Martin & Sandy's Adventures in Kyrgyzstan - part 1

My parents are here and they’re having an even wonderfuller time then I’d thought they’d have. I thought that they’d be all sick and stuff (especially dad, he has a sensitive stomach), seriously jetlagged and hating life. They’d be thinking, ‘Why in all the bullhockey in the world did I come to Kyrgyzstan? I could’ve gone to Greece or Peru or Kenya but no, I had to pick Kyrgyzstan!’ Well I’ll tell ya why mom & dad, because your son’s here! I know that when I came I had terrible stomach problems (I have stories…), a terrible time adjusting to the time change (everyone slept through Hub Days those first few weeks) and just an all around bad, sad and depressing time. I associated all these bad times with Kyrgyzstan and thought that they’d have the same bad times (no synonyms here folks, sorry). But they didn’t. Maybe it was having an American complete with support network (the Peace Corps) already here that knows the ropes and can speak the language. Speaking of which, I know the ropes and can speak the language. Both the Kyrgyz language and English (more specifically Southern American, yaetchet?) so if anyone wants to put up the money for an expensive plane ticket and put up (different meaning then before) with a long and grueling flight then there is no better guide in all of Kyrgyzstan than me. I take pride in that. Yes I do.

On a side note, it’s interesting seeing Americans in Kyrgyzstan. Not the big things they do, but the little ones. Like at the dinner table. My parents put their napkins in their laps, set the silverware like Americans, and yelled at me when I put my elbows on the table or belched. We don’t do any of that over here. Call us ‘The Noble Savage’ if you’d like. Locke or Rosseau did. Nature or nurture, it’s all the same to me. I’d like to become a Kyrgyz Biologist. Like Jane Goodall but the monkeys are Americans. Same difference. My parents did some things different but some things they did the same, which was surprising to me. One incident occurred when I was showing my mom where the ‘toilet’ (or: hole-in-the-ground) is. She used to use the same kind when she was a kid in Richmond. She didn’t make a face or say ‘eew’ or anything like that, she said, ‘It’s just like I had when I was a kid!’ It took me back a bit but hey, they’re parents. Always surprising.

I say that I’m a good tour guide because my parents have gotten to do a bunch of cool stuff that a tourist wouldn’t get to do in a tour group. Tour group’s watch falconers practice their art (oohs and aahs, really boring) and listen to “Traditional Kyrgyz Music” (Look mom! I have an ‘Oz Komuz!’) Tool around in the jailoos and such. Really boring. That’s no fun and makes for a (you guessed it) really boring experience. I wanted to give my parents the ‘Real Kyrgyz Experience,’ or at least that’s what I tell people. So that’s what I did.

Yesterday (or ‘the 23rd of June’ for those of you that keep up with dates) was a packed day. We went to the school, saw my classroom (freshly painted by slave labor AKA: students), saw a few of my cutest kids (Altinai and Bermet, two of my 7th form girls), met my director (principal) and a good number of the teachers and took probably ten to fifteen pictures of all of us in different configurations. Altinai even sewed three little pineapples (the sign of welcome over here too) and gave them to each of us. They were such cute pineapples (can a pineapple be cute?) and so sweet too! Where, I ask you, can a tourist get pineapples sewed by a cute little Kyrgyz girl? The Answer: ya gotta have connections and I am your connection.

After leaving the school we walked up on the mountain behind our town. Didn’t see any Kyrgyz kishiler but I’m sure it was a good experience to have. It’s cool on my hill (how many people can call it that?), all you can hear is the sound of the wind. I got to show my parents my school, where my house was, Pokrovsky gulf, the road I take to walk to it (seven kilometers is a long way), and even the un-dug-up burial mound. When we came off the hill we went home (to my house in Darkan) and my parents rested. Even though they didn’t have jet lag that bad it is a ten-hour time difference. No one can adjust to that in such short a time except Batman.

After resting we got up (most common after resting) my parents didn’t want to go to Issyk-Kul but Temurlan convinced us to go to the lake. Way to take charge Temurlan! The lake trip was complicated by our director and his wife (my Kyrgyz teacher) coming to our house at six but the Kyrgyz are always late and we went anyway. In the end my parents were glad we went. We went to Chichkan Village which is the village just west of us and means ‘mouse’ and went golgo tushing. I got to swim in the lake (which is pretty warm now, it gets warmer towards the middle of July) and my parents sat on the beach. They loved looking at the immobility of the mountains and the serenity of the lake. It was a good time.

Then we went home and all went to sleep again. Ya know how swimming can make you tired. I hadn’t been swimming in a year or maybe more. When we woke up my director and Kyrgyz teacher were there. We had set up a boz-ui (or ‘grey house,’ more commonly known as a yurt) in the back yard and we all ate dinner in it. Our first ‘course’ was meat. Sheep’s parts to be more specific. In America you would have a waldorf or seaweed salad but there’s not a lot of demand for vegetables over here. I think I got the femur (or another similar leg-bone) and my parents got other parts the sheep used until we killed it. They didn’t express the grossness of eating sheep parts because for them there was no real grossness. While we were still eating the sheep, the shorpo (or water that the whole sheep is thrown into) was given to us to drink and then the Besh Barmak, Kyrgyzstan’s national dish, was made as we ate. This consists of meat cut into little chunks, shorpo and gesme (noodles). It was a little difficult to get my mother to stop using her vilka and pichak (fork and knife). It is called ‘Besh Barmak’ which means five (besh) fingers (barmak). Therefore: five fingers. Vilka emes, pichak emes. What surprised me was my parents expressions of deliciousness at everything they tasted. I know that when I first tried Besh Barmak I didn’t like it too much. My parents have accepted and loved everything on this trip so far.

Today we are going to Jety-Oguz or ‘Seven Bulls.’ It’s a place up in the mountains with seven red rock outcroppings, thus the name. I’ve been there once before last November and it was absolutely beautiful. I know they’ll like it. Please stay tuned to my blog for more exciting stories about my parents trip to Kyrgyzstan. I’ve gotta break it up so this is part one. Parents don’t come halfway around the world everyday ya know.