This is our choices for the best and worst moments of our 26 days Kyrgyzstan. We've also put together a gallery of our favourite photos which you can visit here here.
Our FAVOURITE Cities/Towns
According to Yann:
1- Bishkek
2- Karakol
According to Emilie:
1- Cholpon-Ata
2- Bishkek
Our FAVOURITE Activities
According to Yann:
1- Doing nothing at Song Kol Lake
2- The museum scene (especially in Bishkek)
3- Dodging militsia (police)
According to Emilie:
1- Hanging out with other travellers in Bishkek
2- Bishkek museum hopping
3- Searching for petroglyphs at the outdoor museum in Cholpon-Ata
Most DELICIOUS Foods
According to Yann:
1- Pelmeni in a pot (raviolis baked with cheese, cream and garlic)
2- Cheese-stuffed samosas
3- Beef 'burgers' from Bishkek street stands
4- Cheap vodka
According to Emilie:
1- Smoked fish from Issyk Kul Lake
2- Pelmeni in a pot (from Zarina's Cafe, Karakol)
3- Ice cream in Bishkek, dipped in peanuts and walnuts and squirted with chocolate syrup
Honourable Mention: We have baptised it 'Kyrgyz Poutine': marinated beef and onions, topped with french fries, tomatoes, mayonnaise and cheese and cooked in a pot. Hilariously it was called 'beef a la Francaise' in the menu, apparently anything containing french fries and mayonnaise in Central Asia is 'a la Francaise'.
WORST Food
According to Yann and Emilie:
1- 'Fat' soup (broth with big chunks of fat floating in it)
2- 'Fat' dumplings (dumplings containing some meat, but mostly fat)
3- Animal fat in general
Note: Most things that might have appeared on this list we generally were not courageous enough to try, such as Kymyz (fermented mare's milk) or dried yogurt balls, a very popular snack.
Biggest Rip-Offs
According to Yann and Emilie:
1- Taxis, to anywhere where there isn't much local transportation
2- Homestays, over-priced and not too 'homey"
3- Internet by the 'MB' used, impossible to determine your usage and at least three times more expensive than when you pay by the hour
Kyrgyz Travel Trademarks
According to Yann and Emilie:
- White beards (elders)
- Tall Kyrgyz hats warn by men mostly on the countryside
- Horseback riding and donkey riding by the little guys
- Livestock on roads
- Cheap vodka
- Corrupt militsia
For those interested in our expenses, we have updated our homepage with our financial information for Kyrgyzstan, it is available here
Showing posts with label Kyrgyzstan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kyrgyzstan. Show all posts
Into Tajikistan
Since we dragged out our time in Bishkek to 12 days, we had only 4 days left on our Kyrgyz visa. We had to get to Osh in Southern Kyrgyzstan and cross the border into Tajikistan. The main route used by travellers into Tajikistan, is via a remote highway in Eastern Tajikistan, through the Pamir mountain range. Since there isn't alot of local traffic (because not alot of people live there), the tour companies have really exploited this area, and the only local transport seems to be well hidden from non-Russian speaking tourists. With more time in Osh, we might have teamed up with other travellers and shared transport costs, instead we made plans to take an alternate route.
The information in our guidebook is about 5 years old, and there are exactly 34 pages about Tajikistan. We had very little information to go on, other than the name of the border town that we had to get to. To make matters even more complicated, the main highway to the border town runs through Uzbekistan on two separate occasions. Two small Uzbek 'Islands' sit completely surrounded by Kyrgyz territory. Since Kyrgyz locals don't need a visa to travel through Uzbekistan, we had to pay for a private taxi to take the longer 'detour' road, a large portion of it a dirt track around the Uzbek territory. We got to the town of Batken five hours later, with only the address and name of a woman who runs a guesthouse in town, luckily our driver knew where she lived (he didn't recognize the street name, but he knew where to go when we mentioned the family name). The guest house was spotless and extremely well-equipped (and consequently expensive), which seemed strange, considering the town isn't listed in any guestbook and probably only receives a handful of travellers a month (we guessed that it was probably set up to house NGO workers in the past). We watched about five hours straight of Russian music videos (on Yann's insistence), played cards and ate the last of our meager supplies, the guest house had cost us the last of our Kyrgyz money, save our taxi fare for the next day.
Crossing the border into Tajikistan wasn't any trouble the next morning, other than the grumpy old man occupying a space in our shared taxi. He was really angry with Yann and I for holding up the taxi, as if it had anything to do with us. Kyrgyz and Tajiks move freely across the border but Yann and I had our passports scrutinized by both border guards and our bags checked on the Tajik side. I had some trouble convincing the Tajik border guard to stamp us in, because our visas didn't have the mandatory embassy stamp on them (we assume this was an accident). I managed to convince him that the stamp on the next page of our passports, accompanying our permit for travel to restricted Tajik zones, was the official stamp. A crisis averted by Emilie's unbelievable charm.
We stopped briefly in the town of Isfara, the time to notice the distinct change from Kyrgyzstan to Tajikistan, including Pepsi and Coca-Cola replaced by RC Cola. We then took another taxi to prosperous Khojand (formerly Leninabad), Tajikistan's second largest city (140,000 people). We got dropped off at the beastly Hotel Leninabad (later that day a tour operator we met, joked that the Hotel Leninabad was a zero-star hotel, we couldn't agree more). The thought that we paid more than 10$ for our room is traumatizing. The sheets were filthy and had holes in them, a absolutly ghastly bathroom, which, once used, filled the room with the smell of a 30 year old outhouse (there probably hasn't been running water there for that long). We were covered in flies, mosquitoes and what we think were bed bugs all night, probably all attracted by the smell.
Other than the sheer disgustingness of the room, the hotel was fine, the staff extremely friendly and it had a central location, with a view of the giant Lenin statue across the river. Being in Khojand was like stepping back in time, from the buildings and the statues, to the bank where we made our official registration payment to the Tajik government, scarily resembling an unfinished basement. We visited the city's two museums, one brand new (inaugurated by President Emomali Rahmonov less than a year ago with special guest Amadhjinehad from Iran) and one not so new. Tajikistan's president's face scarily/hilariously adorns huge billboards and posters all over town (he's is from Khojand, but something told us that we wouldn't only be seeing his face here). We had our first taste of delicious palov (rice pilaf) served from a huge vat at an outdoor cafe and even risked the local ice cream, also delicious. We loved the tree-lined streets and the outdoor restaurants, we might have stayed longer in Khojand had it not been for our hotel room. 
The information in our guidebook is about 5 years old, and there are exactly 34 pages about Tajikistan. We had very little information to go on, other than the name of the border town that we had to get to. To make matters even more complicated, the main highway to the border town runs through Uzbekistan on two separate occasions. Two small Uzbek 'Islands' sit completely surrounded by Kyrgyz territory. Since Kyrgyz locals don't need a visa to travel through Uzbekistan, we had to pay for a private taxi to take the longer 'detour' road, a large portion of it a dirt track around the Uzbek territory. We got to the town of Batken five hours later, with only the address and name of a woman who runs a guesthouse in town, luckily our driver knew where she lived (he didn't recognize the street name, but he knew where to go when we mentioned the family name). The guest house was spotless and extremely well-equipped (and consequently expensive), which seemed strange, considering the town isn't listed in any guestbook and probably only receives a handful of travellers a month (we guessed that it was probably set up to house NGO workers in the past). We watched about five hours straight of Russian music videos (on Yann's insistence), played cards and ate the last of our meager supplies, the guest house had cost us the last of our Kyrgyz money, save our taxi fare for the next day.
Crossing the border into Tajikistan wasn't any trouble the next morning, other than the grumpy old man occupying a space in our shared taxi. He was really angry with Yann and I for holding up the taxi, as if it had anything to do with us. Kyrgyz and Tajiks move freely across the border but Yann and I had our passports scrutinized by both border guards and our bags checked on the Tajik side. I had some trouble convincing the Tajik border guard to stamp us in, because our visas didn't have the mandatory embassy stamp on them (we assume this was an accident). I managed to convince him that the stamp on the next page of our passports, accompanying our permit for travel to restricted Tajik zones, was the official stamp. A crisis averted by Emilie's unbelievable charm.We stopped briefly in the town of Isfara, the time to notice the distinct change from Kyrgyzstan to Tajikistan, including Pepsi and Coca-Cola replaced by RC Cola. We then took another taxi to prosperous Khojand (formerly Leninabad), Tajikistan's second largest city (140,000 people). We got dropped off at the beastly Hotel Leninabad (later that day a tour operator we met, joked that the Hotel Leninabad was a zero-star hotel, we couldn't agree more). The thought that we paid more than 10$ for our room is traumatizing. The sheets were filthy and had holes in them, a absolutly ghastly bathroom, which, once used, filled the room with the smell of a 30 year old outhouse (there probably hasn't been running water there for that long). We were covered in flies, mosquitoes and what we think were bed bugs all night, probably all attracted by the smell.
Other than the sheer disgustingness of the room, the hotel was fine, the staff extremely friendly and it had a central location, with a view of the giant Lenin statue across the river. Being in Khojand was like stepping back in time, from the buildings and the statues, to the bank where we made our official registration payment to the Tajik government, scarily resembling an unfinished basement. We visited the city's two museums, one brand new (inaugurated by President Emomali Rahmonov less than a year ago with special guest Amadhjinehad from Iran) and one not so new. Tajikistan's president's face scarily/hilariously adorns huge billboards and posters all over town (he's is from Khojand, but something told us that we wouldn't only be seeing his face here). We had our first taste of delicious palov (rice pilaf) served from a huge vat at an outdoor cafe and even risked the local ice cream, also delicious. We loved the tree-lined streets and the outdoor restaurants, we might have stayed longer in Khojand had it not been for our hotel room.
Lazing in Bishkek
We left Karakol early in the morning, hoping to get to Cholpon Ata for a festival of traditional horse games. We waited over an hour for our minibus to fill up, and as luck would have it, we had the slowest minibus in Kyrgyzstan. Not only was our driver slow as hell, he also picked up everyone who waved him down, no matter how full we already were and how small a distance his new passenger was travelling. I decided I would strangle the driver but Yann had me boxed in against the window. In the back of the minibus two rowdy elderly ladies were swigging vodka out of a 40 oz bottle (it was 8 a.m.) and I should have joined them. We got to the games almost two hours late, were charged full admission fee, even though there was only one act left. Thankfully it was kok-boru, also known as goat carcass polo. 
We arrived in Bishkek and checked into a budget guesthouse on the outskirts of the city centre. We were happy to find a crowd of travellers, many whom we had already met, many who had been lazing around for days. We thought we would take beds in the 12-bed dorms for the night and try to find something closer to the city centre for the rest of our stay, instead we stayed there for almost two weeks. Most nights were late ones, with lots of cheap beer and vodka being consumed (it's about 1$ for a 20 oz bottle). Travellers exchanged stories about some not-so-hospitable Kyrgyz, including a few more serious incidents and crooked police officers demanding passport checks and bag searches. We laughed about the impossible visa applications in Central Asia and joined the laziness while attempting to organize our own visa applications.
THE UZBEK VISA APPLICATION PROCESS IN BISHKEK:
Apparently Uzbekistan isn't really all that interested in having any visitors, or it might seem that way by its embassy in Bishkek. Here's how it works
1-Call to make an APPOINTMENT to apply for your visa (need a Russian speaker to do this, we called on Monday morning before the visa office opens and were granted a meeting for Wednesday)
2-Show up at the embassy and wait OUTSIDE, the security guards have a small piece of paper with the names of the people with appointments, Yann and I were known as Canada 1 & 2 thankfully German 1 (who shared a bunk with me), spoke Russian.
3-The security guard assigns a waiting order, unrelated to what time you arrived at the embassy, maybe it has to do with the time you made your appointment, but I doubt that it's that fair.
4-Each applicant is called in one at a time to face the Visa Lady, a fat, unfriendly, foreigner hating, obviously disgruntled, Uzbek visa officer.
5-Foreigners are greeted with the following sign : "Foreigners, if you do not speak Russian then get a translator" (this, despite the fact that all the foreigner has to do is hand over the visa application and get a date of passport pickup)
6-If you haven't filled out your application ahead of time (by downloading a form from the internet), then you can pick one up inside the office, but Visa Lady might not let you fill it out inside, and she might even make you come back the next day to hand it in (we had filled ours out prior to our appointment, as had our friend German 1, she accepted ours, but she made him fill out a new one?!?)
7-Once Visa Lady has scrutinized your application long enough, she will give you a date to come back, usually 7 days later (in Russian of course), on that day, you have to wait outside on the sidewalk again until you're allowed into the office, you then hand in your passport and can pick it up in the late afternoon of the same day (after having waited outside on the sidewalk for a while). Oh, but before you get the pickup date, you have an 'interview' where another officer asks you the exact same questions that are on your visa application form (but in Russian this time)
8-A 30 day tourist visa costs 72 USD.
9-You have to make sure your 72 US dollars are nice and crisp, ours were rejected because they had creases, yes that's right, creases, the bills came straight from the BANK MACHINE, about 10 minutes before we went to pick up our visas.
Actually, we were lucky in some ways, we didn't have to wait a week and return with our passports, ours were taken that very same day and we picked them up in the afternoon. Why were we so lucky? Well, Canadians can't even apply for an Uzbek visa without a letter of invitation issued by a registered company within Uzbekistan. We had already applied for the letter via the internet, more than two weeks earlier, they cost us 35USD each, but, they guaranteed us one day visa processing time. So our interactions with the Uzbek embassy were brief and we were happy about that. It gave us time to get our Kazakh visa applications in order and delivered to the chaotic embassy.
For tourists, Bishkek doesn't exactly warrant an eleven day stay, but there are still a few gems that we took the time to visit.
State Historical Museum:
Probably the most bizarre of Bishkek's main attractions is the State Historical Museum, with an entire floor dedicated to Lenin and the revolution. The Kyrgyz don't identify to this monumental shrine too much, and apparently it is set to be relegated to the basement vaults. The ceiling frescos are fantastic, complete with shackled workers, the angel of communism destroying the fascist nazi devil and best of all the skeleton faced American riding a nuclear missile. Best of all, a special display was being prepared for important international visitors, it was off limits to us, but we did get a glimpse at a large Stalin carpet.
State Museum of Fine Arts:
An impressively large collection of Kyrgyz art. The most interesting are the caretakers, tiny little old ladies so eager to share their knowledge (unfortunately in Russian) to the few visitors they get.
Ala-Too Square:
A big central square in downtown Bishkek. Formerly called Lenin Square, its big, its made of concrete but the Kyrgyz come to cool down in the fountains or watch the changing of the guards.
Panfilov Park:
A few old rusty rides, arcade games and lots of snack food. We rode the awesome ferris wheel and got some nice views of Ala-Too Square and the city of Bishkek.
The White House:
Home of the Kyrgyz parliament, it's surrounded by gates, but you can sneak a glimpse of it and pose for a picture with the guards.
Big Lenin Statue:
A big Lenin Statue, after independance they didn't take him down, they just moved him to the back of Ala-Too square, a slightly less high profile location.
Victory Square:
A big park with a big statue that's supposed to look like a yurt, it does.
Dordoy Bazaar:
It's listed as a flea market, most of the stuff for sale is new though. Alot of granny clothes, Russian bootleg DVDs and not too much tourist stuff, but fun for that reason.
There are some pretty good cheap eats in Bishkek, the best being cheese stuffed samosas and ice cream dipped in nuts and chocolate sauce. Yann pretty much survived on an all-vodka-and-cheese-samosa diet and I survived on an all-pepsi-and-icecream diet. The streets of Bishkek are apparently not too safe at night, Phillipe, a Montrealer at our guest house woke up in a hospital after being jumped outside a bar in Osh, and we heard of a French guy who had been so badly beaten in Karakol that his insurance company repatriated him back to France to repair his broken jaw. The one night we stayed our late, I noticed that a popular nighttime activity is testing your punching strength on a type of portable arcade game, Phillipe sporting remnants of a black eye and a permanent scar on his cheek didn't find it very amusing. Drinking and punching, pretty much sums up the Kyrgyz nightlife.
Crooked Cops:
We managed to escape any encounters with the Bishkek Police force, mainly because we crossed the street any time we saw them. Most backpackers in our guesthouse weren't so lucky, but all managed to escape after asking to make a phone call to their consulate. Their usual ploy is to get you to a secluded place and tell you something's wrong with your passport, or that they have to search your bag etc etc, then they ask for money. On our last day at the guesthouse, we had a visit from two policemen who had been nosing around trying to figure out why there were so many foreigners around the East Bus Station. I'm not sure why the owner let them in, but I suppose that's how it's done in Kyrgyzstan, I'm also not sure how much she had to pay to get them to leave, but the words 'corruption' were heard coming from the kitchen. Their pretext for visiting was to give the tourists 'security tips', do those include 'How to escape from crooked cops'? It's pretty frustrating to be stopped on the street and asked for your passport, but it's even more violating having crooked police rummaging around your guesthouse.
It was actually quite difficult to leave Bishkek (although we got two extra days there courtesy of the Kazakh visa officials), we had become accustomed to our routine of waking up late, having a long breakfast with all the other travellers, taking a mini bus downtown, hanging around all day before returning for a long night of more talking at the guesthouse. We also realised that the hot shower, running water, short skirts and internet connections wouldn't be awaiting us in Tajikistan.
We arrived in Bishkek and checked into a budget guesthouse on the outskirts of the city centre. We were happy to find a crowd of travellers, many whom we had already met, many who had been lazing around for days. We thought we would take beds in the 12-bed dorms for the night and try to find something closer to the city centre for the rest of our stay, instead we stayed there for almost two weeks. Most nights were late ones, with lots of cheap beer and vodka being consumed (it's about 1$ for a 20 oz bottle). Travellers exchanged stories about some not-so-hospitable Kyrgyz, including a few more serious incidents and crooked police officers demanding passport checks and bag searches. We laughed about the impossible visa applications in Central Asia and joined the laziness while attempting to organize our own visa applications. THE UZBEK VISA APPLICATION PROCESS IN BISHKEK:
Apparently Uzbekistan isn't really all that interested in having any visitors, or it might seem that way by its embassy in Bishkek. Here's how it works
1-Call to make an APPOINTMENT to apply for your visa (need a Russian speaker to do this, we called on Monday morning before the visa office opens and were granted a meeting for Wednesday)
2-Show up at the embassy and wait OUTSIDE, the security guards have a small piece of paper with the names of the people with appointments, Yann and I were known as Canada 1 & 2 thankfully German 1 (who shared a bunk with me), spoke Russian.
3-The security guard assigns a waiting order, unrelated to what time you arrived at the embassy, maybe it has to do with the time you made your appointment, but I doubt that it's that fair.
4-Each applicant is called in one at a time to face the Visa Lady, a fat, unfriendly, foreigner hating, obviously disgruntled, Uzbek visa officer.
5-Foreigners are greeted with the following sign : "Foreigners, if you do not speak Russian then get a translator" (this, despite the fact that all the foreigner has to do is hand over the visa application and get a date of passport pickup)
6-If you haven't filled out your application ahead of time (by downloading a form from the internet), then you can pick one up inside the office, but Visa Lady might not let you fill it out inside, and she might even make you come back the next day to hand it in (we had filled ours out prior to our appointment, as had our friend German 1, she accepted ours, but she made him fill out a new one?!?)
7-Once Visa Lady has scrutinized your application long enough, she will give you a date to come back, usually 7 days later (in Russian of course), on that day, you have to wait outside on the sidewalk again until you're allowed into the office, you then hand in your passport and can pick it up in the late afternoon of the same day (after having waited outside on the sidewalk for a while). Oh, but before you get the pickup date, you have an 'interview' where another officer asks you the exact same questions that are on your visa application form (but in Russian this time)
8-A 30 day tourist visa costs 72 USD.
9-You have to make sure your 72 US dollars are nice and crisp, ours were rejected because they had creases, yes that's right, creases, the bills came straight from the BANK MACHINE, about 10 minutes before we went to pick up our visas.
Actually, we were lucky in some ways, we didn't have to wait a week and return with our passports, ours were taken that very same day and we picked them up in the afternoon. Why were we so lucky? Well, Canadians can't even apply for an Uzbek visa without a letter of invitation issued by a registered company within Uzbekistan. We had already applied for the letter via the internet, more than two weeks earlier, they cost us 35USD each, but, they guaranteed us one day visa processing time. So our interactions with the Uzbek embassy were brief and we were happy about that. It gave us time to get our Kazakh visa applications in order and delivered to the chaotic embassy.
For tourists, Bishkek doesn't exactly warrant an eleven day stay, but there are still a few gems that we took the time to visit.
State Historical Museum:
Probably the most bizarre of Bishkek's main attractions is the State Historical Museum, with an entire floor dedicated to Lenin and the revolution. The Kyrgyz don't identify to this monumental shrine too much, and apparently it is set to be relegated to the basement vaults. The ceiling frescos are fantastic, complete with shackled workers, the angel of communism destroying the fascist nazi devil and best of all the skeleton faced American riding a nuclear missile. Best of all, a special display was being prepared for important international visitors, it was off limits to us, but we did get a glimpse at a large Stalin carpet.
State Museum of Fine Arts:An impressively large collection of Kyrgyz art. The most interesting are the caretakers, tiny little old ladies so eager to share their knowledge (unfortunately in Russian) to the few visitors they get.
Ala-Too Square:
A big central square in downtown Bishkek. Formerly called Lenin Square, its big, its made of concrete but the Kyrgyz come to cool down in the fountains or watch the changing of the guards.
Panfilov Park: A few old rusty rides, arcade games and lots of snack food. We rode the awesome ferris wheel and got some nice views of Ala-Too Square and the city of Bishkek.
The White House: Home of the Kyrgyz parliament, it's surrounded by gates, but you can sneak a glimpse of it and pose for a picture with the guards.
Big Lenin Statue: A big Lenin Statue, after independance they didn't take him down, they just moved him to the back of Ala-Too square, a slightly less high profile location.
Victory Square: A big park with a big statue that's supposed to look like a yurt, it does.
Dordoy Bazaar:
It's listed as a flea market, most of the stuff for sale is new though. Alot of granny clothes, Russian bootleg DVDs and not too much tourist stuff, but fun for that reason.
There are some pretty good cheap eats in Bishkek, the best being cheese stuffed samosas and ice cream dipped in nuts and chocolate sauce. Yann pretty much survived on an all-vodka-and-cheese-samosa diet and I survived on an all-pepsi-and-icecream diet. The streets of Bishkek are apparently not too safe at night, Phillipe, a Montrealer at our guest house woke up in a hospital after being jumped outside a bar in Osh, and we heard of a French guy who had been so badly beaten in Karakol that his insurance company repatriated him back to France to repair his broken jaw. The one night we stayed our late, I noticed that a popular nighttime activity is testing your punching strength on a type of portable arcade game, Phillipe sporting remnants of a black eye and a permanent scar on his cheek didn't find it very amusing. Drinking and punching, pretty much sums up the Kyrgyz nightlife.
Crooked Cops:
We managed to escape any encounters with the Bishkek Police force, mainly because we crossed the street any time we saw them. Most backpackers in our guesthouse weren't so lucky, but all managed to escape after asking to make a phone call to their consulate. Their usual ploy is to get you to a secluded place and tell you something's wrong with your passport, or that they have to search your bag etc etc, then they ask for money. On our last day at the guesthouse, we had a visit from two policemen who had been nosing around trying to figure out why there were so many foreigners around the East Bus Station. I'm not sure why the owner let them in, but I suppose that's how it's done in Kyrgyzstan, I'm also not sure how much she had to pay to get them to leave, but the words 'corruption' were heard coming from the kitchen. Their pretext for visiting was to give the tourists 'security tips', do those include 'How to escape from crooked cops'? It's pretty frustrating to be stopped on the street and asked for your passport, but it's even more violating having crooked police rummaging around your guesthouse.
It was actually quite difficult to leave Bishkek (although we got two extra days there courtesy of the Kazakh visa officials), we had become accustomed to our routine of waking up late, having a long breakfast with all the other travellers, taking a mini bus downtown, hanging around all day before returning for a long night of more talking at the guesthouse. We also realised that the hot shower, running water, short skirts and internet connections wouldn't be awaiting us in Tajikistan.
Kyrgyz Beachtime
I'm not sure there is anything gloomier than rain while staying at a budget hotel in a small Kyrgyz town. The hotel in Kochkor: no running water, a bathroom consisting of a shack in the back of the hotel and a grumpy attendant who turned her radio on full blast at 6a.m. (I suspect to piss us off). We had a few sad encounters with heavily intoxicated men wandering the rainy streets, but we mainly rested in our hotel until the rain finally subsided 2 days later. 
For the next three days we stayed in Cholpon Ata, a town on the north shore of Issyk Kul Lake. Cholpon Ata isn't a backpacker destination, it's a everyone else in Kyrgyzstan destination. It's a beach resort, summer party town, packed to the brim with vacationing Kazakhs, Russians and city folk. When we arrived in town, the sun was shining and the beach blow up toys were out, we joined the crowds of people streaming towards the beach. The road to the beach is lined with shops selling, well, mostly alcohol, but also sea shells (there are no sea shells at Issyk Kul Lake), smoked fish, samosas, beach toys, bathing suits... The beach was totally packed but we were so happy to get some sun. 
On our second day in Cholpon Ata, we went to the beach again but spent the afternoon on an educational excursion to the local petroglyphs. The outdoor 'museum' consists of a giant pile of rocks scattered across a few kilometers. The first few petroglyphs are indicated by small signs, but I suppose funding ran out, and for the rest of them you're on your own. We didn't manage to find too many but had fun in our attempt "Yann, Yann here's one... oh no wait... it's just a another rock". In the evening we feasted on outstanding local smoked fish, cheese, bread and a bottle of Moldovian wine (not so outstanding). 
After two days, we had to move on, but Yann REALLY liked the beach, neither of us had seen that much skin in a long long time. There was possibly a little bit too much of it, although it was refreshing to see the GIANT bikini clad Russian babushkas being lathered with sun screen by their hairy speedo wearing husbands. Some of the more hilarious Kyrgyz beach activities included being photographed with a large boa, riding a camel or my favourite (and most common): getting really sunburned and drunk. 
We followed the north shore of the lake until we got to the old Russian outpost of Karakol. We arrived in the pouring rain, were rejected (in Russian) from the cheapest hotel in our book, so we settled for a more upscale backpacker hangout (second cheapest). It was a lovely old colonial home, run by little Babalina an old Russian matriarch. We had scheduled three days in Karakol, but we managed to visit its main sights in, hmm let's see, 45 minutes. This included the Russian Orthodox Cathedral, the Dungan Mosque, the regional museum and a bunch of statues of guys we didn't recognize (except for Lenin of course). 
Despite an unrivalled collection of stuffed animals at the regional museum, the highlight of Karakol had to be Zarina's Cafe, the local cafe around the corner from our guesthouse, in particular its 'pelmeni in a pot'. Pelmenis are little raviolis stuffed with meat, 'pelmeni in a pot' is a pot full of pelmenis doused in garlic, sour cream and cheese then baked in an oven. Pelmenis pretty much kept us in Karakol longer than was necessary. 
For the next three days we stayed in Cholpon Ata, a town on the north shore of Issyk Kul Lake. Cholpon Ata isn't a backpacker destination, it's a everyone else in Kyrgyzstan destination. It's a beach resort, summer party town, packed to the brim with vacationing Kazakhs, Russians and city folk. When we arrived in town, the sun was shining and the beach blow up toys were out, we joined the crowds of people streaming towards the beach. The road to the beach is lined with shops selling, well, mostly alcohol, but also sea shells (there are no sea shells at Issyk Kul Lake), smoked fish, samosas, beach toys, bathing suits... The beach was totally packed but we were so happy to get some sun. On our second day in Cholpon Ata, we went to the beach again but spent the afternoon on an educational excursion to the local petroglyphs. The outdoor 'museum' consists of a giant pile of rocks scattered across a few kilometers. The first few petroglyphs are indicated by small signs, but I suppose funding ran out, and for the rest of them you're on your own. We didn't manage to find too many but had fun in our attempt "Yann, Yann here's one... oh no wait... it's just a another rock". In the evening we feasted on outstanding local smoked fish, cheese, bread and a bottle of Moldovian wine (not so outstanding). After two days, we had to move on, but Yann REALLY liked the beach, neither of us had seen that much skin in a long long time. There was possibly a little bit too much of it, although it was refreshing to see the GIANT bikini clad Russian babushkas being lathered with sun screen by their hairy speedo wearing husbands. Some of the more hilarious Kyrgyz beach activities included being photographed with a large boa, riding a camel or my favourite (and most common): getting really sunburned and drunk. We followed the north shore of the lake until we got to the old Russian outpost of Karakol. We arrived in the pouring rain, were rejected (in Russian) from the cheapest hotel in our book, so we settled for a more upscale backpacker hangout (second cheapest). It was a lovely old colonial home, run by little Babalina an old Russian matriarch. We had scheduled three days in Karakol, but we managed to visit its main sights in, hmm let's see, 45 minutes. This included the Russian Orthodox Cathedral, the Dungan Mosque, the regional museum and a bunch of statues of guys we didn't recognize (except for Lenin of course). Despite an unrivalled collection of stuffed animals at the regional museum, the highlight of Karakol had to be Zarina's Cafe, the local cafe around the corner from our guesthouse, in particular its 'pelmeni in a pot'. Pelmenis are little raviolis stuffed with meat, 'pelmeni in a pot' is a pot full of pelmenis doused in garlic, sour cream and cheese then baked in an oven. Pelmenis pretty much kept us in Karakol longer than was necessary.
July in Kyrgyzstan's Summer Pastures
Along with Margo and Dave, we organized a taxi to Song Kol Lake. About 150km from Naryn, in Central Kyrgyzstan, it is a favourite spot for herders and shepherds. They transport their livestock along with their yurts and set up camp for the summer months while their herds enjoy the lush, green mountains. It also seems to be a favourite spot for travellers, who like the idea of spending time in a yurt surrounded by beautiful scenery. We avoided organizing anything in town (overpriced), assuming that we would easily find a place to stay once we arrived at the lake. This turned out to be a wise decision, with yurts scattered all over the hills. We were carrying our full packs, so the walk to the yurts that we had spotted in the distance seemed to take longer than we had hoped. A young horseman came to greet us and quietly walked along side us as we trekked along. 
We happened to have picked a yurt affiliated with tour groups, so they wanted to charge us some ridiculous amount for a place to sleep on the yurt floor. After some discussion we got the price down. Dave had his own tent, so Margo, Yann and I shared the floor of a big empty yurt. The rest of the day consisted of lying outside in the sun. We were offered a dinner of fried fish (fresh from the lake) and boiled potatoes for about 0.50$ which we obviously did not turn down. We coated the boiled potatoes with thick fresh cream, straight from the cows, or maybe from the goats. This was what we had come for, the quiet, solitary, outdoor summer life of the Kyrgyz shepherds. 
We spent two nights in the yurt, not really doing much during the day. We watched the daily activities: killing and gutting a sheep, drying yogurt balls, salting sheep hides, drinking tea (and vodka) and bringing in the sheep at sunset. Margo and I attempted to swim in the freezing lake, Margo made it in, I made it up to my waist (we now understood why the kids wouldn't come swimming with us). In the afternoon scary storm clouds started creeping over the mountains, and it rained all evening and all night. The yurt is coated with sheep fat for waterproofing and there were only a few leaks, so we managed to sleep despite the cold and rain. 
On the next morning we loaded up our bags and began our walk along the south shore of the lake. We were trying to get to the main road so that we could hitch a ride back to town (at a reasonable price). Unfortunately, there is not a lot of traffic to and from the lake, and if you are pressed for time it's easy to be held hostage by the locals who attempt to charge about 100$ for the ride into town. It had been quite a while since we had done any serious walking, and after about three hours I was getting pretty grumpy (because I am lazy). We made it to another yurt camp just as rain started pouring down. We were greeted by Toumcul, a sweet 14 year-old girl who spoke some English and seemed to be running the camp along with her two younger sisters (12 and 5 years old). 
In the afternoon we got a visit in our tent from Isbek, a big, drunk Kyrgyz man with an unopened bottle of vodka to share with us. Margo and I attempted to turn down the shot glasses, but Isbek would have nothing of it. Thus began the toasting to "Kyrgyzstan OY!", "Canada and Golandia" (note, Golandia is the Kyrgyz word for Holland, which we attempted to correct for about an hour before giving up and toasting to Golandia ourselves). Yann carried the weight for both Margo and I and drank Isbek under the table (in all fairness, Isbek was pretty hammered to begin with). After one bottle was finished, Isbek called for more to be brought in, I hid them under the sheets of my bed, Isbek fell asleep at the table and was escorted to bed. 
For dinner, fried fish was on the menu once again. I was sad to find the three sisters sitting on the floor of their trailer preparing our dinner. After serving us they also fed and brought in the animals. I watched the youngest girl, Meerim, struggle to the trailer with a heavy kettle of water. The only time we saw any adults was the next day when they came to collect the money from us. Once she was a little bit relaxed, Meerim was glued to us. She spent all evening in our yurt playing with Yann who granted her all the attention that she desired. The two older girls continued with chores (although we did get a singing concert from the three of them, complete with dance routines, beyond adorable). 
The next morning, cheerful Isbek, now sober, wasn't so cheerful when we started trying to negotiate prices for a drive into town (it was still pouring rain). We got him down to half his initial offer, which was still way to high. We raced down from the mountains to the sound of Isbek's cries of "Kyrgyzstan OY!" everytime he rammed too hard into pot holes.
We happened to have picked a yurt affiliated with tour groups, so they wanted to charge us some ridiculous amount for a place to sleep on the yurt floor. After some discussion we got the price down. Dave had his own tent, so Margo, Yann and I shared the floor of a big empty yurt. The rest of the day consisted of lying outside in the sun. We were offered a dinner of fried fish (fresh from the lake) and boiled potatoes for about 0.50$ which we obviously did not turn down. We coated the boiled potatoes with thick fresh cream, straight from the cows, or maybe from the goats. This was what we had come for, the quiet, solitary, outdoor summer life of the Kyrgyz shepherds. We spent two nights in the yurt, not really doing much during the day. We watched the daily activities: killing and gutting a sheep, drying yogurt balls, salting sheep hides, drinking tea (and vodka) and bringing in the sheep at sunset. Margo and I attempted to swim in the freezing lake, Margo made it in, I made it up to my waist (we now understood why the kids wouldn't come swimming with us). In the afternoon scary storm clouds started creeping over the mountains, and it rained all evening and all night. The yurt is coated with sheep fat for waterproofing and there were only a few leaks, so we managed to sleep despite the cold and rain. On the next morning we loaded up our bags and began our walk along the south shore of the lake. We were trying to get to the main road so that we could hitch a ride back to town (at a reasonable price). Unfortunately, there is not a lot of traffic to and from the lake, and if you are pressed for time it's easy to be held hostage by the locals who attempt to charge about 100$ for the ride into town. It had been quite a while since we had done any serious walking, and after about three hours I was getting pretty grumpy (because I am lazy). We made it to another yurt camp just as rain started pouring down. We were greeted by Toumcul, a sweet 14 year-old girl who spoke some English and seemed to be running the camp along with her two younger sisters (12 and 5 years old). In the afternoon we got a visit in our tent from Isbek, a big, drunk Kyrgyz man with an unopened bottle of vodka to share with us. Margo and I attempted to turn down the shot glasses, but Isbek would have nothing of it. Thus began the toasting to "Kyrgyzstan OY!", "Canada and Golandia" (note, Golandia is the Kyrgyz word for Holland, which we attempted to correct for about an hour before giving up and toasting to Golandia ourselves). Yann carried the weight for both Margo and I and drank Isbek under the table (in all fairness, Isbek was pretty hammered to begin with). After one bottle was finished, Isbek called for more to be brought in, I hid them under the sheets of my bed, Isbek fell asleep at the table and was escorted to bed. For dinner, fried fish was on the menu once again. I was sad to find the three sisters sitting on the floor of their trailer preparing our dinner. After serving us they also fed and brought in the animals. I watched the youngest girl, Meerim, struggle to the trailer with a heavy kettle of water. The only time we saw any adults was the next day when they came to collect the money from us. Once she was a little bit relaxed, Meerim was glued to us. She spent all evening in our yurt playing with Yann who granted her all the attention that she desired. The two older girls continued with chores (although we did get a singing concert from the three of them, complete with dance routines, beyond adorable). The next morning, cheerful Isbek, now sober, wasn't so cheerful when we started trying to negotiate prices for a drive into town (it was still pouring rain). We got him down to half his initial offer, which was still way to high. We raced down from the mountains to the sound of Isbek's cries of "Kyrgyzstan OY!" everytime he rammed too hard into pot holes.
Over the Torugart Pass
Central Asia was our initial inspiration for travel, it seemed like a place that no one really knew about, or travelled through. It took us almost nine months of travel before we arrived in in Kashgar and started making arrangements for the trip across the border to Kyrgyzstan. We had two options, one by public bus, across the Irkeshtam and the other by private vehicle across the Torugart Pass. Neither option was particularly appealing to us, the first pass would bring us to Southern Kyrgyzstan, not where we wanted to be, and the second option was too expensive. It's only expensive because the Chinese keep it that way, by classifying the border as 'Class 2' which means only locals can cross it. For foreigners to be allowed to cross they must first get a permit and have transportation arranged on both the Chinese and Kyrgyz side. Our guidebook had quoted the trip as costing 100-200 USD per person, which was way way too much for us. There is only one travel agency that organizes transportation and we managed to get a taxi all the way across the pass for 75 USD per person (provided we could find two others with whom to share the taxi). After hanging around Kashgar for about a week, we paired up again with Margo (who we travelled with in Pakistan), and an Australian guy named Dave and made arrangements to cross the pass.
Yann had predicted that our vehicle would be the smallest possible that could fit the four of us (plus guide and driver), when we arrived at the parking lot for pick up we were greeted by an actual bus, and two older Austrian travellers. They had paid premium price for a tour bus, and we were added in (much to our satisfaction). So our transportation on the Chinese side was alot better than Yann had guessed, 6 people in a bus that fit 18. Part of what is attractive about the Torugart Pass is its isolation, the bureaucracy involved in its crossing and the fact that not many people make the trip. For us, it was all just a little bit too easy, we expected our ride on the Kyrgyz side not to show up, or to attempt to charge us more than we had agreed to, or the Chinese border guards to deny us permission to cross. The only thing that made the trip difficult was the fact that our Kyrgyz driver had removed all the handles from his car doors, so that no one could roll down the windows (he didn't want the dust coming in), so we sat smooshed together, sweating and breathing in the exhaust fumes that I suspect were leaking into the car from somewhere. Our driver seemed to be 'in' with the border guards and we whizzed through the eerily deserted checkpoints, our bags never even leaving the trunk of the car.
Other than the drive through vast seemingly uninhabited territory, our first taste of Kyrgyzstan was the town of Naryn. It's hard to describe how different Naryn felt from any of the other towns we had visited in the past months. We hadn't really prepared ourselves for the Russian influence in Central Asia, or maybe we weren't really aware of its extent. Our hotel was a decrepid Soviet dinosaur with our room door not locking (but cheap, 1.50$ per bed). 
For lunch we found a cafe and ate borscht while drinking beer on tap. The streets were lined with mature trees and old Russian cars ran slowly back and forth down Lenina street. Most store shelves were stocked with dozens of different kinds of vodka, all sadly selling for not too much more than bottled water. Men exited cafes mid-afternoon carrying the smell of alcohol along with them. While women and young red-cheeked children sat at street stalls selling produce or homemade bread out of baby carriages. The coordinator of the local tourist office proudly exclaimed that Naryn was 99% Kyrgyz, although to us, it didn't seem like the local customs were 99% Kyrgyz. 
Yann had predicted that our vehicle would be the smallest possible that could fit the four of us (plus guide and driver), when we arrived at the parking lot for pick up we were greeted by an actual bus, and two older Austrian travellers. They had paid premium price for a tour bus, and we were added in (much to our satisfaction). So our transportation on the Chinese side was alot better than Yann had guessed, 6 people in a bus that fit 18. Part of what is attractive about the Torugart Pass is its isolation, the bureaucracy involved in its crossing and the fact that not many people make the trip. For us, it was all just a little bit too easy, we expected our ride on the Kyrgyz side not to show up, or to attempt to charge us more than we had agreed to, or the Chinese border guards to deny us permission to cross. The only thing that made the trip difficult was the fact that our Kyrgyz driver had removed all the handles from his car doors, so that no one could roll down the windows (he didn't want the dust coming in), so we sat smooshed together, sweating and breathing in the exhaust fumes that I suspect were leaking into the car from somewhere. Our driver seemed to be 'in' with the border guards and we whizzed through the eerily deserted checkpoints, our bags never even leaving the trunk of the car.
Other than the drive through vast seemingly uninhabited territory, our first taste of Kyrgyzstan was the town of Naryn. It's hard to describe how different Naryn felt from any of the other towns we had visited in the past months. We hadn't really prepared ourselves for the Russian influence in Central Asia, or maybe we weren't really aware of its extent. Our hotel was a decrepid Soviet dinosaur with our room door not locking (but cheap, 1.50$ per bed). For lunch we found a cafe and ate borscht while drinking beer on tap. The streets were lined with mature trees and old Russian cars ran slowly back and forth down Lenina street. Most store shelves were stocked with dozens of different kinds of vodka, all sadly selling for not too much more than bottled water. Men exited cafes mid-afternoon carrying the smell of alcohol along with them. While women and young red-cheeked children sat at street stalls selling produce or homemade bread out of baby carriages. The coordinator of the local tourist office proudly exclaimed that Naryn was 99% Kyrgyz, although to us, it didn't seem like the local customs were 99% Kyrgyz.
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