Back in the USSR

Greetings from Kyrgyzstan! I have done a lot of traveling between Bukhara in Uzbekistan and the town of Kochkor in Kyrgyzstan where I am now, and I will now attempt to fill you in. After taking a comfortable four hour train ride from Bukhara we found ourselves in Samarkand, home to Uzbekistans greatest sight, The Registan. The Registan is a collection of three massive medressas which contain the usual Uzbek collection of mosques, minarets and courtyards. There was no doubt that The Registan was incredibly impressive, however after seeing many similar (but smaller) buildings over the past week, the novelty was beginning to wear off and it was hard to maintain a genuine interest in Central Asian 15th century Islamic Architecture. After just over a week in Uzbekistan, it was time to leave, and so we jumped on a train to Tashkent and then a flight the next morning to Bishkek, capital city of Kyrgyzstan. My sister cleverly decided to lose her ticket for the flight, so after numerous loud Russian arguments with whoever she could find, she was forced to shell out nearly 200 Dollars for a new ticket. This is after she was persuaded to part with 120 Dollars for a ridiculous amount of Uzbek kitchenware in Bukhara! Gutted.

We spent a few hours in Bishkek, checking out a bit of soviet bric-a-brac (I’ve got myself a lovely pennant to go with the Lenin one I’ve already got), before having the best meal I have yet to eat in Central Asia courtesy of a brilliant Chinese restaurant. I have yet to mention Uzbek food. In every restaurant we went to, there was no menu. Thanks to my sisters Russian, we asked the waiter: ‘What food have you got?’ the answer was always the same: ‘Everything’. On further probing however, it was revealed everything did in fact mean the following things: Shashlik (a kind of fatty sheek kebab), Plov (rice and gristle) and finally Lagman (a noodle stew of varying quality). The Chinese meal in Bishkek was a welcome break from this painfully monotony. (I have heard a rumor that like the Eskimos have seven different words for ‘snow’, the Uzbek people have twelve different words for ‘bland’.)

Once we had finally had a decent meal, we set off in a shared taxi for Lake Issyk-kol, the worlds’ largest alpine lake and the tourist attraction of which the Krygyz people are most proud. The four hour drive to the lake was breathtaking and gave me an initial glimpse at the mountains in which I will be spending the next week or so. Upon arrival in Cholpon-Ata, seemingly the main town on the shore of the lake, we had great difficulty finding a hostel. The driver of our taxi didn’t think we would like the place much anyway, so offered to drive us to the next town which he claimed was much better, and that we would have a great time there. The man could not have been more wrong if he had tried. We were taken to a ramshackle settlement on the lakes shoreline and put up in one of three identical hotels that clearly hadn’t seen a lick of paint since they were first built in Khrushchev-era USSR. I have come across such a relic of the Soviet Union in all my travels and it was a privelige to stay there. This was clearly where the Krygyz ‘lads on tour’ came as the place was full of tents that doubled as clubs playing Russian house music. My opinions on Russian house music are very similar to my opinions on Uzbek food. Need I say more?

One long night there was enough, and Mary and I parted our separate ways the following morning as she took a taxi back down to Bishkek and onwards to Osh, where she was starting work after the weekend. I, meanwhile, took a taxi to Kochkor, bang in the heart of the Krgyz mountains. It is here I have arranged to go on a horse trek to lake Song-kol for three days, sleeping in yurt camps for both nights. I will be setting off tomorrow morning, keep an eye on my twitter: www.twitter.com/jkpole for updates!