Kyrgzstan

As we reached the southern edge of Kazakhstan in our marshrutka, we approached a tiny bridge over a small bubbling stream – the unassuming border with Kyrgyzstan. We disembarked with all our bags, and sent everything through the X-ray machine. There was much consternation amongst the young Kazak border guards as Nick’s bag went through - was he traveling with two weapons? He unpacked his bag and showed them the ‘gladiator letter-opener/dagger’ that Daniel had spent his pocket money on in Rome, and a Georgian knife that Carys had secretly bought at the Dry Bridge market in Tbilisi for Daniel’s birthday present in 3 days’ time. The guards were very amiable, but when we explained what they were, they were more concerned that the knives were for ‘the baby’ than that Nick was a danger to society. Having tested the sharpness of both blades by taking turns to stick them into their respective desks, they deemed them acceptable, gave us a good dose of parenting advice, and with shaking heads, cheerily waved us through – we were now Kyrgyzstan’s problem. Fortunately no-one was watching the Kyrgyz X-ray machine, so we picked our bags up on the other side and kept going.

Kyrgyzstan is five times poorer per capita than Kazakhstan (and twice as poor as SA). As we drove into Bishkek, this was evident in contrast to Almaty, but rather in the look of buildings than overt poverty – one gets the sense that the range of wealth is narrower, and a bulk of people have basic needs met but live relatively simple lives. Although Bishkek is a lot more run down than Almaty, it is still spotlessly clean, with lots of Soviet style apartment blocks lining wide roads, symmetrical parks and public spaces.

The elderly taxi driver was very sweet, and curious to know where we came from, as he dropped us at our AirBnB apartment located in a Soviet block in the centre of the city. Our hosts, Rustam and Jika were both fluent in English, and in conversation with them, they explained that because Kyrgyzstan had less mineral wealth than Kazakhstan, the culture was generally more entrepreneurial, with many adults attending night classes to learn English to generate income from tourism beyond Russians.  

Having settled in, we wandered through the communal courtyard, decked with a mural celebrating Kyrgyz wrestling champions, and tried to imagine what it was like to live in this block during the Soviet years. We found a small shop to get some basics. For most things, the prices were similar to SA, but fruit and vegetables were radically more expensive with very few options (one butternut, a cabbage, 10 tomatoes, some apples and some onions). In a similar set up to Almaty: the fruit and veg rack was positioned inside the shop, but fresh goods were rung up and sold separately to everything else, by a different person. Very strange! While there wasn’t a lot of choice in the fresh goods department, there was plenty of choice in the Russian vodka shelves. We bypassed the rows of clear liquid and picked up a bottle of the local Kyrgyz beer – at 11%, we thought one would suffice for a test.  

Having shared a bottle of the brew, we both woke up the next morning with cracking headaches – who knows what else was in that tipple! Nick managed to push past his headache and go for a run through Bishkek’s Soviet monuments and neat urban parks. We noticed throughout our time in Kyrgyzstan that it has a really interesting flavour of layered preservation. Unlike many of the former Soviet countries we’d been to that have shed a lot of their Soviet era identity, torn down statues and buildings, renamed things and formed a new modern identity; the Soviet influence in Kyrgyzstan is much more noticeable. We saw a number of Lenin statues (although we didn’t see Stalin) and other Soviet-style edifices, names and references still in place. Deeper than this, the pre-Soviet culture is even more evident. Many people wear traditional dress in the streets, unmistakable Kolpak hats cruise around atop the heads of old and young men alike, and there’s a sense of deeper, more ancient culture very much alive in the everyday lives of people. Layered on top of this, is a gentle curiosity about the world, and a ground-up entrepreneurialism and growing IT sector that connects the culture to a more global view. It’s a most unique and fascinating combination.

Much of our stay in Bishkek was about Daniel’s 10th birthday. Having decided that he definitely did not want to have his birthday in India, he had to settle for the mystery of Kyrgyzstan for his special day. He had requested a honey cake, which we had all fallen in love with in Bulgaria, so we set about shopping for cake ingredients. We found a larger supermarket where we rated our chances of finding what we needed - but finding ingredients in Kyrgyz or Russian, even with Google translate, is still challenging! We decided we’d risk it with a bag of ‘first grade bugs’ – what could go wrong, right? And then carefully picked our way between the cream, sour cream and full cream yoghurt, making sure to get the cream and get as close to the recipe as possible. Back at the apartment we realised that a) we had managed to buy a 1litre of sour cream despite being so careful, b) the bugs were just what we needed, c) we had no whisk, spatula, measuring cups, and no labels of temperature or function on the oven. Given the challenges, the 7 layer cake came out looking pretty good considering, and was put in the fridge for the next day.

We found our way to the local Faiza restaurant for supper. It was absolutely pumping. It served delicious local food, and as the only foreigners in the place, we looked around and copied what the other patrons were doing and choosing, trying not to stick out too much. Despite all the vodka in the shop, there was not a drop of alcohol in this restaurant – families were ordering large jugs of a purple, mildly fizzy berry juice. It reminded us of Sudan, the gentler vibe you get when large numbers of families are together and there is no alcohol involved.  We sampled the Boso Laghman (thick noodles with beef and stir fried veggies), some interesting soups with samsy, and beef stroganoff – all very tasty and nothing weird  The taxi driver who took us home and who spoke decent English, was flummoxed as to how we managed in Kyrgyzstan not speaking Russian. He was one of the many people we’ve spoken to who struggled with identifying South Africa as an actual country. “South Africa – ah! Australia!” ”No, not Australia, South Africa.” “Ah, yes! South Africa! Brazil!” “No, not Brazil, South Africa – Mandela, Proteas, Springboks?”  And when we point on a map they wonder why we are not black. “Ah! Africa, yes! But you are too yellow?!” It seems that the complexities of Africa feature about as much on the geopolitical radar of central Asia as central Asia does in Africa.

Our next day was all about the birthday boy. We had the traditional tea in bed, with little presents that we had been lugging around, picked up in various spots since Greece. And then cake for breakfast – which was surprisingly delicious! First class bugs for the win! We had a restful morning, playing with presents, and then ventured out for a ‘Bishkek party’ - 10 pin bowling at a sort of amusement centre. We made a break with traditional food, and had burgers for supper – which in Bishkek are served with clear plastic gloves to eat with - such a strange feeling! The Hall of Mirrors was too much of a temptation, so before long we all ended up lost in the maze. Daniel snuck up on Nick to give him a fright, jumped out at him and slammed himself straight into a mirror! We nearly collapsed in hysterics, and laughed our way home after what turned out to be a most memorable 10th birthday.

We were feeling the need for less city and more open space, and so decided to head out of town and south towards the shores of Lake Issyk Kul. We arrived at the bus station not knowing exactly how to get there, and although I had booked a spot with a family who have yurts on the lake, until that morning we still had not had our accommodation confirmed. It was low season still – everyone was saying we should come back in a month when it warmed up, and that many places were closed. If we could just find a spot to stay, that would suit us fine! 

We dodged the taxi touts, found a really helpful man who pointed us to a ticket booth and helped us onto the right marshrutka. We settled into super-comfy back seats, waited for the minibus to fill, and then set off for the 4.5 hour trip south-east to the southern shore of the lake. Between dozing, looking out the window, reading and listening to audiobooks, the trip passed quickly, and before long, we were traveling along the edge of a beautiful lake, surrounded by snow-capped mountains. 

At a tiny village, most people got off, but we were pretty sure we needed to get to the next village to be close to where we were hoping we could stay. Nevertheless, a toothless taxi driver had another view, and he confidently coaxed us off the marshrutka and into his taxi in Kyrgyz – we weren’t sure what he was saying – was he sent by the Yurt family? Was this the end of the road? Was he just hustling clueless tourists? Sometimes you’ve just got to roll with things, so we went along with him – and he took us exactly where we needed to go. Those moments of split decision – gut feel is all you’ve got. Despite very scant contact from the family at Beltam yurts, they were expecting us (phew!) and we set up home for the next little while in our yurt, sweet yurt! 

In the summer in Kyrgyzstan, nomadic families take their yurts and livestock, as they have for centuries, up into the higher pastures for 3 months, and you can homestay with the family in the mountains. Other families have yurts at beautiful spots in the lower rural country, that can be used year round. We would have loved to have stayed up in the mountains, but we were too early and it was still too wintery, so Beltam, on the edge of the lake was a great option given the season. We were the only ones staying, and we washed and ate in the family house along with a crew of young locals doing yurt renovations.

We were absolutely blown away by the surroundings. The lake colour and texture changed constantly, the mountains all around us, decked in snow, caught and played with the light, and the clouds put on shows of shape and design. We had come just to chill, with no major plans – and it was the perfect place to do it.

On our first night, one of the young women lit the wood stove inside our yurt, so while it was pretty icy outside, it was warm and toasty inside, and we collapsed on our simple but surprisingly comfortable beds, tucked under handmade felt blankets. We noticed that a little cat had found her way into the warmth and comfort and made herself quite at home – much to the delight of the children. Nick cat-egorically stated that we would have NO CATS in the yurt (residual trauma from the Corfu Naughty Cat poo-in-the-bag experience). So at lights out, the cat was also turned out, and we all fell asleep in absolute blackness. Daniel and I awoke a little while later to hear a strange, repetitive bashing on the yurt wall. “Mommy, what’s that sound?” “I don’t know! It sounds like something running and diving against the wall?!” Which is exactly what it was. We opened the door, and there was the little cat throwing herself full tilt at the yurt. She stopped, looked up at us, elegantly slipped in past us, settled onto Nick’s bed, and was still and silent until morning! (She was promptly renamed Catapult, and needless to say, was a beloved fixture for the rest of our time there.) 

On our slow-paced lazy days, we would wake later than we meant to because yurts are so dark on the inside, wander our way up to the house for a generous and eclectic breakfast that consisted of fried eggs, a vegetable samosa pastry, cold cauliflower and broccoli, beetroot, sliced tomatoes and cucumber, fried bread, squares of toast with sausage and cheese on, little bowls of tinned peas, sour cream and raw honey, and bowl of black tea. Sitting cross legged around our low table we’d try a little conversation in broken Russian/Kyrgyz/English, and then think about what to do for the day. One of our hosts suggested we meet an eagle hunting family, which he arranged for us. 

Kadirdin , his wife and two sons, drove from their village with their two golden eagles and two Afghan hunting dogs and met us at the base of a hill not far from where we were staying. Meeting them was such a treat! The golden eagles are spectacular, the one that belongs to Kadirdin has been in the family for 16 years, and the other, which belongs to the older son, for 3 years. They are enormous, powerful and there is a palpable bond between bird and human. They explained and demonstrated how they hunt with eagles, the heritage and deep culture passed down the generations, and the sense of taking something from the wild – but never more than you need or you deplete that which you depend on. What I loved most about the engagement was watching the family engage with each other – Kadirdin, so beamingly proud of his boys, the older son gently teasing his father and his Dad ribbing him back, the young 12 year old, so earnestly committed to his role of lackey so that he could earn himself an eagle when he came of age, the mom wielding quiet power and pride as translator for her family and the culture’s traditions. If you have watched Human Playground on Netflix, there is a segment on eagle hunters of Kyrgyzstan that is so like what we experienced. Down to the clapped-out VW golf, with eagles in the back, needing a push down the hill to get the engine to run. We walked back to our yurts full of the magic of the experience – and are still in touch with them on WhatsApp.

On another day, our post-breakfast discussions ended up with us catching a taxi into the village to learn about the traditional process of felting and felt carpet making. Kyrgyz people make a large range of day-to-day products from sheep’s wool felt, including hats, slippers, rugs, bags and yurt blankets. We were shown the raw black, brown and white wool, bought from local shepherds. It is then washed and brushed before being laid in a crisscross pattern on a big reed mat. The process of converting the raw wool into hard, waterproof layer of felt is a bit like rolling sushi. The raw wool is wet with hot water and the mat is rolled up tight. The roll is then bounded for 20 minutes on a crude but ingenious machine that knits and compacts the fibres together. The mat is then washed, dried and the process repeated another two times. Dyes are used, including many natural ones like tea, onion skins and turmeric, to produce felt mats of different colours. These are then cut into positive and negative shapes and stitched together by hand in patterns specific to each master. Our tour was conducted by a master craftswoman who showed us the huge amounts of skill and patience involved in creating these precious carpets.  Much to our surprise and delight, we were given the opportunity to create our own carpet, with our own crude patterns, which we then got to take home. We had to try pretty hard to get the water and the sheepy smell out of it before our flight to India!

On our last day, we thought we might brave a swim – apparently Issyk Kul means warm water. As with everything, this is a relative statement. Warm water is water that doesn’t freeze over in winter, it’s not water that you can get into past your ankles without a deep ache in your bones. We played ‘how long can you bare the burn’ in the shallows of the crystalline water, watched horses come down to drink, and then headed back to watch a yurt being built. They are such clever constructions!

With a feeling of great space, we read, did some schoolwork (yurt work), rested, and just soaked up the scenery, with a growing love for this place. It snowed on our last night, and getting ready to leave, we felt sad saying goodbye. And especially sad to leave Catapult (it wasn’t just the children who had fantasies of a stowaway stray!)

Our reverse trip to Bishkek has become the stuff of family legend. We settled in to the back row of the marshrutka, and an extremely drunk old man in the front spotted us with delight and came to join us. He was so enthusiastic to tell us that “You – you – drink! You drink – I drink! I drink vodka!!! Sorry, sorry, sorry! Ha ha ha ha! Friends, friends! You! You drink! I – I – I drink vvvv-vodka! Ha ha ha!” Over the course of 4,5 hours, in gregarious drunken generosity, he regaled us with his vodka drinking, burped loudly in our direction, shook our hands repeatedly, swore eternal friendship, asked the children if they like drinking vodka (we were pretending to be asleep), invited us to his ‘big house’ in Bishkek where he would slaughter…something big…in our honour and we would drink vodka together (even the children). As tempting as the offer was, we politely declined. Sometimes it’s great to have a plane to catch!

Some places land in your heart in a special way - for us, Kyrgyzstan was one of these places. Our experience of the people we met was that the Kyrgyz are quiet, generous, proud, steeped in their culture, curious and resourceful. What they may not have in mineral wealth, they exceed in stunning landscape with a huge untapped potential for tourism. While slightly more geared to foreign tourists than Kazakstan, it has a feeling of homegrown entrepreneurialism rather than anything mass produced. The curio shop was an example - the items for sale were handmade craftwork, no Chinese junk, sold by this most delightful woman, who by the end of our pottering, hugged us farewell, and then ran after us once we'd left, with a small gift for Carys. In a part of the world that we know so little about, a recent war with Tajikistan in the south; strange, insular Turkmenistan to the west ("our local North Korea"); and friendly relations with Kazakhstan to the north; it opened our eyes to a stunning and unspoiled part of our planet. Our time in the country feels like a gift.