Aslanbop

02/08/09

I am in a small village in rural Kyrgyzstan called Aslanbop. I got here in a 1993 BMW 5 series for 650 com ($18.50 CDN), that moved at 160 km/h wherever possible. My arrival was immediately big news and many of the locals gathered around. They began making jokes and told my German friend Daniel that he could ride a donkey. This induced hearty laughter as if it was the funniest thing anyone had ever heard. We made our way up a few dirt roads looking for a place to stay. We asked some directions, and the man made the sign of the cross on his chest and started laughing hysterically, supported by the guffaws of his entourage.

Finally, we found the place, down a dusty road at a house overlooking a river valley flanked by snow capped mountains. We dumped our packs and headed back into town to interact with the locals. We chatted with large women with gold teeth, said salaamun aleyakum to about every man we met and were rewarded with heartfelt handshakes and lots of smiles. Kids appeared from all directions and everyone wanted their photos taken. This is rare, since usually it is me asking the locals to take pictures, often with negative results.

We continued down a dusty road out of town, following an old Russian pickup truck loaded with sticks. It had a Ferarri decal on the side. Losing sight of the truck, we headed up a hill and down a shady track past beautiful mud brick houses in the shadows of the peaks. It was not long before we were beckoned by a man lounging on a veranda smoking cigarettes. When we approached, we were delighted to see the truck again, now with two girls unloading the sticks. Closer inspection revealed a Mercedes-Benz, Volkswagen, and Toyota emblems attached strategically to the front in the spots that contained the least rust.

We were called for tea and obliged. Once we sat down we were presented with bread and jam, and then a big plate of cow intestines arrived. I went to the Russian phrasebook to say how delicious it looked, but that we were full from lunch. That did not prevent the man from slicing off healthy portions of the intestine and heaping them atop large slices of bread. We rubbed our bellies and reiterated the “we just ate lunch” position. This met with some success and we sat communicating about our families, a slow process since I needed to look up every word that was said in response to the statements in the book.

We said our goodbyes and made our way up the road. The man sent a couple of his kids to act as tour guides. They were very chatty and kept showing us things to which we replied with either “da” or by repeating the words back to them. In return they demanded a full-on photo pose down and we snapped away while making excuses, and finally headed back down the road for a lunch without entrails.

Back in the town we sat on a flat bed under a canopy and ate kebab and lakhman, a delicious noodle dish, with fresh baked nan. Soon we had more new friends, one of whom was initially desperate to immigrate to Germany. Upon finding out that he would have to learn German, his desperation changed and he decided Canada was a better fit. I told him he could come as a truck driver and fumbled to advise about how much he would make, where he could live, how much it would cost, what his “BC” licence would mean in Canada, how long it would take, and who would meet him at the airport. For good measure, I drew him a crude picture of what an 18 wheel looks like and think that my parents can expect a bizarre phone call from Bishkek in the coming months/years. Perhaps he won’t even call, and will just show up at the door instead, pissed that my dad didn’t pick him up at the airport. (Side note: hilarious episode, including drawing, recorded on video).

This world never fails to amaze me. This is possibly the most beautiful place I have ever been on account of the natural surroundings and the hospitality of the people. It is a forgotten corner of the globe, but every bit as amazing as the Alps or the Himalaya. The most amazing part is that anyone would ever want to leave. What strikes me is that people in the west work their whole lives so that one day they can afford to come and retire in a place like this. Maybe even buy a horse. I suppose that people always want what they don’t have.

After lunch we were approached by some large local ladies with unibrows and gold teeth who wanted their photos taken. This was a cultural experience at the time, but an exceedingly comedic experience upon review of the photos.