I am in a huge mixer of clans and tribes, in a rainbow of religions, in a laissez faire democracy that is being misunderstood and perhaps rejected. I have been in a hot and polluted city of Bishkek, swam in the warm waters of the lake called Issyk-Kul, seen a snowfall in the beautiful mountains around the Song-Kol lake. I am in Kyrgyzstan.
We came to Bishkek a day earlier than planned and took a trip to the huge and shallow lake of Issyk-Kul in the northeast of the country. The lake is a revered escape place of the Bishkek residents, many of whom go there for vacations or just for a day or two to escape the heat of the capital. Apparently, the Russians also like the lake and the word has it that "even Gagarin liked to come there for a vacation". I hope it was not him who left so many empty bottles of vodka and other garbage on the western shores of the lake. So we navigated among all these reminders of the good times passed, took a swim in the lake and soon afterwards I took Hynek to the airport.
The next morning I decided to drive to a lake surrounded by the mountains, the lake 3,000 meters (9,000 feet) above the sea level - the Song-Kol lake. In front of the hostel I got to talk to a young Hungarian traveler, adventurer and photographer, who was about to go to the same lake. I invited him to drive with me and Tamas agreed. I think it was an expectation of a memorable driving in my Trabant that made him to quickly bring his bags and jump in. But the Trabi knew immediately that Hynek, who was attending to all its little mood swings and the big sicknesses, is gone and it struck almost immediately. The carburetor started to plug up and the spark plugs did not like me either. And so my poor co-traveler Tamas spend some memorable time push starting the car over and over again. Which is probably the most enjoyable part of driving in Trabants.
In the end we forced all the Trabi's gremlins back into their caves, arrived in Kotchkor, found the accommodation and were told that the Trabi might not be up to the challenges awaiting it on the road to Song-Kol. The gravel road there raises to the mountain pass 3,500 meters high with a steep incline leading to it. But our Trabi wanted to see this magnificent Kalmak Ashy pass as much as we did. And so, grumpy and grouchy, coughing and short of breath, mostly in the first gear, the Trabi made it all the way. It was well worth it as he mountain pass was magnificent. From the bottom of the hill you can only see the road carved into the mountain side, winding up and up and then disappearing into the mountains' ridge. Once you reach the pass, all opens up and you see the suede like mountains with their sharp mountain tops piercing the clouds, and the mountain saddles and ridges all around you.
Soon we reached the lake and made a lazy decision that instead of pitching up our tents we can get a cheap accommodation in a jurt. Since it rained heavily during the night and in the morning the rain mixed in some snow, it appears that the lazy decisions might be the best ones. When we woke up all the hills around the lake transformed from the grey of rock and yellow of sand and grass into the snowy white. Suddenly, only the three colours dominated - the white of the hills splashing down to the yellow of the grass on the plateau and the emerald of the lake in the middle. And it was cold. Then I remembered the mountain pass. Nope, there will not be any snow I persuaded myself. And with that happy thought I listened to Tamas who pointed out to me that the local herders and cowboys are just about to start the national game called Kog Boru or Buzkashi.
Although I did not know the rules I have figured out at lest some of them. There are two competing teams. First a dead goat or a dead sheep is dropped into a small circle. The idea is to grab the goat, carry it to another circle about 200 meters away and drop it there. Of course you do it at a full speed on your horse without dismounting to grab the goat or deposit it onto the small target. With only one foot hooked in the stirrup the men try to get the hold of and lift the heavy goat. There is a lot of pushing and shoving where the riders use their horses to prevent others to get the goat. Suddenly one of the riders grabs the goat, puts it under his leg and breaks away at a full speed. But he is not alone. As soon as he tries to break away, another rider from the opposing team chases after him and while galloping at a breakneck speed he tries to rip the goat from under the leg of the happy current owner of the goat. At the same time the rest of the riders gallop towards the target circle. A new jostling for positions ensues, where the goat holders' team tries to make the way for the rider with the goat so he can get into the circle and drop the goat there. And, as you would expect, the members of the other team do everything in their power to prevent this. There is shouting and pushing, whipping of horses, sweating of riders and roaring of the fans, and the adrenaline is flowing as freely as it can. This is simply as macho as you can get, the 100% Hemingway. Then suddenly the goat is stolen and the positions change - the former defenders now try to make the room for their rider, while the other team tries to prevent this. In the end the rider successfully drops the goat into the circle, crowd roars, while the polite western spectators give a muted applause to acknowledge the unbelievable mastery of the riders.
After feeling lucky to see the Kog Boru, we drove to the mountain pass. Of course there was no snow and soon after we have happily reached the Kotchkor. Or, should I say "almost happily"? The little shadow on this happiness was the Trabant's blown exhaust gasket and a bit later my first diarrhea. Tamas left Kotchor in a shared taxi and I get to fix the exhaust gasket by two thin pieces of asbestos I was able to get. But the diarrhea kept me a bit longer and I had to stay another day in Kotchkor. So I had some time to sort my memories and to talk with the locals a bit.
As I ponder our travel so far, one question seems to be returning: "Are we in the age of semi-totalitarian strongmen now?" Russia has a huge pull in Mongolia, Kazakhstan and here in Kyrgyzstan. Putin is seen here as a great man, and, actually, as a "peoples' man". Many of the local leaders seem to emulate his approach of a strong hand and even stronger propaganda with a good mastery of public relations. And there is a no need for much of persuasion; when the Soviet Union fell to pieces, the factories shut down. And while the consensus is that a person in Kyrgyzstan now makes about $100 per month, the probably exaggerated feeling is that in Russia he or she can make about $2,000 per month. For almost 100 years the people here lived in the "you do not have to make a choice" system. Suddenly, it all changed. History is not that easily altered. People yearn for some security and stability, for unchanged world, for the factories to open again. That I have heard over and over again although perhaps in other words. And I have seen the households outside of Russia where the Russian "vesti" (news) and Russian government sanctioned Channel 1 are the most watched channels. So I wonder about this question and about the previous times when the strongmen were filling the vacuum. But I hope I am just dreaming things up and I am wrong again as I often am.
We came to Bishkek a day earlier than planned and took a trip to the huge and shallow lake of Issyk-Kul in the northeast of the country. The lake is a revered escape place of the Bishkek residents, many of whom go there for vacations or just for a day or two to escape the heat of the capital. Apparently, the Russians also like the lake and the word has it that "even Gagarin liked to come there for a vacation". I hope it was not him who left so many empty bottles of vodka and other garbage on the western shores of the lake. So we navigated among all these reminders of the good times passed, took a swim in the lake and soon afterwards I took Hynek to the airport.
The next morning I decided to drive to a lake surrounded by the mountains, the lake 3,000 meters (9,000 feet) above the sea level - the Song-Kol lake. In front of the hostel I got to talk to a young Hungarian traveler, adventurer and photographer, who was about to go to the same lake. I invited him to drive with me and Tamas agreed. I think it was an expectation of a memorable driving in my Trabant that made him to quickly bring his bags and jump in. But the Trabi knew immediately that Hynek, who was attending to all its little mood swings and the big sicknesses, is gone and it struck almost immediately. The carburetor started to plug up and the spark plugs did not like me either. And so my poor co-traveler Tamas spend some memorable time push starting the car over and over again. Which is probably the most enjoyable part of driving in Trabants.
In the end we forced all the Trabi's gremlins back into their caves, arrived in Kotchkor, found the accommodation and were told that the Trabi might not be up to the challenges awaiting it on the road to Song-Kol. The gravel road there raises to the mountain pass 3,500 meters high with a steep incline leading to it. But our Trabi wanted to see this magnificent Kalmak Ashy pass as much as we did. And so, grumpy and grouchy, coughing and short of breath, mostly in the first gear, the Trabi made it all the way. It was well worth it as he mountain pass was magnificent. From the bottom of the hill you can only see the road carved into the mountain side, winding up and up and then disappearing into the mountains' ridge. Once you reach the pass, all opens up and you see the suede like mountains with their sharp mountain tops piercing the clouds, and the mountain saddles and ridges all around you.
Soon we reached the lake and made a lazy decision that instead of pitching up our tents we can get a cheap accommodation in a jurt. Since it rained heavily during the night and in the morning the rain mixed in some snow, it appears that the lazy decisions might be the best ones. When we woke up all the hills around the lake transformed from the grey of rock and yellow of sand and grass into the snowy white. Suddenly, only the three colours dominated - the white of the hills splashing down to the yellow of the grass on the plateau and the emerald of the lake in the middle. And it was cold. Then I remembered the mountain pass. Nope, there will not be any snow I persuaded myself. And with that happy thought I listened to Tamas who pointed out to me that the local herders and cowboys are just about to start the national game called Kog Boru or Buzkashi.
Although I did not know the rules I have figured out at lest some of them. There are two competing teams. First a dead goat or a dead sheep is dropped into a small circle. The idea is to grab the goat, carry it to another circle about 200 meters away and drop it there. Of course you do it at a full speed on your horse without dismounting to grab the goat or deposit it onto the small target. With only one foot hooked in the stirrup the men try to get the hold of and lift the heavy goat. There is a lot of pushing and shoving where the riders use their horses to prevent others to get the goat. Suddenly one of the riders grabs the goat, puts it under his leg and breaks away at a full speed. But he is not alone. As soon as he tries to break away, another rider from the opposing team chases after him and while galloping at a breakneck speed he tries to rip the goat from under the leg of the happy current owner of the goat. At the same time the rest of the riders gallop towards the target circle. A new jostling for positions ensues, where the goat holders' team tries to make the way for the rider with the goat so he can get into the circle and drop the goat there. And, as you would expect, the members of the other team do everything in their power to prevent this. There is shouting and pushing, whipping of horses, sweating of riders and roaring of the fans, and the adrenaline is flowing as freely as it can. This is simply as macho as you can get, the 100% Hemingway. Then suddenly the goat is stolen and the positions change - the former defenders now try to make the room for their rider, while the other team tries to prevent this. In the end the rider successfully drops the goat into the circle, crowd roars, while the polite western spectators give a muted applause to acknowledge the unbelievable mastery of the riders.
After feeling lucky to see the Kog Boru, we drove to the mountain pass. Of course there was no snow and soon after we have happily reached the Kotchkor. Or, should I say "almost happily"? The little shadow on this happiness was the Trabant's blown exhaust gasket and a bit later my first diarrhea. Tamas left Kotchor in a shared taxi and I get to fix the exhaust gasket by two thin pieces of asbestos I was able to get. But the diarrhea kept me a bit longer and I had to stay another day in Kotchkor. So I had some time to sort my memories and to talk with the locals a bit.
As I ponder our travel so far, one question seems to be returning: "Are we in the age of semi-totalitarian strongmen now?" Russia has a huge pull in Mongolia, Kazakhstan and here in Kyrgyzstan. Putin is seen here as a great man, and, actually, as a "peoples' man". Many of the local leaders seem to emulate his approach of a strong hand and even stronger propaganda with a good mastery of public relations. And there is a no need for much of persuasion; when the Soviet Union fell to pieces, the factories shut down. And while the consensus is that a person in Kyrgyzstan now makes about $100 per month, the probably exaggerated feeling is that in Russia he or she can make about $2,000 per month. For almost 100 years the people here lived in the "you do not have to make a choice" system. Suddenly, it all changed. History is not that easily altered. People yearn for some security and stability, for unchanged world, for the factories to open again. That I have heard over and over again although perhaps in other words. And I have seen the households outside of Russia where the Russian "vesti" (news) and Russian government sanctioned Channel 1 are the most watched channels. So I wonder about this question and about the previous times when the strongmen were filling the vacuum. But I hope I am just dreaming things up and I am wrong again as I often am.