Киргизия

Capital City #19

From the tiny Nevsehir airport in Cappadocia, we boarded our flight back to Istanbul. Unexpectedly, we got a free meal again – gotta love Turkish Airlines! Our own dinner had been long enough ago that this one was still welcome. Once we arrived, we waited for our 12:50am flight and surveyed our fellow passengers, who each seemed to have hoards of carry-on luggage. Once again, we were served a meal near the start of the flight – breakfast this time, at about 2am. The timing of all these meals was all wack. Then we dozed for 3 hours or so.

After our longish flight, but not long enough for a proper sleep, we arrived in my old homeland! Despite not expecting to recognize much, necessarily, I was still more excited to arrive here than most other places we've visited. We sailed through passport control, then spent a while getting through customs. We saw the “nothing to declare” entry was free of a big line of people, unlike the “goods to declare” entry, so went to go through it. An official shook his head “no”, though, and directed us back to the other line. So we waited there, along with everyone else with piles and piles of carry-on. Honestly, they all had the largest amounts of carry-on luggage I've ever seen. And everybody's luggage had to go through a security machine. After a while, we saw other people come up and attempt to use the line. Some were forbidden and directed to our line, while others were let through. It all seemed completely arbitrary; we couldn't discern a pattern to it. It wouldn't surprise me if it was, indeed, completely random. Such is the bureaucracy here, I imagine.

After making it through customs, we were greeted with a big crowd of cheeky-looking men, all of whom, it seemed, were offering taxi rides. An immediate test of my Russian! We blew off everyone who offered, got some cash out from an ATM, and met the driver the hotel had sent to meet us. I'd thought it would be safest to get a ride organized that way – a verified driver, who wouldn't try to scam us or extort more money en route. Well, he didn't. We made it to our accommodation without any troubles. What a different accommodation experience from when we used to live there – we had a flushing toilet now instead of a long drop, real toilet paper, a shower, power that stayed on without any cuts.

We didn't do too much that first day, other than resting a bit, getting the lock fixed on our door after it turned out it had broken, trying the nearby Tsoom mall for groceries and discovering it mainly sold clothes and electronics instead, and finding an actual supermarket and buying supplies. That's right, Bishkek has supermarkets now! We visited ones called “Narodniy” or Народный in Cyrillic. I don't remember that there used to be any when I was last here, nearly two decades ago. We found khalva there and bought some – and I realized what I'd been missing all these years. Khalva is a delicious, sweet spread made from sunflower seeds, that my sister Ruth and I always thought looked like dog food. I have found some khalva in Christchurch, in an Arabic shop, and we encountered some in Poland, too. But the Kyrgyz stuff beats it all! It is the khalva of khalvas!

Here is another supermarket - "Citymarket". Supermarkets galore! So developed!

Bishkek has some ATMs now, too, thank goodness. On our internet research, we were informed that ATMs are a fairly recent commodity, so one has to beware of muggings. You'll be glad to hear we weren't ever mugged. On the security note, though, we made sure to avoid policemen like the plague, or at least walk past them mutely so they might think we were ethnic Russians, and not foreigners. I remember how corrupt the policemen used to be when we lived there; foreigners are great targets for getting bribes from. You'll also be glad to hear we never had any policemen try to extort a bribe from us, though. Maybe they aren't as corrupt now as they used to be?

The next day we made the hour-long walk to Osh Bazaar, the city's main market. We were on the hunt for winter clothes to prepare for a Russian winter. We were fortunate with the weather in Bishkek; our first two days there, before we'd managed to buy any proper warm clothes, were simply balmy, definitely in the double digits.

On our walk, we were able to observe the city and the city dwellers. Bishkek is a very flat place, with lots of trees, and not particularly interesting architecture.

 Very flat, with lots of trees (admittedly, this is a park).

all the trees in lines so straight

As for the people, most wore jeans or other fashionable clothes; most looked Kyrgyz; I saw a couple of schoolkids on cellphones. We passed two or three other pairs of people speaking English during our time there. Most of the conversation we overheard was in Russian. We also noticed the traffic: this is the first place I've been where cars actually stop on the amber – or even before, during the flashing green light stage. This may be because the perpendicular line of cars (and pedestrians) starts going before their lights have turned green, as soon as they see the other lights turn amber.

We managed quite well at Osh Bazaar. Coats, boots, thermal pants, gloves and warm socks. Items with brand names like Adidas, Nike, etc seem to be a big thing over there. Ben 10 has made its way there, too. I enjoyed shopping, as it gave me a chance to talk to some Kyrgyz people. They were nice, too; helpful, but not pushy, like so many other sellers we've encountered. They're not used to catering for tourists, but for their own countrymen. Some of them were interested in us and where we were from. When John was buying his coat, a small crowd of half a dozen or so shopkeepers/other shoppers gathered round and were looking at us in the stall, curious about these foreigners trying to speak Russian. A girl we bought our thermals and some socks from asked us some questions about ourselves, too. I counted it a victory that she asked us how long we'd been living in Bishkek, asking how many months or years, rather than how long we were visiting for. Perhaps my Russian didn't seem too bad. Or, perhaps, she can't conceive of people visiting Bishkek as tourists – there must be a better reason for us to be there. I was also surprised at how many people there speak some English now; in some shops, I'd ask how much an item was, and they would respond in English. That wasn't such a victory.

That evening we searched for a recommended restaurant, which turned out to be in Bishkek's hottest new mall, Vefa/Вефа. The walk there and back was very dark in some places; the Kyrgyz don't believe in having many streetlights, not to light the footpaths, anyway. Combined with the way they do roadworks – unmarked and barrierless – I can easily imagine someone injuring themselves while walking at night.

An example of the level of safety-consciousness present. This was in the middle of a square we visited.

typical roadworks/footpathworks

Вефа is a flash, modern mall. It has free wi-fi that works, shops with flash, modern prices, apparently, and a foodcourt at the top. I had some mantiy, dumplings with meat, and John some beef stroganoff, along with sprite/beer for drinks. It was nice to recognize food on a menu again, even in another language. It was a decent meal, and cost us the equivalent of NZ$9.60.

 Вефа mall from the outside - pretty!

 and on the inside - fancy!

 pretty ceiling decorations

 movies that have made their way to Bishkek

catchy English slogan

The next day we felt the effects of jet lag, sleeping through our alarm and waking at 12:50pm. We did feel well rested though! Our bathroom light also broke. So from then on we used a torch in there, as there was no natural light source. Our main task of the day was to walk down memory lane: we visited my old kindergarten, which I didn't really remember at all, as well as the bazaar Dad often used to visit. Dressed in our newly acquired warm gear for a much colder day, we felt like we fit in much better. Perhaps we did, because as we strolled down the main aisle, a lady asked me for the time; I showed her my watch, not proficient enough to tell her myself. I'll take it as another victory though! I think the people here would be even less used to having tourists; even here, though, some of the shopkeepers spoke English.

Next, we saw my old music school; John didn't like the neighbourhood very much, but I figure, if it was okay for an 8-year-old girl to attend alone back in the day, it's probably alright now too. Most meaningfully to me, we saw our old street, and our old place – the gate, at least. I could still remember it clearly: a massive, tall green gate. I was pleased to see it's mainly unchanged, although not nearly as tall as I remember it... go figure. I remembered little things from my childhood, looking down the streets: there was the place a little dog nipped me on the ankles as I biked down the street; there was where Dad taught me about the speed of sound by hammering a piece of wood from a while away; about halfway down was where I breathed in the fumes of a car 'cos they smelled so good (just for a little bit).

our old green gate!!

That evening we ate out again, making the most of Kyrgyz/Russian cuisine while we could. It was a nice establishment, called “Faziya”. I ordered borsch, a beetroot soup from my childhood, while John got plov, a traditional rice dish. My soup was a bit watery and disappointing, unfortunately, but John's was very tasty! How would I know, you wonder? I'm not telling. Again, drinks included, the meal was equivalent to a mere NZ$8.30.

our fine dining establishment!

 

 John's plov

and my watery borsch

On our last day in Bishkek, we made the trek back to Osh Bazaar, as we still wanted hats and a scarf for John. We then had a leisurely walk back, finally doing some more traditional sightseeing as we saw numerous squares and statues, along with a changing of the guard ceremony. Gotta love those. This is the last one we're posting though, I promise!

the changing of the guard

And now let the picture overload begin:

 fancyish building

 dude

more awesome dude

 

 John beneath a man carrying a horse?

 slightly tilting Kyrgyz parliament building

speaking of tilting...

 

 Manas - the subject of a tradition of epic oral poetry who has become a symbol of the nation. There were Manas things everywhere. Multiple statues, streets, parks, and the airport.

 

eternal flame within a yurt-shaped structure

I'm not sure Bishkek would figure on many travellers' itineraries, and I don't really blame them. Objectively, it's not the most exciting city to visit. With the sentimental value, though, and even from our brief encounters with Kyrgyz people, I loved our time there. They were so nice! And it was an unassuming, non-pushy city (apart from all the taxi offers). Maybe it's not so much a place to visit as a tourist, but a place to live.

And now a less biased opinion, from someone who didn't use to live there:

Perhaps it's just showing my naive racist bias, or perhaps it's just that we were warned extensively about pickpockets and thieves in Bishkek, but I felt comfortable, safe even, in most parts of Bishkek. After we arrived we went for a walk, always with an eye on any police who might be of the dodgy persuasion – making sure to cross the road at a point where we could avoid them, scurrying along trying to look like we belonged there. Perhaps we were lucky/blessed, but all the people we met were nice, friendly (with the possible exception of a harried waitress) and I felt safe, like the whole thing was overblown, and it's not as bad as all that.

When we were in L.A., there were people I felt intimidated by, and when we were in Italy, all the short swarthy dodgy looking guys hanging around made me watch my valuables (not closely enough though). I've felt intimidated by Russians, Poles, Italians, Spaniards, and the immigrants who sell the Eiffel tower souvenirs in Paris, by half the border police/immigration people we've met, and by around 20% of the people we saw in Sarajevo, but even the Kyrgyz police officer with the biggest hat I didn't find menacing whatsoever. Perhaps it's because I don't feel intimidated by Asian people. I kind of feel that I probably should feel equally intimidated by people of all races and genders, regardless of the size of the hat that they're wearing. Enough introspection.

I like Bishkek. Things are cheap, the people are friendly enough, the markets aren't full of tourists, so you don't get that whole “Come to my shop!” banter that you get while going though the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, and you don't get the acres and acres of souvenir shops selling identical things. It's nice for a change. Sure, there's not much to do, not very many famous monuments, but having seen my fair share of famous monuments, I think I can say that fame does not a monument make. Bishkek is an interesting place, a city of concrete and internal combustion in a land of nomadic tent dwellers. Can recommend.