The capital of Kyrgyzstan is hardly on the tourist track, and after a day of finding only a handful of rather unremarkable Soviet-esque buildings, its easy to see why. The Lonely Planet guide is rather scathing in its commentary of the city, and points to the fact that barely a building exists that was built pre-1945. From a traveller perspective then perhaps Bishkek is worth a miss.
However I have long been a fan of cultural immersion rather than wandering around with a guidebook, and feel truly privileged to spend the next six months amongst the Kyrgyz people. I just hope I can find a convenient way to bypass questions regarding the English perception of Kyrgyzstan..
‘Why are you going to Kurdistan?’
‘Not Kurdistan, Kyrgyzstan. Its in Central Asia, under Kazakhstan’.
‘There’s a central part of Asia?’
The previous conversation was often had during the time prior to my departure, though I guess the Central Asians should be grateful that Borat has put Kazakhstan on the map. When I first visited Kazakhstan in 2004 I still had to refer to Russia in order for people to conceptualise its location (though in all honesty I arrived at Almaty airport still fairly clueless as to where I actually was.)
After a twelve-hour journey via Istanbul I arrived in the VIP section of Biskek’s airport at 5.30 am. The airport also doubles as a US air base (though not for long), and so I was somewhat surprised at its run-down nature. The VIP section had half painted walls with a long piece of chipboard separating the inbound from outbound passengers, and a telephone that would sell for a fortune in any of Manchester’s vintage shops. Having pushed and shoved my way to the front of a gaggle of Turkish men and gained myself an immigration form, I now joined the ‘queue’ for visa acquisition. I use the word queue lightly as it’s a concept that doesn’t resonate well in Central Asia. After waiting for what felt like two hours and was in fact 45 minutes there were only two couples and myself waiting visas. Both couples consisted of a European man with Kyrgyz girlfriend.
Having practiced how to ask for an ‘ordinary’ visa in my best Russian I was rather demoralised when the visa distributor with the most ostentatious fur army coat I’ve ever seen demanded that I ‘translate please’. Twenty minutes and the wrong visa later I was met by a non-English speaking man wielding a sign with ‘Mary Pol’. Pol translates as gender in Russian; excellent. I was marched to collect my luggage and had to explain the contents of my two rather large bags in order to verfify they belonged to me. I would have been more understanding had their been a surplus of bags to choose from, but there were in fact only three so the whole process struck me as fairly unnecessary. My irritation increased when I had to explain to a guard in front of an increasing crowd of men what my can of hair mousse was. Needless to say my Russian doesn’t extend that far and they were all amused by my miming skills. (And yes, I did bring hair mousse all the way to Kyrgyzstan- you never know the quality of goods here and having just discovered such a genius invention I was not about to let it go so soon).
The non-English speaking taxi driver who informed me his name was Dima (after I used one of my four Kyrgyz phrases) gave me some keys and drove me to an apartment in Bishkek. This confused me somewhat as I was under the impression I was travelling south to the city I will be working in. I decided to go with the flow, and after waking up an angry Kyrgyz woman was met by a bed where I swiftly fell asleep and awoke mid-Saturday. I then found myself in an empty apartment with no money, no idea where I was and no idea what I was supposed to be doing. Thankfully the country director turned up and took me out for dinner. The Russians may technically have left Kyrgyzstan but their culture still remains, evident by the fact my host was rather confused I declined a shot of vodka with my meal.
Today was a national holiday, ‘Men’s Day’, which used to be a day for Soviet soldiers and is now purely a celebration of men. Testosterone indeed abounded in the main square, where groups of teenagers wandered around in matching black leather jackets. Fur appears to be a common theme here. The square used to feature a statue of Lenin which has been aptly replaced by a statue entitled freedom. The cold drab grey concrete of the square certainly didn’t suggest freedom to me, but it had come alive with horrendously tacky floral decorations and money-seeking teenagers with Nikon cameras taking photos of couples standing proudly beside the gaudy colours. As with all Soviet-era national holidays this appears to be the main thing to do on such a day, a custom I had the pleasure of partaking in whilst in Kazakhstan.
Lets see how women’s day, children’s day, grandparent’s day, pet’s day etc etc (you get the picture) compare….
NB As far as I am aware there is no grandparent’s or pet’s day though I wouldn’t put it past any former Soviet republic.
