Around Kyrgyzstan

Time has slipped past and I am now well on my way through central Asia, one country down, and a couple more to go before I reach Mother Russia. Kyrgyzstan has been a great introduction to the post Soviet world. I am amazed at times how western and modern it is, though it is never long until you are brought back to the reality of the developing world. Example: I have been cruising all over this country in 1990s BMWs and Mercedes – usually for a few hundred com (less than $10 CDN). It is easy to hit 140 or 150 km/h but the driver has to brake furiously from time to time in order to avoid the missing sections of the road. Modern standards meet the developing world in this little republic.

I’ve had lots of heavy meaty food, some nights in yurts, some horse rides through snowy mountain passes and dipped my feet in icy cool glacial lakes. The other side was the cities where I made friends with loads of expats and Kyrgyz. This led to some great nights sitting in the parks in Bishkek talking about Kyrgyzstan and world travel. I learned a lot about the culture here, but in my mind the most interesting part relates to marriage customs, namely bride kidnapping.

Bride Kidnapping is a practice with dubious roots in tradition that continues until this day as a viable way of procuring a mate. It is generally planned by the man’s family, who stalks a girl until the time is right, and she is grabbed and brought to the man’s house. The women of the family then sit her down and pressure her to marry the man. This may degenerate into a couple of babushkas lying on top of each other blocking the doorway so as to use their stature to inspire guilt lest they be stepped upon (or over). The girl is berated and harangued until ultimately she gives in or leaves. In the event that she leaves the home, her reputation destroyed on account of having spent the night at a man’s house. Nobody will marry her after that, and as a result kidnapping ensures either a marriage or a life of solitude. I can hardly believe that people buy into this tradition without seeing how idiotic it is.

Qualities sought after in the brides include cooking, cleaning, and cow milking abilities. The better the bride, the less the man will have to do for the next few decades. Graduations seem to be a particularly vulnerable event for the girls since it is a good opportunity for the man and his family to view a bunch of potential brides before selecting the one that will be kidnapped after the ceremony. A taxi is then rented, the driver paid extra for his complicity in the scheme. It cruises up next to the girl and she is forced inside and driven to the home of her suitor where the above described courtship unfolds. Ahhh, true love. I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried. I have been looking for a nice Kyrgyz girl myself, but can’t seem to find one small enough to fit in the burlap sack that I bought for the purpose. As a result, I am still single. For now.

Having failed to find myself a suitable candidate for marriage under duress, I decided to head out in order to take a look at the national game. This can be described only as rugby on horseback using a headless goat/sheep as the ball. All the men race for the goat which is placed in a circle. They fight for the carcass, punching, kicking, pushing, and scuffling until one of them has succeeded in riding around a pole with the carcass and depositing it back in a circle. Unfortunately, this description is based only on photographs I have seen as I was unable to locate a place where i could observe the festivities in person.

I have to satisfy myself with lesser contests, such as the one I undertook in deciding to visit Uzbekistan. First, I had to weasel my way into the Uzbek embassy (No Russian? No appointment? No letter of invitation? Name not on list?). I got in by negotiating, pleading, bribery and waiting a long, long time. I hope that there is a fresh visa in the printer for me as I type these words. Now all I have to do is figure out how much it costs (they wouldn’t tell me) and how to get back inside to pick it up.

Assuming I succeed, it then will be time to count the exact sum of the banknotes from thirteen currencies that I have kept as souvenirs. The sum total amounts to less than $50 USD. These must be declared upon arrival to the country otherwise it promises to be a “Big Problem” (said with thick Uzbek official accent). Rather than attract unnecessary attention to myself by declaring it, I am flirting with the idea of hiding the notes to avoid arousing any interest. I already intend to make a scrupulous effort to conceal any writing on my computer to avoid any suggestion that I have even heard of journalism – another sure fire way to instant deportation (to???). It ought to be a great lesson in post Soviet bureaucracy. A lesson I can’t wait to learn, again and again.

For now it is a few more days of heavy food and Bishkek nights while I wait for the wheels of pointless bureaucracy to grind a path my way.