the interview, was because of common Columbia contacts.

Further afield are the long-term non-locals. Americans (even Columbians) who are living in Bishkek, usually on short assignments. It's not rare for 20- and early 30-somethings to take 1 year jobs abroad, but again, the prevalence of Columbians in these positions in shocking. For example, I met 3 reporters and 2 research scholars, of which 2 were Columbia Alum. Add the (CU) international investment advisor, and it's quite a squad.

Apparently, Bishkek is a small world. You go to one or two newsworthy events, and suddenly you're bumping into the same people - at least, it's true for western journalists and scholars.

Better yet, the journalists I did meet are the very same people who's reports I've been reading manically in an attempt to get caught up on current events in Kyrgyzstan & Central Asia.

see especially: Eurasianet.org

Unfortunately, I'm barely making sense with this blog as it is, and I don't presently have any wonderful images with which to illustrate it (and it's 7 pm on a Friday and I'm fried), I'm going to leave it at this:

I'm meeting a lot of Columbia people. It's nice to know people I can relate to, but frankly it's getting a little creepy. Like, I almost don't want to admit that I got to Columbia, just to feel less cultish.

Still not sure if CU just happens to have a stronger focus on Central Asia than other institutions (this does happen, certain colleges are really strong in SE Asia, Congo, etc.), or again, if it's all a tired story of who you know knows.

Either way, I need to tone down the "lion pride."

Then again, they've all been excellent contacts, not just for my work this summer, but really for any future questions/research/work I do on C.A.

I've never considered myself to be very good at the game of making connections, so swapping business cards with this many good contacts in this short a period is sort of staggering.

Anyway, I promised to keep this one brief, so I'll log it and call it a day.

sorry it isn't funnier. Blame Canada.

Weber (on the lamb)

Journalism 101: the Bishkek Ho-Tep

2009-06-10T10:41:00.007+05:00

After more than a week in which to "get settled," which has essentially meant move into a permanent apartment, get sunburned, write way too many blogs, and still not learn any functional Kyrgyz or Russian, I now finally have some actual assignments for my RFE/RL internship.

Specifically, I have three interviews coming up that deal with some of the more contentious international issues in Central Asia: Manas Air Base, the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO), "democracy promotion" in Post-Soviet states, and child labor in the cotton industry.

While these are all exciting issues for me to research further (having already some basic reference from my studies at Columbia), I want to emphasize for all my family and friends "back home" who have expressed concern, that I am neither dealing with people important enough, or revealing information sensative enough, to generate any difficulties or danger for myself while in Kyrgyzstan. Media freedom here is not, perhaps, what it is in America, but even the worst-case examples of repression involve local journalists doing intense expose's, usually on local politicians.

So in addition to my US citizenship and my Radio Azattyk ID badge, I have the added protection of speaking mostly with people of limited, if any, local importance or influence. As an English-language correspondent in Bishkek, these are probably going to be my standard fare for the summer. An odd trait that may not continue - 2 of my 3 current interviews are with Columbia-affiliated personnel. That's just weird.

Upcoming interviews include:

Dr. Alex Cooley

Prof. of Political Science

Barnard College (Columbia), New York

A specialist in such theoretical concepts as the structural forms of power in post-colonial and post-soviet governments, he has more recently focused on the specific policy of small US "Lily Pad" military bases rather than the conventional Cold War mega-bases, including the contentious Manas Air Base - the primary resupply depot for the US war in Afghanistan, and currently the only US military presence in Central Asia. He is currently working in Kyrgyzstan on a fellowship regarding the SCO and its growth as an alternative international affiliation to organizations like NATO, the EU, IMF, etc.

I will be asking him about Manas, the SCO, and US Relations in the region.

Dr. Lincoln Mitchell

Prof. of International Politics

School of International & Public Affairs (SIPA), Columbia, New York

In addition to being a professor, Dr. Mithcell is a regular contributor to the opinion section of the Huffington Post, where he comments on domestic US affairs. His professional leanings deal with "democracy promotion" in the Caucasus, former-Soviet states, and to some degree the Middle East. He was most engaged last summer, when his area of closest specialization, Georgia, became a flashpoint of international affairs. He wrote articles or made appearances on NPR, BBC, the New York Times, and many other formal and informal (blog) news organizations. He is currently working on a book about the many so-called "colored revolutions" in which non-violent popular protests lead to the initiation of democratic reform in many post-Soviet countries.

I will be speaking to him about the parallels of the Georgia-Kyrgyz situations, and more generally trying to clear up the divide between rhetoric and action on the issue of US foreign relations vis-a-vis "democracy promotion."

Senator Tom Harkin (D-Iowa)

Chair, Committee on Agriculture, Nutrition & Forestry

Member, Committee on Health, Education, Labor & Pensions

In addition to having the kind of ridiculous super-American personal backstory that you mostly find in Tom Clancy novels (see wiki), Sen. Harkin is currently proposing a Senate Resolution to formally call out Uzbekistan for its well-documented, but formally denied, wide-scale practice of using seasonal child labor to harvest its cotton crop. As the 3rd largest cotton producer in the world, Uzbek has a lot to lose by foregoing this cheap labor source, though pressure from some US retailers (most famously Wal-Mart, who boycotted Uzbek cotton for ethical reasons!) may be shifting this a little. It should also be noted, Harkin's voting record / political stance is rather impressively liberal (with a few exceptions). Check out this tool: Govtrack.us

I'll ask him about the practicality of asking an economically unstable country with a repressive authoritarian regime to reduce the profits of its only viable export industry, and the confusion of implementing "Rights of the Child" in a country that generally neglects all standard "Human Rights" conventions.

As you can see from the above, I'm fortunate to have interesting topics to research, and informed, intelligent people with which to discuss them. They should allow me to learn more about the particular topics, and to use that information to better inform international listeners about items of interest in Central Asia.

But I'm certainly not turning over any applecarts, or digging up any hidden audio tape. I'm discussing issues which are either academic, or US-internal, and thus not likely to stir up any consternation in Bishkek. I mean, if in response to a question on theories of democracy structure, someone accidentally confesses to a huge conspiracy of graft involving the upper echelons of the Kyrgyz government, I might have to run with that, but... I think that's about as likely as finding Elvis battling mummies in a small Texas nursing home.

Perhaps even less dangerous.

But just in case, I'll watch my back side.

Weber (on the lamb)

Neo-Con(crete) Palace

2009-06-09T16:13:00.000+05:00

There is something very _____ about the new apartment I just moved into, and in which I will reside for the remainder of my time in Bishkek.

So very ______.

I'm just searching for what "_____" is.

By training I want to employ "ironic," but as I think Alanis Morisette has shown us, the improper application of this literary device just makes the speaker seem less intelligent.

It's like Rain on your wedding day? Isn't that just inconvenient? bad luck? At most an ill-omen?

Anyway, the point is that describing my new apartment involves several, not directly contradictory, but certainly unusually-allied, concepts. I will attempt to explain through photography, and barring success, will resort to textual communication of expressionistic dance.

The big point is that the interior is so radically different from what the exterior suggests. In a less crass way, the "curtains don't match the drapes." It's just any other concrete slab soviet-style apartment building, built into a quadrangle like basically any other soviet apartment building in Bishkek (or anywhere else that I've seen). The exterior is dirty, the concrete is chipping away, and the paint is peeling. Inside the front door, there is no lobby, just tired concrete stairs, a busted iron railing, and the kind of dimy-lit Soviet elevator that is more likely to take you to meet Maimon or on a bizarre Hogwarts field trip than to deposit you at your place of residence.

But somehow beneath this (rugged seems inadequately kind) exterior exists a small palace of comforts - past the wooden door with #21 on it, everything is remarkably... soft? The colors, the textures... it's all warm, friendly, not extravagant or luxurious per se, but... kind?

The apartment consists of a front hall (pictured at top) way which connects one bedroom, a living room, a kitch, and no less than two bathrooms (one for showering, one for the less-clean business). It is built into the center of a narrow building such that both sides (east and west) have windows, and my back-wall-mate is only accessible from a separate stairwell.

The living room is the centerpiece of the flat, and contains not only a beautiful mirrored hutch, but also a sofa and two matching plush chairs - covered in a loose, white faux-fur something. I'm not saying it rivals Buckingham on class or style, but it is comfy.

The entire West wall is windows, and the room even allows for a dining table + 6 chairs, with room to spare for a flatscreen TV (not pictured) in the corner. To reiterate: I have a flatscreen TV in my apartment. That has never been true before in my life.

Sure, it only gets Russian & Kyrgyz channels, but sometimes they just over-over-dub (leaving the English original beneath and shouting Russian louder), so I can still sort of follow-along.

The next room of note is the kitchen - and what a note! Easily 3x the size of my NYC kitchen, it practically rivals the great cooking station I had when living with Davey in San Anonio. Oven, stovetop, microwave, fridge, freezer. I've even got a waterpot. Better yet, it came fully equipped with eating ware, pots & pans, etc. It even has a dishwasher (though I was told it probably doesn't work, and I shouldn't experiment).

The breakfast nook is adorable, but isn't likely to do me much good. Breakfast is a chunk of cheese and some biscuits (my excuse for eating cookies for breakfast) on the way out the door. Then again, I do need someplace to sip my juice (I love juice - especially Cherry).

For the sake of argument, we'll proceed next to the Bedroom - oh yeah, where it all happens. Understand by "it" that I mean sleeping. Here's what's weird - I've been there 2 days now, and I'm still not 100% sure if the walls are actually tinted pink, or if it's just the reflection of those CRAZY PINK window shades that make it appear such. At first I assumed, no, of course they wouldn't go with a subtle pastel pink wall color, but now... I'm not so sure. The bed is very cozy (and large), and the room even comes equipped with its own (fabulous) dresser and armoir.

It's a silly thing to obsess over, but the ability to not live out of a suitcase/backpack is something I will take with no hesitation. I love to unpack the relatively small number of things I brought with me and just spread out. This became practically necessary on my first night there, but we'll get to that in a minute.

The final room is the bathroom, and while it doesn't seem like there's too much to mention here, it doesn't go without saying that I have abundant hot water, clear facilities, a sturdy tub, AND a washing machine. No, those are all special-bonus-extras, and I'm quite happy for them. One downside of the washing machine was Not learning how to operate it (it's one of the fancy modern ones, what my dad calls Semi-sentient, but the manual is only in Chinese, Russian & Korean), but more practical. I was in bad need of some laundry-time when I moved in, so I promptly stripped down (sorry for the visual) and threw basically everything I own into the washing machine.

Now I didn't have any soap, so this was already an exercise in near-futility, but even some cycles in a wet bath would have eased the encroaching odor.

It took a long time - some 2+ hours? - for the cycle to complete, and only about 1/2 that long for me to realize this wasn't a Genie wash-and-dry mechanism; it was wash only.

So it's 9 pm at night, the sun is down, and I'm (not quite) naked with a pile of wet clothes. It was at this moment that I was very thankful for three things.

A pair of pants I hadn't yet worn, thus not in need of washing.
Flip flops, alleviating the need for clean/dry socks.
The electric iron that (also!!!) came with the apartment.

I won't lie - there was no magical solution achieved that night, but in the time it took me to watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (in real Russian over-dub), and admittedly a little bit of The Rundown (in over-over-dub), I at least had clothes that were dry enough to proceed further on their own.

so now I'm all moved in, still stocking up the fridge and trying to get comfortable with the neighborhood. Not sure where the closest full grocery store is yet, and I still get lost by one or two streets on the way home. But "home" it is, in so far as I will have one during my stay in Bishkek: a generic grey concrete tower with a plush, expansive interior tucked inside.

I believe my first apartment was a good look at what "home" was like during the high-Soviet period of the 1960s-70s, and this new place may represent what the all-beautifying forces of capitalism can accomplish with such a place since the 1990s. I'm not sure. This could just be a better pad to begin with.

Time to get back home. My next adventure will be using the (non-self-lighting) gas stove.

Don't worry, I'll open a window. Tyler Durden will have to work much harder to send my (new) flaming shit out into the night. I don't even own condiments.

Then thousand spoons, and all I need is Life.

Weber (on the lamb)

If the Mountains Won't Come to Ryan...

2009-06-08T15:20:00.009+05:00

Then Ryan must go to the Mountains.

And so he has.

In what I thought was going to be a multiple-hour car ride into the heart of the monstrous Alatau Mountains immediately to the South of Bishkek, I was in for more than a few pleasant surprises.

For my first real weekend in Bishkek, I was invited to go "to the mountains" by my co-worker Nadyr. I flatter myself by calling him my co-worker. Nadyr is an extremely accomplished Kyrgyz journalist, himself a graduate of the prestigious Moscow State University and a former Press Secretary for the Republic of Kyrgyzstan. He now runs the entire Russian-language side of Radio Azattyk - whereas the staff of 30 runs the Kyrgyz-language side, he is responsible for translating, writing, or finding stories which will be of interest to the Russian-speaking population. He is a one-man media source.

It should be no surprise that he's hella-smart, too.

The only difficulty between myself and Nadyr is that, having spent his entire life becoming an expert on Russian media, he speaks only a little English. I want to be clear: Nadyr speaks 3000 times more English than I speak either Kyrgyz or Russian, so I am not complaining. I just mention this fact to explain why Nadyr invited along his 20(something) son, Timek, for the excursion.

Timek speaks very good English (after only 1 year of study, a fact I still have difficulty believing). He is a law student at the American University of Central Asia, located in Bishkek. He was formerly a professional tennis player, and is now, I think, still an amateur boxer.

I met the two of them at their apartment, just a short ways south of the Radio Azattyk offices in downtown Bishkek. We got in Nadyr's Mercedes and started off.

Instead of a long car ride into the upper atmosphere, I was quite surprised when after about 10 minutes, Nadyr pulled off the main road and wound his way through a suburb south of town. We eventually parked alongside a modest white house, and got out.

Apparently, we were meeting up with some of his friends before proceeding.

Ok, no biggie.

The friends in question were quite a colorful lot: Janek is an accomplished surgeon, and his two sons (8 and 11) are respectively learning Chinese and Judo. Hassan is a professional Greco-Roman wrestler, and could probably snap me in two with his left hand, but instead usually cracked me up with his whimsical smile. Hassan's wife, Tamara, also accompanied us, outiftted as for a walk on the beach.

The most surprising moment was when we left the house, came to the car, and just kept walking. Apparently, this was as far as the car was going, and I was still practically within sight of downtown Bishkek.

Being a native Oklahoman, an adopted Texan/New Yorker, mountains are not something which which I have much experience. I've been to Boulder/Denver, but the most "mountaineous" town I can recall explicitly was Monterrey, Mexico. There, the town is built into several joining valleys, and the city has climbed up and consumed the mountains around it. Not so in Bishkek. Here, the slightest elevation change marked the absolute boundary of man-made architecture. This was partially due to the sudden, and very steep slope, with which the foothills suddenly spring up from the plain.

I am woefully underqualified to explain the geology of this place, but for whatever reason the mountains soar to such heights, I can say that nature seemed impatient to reach them.

A couple interesting things happened as soon as we were "on the mountain." For one thing, the concept of shade evaporated. I've made frequent mention of how many trees Bishkek has. It is a defining element of the city - they are freakin' everywhere, and usually in very thick abundance. In the foothills, I did not see one single tree. In fact, I didn't even see anything that could count as underbrush. When the ground went up, any vegetation over 18" tall disappeared. But it was still vibrantly green. At frist, mostly small grass, weeds, even some prickly bushes, but as we reached the first (of many consucutive) peak(s), this transitioned into the long grasses I know from Oklahoma. The kind that are green when you look at them upclose, but which shimmer in shades of white and silver as the wind curles across them in waves. If Oklahoma had mountains, I'm sure they would look something like this.

We continued hiking up for a few hours; each "peak" revealing itself to only be the crest of the next level in the neverending ascent. Each was a step to the next, and while some opportunities existed to peek (:-P) around the side of a hill to see the chain that lay before us, on and on up into the jagged white airs, for the most part the grade of the hills prevented one from seeing anything but the grass, or occasionally trail, in front of him. It wasn't long before we were hiking along ridges, sheer cliffs to at least one side, the snow-carved runoff valleys sweeping away below up.

We never made it to snow-pack, or anything that impressive. I'm no judge of altitude, but it was a solid 6-7 mile trek round trip (see Bishkek Googlemap), and my legs were certainly aware of it the next day.

While we were out, we met one or two shepards (young boys) with their small flocks, one stubborn herd of cows, and one or two joggers - American's from the nearby US Embassy, hell bent on self-destruction.

One interesting observation that Hassan passed along, in his usual comic (and strictly Kyrgyz) way, was to alert me that, upon achieving one particular peak overlooking a nice series of villas, that I was now being watched by snipers. The villas belonged to President Bakiev - his stately residence - and for "security" reasons they had military forces constantly surveiling the surrounding hillsides and tracking any potential threats. No one else seemed the least concerned by this, and after a time I just tried to ignore it, but I'm not yet accustomed to the idea of universal surveillance, even as a regular target of it in New York or London. To have such surveillance conducted not by a mindless camera, but by an armed sniper... was uncomfortable. Then again, I didn't feel great when I saw the M-16 carrying national guard troops at the San Antonio airport either. It's a disperity of force that is unavoidable as a puny little (unarmed, untrained) civilian, but I don't like being reminded of it.

It was otherwise a beautiful day to be out. Not very hot, a good cool breeze, and no rain. Perhaps a hat or some of the sunscreen (I left at the Apt) would have been a good idea. I'll be paying for the sunburn for the next week, I suppose. Worth it.

The pictures of course won't do justice to what there was to see, and I do hope to get a bit deeper into the more "alpine" regions another time. I can only imagine the beauties that my many friends have encountered in exploring, for example, the Kiwi lands down under. I can say only this - it would not have seemed unfathomable for an amry of Orcs, or even the Rhohirrim, to swarm over the steep pastures we walked along.

So let's call this Adventure #2 (following Mr. Vice Speaker - the American Financio-Scholar wasn't particularly adventurous), and I'll go soak myself in a vat of Aloe.

As we would say in Weberville, it looks like Lobster's on the menu tonight.

Weber (on the lamb)

Bishkek Basics, vol. 1

2009-06-08T13:43:00.006+05:00

One of the reasons I keep writing larger "theory" blog posts is because, in order to describe what I'm actually doing requires a lot of background explanation in order to make sense.

However, since the purpose of this blog is to 1) keep friends and family apprised of my travels and experiences, and 2) to inform/educate my friends and family about Kyrgyzstan, Bishkek, and Central Asia generally, I suppose some background is in order.

If you really want a fully-rounded understanding in textual form, I suggest you delve into one of only a handful of good textbooks that cover it - I'd recommend those by Rafis Abazov, for example.

Instead, I will offer here, in an indeterminate number of volumes, a few important observations or descriptions which will hopefully help you form in your mind a "virtual Bishkek" in which the various dramas and narratives of this blog may take place. For a cartographic reference, see my evolving Bishkek googlemap.

Again, this is neither encyclopedic in its completeness or organization - essentially I am just vomitting up details as they occur to me. Tasty stuff.

First, keep in mind that I have thus far only seen, and can therefore only speak about, Bishkek. It is the biggest city in Kyrgyzstan, and probably the only "metropolitan" one. Further, not only is Bishkek unique within Kyrgyzstan, it is (from what I've been told) radically different in layout, society, and many other details from virtually every other city in Central Asia (maybe Astana or Almaty as the exceptions). While I am trying to speak with some force to set the observations I've had into your mind, please accept that I am doing this aware of Serious limitations, and with the full expectation that much of what I now report may need clarification, or complete revision.

Disclaimers aside, I will now assert one thing definitively: Bishkek is flat. Like, Oklahoma flat.

The country of Kyrgyzstan, on the other hand, is 90% mountainous - not like "hilly," but like Tian Shan "roof of the world" mountainous. Bishkek lies to the direct south of the Alatau, a related mountain chain, its outskirts abutting the foothills that quickly transform into snow-capped peaks some 5 to 9 thousand kms higher.

As a flat city with few natural barriers, and as a city founded in the 19th century, it is laid out on a strict grid system, again much like Oklahoma (City). The streets are wide and heavily-used,

and every main thoroughfair is bordered by equally well-paved, and often shaded, sidewalks. The smaller streets have smaller sidewalks, and feel more like walking through an oddly-paved forest (see picture). The city maintains its (tens of) thousands of trees through a simple irrigation ditch system that doubles as city-wide flood control. One last herbonomic observation - though not named this to my knowledge, Bishkek is The City of Roses. They're everywhere, and grow in huge patches in every park, and alongside most government structures. As a result, walking in the park at sunset smells like Valentines day in America.

The buildings tend to be of cinderblock construction, but display the full variety of elegance and stoicness (stoicocity?) possible from such humble beginnings. Only the enormous soviet-style government buildings have more distinct architecture, and this is of a universally grand, geometic, but light gray variety. There are no "ancient" structures of any kind, any where.

The cars are mosty German (Audio, VW, BMW) or Japanese (Honda, Mazda, Toyota), with a few carry-over Russian Lada's (which make a VW bug obsession look tepid - to love a Lada is a true labor of romanticism). Public transport consists of electric-powered trolleybuses (about 20 cents/ride) on the main drags, modern buses, and a small armada of minibuses on regular but unposted routes and swarms of taxis - who take you anywhere in the city for approx $2.50 US.

Currency is the Som ($1= 43 som), though for larger purchases (cars, furniture, etc) US dollars are preferred. The bills come in denominations as small as 1 som (approx. 2 cents), with coins in the 1/2 som, 1 som, and 5 som value. Basically, it's all paper-based.

The city's infrastructure is fully functional and up to Western standards (running water, electricity, sewage, flushies, etc), though I have my suspicions about just how "modern" the system is that keeps it all running. Still, it must be admitted, it does keep running.

Broadband internet is commercially available, and supplied to office buildings and a decent % of the shops that serve as Internet cafes, though the latter term is loose, catering to videogamming teenagers and working professionals. For residential use, dial-up seems to be the only option for those of less-than-truly-extravagant means.

In addition to internet stations, Bishkek has plenty of pharmacies (Apteka's), though they're more like the CVS/D-R you'll find in New York than a traditional corner drug store. Boutiques are also very popular, though I'll address Bishkek fashion later. There are larger stores, including one of two "malls," though it's a hard comparison. Adidas, UC Beneton, and several high-caliber Euro brands have also setup shop, but these aren't widespread. The majority of the businesses are small, family-owned shops either resale or occasionally of local manufacture. Mostly I see goods stores (food or clothing) more than services, but that's pretty arbitrary. On the sidwalk are countless additional "hut shops" setup to quickly vend drinks, snacks, magazines & cigarettes. Also, cell-phone refill stations are Everywhere!

Bishkek has a population of 1 million people, about 10-20% arrived from the rural areas since 1991; they have largely established "suburbs" along the outskirts of Bishkek in which they continue living, "the village lifestyle within city limits" as a colleage explained it. Of the 1 million, about 30% are ethnic Russians (whatever that means), and their presence in Bishkek is practically the exclusive enclave of Russians anywhere in Kyrgyzstan. As a result of this strong presence, and the long history of Russian colonial, and then Soviet, domination, the primary language is still Russian, though this has already shifted dramatically as English, Chinese, French or German replaced Russian as the preferred 2nd language in the 1990s. Still, it is expected for Russian to be understood by one and all within Bishkek, while Russians are generally not expected to understand spoken Kyrgyz.

Interestingly, to run for President of Kyrgyzstan, you must demonstrate your Kyrgyz language skills by passing a series of televised tests, each of which alternately serves to allow the candidates to pre-speech their platform (in Kyrgyz) in the course of proving fluency. It should be noted, about 1/2 of all applicants fail this rigorous language test.

In addition to the strong Russian cultural influence, Bishkek also has pockets of inhabitants from India, Iran, China and the other Central Asian Republics (mostly Uzbeks/Kazakhs), which leave a mark on the overall social network.

Islam in Kyrgyzstan is a hard thing to put one's finger on, and in Bishkek it may be even more elusive. It is generally accepted that Turkey is a valid example of a "secular Islamic" state, in that it is somehow both "fully secular" in its governance, but also "fully Muslim" in its society. That's a dicey argument, but consider this: If flying from Riyadh to Istanbul demonstrates just how secular Istanbul is, then flying from Istanbul to Bishkek is an equivalent experience. Simplistic markers like veils or beards are almost totally absent, but more valid suggestions of a non-traditional Islamic presence are also available. There remain only a small number of mosques in town - especially when compared with Istanbul or the Middle East - and the adherence of daily prayes, or the Ramadan fast is rather rare. Still, I've been told that most non-Russians in Bishkek do identify themselves as Muslim, and as I'm in no position to define their religious beliefs for them, I accept that they practice a variet of Islam for which I have few parallels outside the comparison to American Christianity vis Christianity in, for example, Greece. Rather than a connection between self, faith and community that necessarily intersects ritual and the physical church several times every day, it seems (emphasis) that Islam in

Bishkek is something to which everyone ascribes as a matter of personal faith rather than communal identity or ritual.

I could go on-and-on with this topic, but my scant knowledge suggests moving on would be the wiser course.

I mentioned earlier the idea of fashion, and as I am no Michael Kors myself, let me just state it thusly: Russians seem to dress like Eurotrash, which Kyrgyz (especially the women) out-chic even the NYC crowd. I understand that's quite a statement, but I stand by it. Whereas Eurotrash tries to be outrageous, it often comes off as cheap, blunt, or even skanky. Kyrgyz fashonistas (and this isn't everyone, but does claim a high % of 20-40 somethings) are very intelligent and refined in their distinctiveness. I would emphasize that they are Not copying Western high fashion, but rather - dare I say - improving upon it. It's the same language - aesthetic lines, fabrics, patterns, cuts, body shape, heels, etc. - they just speak it very fluently.

I have been speaking here about Bishkek as an anomaly within Kyrgyzstan, and perhaps Central Asia. I want to address one point which, as I understand it, is more universal.

First, please understand that until the 18th century, the peoples of Central Asia were not all identical, but could certainly claim to be more alike than different, and definitely claimed access to the same cultural heritage. Since the demarkation of Central Asia by Russian (and then Soviet) administrative policies, the once closely-associated cultures have begun to differentiate. First it was the creation of written languages to prove that Kazakh was not Kyrgyz (even though they differ only in some vocabulary), then local heroes - once considered universally "Central Asian" - were retroactively assigned to one "nationality" or another. The artificial creation of the 5 central asian groups (and their many subgroups) was a tremendous project of Soviet ethnography on parallel with the British and French efforts to create a genetic color-scale of their colonial subjects. It warrants several more long, boring posts, but I'll spare you for now.

Instead, I'll end Bishkek Basics (vol 1) with this light note:

The social trait I have noticed in Bishkek, which I believe transcends all the terminologies and "westernization" or "Russification" of the past 200 years is a profound fascination - even bordering on obsession - with children.

As always, speaking in generalizations is dangerous, but I have noticed that when a child - especially a baby - is present, that odd little creature and its antics become the absolute center of the immediately-surrounding universe. Teenagers and business people alike stop what they're doing to oogle over a stranger's child, and entire families will occupy themselves with the entertainment of a toddler.

It contrasts strongly with my general American perspective, in which I'm sure we love our children no less, but we cannot help thinking of them as a regular distraction, and an occasional nuisance. Or even more starkly, the New York penchant for nannies. The Kyrgyz I've spoken to on the subject were horrified at the concept of being too busy to take care of their own child - regardless of whether both parents worked or not.

The above photo was taken on June 1, International Childrens Day, in the main Paniflov park, when practially every kid in Bishkek swarmed downtown for a variety of festivals, rides, etc. I explained to my co-worker that we didn't celebrate this holiday in America, and he was genuinely shocked. That, I think, is interesting.

Having now completed vol.1 of this laborious process of background, and perhaps not accomplishing so much in the process, I am at least now free to proceed with the less intellectual, but I'm sure more interesting, postings about what I've actually been doing within the world described above.

I do hope you'll forgive my method, and provide all the feedback the little comments form allows.

Weber(on the lamb)

The Myth of Europe

2009-06-06T12:32:00.008+05:00

Given that most of you are reading this to follow my person experiences abroad, rather than to engage in historic debate or, worse yet, suffer through political diatribes, I will try, when the impulse to rended such a post is irressitable, to at least keep them to a more manageable length.

Obviously, if no one feels compelled to read this blog, it's not very useful.

So please allow me to present for you a concept - as briefly as possible - for which my academic studies and present experiences are in concert, and with which I think you might enjoy a new outlook on a variety of subjects.

There is no such thing as "Europe," and there never has been.

Geographically, Europe was awarded the status of a "continent" for political, rather than cartographic or geologic reasons. The borders of the so-called "Europe" are technically the Ural mountains, which run East of the Caspian sea, approximate with the interior of Iran, and somewhere in the South Caucasus mountains, again bordering Iran after circumnavigating Turkey. This definition is the continental divide - the line that demarkates which direction water will flow - but the logic required to separate Europe and Asia thus requires every continent be split into 2 - with California, Washington & Oregon now part of North-West America, and the rest of the US on the continent of Nort-East America.

In actuality, "Europe" is nothing more than a rather small peninsula affixed to the NW corner of the greater Eurasian landmass, of which India - by virtual of actual geology - has more claim to independence than Europe, despits its rather imperial designation as the world's only "subcontinent."

Exercise #1 - Try putting your finger on the "middle" of Europe. You might think Switzerland, or Prague? Actually, it would be in the Ukraine.

Politically, of course, we can think of Europe as those countries in the European Union, but that would be ridiculous, as by parallel that would also exclude Canada and Mexico from North America.

Culturally, "Europe" is an even more subjective reality. Take for example the case of Georgia, which by any geographic definition must be part of Europe. While the people of Georgia consider themselves to be fully European, especially by their predominant Christian faith, the same label is not applied to Georgians by their so-called co-Continentals.

It's hard to say what makes "Europe" so "European." Certainly it is a complex mixture of social history, political and economic contact, and yes, cultural markers like religion, language and art. There is also a not insubstantial racial element to our modern understanding of Europe, which is not substantiated by actual reality. Put simply, not all "Europeans" are "Caucasian/White," no matter how broadly we choose to paint the term (Consider the Moors, the Balkans, even the Hungarians).

It has also been expressed that to be "European" is to be a direct beneficiary of the monumental events of the 14-17th centuries which supposedly shaped what we conceive of as modernity, specifically the Renaissance/Enlightenment, Political Liberalism, the Reformation, and eventually, the Industrial Revolution. To be "European" is to claim not only to be the torch-bearers of an intellectual tradition stretching back to the (partially-"European") empires of Rome and Greece, but in fact to make such a claim as the Exclusive inheritors of this line.

That the "Continent" was itself a dark place of no considerable contribution to this "Western" civilization until at least the 14th century (a gap of, say 2,000 years at least), or that it's eventual discovery of "its own" intellectual heritage was made possible only through the intermediary of other - mostly Arab, Persian and African - translations and commentaries is somehow overlooked. Imagine reading the Cribb Notes of Shakespeare's Hamlet, then claiming the original to have been written by your grandfather. Would you expect royalties?

Exercise #2 - Start as far West as Europe allows (Portugal, Spain, England, France), and start naming countries as you move East. See how far you get when listing off "European" countries you know. When this fails, consult a map, and then check to see how "European" you still consider wherever you got stumped.

A last demonstration, the aforementioned Industrial Revolution, hailed as the great Triump of Europe, which in fact only took place in England, and was later exported to France and Germany. It's arrival in Italy, Romania, and "European" Russia was barely ahead of its implementation in India, and far behind Japan or America.

Further, as you proceed East, you fill find cultures competing to assert their "European-ness" by their link to Orthodox (sometimes called "Eastern Orthodox") Christianity, on the assumption that Istanbul was, for a time, the navel of Europe, not Rome. With Orthodoxy come the Slavs and Russia, which following its territorial conquests of the 17-18th centuries must include, culturally, all of Siberia in a concept of "European," just as New Mexico is no longer "Navajo," but "American."

If you've read this far, and accept even a slight majority of what I've presented, fear not, I've not much more to say, and I've only slightly more to ask of you.

There may be no "Europe" as a place or a people, but there certainly is a "Europe" as a term which can be used to separate, for purposes of inclusion or exclusion, one group of people, concepts or practices, from another.

What I would ask of you, the reader and presumably a thoughful and intelligent individual, is to contemplate why such a term was fashioned, and why it continues to have such weighty significance despite its demonstrable mendacity.

Obviously it's ideological, and equally clear is that it is most often used to the benefit of "Europeans," who use the concept to demonstrate their superiority in some way to the excluded Other, a practice which is not uniquely European. In fact, in an interesting twist, America has long used the term "European" to denigrate it as the Other to the American self-precetion of newness, freedom, youth, etc.

Why do I go on-and-on about this? Because I'm in Bishkek, which by no definition that I know - cultural, geographic, political, linguistic, religious - can be construed as "European."

However, when I tell my friends that I'm going to Kyrgyzstan for the summer, the most common response I received - no offense buddies - was, "have fun in Europe."

Much to their credit, my friends all meant well, and further they are - every single one of them - bright, well-informed, open-minded people, almost entirely Americans, but most with some experience of worldly travel themselves.

So there are a few things I find interesting here:

Out of what I assume to be geographic ignorance, educated Americans assume Kyrgyzstan to be somewhere in "Europe" for reasons I, and possibly even then, don't understand.
By every definition I can imagine, Kyrgyzstan has no place in a roster of "European" capitals. And yet...
Living in Bishkek, I still feel unquestionably immersed in the "Western/European world," insofar as this is understood to be only a concept.

It might be fair to say that Kyrgyzstan - or at least Bishkek - are not "European" or "Western," but rather have been "Westernized." While I don't (quite) question the truth of the underlying assertion - the Kygyz culture (itself a Russian invention via categorization) has been changed largely by outside forces to more closely resemble the concept of "Europe / the West" - I do take offense at the idea of "Westernization" on the same grounds that I reject the myth of "Europe."

If France, Germany and Britain, the key-3 of the "Europe" identity, were themselves "Westernized" by the teachings of Plato, Ibn Sina, al-Ghazali, Heraclitus, and a wealth of Persian scholars, not to mention the fundamental roots of the Industrial Revolution in Indian hydraulic sciences, how is this in any way "Westernization?"

Isn't Bishkek just a part of the same process of cultural, intellectual, and material exchange that has shaped every non-isolated society on Earth? Since there is clearly no such thing as a neatly-defined Europe," the broader idea of "the West" as opposed to "The East" (universally applied to anything non-Western, and totally ignoring the possibility, for example, of the Global South (Africa, S. America, Pacifica) ) must be even more nonsensical.

Was America "Easternized" by the original migration across the Beiring straight? What about Democracy - a concept spawned (to a very limited extent) in the Eastern Mediterranean through a heritage of Anatolian transfers? Or Christianity? Aren't all major world religions, in fact, non-European and therefore "Eastern?"

I'm not suggesting we truncate the formal name to just the ____ Union, or that the idea of "Europe" is going away anytime soon, despite its preposterous construction.

What I'm suggesting is that we, as discerning individuals, be cautious in our use of the term "Europe" and all the baggage it entails, and that we be especially attentative to the motivations and assumptions employed by those who use "Europe" to describe or justify certain ideas, people, or practices.

So in answer to the friendly salutation I have so often received, "have fun in Europe," I must enigmatically respond, "but I've never been to Europe - - or perhaps I've neer left?"

Weber (on the lamb)

Horse Wrestling

2009-06-04T11:53:00.001+05:00

The picture, of a characteristically over-sized statue in front of the Bishkek Palace of Sport (state gym complex), is not entirely accurate. There is a sport in Kyrgyzstan called Oodarysh, which involves two men westling eachother while on horseback, the victor being the first to dismount the other. In point of fact, most sports in Kyrgyzstan (aside from the ubiquitous football) seem to involve being on a horse. Some are straight-up horse races, though usually over long distances rather than circular tracks, while others are games of skill, involving obstacle courses and marksmanship. One is described as a mixture between Rugy and Polo, with the added twist that it is played not with tanned animal skin stuffed with cotton (like football), but instead with the decapitated carcas of a goat (they do pull out all the innards first). The lack of symbolic transferrance in this case is hard to ignore - Why not a rubber goat carcass, for example?

Anyway, the point is that no Kyrgyz athlete regularly hefts their steed upon their shoulders. But what an image! In a society where being on horseback is the default location for virtually every activity except sleeping and eating, the myth of a great warrior lifting his horse onto his back is a complex testament of strength and a radical reversal of social norms.

And that, oddly enough, brings me to the actual topic of this post: "Modern Central Asia transition to independence: the impact of alternative traditions," a lecture by Carter W. Page, a US investment banker-cum-academic, I attened at the American University of Central Asia. The office sent me to check it out, but to be honest it was more an effort to keep me busy than an actual journalistic assignment.

Mr. Page has spent most of his career working for Merryl Lynch and coordinating their assessments of investment opportunities in Russia and Central Asia. Again, follow the coded language. "Investment opportunities" equals "Energy Development." "Energy Development" equals "Oil and Gas exploration and export."

So this is a gentleman who has advised companies on which projects, governments, etc. they would have the best chance of procuring beneficial returns on their investments to the tune of around $15 billion. That's his personal involvement, it represents only a small fraction of the overall "energy" investment in the region.

Now Mr. Page has given up the financial sector (well, partially, he's still a consultant for corporations curious about getting started in CA), and decided to become an academic. While he pursues his Ph.D. at the London School of Oriental and African Studies (a very prestigious institution despite its archaically offensive name), he is conducting research and giving presentations to scholars and businessmen about what, in his opinion, differentiates development planning in Central Asia from other regions.

He talked for 30 minutes, answered questions for 30 minutes, and after an hour had bascially achieved nothing. Here's the gist of his argument:

Central Asia is "different" (from what he didn't specify. Isn't every place "different" in some way?). Further, since the breakup of the Soviet Union, each of the 5 Central Asian republics has diverged, forging unique policies and international relations. As a result, it is getting more difficult to make general statements about "Central Asia" (great point) - so here is my general statement about why Central Asia is "different" - they have "alternative traditions."

(I'm not making this up. The next part gets so ridiculous, that I'll hold my comments to the end.)

The first of these is the "Silk Road Tradition," which demonstrates the natural proclivity of Central Asians for international trade, their inherent entrepenurialism, innovation, flexibility, hard work, and individualism. Since the days of the Silk Road "a thousand years ago," the most significant change is the speed of international commerce - it's gotten faster.

The other tradition is that of the Soviet Union, which despite its demonization by "other Western scholars," has an important legacy in the "traditions" of commerce in modern Central Asia. (these weren't discussed in detail, though one assumes he is referring to the 5 Year Plans of the early Soviet period, the communal ownership of business, the forced collectivization of agriculture into Kolhozes, the entire transportation network - still in use, and the creation of the 5 recognized nationalities, an artificial project that including the synthesis of written languages, national borders, and as much repression of Islam and other religions as possible, etc.)

The heart of his analysis concerned the degree to which individual countries in Cenral Asia accepted a "Liberal Economic" versus a "Centralized Control" policy in regard to their domestic and international trade. A "Liberal-Domestic" position being that of total privatization, while "Central Domestic" is total nationalization. "Liberal International" would be Globalization, while "Central International" is "State Sovereignty," a confusing term he did not elaborate upon.

To backup his analysis, Mr. Page referenced the useful academic tools of Wallerstein's theory of World-Systems Analysis and Braudel's Longue-Duree, though I dare say each rolled over a bit in the grave (apologies to Wallerstein, still alive) at the injustice. WSA is based on considering multiple (perhaps even all) disciplines when making judgements about a cultural group, and is inherently anti-Globalization in its enforced respect for individual cultures and the disdain for manipulation thereof. Braudel's argument with historians, for which he founded the new theory, is that when considering matters of human civilization, it is pointless to look at events and short periods of time because only the larger arc of social progress eliminates inconsistencies. For Braudel, the question is the development of Capitalism since the 15th century; the question of Global Capitalism since 1920, much less globalization in Central Asia since 1991, is meaningless.

Sadly, the misapplication of these two well-known (within academic circles) theories is only one of the many weaknesses in Mr. Page's lecture. He referred regularly to his "research," but it is hard to imagine what, exactly, he's been researching to arrive at points which are so bland, and historical facts which are simply incorrect.

The origin of the Silk Road, for example, is very hard to nail down, mostly because the term is itself largely meaningless. Some silk trade existed with China even in ancient Egypt, but as conceived today as "a commercial network / trade route between China and Europe" it's hard to argue that the Silk Road ever existed. There were trade networks between China and Central Asia. Many of these connected to other routes between CA and Iran. From Iran, goods could proceed to Turkey, Iraq, or the Levant. From the Gulf, goods went to Egypt and East Africa. From the Levant and Turkey, goods could be shipped to Italy or Austria. No single individual was present for this entire route, and few participated in more than one leg. Each part could equally be said to be "the Silk Road." In other words, overland caravan trade across Central Asia was just as much the "Silk Road" as Italian shipping in the Mediterranean.

Yet I doubt Mr. Page would cite "The Silk Road" tradition as a foundational aspect of Italian, Iraqi, Austiran, Turkish, Iranian, or Egyptian modern business practices, much less that he could explain how the "Silke Road tradition" or Central Asia is so radically disimiliar from the "Silk Road Tradition" of everywhere else in the non-African/non-American world.

Add onto that further bad history - his use of the term "a thousand years ago," a figure he repeated often as it if was definitive, is ridiculous. Surely he isn't suggesting that the Silk Road was at its apex or origin in the year 1009! This term is used to denote "a long time ago," or more blunty, "since time eternal," effectively nullifying any possibility of, well... HISTORY.

It is hard to say when the "Silk Road" started, but we do have rough figures on the amount of goods transferred starting in the 12th century thanks to tarif records. What we know is that the amount of trade was in regular flux. Some periods of time saw more trade than others, and after the 16th century, trade dropped dramatically and has never since (until perhaps recent times) returned to its earlier levels, much less international importance. Some blame the "end of the Silk Road" to the growth of European-based maritime trade, though several respected scholars have disproven this. In fact, massive trade between China and Central Asia existed primarily- if not exclusively - during the periods in which one system of governance/ ruler was able to militarily dominate the majority of the trade route. In other words, the concept that the Silk Road was, at its heart, international, is itself counter-factual. Indeed, international borders, and especially the gaps between one strong power and another, were the weak links which regularly caused the Silk Road to shut down, sometimes for years, other times for generations. Brigandage and high tariffs were to blame, and only a power which could prevent them kept the trade flowing. In this way, the Silk Road as we conceive of it today was mostly a result of an economic phenomenon following in the tremendous Mongol conquests of the 10-14th centuries. Where Mongols conquered, the Silk Road followed. China, Central Asia, Iran, Iraq, Turkey.

So as to Mr. Page's real point: that International investment opportunities exist because the "Silk Road Tradition" in Central Asia means that "locals" are "inherently" open to international trade, this seems patently false on several points when considered in the light of actual history.

So I asked him about it directly.

The response: "While that may be true, I'm talking about the Social traditions, not the political or economic trends."

Right. So modern Kyrgyz and Kazakhs, who live in the semi-European capitals of Bishkek or Astana - cities which were built by Russians in the 19th and 20th centuries, who themselves speak either Russian or a language created by Russians, and who were forced to give up their "traditional" livelihood as nomads and instead lean European farming techniques before being forcibly relocated to collectived farms, all the while having their religious identity stripped from them by state persecution - those Kyrgyz and Kazakhs - are dictating the future of Central Asian commercial prospects because of their personal attachment to a "tradition" of "international capitalism" that may have existed to some degree back into pre-history, but which has demonstrably ceased to exist for the past 500 years.

Let's take a break.

OK.

So why have I subjected you to all of this?

We all know (or should know) that there are a lot of business (and political, and personal, etc) entities out there, and that often their interests are projected or protected by so-called "scholars" using the cloak of scholarship to mask their objectives. Not a shocker.

What's killing me is that Mr. Page isn't just an in-the-pocket academic (Director of the Bard Globalization & International Affairs Program; Former member of the Council on Foreign Relations, and $2,300 contributor to the John McCain campaign), in fact he's a late-comer to the academic racket. He was one of the big-business guys making the deals and on some level directing, or at least advising, huge policy decisions. After all the work he's done, and the experience he's had (diverting $15 billion), he still operates on the basis of demonstrably flawed logic. I don't know if it's malicious or ignorant, but either way I don't consider this to be an appropriate, ethical basis for (primarily) US economic policy abroad.

Do you?

What's most shocking is that, within the debate about how much consideration "localism" should be given when dictating economic policy to developing nations, Mr. Page is - as he himself professes - on the side of the "locals."

That's right. The above argument is actually the one offered In Defense of "local" rights.

Point: We should do whatever we want to make money.

Counterpoint: We should take (brief, inconsequential) account of local (fabricated/mythical) traditions in order to better take advantage of (exploit) local resources for our own gain (profit).

Seriously, if Mr. Page, and the hundreds of well-meaning, half-informed advocats like him, make up the counsel for the Defense, then I've got to scream Mis-trial.

And that's why fighting global capitalism with something as ridiculous as historical fact, intelligent consideration, or God-forbid local consideration, is like Horse Wrestling. It would require super-human strength, and turn our society's very system of commerce upside down.

And now I get off my podium/horse.

Weber (on the lamb)

Mi Ami Vice (Speaker)

2009-06-02T14:21:00.001+05:00

It took 3 languages to make that pun work - and barely at that - so I hope you enjoyed it.

After the whiskey shot (see below) and a few hours at my desk working to let it wear off, I was grabbed by the shoulded by Bektash, an RFE correspondent who focuses on Kyrgyz politics and economic development. He asked if I wanted to meet the Vice-Speaker of the Kyrgyz Parliament. That simple.

I said, "um, sure?"

On the short taxi ride over (note: a Kyrgyz taxi is anyone who drives a car that isn't full. There are official taxis, but generally you can negotiate a ride around downtown bishkek with anyone moving in your general direction), Bektash explained to me the history of gold mining and precious mineral extraction in Kyrgyzstan, the topic of our upcoming interview. The subject: Kubanychbek Isabekov, Vice-Speaker of the Kyrgyz Parliament, and head of the committee on natural resources.

A brief word about resources in Kyrgyzstan.

Though not much discussed in American media, Central Asia is one of the several very large oil-producing regions in the world. While we tend to focus on the Middle East as the be-all, end-all of petrol, in point of fact US oil supply is much more dependent on Venezula, Canada, and its own Gulf deposits, while Asia benefits from Indonesian wells. Only Europe is without its own significant reserves (the North Sea being the only possible exception), and so it relies very heavily on Middle Eastern and Central Asian sources for its oil and gas. Keep in mind that Central Asian oil - still not fully developed - powered the Soviet Union for 40 years. Now that the Iron Curtain is down, Europe is trying to access these resources - preferrably without Russian involvement.

Oil companies are having a field day in Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan and Kazakhstan, but unfortunately the smaller, mountainous republics of the Kyrgyz and Tajiks are lacking in significant oil or (natural) gas deposits. Additionally, since both are land-locked and bordered by no-transit zones (Iran and China), they stand nothing to gain by the oil boom. It is interesting to note - and surely the subject of a future post - that the more ruthless autocracies have been able to persist thanks in no small part to the enormous investment revenue of international oil (in fairness, multinational corporations often have inverse interests to those of the local population, which coupled with their disproportionate means to pursue them commonly leads to this result. therefore, this a rail not against the oil industry in specific, but simply about one recurring negative side effect of international capitalism, of which oil happens to be a prominent example).

Also note, this is only investment. The countries are not yet producing enough oil to be silly-rich like the Saudis; for now, they're getting paid in-advance for future returns, allowing the leaders to fortify their positions and ensure a rigid sociol and economic order before prosperity (for the chosen status quo elite) arrives.

On the other hand, Kyrgyzstan, with no oil and only minimal foreign investment, has the most democratic government in the region. Still, this is only a relative democracy, a point to which (again) we must turn later. For now, it is important to know that the Kyrgyz government is run by President Bakiev, who's party, Ak Jol, also controls 71 of the 90 Parliamentary seats, and all major executive and legislative positions. The opposition in Parliamen is comprised primarily of the Social Democrats (11 seats) and the Communists (8 seats), though many smaller parties exist without a single seat.

Mr. Isabekov is of course a member of Ak Jol, which is itself less a political party (despite the name; "people's party"), and more accurately the title chosen post-election by those politicians who decided to back (unconditionally) President Bakiev.

While Kyrgyzstan does not have any oil or gas, it does have significant amounts of other precious minerals (gold, copper, etc.) burried in its enormous mountain ranges. These are, accordingly, of great importance to any possible future prosperity for Kyrgyzstan.

So I was going to meet with a lead figure (ok, 4th from the top when even the #2 guy - Prime Minister - was a Very distant second from the cult of Bakiev), to discuss with him an issue of major international (mostly Canadian) investment. And by "Discuss" you understand I mean "Listen." And by "Listen," you understand I mean, "sit there are guess what the Kyrgyz means."

Still, pretty heady assignment for my first day "on the job."

After clearing up a little issue at the door - security guard didn't want to let an American into the government building without express consent from above - we made our way to the Vice-Speaker's office. Bektash filled me in more on Kyrgyz politics while the receptionist and bodyguard (?) chatted politely. Thank goodness I already knew some of the background from my courses at Columbia, or I would have been really lost (how are you doing, by the way?).

Isabekov himself was a genial younger man, with noticeably strong hands. He is former military, but it shows only in the most subtle of ways. He did not speak English, a trait for which he apologized and explained that he was raised to be a farmer before proudly pointing to a photograph of his son and daughter, both fluent in English and studying at universities in America. It remains unclear to me if lack of english fluency is considered an intellectual deficit (which is ridiculous but something I did come across in Europe), or if it is simply polite to explain why my foreign tongue is not being used in the Kyrgyz capital building.

Mr. Isabekov had been to America, I was informed, on trips to learn more about gold mining and other mineral extraction. He'd visited a mine in Reno, Nevada and met with several Western governors (he asked if Montana was much like Texas, and I had to admit it was, except without the heat and mexican food). He'd been to Chicago, LA and DC, with meetings at Dept. State and the Pentagon - an especially odd experience he said for someone who trained in the army to defeat the American military.

The interview itself revealed few surprises - or didn't seem to. Again, an all-Kyrgyz exchange made any nuanced observation impossible. When Bishtaki was finished with the official business, he inquired if I wanted to ask Mr. Isabekov any direct question.

I must admit that, despite spending their entire interview formulating potential queries, I initially balked. What do I know about gold mining, or international investment, or even journalism!?! We conducted some nicities, then I decided to go for it.

Bektash acted as my translator as I asked the following (better worded here thanks to the not-real-time of written communication):

"I know that in the history of the United States, we had great trouble with mining companies abusing their workers. This was made possible because mines usually operate in remote places and the workers are dependent on the company for many of their basic necessities. The United States and many other countries developed strict regulations to protect workers in these dangerous circumstances, and I was wondering if Mr. Isabekov could tell me about the regulations the Kyrgyz government has put in place to protect Kyrgyz workers at these new mining facilities?"

I'm not sure how exactly that was translated back to Kyrgyz, but this is (approximately) the response I got, filtered through a rough translation, and generally summarized.

"After 9/11, Kyrgyzstan pledged aid to the United States, and made itself available to help America in its fight [against terrorism]. Kyrgyzstan opened [Manas] airbase for US use (btw - set to be closed, contentiously, in August 2009) and commenced extensive cooperative military and tactical training exercises. Kyrgyzstan is a friend of the United States, and of course we also learn from them and protect our people as any nation must."

As Bektash confirmed later, this is what it means to get the Party Line.

We left on the same good terms with which we entered, and Mr. Isabekov made a point of giving me one of his business cards, making the entire journey indescribably valuable. I'm keeping the card in my passport, and it should prove to be a "golden ticket" if the police decide to give me any trouble (as they occasionally do - only for the purpose of sneaking some money from your wallet while "inspecting" it).

Another day, another interview with a not-quite-head-of-state.

Weber (on the lamb)

Bishkek Whiskey Breakfast

2009-06-01T11:31:00.000+05:00

First day on the job at Radio Azattyk.

We started the day off with an all-staff meeting. I was introduced and given a general Q&A by some of the reporters (why come to Kyrgyzstan?), then tried to follow the next hour of project assignments and reports - all in Kyrgyz. There were some lively debates, and some (apparently) humerous retorts, none of which I understood.

Following the meeting I was literally hauled into the staff break room, with the entire senior staff in attendance. Then Gulaiym, my contact from Columbia who landed me the internship and is essentially serving as my mentor for the summer, pulled out a large bottle of Johnny Walker Red and a box of chocolates she purchased during a layover in Heathrow.

It is a custom not unique to Kyrgyzstan, in fact it seems universal in my admittedly limited travels. Whenever someone returns from a trip abroad, they are expected to bring back some small treat to share with everyone. Large, or long-lasting gifts don't seem to be popular - what matters is that everyone can enjoy a little something exotic. There is certainly some parallel in American culture, but it's not as widespread or as communal. "What did you get me," with a focus on the brilliance of the gift, rather than "what did you bring us," with enthusiastic, but temporary, curiousity.

With a great flourish, the senior staff crowded around the break room table and spread the chocolates around, while Gulaiym quickly poured a shot of whiskey for all present, myself included. There certainly was no refusing such an offer, so I embarked on the first straight shot of whiskey in my life at 10:00 am on Monday, the first of June, 2009.

In a culture where Vodka shots are a casual refreshment (prohibitions on alcohol being a flexibility of Islamic law not enforced in Kyrgyzstan), I hoped that whiskey - albeit Scottish rather than Kentucky - might give some of them enough pause to make my timidity less apparent. When the middle-aged woman to my left finished in one gulp, my hopes dissipated. Further, when I say "shot" bear in mind these are not actually shot glasses - they're small juice glasses, filled to the brim. I sipped mine in the largest gulps I could manage without making a face. Luckily, at least one or two people found whiskey not as appetizing as vodka, so I wasn't the last one finished.

In retrospect, I don't think I'd go so far as to recommend a shot(+) of whiskey as a Monday morning tradition, but I can't help wonder how much more entertaining that staff meeting would have been if we just bumped the Whiskey Breakfast one hour earlier.

Weber (on the lamb)

Radio Free Bishkek?

2009-06-01T09:30:00.000+05:00

Thus far, when asked what I would be doing this summer, I generally responded that I would be "working for Radio Free Europe, and probably helping with some English language training." I said that because I had basically no further idea what I was walking into, or even what exactly Radio Azattyk (the local name for RFE/RL) is.

Here are the confusing facts:
Radio Azattyk is part of Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty.
From 2005-2008, Radio Azattyk broadcast RFE/RL Programming in Bishkek on both radio & Television. This was terminated by Government maneuvering in January 2009 as part of a renewed, but still not overwhelming, government crackdown on media freedom. Radio Azattyk employs several dozen reporters, including an "International" office that covers Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, Kazakhstan and Afghanistan, and a "Youth Radio" program of about a dozen 20-somethings.

Here are the relevant details that make the above less enigmatic:
Radio Azattyk is essentially a field-office or Correspondent's desk for RFE/RL. While they previous also had a broadcast station in Bishkek that station is now closed. The majority of their work is not in broadcasting, but in content creation (journalism). They generate stories on Krygyzstan and the other Central Asian republics and wire (ok, e-mail) them back to the RFE HQ in Prague. From there, Kyrgyz-language reports are made available in Kyrgyzstan via internet, satellite, and the ubiquitous short-wave radio. English-language versions are posted on the website.

It's the history of RFE that makes this all sensible. The organization was founded in 1949 by the US Government as a means to undercut Soviet authority. Rather than having Americans try to convince the local Soviet citizens that Communism was bad, the station (and Radio Liberty, which was originally founded independently in 1953 in Europe with essentially the same mission) found refugee intellectuals who had fled a Soviet country and essentially gave them the means to transmit their greivances, in their own language, back to the country they left behind. These services operated exclusively outside the Iron Curtain, but broadcast into the USSR via shortwave radio and later targeted AM and FM radio. The exact methods - fascinating as they are - require a good bit more technical understanding of the physics and history of Radio, with which I will not presently bore you.

The operating premise of RFE & RL were that, 1) Freedom of information was inherently anti-oppression (and thus, presumably, anti-Community), and 2) People from the region should be responsible for all news gathering and program creation as they best understood the inequities and were most-able to communicate, linguistically and culturally, with the local residents.

Compare that to Voice of America, which was founded at the beginnign of WWII and who's continuing mission is to promote a positive image of the United States abroad, usually relying on US-generated propaganda material translated into local languages by interpreters.

After the fall of the Soviet Union, the now-united RFE/RL essentially moved in-country. Instead of relying on refugees, they setup offices staffed locally (without any local US "oversight" mind you). When possible, as in Kyrgyzstan from 2005-2008, local FM broadcast was established, rather than the "broadcast from afar." The prevailing pattern, then, is to have an RFE branch office in-country, generating news reports that are sent back to Prague and from there transmitted back in-country via shortwave, internet, and also satellite transmissions.

You can find quite a bit more about REF/ Radio Azattyk here: http://www.rferl.org/info/Kyrgyzstan/189.html

As for my actual duty assignments, it's still rather early to tell, and it seems they're brainstorming more ways to use me. I am a complete oddity as an intern, perhaps their first ever from the United States. Since the entire purpose of the organization is the broadcast Kyrgyz news to Krygyz citizens, with a secondary mission of generating international news about Kyrgyzstan (mostly in English), I am potentially very helpful, but only in creative ways.

Some of my planned duties include English language training (as anticipated), but everyone on staff has already had at least some formal training. Everyone speaks Kyrgyz as a native tongue, though they all also know Russian and at least one other language (usually French or German). I am therefore not here to teach basic grammar (thank goodness), but mostly to help improve fluency through discussion sessions.

I will also be involved with some journalism efforts, especially when interviewing foreigners about local or international issues. I have been promised a good share of work with the Youth Radio progam (basically every young person I've met in Kyrgyzstan speaks English), though I still don't know what exactly I would do.

So that's the job - a fascinating history, but I fear a less-than-exhilirating read.

In reality, I think they look on me as only 1/2 an intern and 1/2 a resource. Whenever there is a language question I am consultated. Additionally, when an opportunity comes up for me to observe something interesting or provide me some training, I get to tag along. However, for the most part, I sit at my desk, writing blogs and e-mails until such summons appear. Eventually, I'll spend this time planning language classes, or working on my own assignments - I hope.

For now, I have much time to write, which is good.

Because I am very long-winded.

Weber (on the lamb)

Then I Found 2,050 som!

2009-05-29T16:35:00.009+05:00

I arrived in Bishkek at 0135 hrs, local time. By 0515 I was through customs, to my apartment, unpacked, and finally drifting off to sleep as the sun asserted its first rays like a halo behind the mountains to my East.

Somewhere in the night, fatigue caught up with me. I never really adjusted to London time, arriving there at an early hour, staying up for the full day, then sleeping for a solid 12 hours until noon the next day. So the fact that it was 5:00 am in Bishkek, and I hadn't slept much on any of my planes, didn't really phase me. Actually, it was odd, because it's not that I was stuck on NY time (where it was then 3 pm), I just wasn't on any time. I ate small meals at irregular intervals and slept in increments of 2 or 12 hours - no middle ground - for 3+ days. Or what I counted as days - the whole process of marking time got very weird.

In nice, quantitative numbers, here's what it took to get me to Bishkek:
4 subways
2 trains

2 taxis

3 airplanes

Time in-air: 14 hours

Total duration from NYC apt to Bishkek apt: 48 hours
Total sleep: 17 hours

Calendar days: 4 (left late 5/26, arrived early 5/29)

Cross-continental travel really destroys the normality of numbers.

On the plus side, other than the subways (which all mysteriously ran local, one of which because someone threw themselves under a train), I had no complications in my itinerary.

So that's the background on how I got to Bishkek, but it doesn't much address the title of this post. For that, I must pay homage to a college acquaintance, who posited that whenever one is teling a story which turns out to be anticlimactic, or simply in need of a better conclusion, one should insert, "and then I found 5 dollars."

True or not, he held this would redeem the story by not only creating a less mundane finale, but also produce, in the mind of the listeners, a benefit you received, hence your excitement for this story which they, until moments before, thought was useless.

I have found the phrase not especially useful, with the occasion that when I do actually stumble upon money, references to this worn out cliche - when true - amplify the wonder of such a revelation.

So when I was walking to my apartment, and a friend pointed down at a wad of bills in the road totalling some 2,050 som (Kyrgyz currency), US equivalent $50, I had myself a good chuckle.

And a good ending for a first Bishkek blog spent mostly complaining about the near-universal tribulations of long-distance travel.

Thanks, college buddy.

Weber (on the lamb)

Calling London

2009-05-27T14:58:00.001+05:00

I am greatly curious at the beginning of this journey to see to what degree it will repeat, or even parallel, the adventures of my previous summer touring around Europe. Not only is it radically different in location and duration, "Lamb'09" also possesses a decidedly more concrete purpose. I'm not floating around the continent for 2 months, breezing where the wind and my whims blow; This time I have a job (ok, an unpaid internship/consultancy). I'm staying in one place, and that one place is less familiar than anywhere else I've yet traveled.

Add on to this that the Lamb is the only thing to change its spots in the intervening 10 months. Whereas last year I left an almost-empty apartment, abandoned my job of 4+ years, and underwent essentially a curiosity tour before starting (from scratch) my post graduate studies, leaving behind my girlfriend and best friend to a fun summer of their own. This year I am subletting the apartment that remains my only home while my fiance is working alone in Connecticut, and I'm at the halfway point of my M.A. degree - having learned a thing or two about my subject, but so far from any 'expertise' as to be laughably underqualified.

Another big difference is that while I now find myself in London via New York, as I did last year, this time around I'm seeing London through the eyes of a New Yorker, rather than a Texan. I'd say after 1 year living in NYC, my eyes (and maybe my feet) are the only part of me I could consider "New Yorker," but certainly they've learned what to see and not see, an essential skill of massive-metropolitan living. I'm no longer impressed by the crush of humanity around me, in fact to some degree I've lost the ability to recognize that the dozens of people squeezed into the tube with me are individuals at all. They're just objects, obtacles, potential threats, or casual entertainment for me to view and navigate as I continue through my singular existence. On some level, I recognize they're all treating me in the same fashion, but at a conscious level this rarely reaches cognizance - when someone brushes against my shoulder, I check my wallet, not wonder how they're feeling, what their parents are like, what their dreams might be, or who they're going home to see. The closest I get is the curiousity of what someone is listening to on their iPod, and that only arises when it's playing loud enough for me to hear it via their headphones (ok, earbuds).

the point is, neither seeing, nor hearing, that which is unfamiliar seems to phase me anymore in this metropolitan setting. An odd aftershock is that my assumption of familiarity remains. For example, when in New York, no matter how odd someone may look or act, I take as a blanket assumption that they are American, speak english, act rationally, and, unless wardrobe and activity prove otherwise, that they are themselves New Yorkers, totally unconcerned with me and my life. Now in London, I noticed the same set of assumptions. Whenever a Londoner isn't talking, I peripherally assume them to be 'just another New Yorker,' a ridiculous assumption dispelled only if they get a cell phone call, or salute a street vendor for a purchase.

There is also the added familiarity of now having spent some time in London on previous trips. I won't strech this too far, as my combined time in London in my entire lifetime is about 1 week, but I think it suffices to note whereas summer '08 I was seeing London for the first time, in summer '09 that is impossible to recreate.

I'm in London for less than 36 hours, leaving time only to spend with family (brother Duff and his wife Larissa), watch the Champion's Cup finale, and a little bit of Britain's Got Talent (not on YouTube).

Time permitting, I may also get to stopoff at the British Musuem. I do still love that place, so I suppose some things don't change. That I find refreshing.

Weber (on the lamb)

Summer 2009 Itinerary

2009-05-26T00:42:00.002+05:00

Today is the day of packing and preparation and insanity. Below is a VERY rough outline of what my summer 2009 travel plans look like.

Last summer I traveled around quite a bit, galavanting from Greece & Turkey up to Estonia and back down through the very hospitable countries of Eastern and Central Europe. This year I'm doing something different in both approach and location. First, I'm staying in one place for essentially the entire 2 months that I'm gone, albeit with occasional side trips. Second, I'm not going to Europe.

Despite this, I've still received many warm wishes from my friends in the hope that I "have a good time in Europe" this summer, and while I certainly appreciate the sentiment, it will be my obligation this summer to dramatically increase the familiarity of my friends and family with the 5 million people inhabiting Kyrgyzstan, its metropolitan capital Bishkek, and the much larger states of Central Asia that surround it.

For the moment, I know about as many details of my travel plans as you do. Here is an itinerary which is sure to get filled out substantially, but should form a rock-solid skeleton of the summer, should you wish a clearer picture of the particular "lamb" upon which I am mounted.

Geography blogs will follow, but not until I've gotten a better lay of the land and can impart more than a totally cartographic explanation for exactly what and where Kyrgyzstan is.

For now, here's the travel agent summary:

5/25 NYC -> London (arrive 9:30 am 5/26)

5/26 London: w/ Duff & Larissa

5/27 London: w/ Duff & Larissa

5/28 London (6:55 am) -> Istanbul (5 hour layover) -> Bishkek (arrive 1:35 am, 5/29)

529 Bishkek: sleep, move-in, recover

5/30 Bishkek: first day of work at Radio Azattyk (RFE Bishkek)

Lots of time spent in Bishkek, possible side trips to Lake Issyk Kul, Almaty, Tashkent, etc.

Less likely trips to Tajikistan, China, etc.

7/27 Bishkek (3:20 am) -> Istanbul (2 hr layover)-> London (7 hr layover)-> NYC (arrive 8:00 pm). 27 hours in semi-continuous transit.

7/28 NYC: r-e-c-o-v-e-r

7/29 NYC-> Sharon, CT (visit Shelley)

7/31 Sharon -> NYC (release sublet, reclaim apartment)

8/?? NYC -> TX and/or OK

Off we go.

Weber (getting on the lamb)

Dust off the Lamb Saddle

2009-04-05T03:18:00.000+05:00

Since the trials, travails and travels of Summer 2008, I have been on a new journey: a return to academia, including my first foray into serious graduate scholarship; a renewed dedication to my long-time passion for swing dancing; a painfully decreased involvement in non-commercial radio; a new life of wonders and annoyances living in New York City; and new employment challenges and connections.

In August 2008 I sat in a yet another pleasant, but generic, airport and pondered what the journey before me would entail, if I could maintain my stary-eyed wonder once my nomadic wanderings were over. In short, if I had come to see life as one exciting voyage, or if I was simply in the endorphin bliss of being away from home.

Was "the Lamb" to which I so often referred, a state of mind or a state of motion?

I'm not sure I've really answered any of this - life in New York providing me with no shortage of bizarre experiences and the occasional chance to reflect upon them - but it quickly became clear that those experiences were in some way different than my exploratory cross-continental ventures.

So I started a new blog, (lametexpatriot.blogspot.com) and left "the Lamb" to pasture while I settled into more sedentary roots.

Since then, I have made one cross-country dash back to my beloved TX and nostalgic OKC homes, and spent 2 delightful weekends in Vermont, which I now firmly believe to be as close in climate and society to Northern Europe as is possible in the New World.

But I never really got back on the Lamb. Short trips, a brief respite - more rest than adventure; connecting with old friends rather than seeking out new ones.

Now, thanks to the archaic conventions of the academic calendar, and the peculiarities of my graduate program by which summer sessions won't avail me in the slightest, I found myself with a few months spare time, and no particular way to spend it.

Having embarked on a program loosely circumscribed by its title, "Islamic Studies," I found my interests drawn to a large chunk of the world with which I had little previous engagement - Central Asia, or more specifically the Muslim contingents of the Post-Soviet (2nd) world.

These two coincidents - free time and curiousity - intersected, and as they often have in my life resulted in a most fortunate outcome. After what I must admit was only the most casual of conversations with a professor, I found myself in contact with a representative of the Radio Free Europe Bishkek (Kyrgyzstan) office, interested in my services as an intern/advisor for the summer.

Radio. Islamic world. Youth training. Journalism. Non-Profit (ok, Gov).

It's not quite like they made the internship program just for me (but given that almost all RFE interns spend the summer in DC or Prague office, they sort of did)...

Anyway, the ridiculousness of my continuing lucky streak aside, it looks like I will soon be back into unfamiliar territory. On my own, or largely so, in a country I do not know, with people I do not (yet) know, and engaged in a variety of languages, cultures, and social knowledge of which I haven't the faintest clue.

And I am REVELING in it.

The Lamb's had a quiet winter, but this summer I take it back out of the pen and see how we both fare.

Bishkek. Pishpek. Frunze.

I'm so excited I think I might wet myself.

Weber (back on the Lamb)