There was Little Old Laos, and now there’s Beautiful Bishkek. For some Bishkek was the hell that Urumqi became for me. But Bishkek was bliss for my soul after the nightmare and intensity of China, and I contend a much lesser hell than being stuck on the other side of the border.
The visit to the Kyrgyz capital began with the usual tremors that accompany a flight into anywhere. Major stations – bus, train or airports – are magnets for sharks circling for an easy feed. Airports particularly. My entry to Bishkek commenced with the obligatory overpriced taxi ride into town. I was desperately sick. It was nearly a week since I had eaten anything other than the occasional bread roll or bowl of rice. I decided that now was as good a time as any to splurge on a hotel room in which I could recover in solitude. We went to one hotel that was in the guide book, which turned out, either as a result of the inflation plaguing the country or an opportunistic owner, to be much too expensive. Examining the bleak concrete building, I wondered what a lesser price would enable me to acquire.
During the negotiations the taxi driver discovered what I was looking for, price wise and what I wanted for the price. I directed him to another hostel that was in the guide book. I was trying to follow the driver’s movements on my map, and though I was disoriented having just arrived into the town I was sure he wasn’t going in the direction that we needed. The driver drove up and down the small street and I was starting to get agitated and concerned at the driver’s motives. He finally stopped and jumped out of the car at a large nondescript house, disappearing beyond its high walls. He returned to inform me that this was a local hotel, and that they had rooms for the price I wanted. Mistrustingly, I got out of the cab and followed the driver into the hotel. The attendant took me up a couple of flights of stairs resembling a slightly modern grand entrance to a mansion, and unlocked the door to a small room on the top floor of the house. It was a cosy little room with a sloped wall on one side as it nestled the roofline, and consisted of a large double bed, a television, a corner couch and a large, clean bathroom. With the sunshine filtering through lace curtains, I was sold.
The little hotel didn’t eventuate to be the perfect haven after all. It later turned out that the room I had been given failed to extract any water, cold or hot, from the plumbing system. I was shifted to another room downstairs, which charged a higher rate simply due to an increased size despite having identical amenities. I am still unsure as to whether this was a ploy to extort more money from me. They did charge me a lesser rate than the one they claimed to usually charge for the room, however. In any case it was still around my budget and became my home for nearly a week. The attendants were nice enough, however they seemed all too eager to ask for money from me, often even before check out time. On a couple of occasions the other tenants were also rather raucous, which kept me awake on a couple of nights. The television, too, had terrible reception, though it was a treat to be able to view a few games of the UEFA cup, despite it being through the haze of a fuzzy screen.
That week was like a metamorphosis, emerging from a private hell into paradise. The same process that accompanied my escape to Tian Chi untangled the knots of stress and anger that had twisted my mind, body and soul in China. The age old quip that everything is relative rang only too true in Bishkek. Whilst I later met others who were frustrated at being in Bishkek (and I contend these frustrations had little to do with Bishkek and more to do with the bureaucracies of foreign countries, particularly China), achieving things in Bishkek compared to China was like stepping into a crisp clear mountain stream after wading through a pestilence infected swamp. And this included a tortuous procedure to acquire a single-entry visa to Kazakhstan that involved four visits to the embassy over a week to finally obtain the visa, one of which was like tussling in a rugby scrum for two and a half hours.
It is extremely difficult to pin down the exact cause of my frustration with China, and equally exactly what it is about Bishkek that enabled a relaxed smile to re-enter my complexion in the city. The Lonely Planet describes Bishkek as ‘green’, both as a literal and metaphorical depiction. Maybe it was the leafy streets, miskept and in disrepair, but beautiful with the warm summer sunshine filtering through the splayed leaves of oaks, birch trees, poplars and an assortment of other northern hemisphere plants with which I was unfamiliar. Maybe it was the little blue-eyed blonde-haired Russian girl who was playing innocently in the quiet street on which I was staying, or the feeling of harmony at seeing Kyrgyz and Russians side by side in all affairs and businesses. Perhaps it was the feeling of getting closer to my Slavic roots, with wisened Russian babushka asking me for the time, then smiling warmly at my niet paruski as I showed them my watch.
Most definitely the ability to get things done had major implications. The brick wall of obstinacy that I encountered in China disappeared in Bishkek. Despite being able to speak a little Chinese, most people refused to try to understand you as you negotiated through the quagmire of travelling through China. Anything that was easily slipped into the too hard basket, a rather expansive vesicle, was done so quickly and promptly ignored or forgotten. The Chinese appear to have an aversion to effort, particularly if it involves thinking beyond the square, or outside their routine. Coupled with a blatant disconcern for their fellow beings, particularly foreigners, this resulted in many frustrations. I came to Kyrgyzstan with no Russian skills except the ability to read Cyrillic. This has made no difference. Pigeon English, hand signals, tracing numbers on palms or dashboards for taxi fares and other prices have all enabled me to get by with little hassle. People have been willing to communicate.
I have been able to access my blog, email and communicate on Facebook without running the risk that the various functions may be disabled or interfered with. The internet café I have been frequenting has a printer connected to it’s system. I could easily acquire a sim card here if I needed to, that would operate throughout the country. I was able to acquire decent antibiotics that worked and from a pharmacy that was not obsessed with selling me quack potions for sexual function. I was able to obtain a visa, which admittedly was more hassle than what it would have been in China, but which was not fraught with unexpected twists and turns. I was able to obtain a reasonably priced flight, pay without difficulty, and not have to orienteer through half the city to find an agent that was happy to help me. All the ATMs I have tried have operated satisfactorily, and I have not had to run around the city in the early morning prior to leaving on a bus trying to find an ATM that had money and would accept my card. I have even had the luxury of being able to obtain US dollars from ATMs!
Whilst Bishkek and Kyrgyzstan in general still suffers from crazy drivers with a frequent disregard for road rules, the very occasional crooked cop, a general decay that plagues everything and can sometimes manifest itself as a lower level of hygiene than in the West, and an apparent but not widespread disregard for the consequences of discarding refuse, there is still a sense of order and decorum that permeates life. I received the shock of my life when, after four months of negotiating the dangerous thoroughfares of Asian cities, a car actually stopped for me at a pedestrian crossing. People will rise from their seats for females, the elderly, the infirmed or the pregnant. There is an etiquette of politeness, and rather than hard-earned familiarity (or rather an attitude of ‘if you can offer me something, I’ll be nice to you with a slimy grin’), there is a presumed level of respect at the commencement of any exchange.
Despite a lack of money in all activities, there is a respect and care taken in everything that is done. Whilst the fight against decomposition appears to be a losing battle, the people in Kyrgyzstan still fight the brave fight. Despite a structure built in 1947 and a garden that displays more weeds than interesting specimens, the staff (presumably underpaid employees or volunteers) of the botanic gardens in Bishkek still try to nurture whatever order that nature will allow in the large green complex. I noticed the greenhouse looked as if it was struggling to stay upright and was heated by the oil heaters found in old European houses: the bananas had consequently suffered from frosts during the last winter. The unusually harsh season had also claimed their only two Eucalyptus species, and the kindly coordinator, happy to speak to a travelling botanist from distant lands, forlornly pointed to a pile of timber claiming ‘at least it smells nice when it burns’. Houses have fences repainted every summer, people attempt to reconstruct decaying assemblies, and small gardens display roses the likes of which I have never seen.
Bishkek is not heaven, however. The lethal combination of a downtrodden economy, inflation, and inherited Russian pride and vodka can make for a volatile mix. Twice I have been confronted in broad daylight by drunk youths looking for a biff: both times they were easily ignored with a disinterested look. Drunk Russians are often helped on their way by local Kyrgyzs and the homeless find refuge in the many parks and can be smelt before they are seen. Whilst you are not constantly seen as a walking dollar sign like many other places I have visited, you are definitely a financial opportunity not to be missed. A recurring misconception that you can afford to throw dollars to every beggar that asks remains in Bishkek: the concept of a budget traveller is not widely understood.
After a week recovering from the stomach bug that I had acquired in Urumqi and a consequent cold attacking a weakened immune system, I shifted to new, cheaper accommodation. I took a taxi with my copious gear to the little blue door in a dirty, whitewashed building. I had the address of the guesthouse, Nomad’s Home, but the house I saw displayed no sign of what business it was offering. I rang the bell. A young girl came to the door and I enquired if this was the guesthouse and whether they had any room. She asked how many nights. I replied a few, keen to display that I was willing to input more than one night’s accommodation. She replied that there was no room. The heat of panic began to rise in me, with the taxi driver looking curiously at the proceedings. I couldn’t afford to stay any longer in the hotel. The girl noticed my discomfort. Eventually, through the girl’s sister over the telephone it was revealed that they had room for me for one night in the dormitory, but a large group would be coming for the following evenings, and I would either have to find alternative accommodation or I could pitch a tent in the back garden. I had been procrastinating for a while as to whether a tent would be a worthwhile investment: the savings I would make coupled with the opportunities it would allow me to explore the vast wildernesses in Kyrgzstan proved convincing arguments.
It turned out that the big group was one of two truckloads of overland travellers who had reached Bishkek from London to find their onward routes blocked. One truck was travelling from London to Beijing, the other London to Australia. One group had acquired Chinese visas, but had been informed that whilst the people could enter, the trucks could not, for whatever obscure reason the bureaucracy had formulated. The other group had not even acquired visas and so would not be able to enter China at all as the government had ceased issuing visas beyond foreigners’ countries of origin. This created a sense of frustration in Bishkek. Along with many others who were trying to obtain visas for onward travel westward or southward to the less hospitable Central Asian nations or northward to Kazakhstan and Russia, the guesthouse in Bishkek acquired the ambiance of a waiting room for travellers accosted by the bureaucratic absurdities of the region.
Whilst I recommend the guesthouse wholeheartedly, with a friendly family running the establishment who were not intent on asking you for payment at every opportunity and indeed refused payment until the final bill required settling, they did appear to struggle to cope with the inevitabilities that accompany accepting so many travellers seeking refuge in one place in such a small space. At one stage there were easily fifty people: the two truckloads and an assortment of independent travellers. The guesthouse has one toilet and one shower, and lines for either of these amenities became the norm. The appearance of several signs asking for quiet after certain hours and a frustration with the amount of refuse and general disorder the tenants left behind, proved that whilst they were happy to accept so many travellers both out of hospitality and for financial gain, they had not thoroughly preconceived the consequences of having so many guests. A similar alternative to Nomad’s would not go astray in Bishkek.
My time in Bishkek was predominantly spent dealing with the many loose ends that China had untied. I also have had to make some dramatic decisions. As this website states, the trip was originally intended as an overland experience from Asia to Europe. There was never any firm time schedule, and when asked how long I would be away, I always answered that it could be two weeks, two months, or two years. The expectation, however, was that the trip would take an approximate 18 months including a half-year stint teaching English in China, with the primary intention of furthering my Chinese language skills rather than any love for teaching. A contract was even signed and sent over the ethernet in Laos confirming these plans. I have reached Central Asia, the crossroads of so many periods in history, at a crossroads of my own. Two flights, both resulting from visa difficulties, have destroyed the overland concept. A third flight from Kazakhstan was imminent. It appeared a flight to Bangkok followed by another stint in Hong Kong trying to obtain working permits for China would be the inevitable outcome of a choice to follow my plan. Weighing the financial pros and cons I realised that the money spent trying to re-enter China would probably outweigh much of any savings I might be able to acquire working in China. The romanticism of staying in China for a prolonged period being thoroughly smashed and a realisation that my desire to acquire Chinese fluency would be a much longer process than I had hoped tipped the scales. I now fly to Warsaw!
The process of travelling back to the lands of my forefathers has obviously now been greatly accelerated. I will be entering my paternal homeland on 28 July at approximately 3.30pm. It has been a dream of mine to travel with my father through Poland, a place I have as yet never visited. He flies to Warsaw, along with my mother, on 29 July. From there we will travel by car for two weeks through Poland and the Czech Republic, fulfilling an aspiration that has been long to come to fruition.
This does not mean that an overland route Asia to Europe, or Europe to Asia has dissipated. I still harbour the dream to travel through Europe, Russia, and into China to see many of the sights I am eager to visit, having missed them in the limited time that the Chinese government allowed me. I also wish to see many things in South-East Asia, including Cambodia and Vietnam which I missed as a result of my urge to head north from Laos.
I came away looking for something. I was unsure what. I knew that I would only find this something on the road, in the surrounds of a foreign environment away from the prying advice of people who harbour preconceptions about my life. It is amongst the mountains of Kyrgyzstan and the leafy streets of decrepit Bishkek, that I have found what I have been searching for. And what was it? Priorities. I needed to understand what is important to me. Where do my values lie? What is it that, with nothing else possible, I refuse to let go? Where, amongst all the intriguing fellow travellers I have met and the confrontations with foreign cultures, do my talents and abilities shine through? What cause incorporates that which I can appreciate and apply myself to? Paring down all the layers of confusion that home brings has been a five-month process rather than the eighteen months I had suspected.
Giving up? Abandoning a long held goal? Succumbing to cowardice at the thought of a road longer than I had suspected? Far from it. All will be revealed, but this blog I suspect will have a longer lifespan than previously expected. I am well and truly infected by the travel bug. However, rather than eating me away from the inside, the virus has mutated my DNA, and has given me wings that I always wanted, and the wisdom to know how to use them. The road is long and I intend to walk it!
