Osh – Arslanabob

            Whilst Osh is nothing special, Arslanabob seems to project itself out of the stuff of legend. I travelled to Osh with three other foreigners by share taxi – Remi, a Belgian, Karol, a Slovakian, and David, a Canadian. It was a long squirmish ride, although a share taxi ride in a Mercedes is incomparably more comfortable than a hot, sweaty, stuffy mashrutka trip. Osh did not strike me as a place in which to linger: a fact identified by many that had been through the city. Unable to travel through the rest of Central Asia, however, it gave me a taste of what ‘non-Russified’ Kyrgyzstan felt like. Rather than the leafy streets of Bishkek or the alpine mountain scenery of the northern half of the country, Osh is a centre situated amongst lines of dry rolling hills that divide valleys which had been irrigated to produce fields of cotton and other crops. The obscure national boundaries are apparent, with the main highway skirting checkpoints with Uzbekistan. People roam the streets not in the latest European fashions, but in more conservative dress. Women wear long embroidered skirts and sport headscarves, or may wear the loose colourful pants more typical of the Uzbeks and other southern Central Asian neighbours. Men cover their scalps with different types of headdress defining their cultural identity: Kyrgyz men with the tall pointed cream felt hats and Uzbeks with quartered skullcaps. Here Russians are few and far between.

            Despite the novel atmosphere, there was little to see in Osh, and I had the feeling that I wanted to move on as soon as possible. Whilst Bishkek has a crossroads feel of foreigners awaiting visas, Osh has a similar aura of a haven for people wanting to travel in various directions having already acquired visas: either northwards to Bishkek and in order to travel through the rest of Kyrgyzstan, east to Kashgar and China, northwest to Uzbekistan, or southwest to Tajikstan. Osh was also definitely the most Islamic place I had travelled in to date – alcohol was banned in the guesthouse and the apartment’s proximity to the local mosque was noticeable. Having travelled to the city I had the feeling of dipping into a tantalising world that I hope to one day experience more fully.

            On the advice of the Canadian, I managed to obtain a mashrutka to the nearest crossroads at Bazar Korgon and then hitched a ride up to Arslanabob with two young Uzbek guys. I was immediately directed to the CBT office. CBT is an acronym for Community Based Tourism, a network of offices that organise guides, treks and homestays throughout Kyrgyzstan. It is a good organization for what they offer, and are often the best deals for accommodation and organised trekking in most places in Kyrgyzstan, especially as they operate out of smaller villages with part-time organisers where any other tourist service is rendered uneconomical. The organization does suffer from a degree of nepotism, however. It is often dubious as to how much benefit the ‘community’ receives. Operators are often one-person shows in small villages, hogging the accommodation, guiding and trekking. Where the CBT offices are larger operations, the homestays and guides are often friends and family of the main operator at the office. The organization does run on it’s own steam, with no help from the government to create a coordinated body. The chance to stay in a family home and have direct contact with locals is definitely a highlight in the trip, too, particularly given the renowned Central Asian hospitality!

 

            After organising at which home I would be staying, I was picked up in a Llada four-wheel-drive by an older man, Shakil. I was escorted to a beautifully colourful room where I dumped my things and was quickly treated to some afternoon tea. I felt like I was truly an honoured guest in that house: the homestay was a memorable part of my trip. I was sleeping in the most comfortable bed I had slept in for a long time. The eating and living area (typically Central Asian consisting of some rugs and cushions around a small, low table) was a wonderful spot with the sunlight filtering in through the trees outside and lace curtains over the glassless windows of the verandah outside my room. I spent some time just sitting and relaxing and reading a couple of good books in this spot. It is not often that I cannot finish food that is placed in front of me, but I was lavished with an amazing spread at every mealtime that I could never work my way through. Not only this, but the main dish, always a Kyrgyz speciality, was chosen from a menu no less, and I could let them know when I wanted to eat! The family was very generous and hospitable, too.

            The place was so relaxing that I spent the first half of my first day sleeping, catching up on some rest that had eluded me having been on the go since I left for Karakol. I spent the rest of that afternoon just walking around the hills and back around the forest. Arslanabob is a small ancient village nestled within a cliff-lined canyon. It slopes upwards to some grassy hills that rapidly grow into an isolated series of massive peaks topping over 4000m. It feels like an oasis amongst the region’s almost semi-arid landscape, and the backdrop is nothing short of spectacular. Snowmelt and mountain springs exuding delicious crystal clear cold water feed the streams that wind through the town and throughout the hills that circle the mountains. The climate influenced by the mountains and the permanent water supply give rise to the ideal conditions for the thing that Arslanabob is most famous for – the largest walnut forest in the world.

            Arslanabob is named after Arslanabob Ata (Ata meaning ‘father’, a suffix given to historically and religiously important figures). Arslanabob Ata was a significant figure in Central Asian Islamic history. From what I understand from the guides I had, he was a disciple of Kozha Ahmed Yassaui, whose mausoleum is a major tourist attraction and site of pilgrimage in Turkistan, Kazakhstan. I stand to be corrected, however, as my guides were a little unclear as to the exact chronology and linking of the various historical stories. Arslanabob Ata’s tomb is a site of pilgrimage in Arslanabob and stands just behind the mosque in the village along the main river. It is unclear as to whether the story goes that Arslanabob himself or another mythical figure discovered the valley and decided, upon the direction of the prophet Mohammed, to plant the trees amongst the hills. From what I have read, however, the forest predates Islam and it was Alexander the Great who brought the humble walnut to Europe from these very forests.

            After wandering around myself on that first day, I wanted to gain some insight into the life of people in this region. I decided to splurge on a guided tour, so that I would have chance to talk with an English speaker and ask questions as they came to my head. My guide turned out to be Almaz whom I had met the day before, as he was the son of Shakil (and, having mentioned nepotism, the nephew of Hyaat who runs the CBT office). He was a brilliant guide. Being a similar age to myself he spoke frankly about many things, and we soon became friendly beyond a simple guide-tourist relationship. He harbours a dream to travel overseas to work a little, gain some experience, and in particular practice his already good English. This was no passing dream, either, unlike many Kyrgyz I had met desiring to escape the harsh realities of holding down a job in Kyrgyzstan. Almaz had been looking seriously into emigrating for a few years prior to me speaking to him about the issue, with specific reference to emigration to a country like Australia. Besides the difficulties of negotiating the rigorous application procedures, he was also finding the necessity of requiring a large sum of money in a bank account prohibitive. The average Kyrgyz person lives hand-to-mouth, making enough to pay for immediate needs with cash and rarely having enough money to open a savings account. His frustrations were touching, as he was an amicable but serious individual, drinking no alcohol and smoking no tabacco, and intensely focussed on improving his skills and looking for any opportunity to fulfil his dream. I wished I were a millionaire who could throw him a few thousand dollars for a bank account so that he could finally experience his wish.

            We spent a long day hiking around the hills, visiting two of the main sights. The first was what was locally known as the ‘big waterfall’, an eighty-metre drop into a bowl that was too deep to be seen from the overhanging cliff. It was not spectacular for the volume of water, but attracted the tourists. Arslanabob was crowded with tourists predominantly from Uzbekistan, the town’s ethnicity also being almost entirely Uzbek. Funnily enough, most locals never even ventured to the falls or any of the other sights around town. Before working for the CBT Almaz had never seen the waterfall or the ‘holy rock’, a cube-shaped boulder protruding from a mountainside, despite having to venture into the hills to his family’s allocated jailoo to check on livestock. We took a long route back into town through the walnut forest and some stands of cherries and apples. I certainly got my money’s worth: we didn’t make it home until eight in the evening though the tour would usually conclude at around four. Having spent his youth in the orchards and forest and amongst the fields Almaz was a good source of information about the local agriconomy. I was especially surprised to learn that the walnuts from the extensive forest had only been exported for the last two seasons. Two years ago, a pair of Mongolian businessmen decided to buy up the entire stock from the village, set up a small-scale packaging plant in an old house in town, and began transporting them beyond the local area. Prior to this all the walnuts were sold in local markets in surrounding towns, particularly Bazar Korgon. The plant also gave welcome jobs to sixty people in town.

            The Uzbek ethnicity and the unique landscape gave Arslanabob an individual flavour that colours my memories of Central Asia with yet another palette. It was a comfortable place to be yet touched on a more fundamental part of Asian culture. It is amazing that a country can be so different from north to south, divided down the middle by a high mountain range. The north represents the truly nomadic ways of Asiatic peoples such as the Kyrgyz, Kazakhs, Mongols, Tibetans and Siberian clans, amongst the mountains and steppe of that harsh northern band of the world. The north also appears a final bastion of remnant Russian culture. South west of the dividing line of peaks the people appear to be more heavily involved in Islam, and appear more intensely influenced by Indo and Persian cultures. The farthest extend of the USSR has been all but abandoned, too. I met no Russians in my week or so in the south. The area left an enticing carrot dangling before me – I hope to travel soon to the rest of the Central Asian countries, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and Turkmenistan, to become better acquainted with this unique region. Afghanistan and Iran, too, represent teasing prospects for further travel.