Days 68 & 69 (money, tickets, parcel)
So, there we were, in a hotel we couldn’t really afford, wondering what to do next.As previously mentioned, we’d done a bit of homework and had the names and address of a couple of travel agents in Bishkek, plus the name and web address of another, based in Kazakhstan, but operating (by e-mail) across the region. First, however, we had to do something about all this useless Tajik currency we’d lumbered ourselves with. There are a lot of banks in Bishkek and we’ve seen the insides of most of them, but, in the end, it was a money change shop that came to our aid. Not that he did us any favours in terms of the rate we got, but at least now we had some money in our pockets.
Second item on the agenda for the day was finding a travel agent to take care of our onward journey. Again, there are a lot of travel agents in Bishkek – most conveniently situated along the same road – but not one of them does rail tickets. However, one of them suggested we try the post office. The Post Office? I hear you cry. Well yes, indeed. Turns out the post office in Bishkek has a little travel agency in one corner who seem to have cornered the market in rail travel. As it happens, this was quite convenient in that we had a parcel of things to post back to the UK.
The next day, we collected Juli’s box of souvenirs and unwanted clothes from the truck, wrapped it up with some tape we’d bought the day before, and took it over to the post office. Parcels, it turns out, are handled not in the post office, but round the corner from the main building in a small office in the back of an otherwise empty side building. Can’t think why we missed that. Feeling quite pleased with ourselves for managing to do quite a good job of packing and sealing up our little consignment, we were not at all happy to be told that they would only accept our parcel after first inspecting and weighing its contents item by item. There was also a customs from to be filled out, which, although in French as well as Kyrgyz (or possibly Russian) defeated even Juli’s language skills. In the end, after getting absolutely no help from the staff there (though a little from an equally frustrated but more experienced service user) we left vowing never to darken there doors again.
Fortunately, another snippet of information we’d gleaned from the Lonely Planet guide to Central Asia was the address of the Bishkek branch of DHL. Hurrah! or so we thought, because, although very friendly and helpful, the size and weight of the parcel meant their best price for carrying it back to the UK for us was the equivalent of a whopping great one hundred and eighty US Dollars: quite out of the question.
Dismayed, though with a neatly re-wrapped parcel under my arm, we resigned ourselves to having to take it back to the truck and deal with it in another city. ‘Maybe it’s expensive to send stuff from here because there’s not much cargo going between Britain Bishkek,’ we reasoned. ‘Perhaps it will be cheaper to send it from Beijing,’ we hoped.
However, before we could take the box back to the truck, we needed to return to the post office travel agency to book our train tickets. We’d popped in the day before, and the woman there, though she spoke no English, with the aid of gestures, diagrams and my map, was able to tell us everything we needed to know about tickets from Bishkek to Novosibirsk. How much, which days, what times, how long and, crucially, whether there were any seats available or not. In fact, she’d been so helpful that we stopped along the way to buy her some flowers, which, a little to her embarrassment, we presented to her on our arrival. This turned out to have been a good call, as subsequently she was super helpful. Not just handing over the tickets (entirely in Russian, of course) but taking the time to explain that times on Russian trains are always in given in Moscow time and even working out what that meant in terms of local times in Bishkek and Novosibirsk. She showed us where on the tickets it states which train, carriage and seats we were in, and even showed us which of the two station in Bishkek we need to be at on our map. Sorted!
With a bit more of a spring in our step, we headed back to the truck via where we thought Adam and Corinne’s hostel was. You will remember that they had chosen to over-fly Tajikistan. Well, we’d gone out with them for dinner the night before. They’d told us then where their hostel was and what it was called, but in the hot light of day and pretty tired after lugging that sodding box all over town, it was proving somewhat elusive. Just as we were about to give up, entirely by chance, I spotted Adam on his way to the bank. He gave us directions and a few minutes we were sitting with Corinne in their room. We’d wanted to see if their hostel might be a more affordable alternative to our hotel. In the end, we decided against it, but while we were there, they explained that they were temporarily flying home on family business and very kindly offered to take our box with them as hand luggage and to post it for us when they got back to the UK. Result!
So, with the first part of our travel plans in place and Juli’s parcel taken care of, we went back to our hotel to research the remaining piece of the jigsaw: arranging alternative accommodation. A quick Google and a phone call later – I tell you: having Wi-Fi and your own computer is a God-send – we were just on our way out of our hotel to check out another down the road, when the manager called us over. We’d enquired at reception previously about staying on if the price was right, but were told that they had no vacancies on two of the nights during the days remaining until our train to Russia. Evidently one of his reception staff had told him about this conversation, and the net result was that he offered us almost as good a price as the hotel down the road was offering and to find us, at his expense, alternative accommodation of the same standard or better for the two nights if required. (Apparently they were anticipating some cancellations.) We had a quick chat between ourselves and decided to stay. So, three for three. Touchdown!
That evening we went out for a really not bad Chinese meal in a restaurant not far from our hotel and relaxed a little.
Days 70 to 73 (treading water)
For the next few days, we occupied ourselves by mooching around some of the shopping centres, taking a tour of the local souvenir shops, patronising a few of the local cafes and bars – often over-priced and largely underwhelming – and generally killing time. I had some blogging to do and Juli visited the History Museum. (Not really my scene.) The first of the two potential ‘eviction’ days came and went with the good news that cancellations had indeed meant that our room was not needed (on either night) and so we unpacked and were please to be staying where we were, even though the lack of English channels on the telly meant that one night we amused ourselves by watching ‘Hugo’ dubbed into Russian.
At the same time as all this time wasting was going on, we still had to complete our travel arrangements, but this was now in the hands of Real Russia, a specialist Russian travel agency based in London, and a recommendation from the Kazakh based virtual travel agency we’d contacted after failing with the real ones in Bishkek. Through them (very good, by the way) we’d sorted a hotel in Novosibirsk, the next train in the chain from Novosibirsk to Ulan-Bator, and were well on the way to completing the journey, tickets-wise, with our last train from Ulan-Bator to Beijing. We’d also identified and contacted hostels in both of the afore mentioned cities, so everything was going along quite nicely. And yet, at the end of my diary entry for day 73, I’ve written “Bored.”
Days 74 & 75 (a change of scenery then more of the same)
What was need was… well, something different, so, after a visit to the ‘so-so’ Bishkek Art Museum, I pestered Juli into ‘phoning Ainura, the woman she’d met (along with half her family) at lake Song Kol. She wasn’t free to join us until later in the afternoon, but would be happy to meet up for a coffee or something. Great.When she arrived, she was accompanied by her sister (who turned out to be her cousin) and, rather than simply go for a coffee, suggested that we all go for a bit of a drive so she could show us her village, another hotel she was keen on (not hers) and one of her own shops, this one with a cafe attached, which sits at the side of the road above an old orchard where her yurts (which she lets out) were pitched. We had a completely unexpectedly lovely time in the company of her (good English) her sister (very little English) and various others of her immediate and extended family (absolutely no English beyond: “Ah! Marg-a-ret Tacher!”) Her uncle, who cooks at her cafe, made us a simple but delicious pasta dish called Beshbarmak, which means ‘Five Fingers’ in Kyrgyz because of the way your supposed to eat it. She told us that he makes it with boiled beef, but Wikipedia states that it’s usually made with horsemeat. This was washed down with a local beer called Arpa – you have to roll the ‘r’ – and later we taken down to one of her yurts in the orchard to meet her Father, who was playing, I think it fair to say, a somewhat drunken game or cards with his mates – a monthly fixture, we were told. He then took us and introduced us to his wife, who was cooking in a sort of permanent camp-kitchen that was in another part of the old orchard, and wanted to know why we (or possibly just me, as the man of our party) weren’t eating with them and drinking vodka. Remembering Juli’s adventure of a few weeks earlier, I explained through Ainura that, unfortunately, we’d already eaten and that I didn’t drink spirits. I don’t think he was very impressed, but any way, after wishing us well and thanking us for visiting his country, he eventually let go of my hand and we moved back up to the safety of the roadside cafe, where we drank more Arpa accompanied by a kind of curly smoked cheese. Very popular with the tourists, we were given to understand.
The next day, feeling a little off colour for some reason, we did a bit more souvee shopping, had a nice but rather expensive-for-what-it-was lunch at a cafe by one of Bishkek’s theatres, followed by a little light interneting (including updating our Google Map with details of our impending train journeys). Later, we went out to try an Italian restaurant we’d spotted earlier, but that turned out to be a bit of an expensive disappointment too. Hey ho.
“Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.” - Jean-Baptiste Karr
Day 76 (Kyrgyz Independence Day and a ‘Blue’ Moon)
Today (day 76) the 31st of August, is Kyrgyzstan’s Independence day and the second full moon of the month and so a Blue Moon. Luckily, we saw this coming and pre-ordered from the hotel restaurant a bottle of Russian ‘Champagne’ and, accompanied by fresh vegetables, Kuurdak, identified in their menu as “a national dish” (of Kyrgyzstan, I hope) and one requiring lots of time to prepare, so something to be savoured, but more of all that later.First, though, we been told variously that no one gets the day off, everyone gets the day off, that there would be events and happenings all day, only from about 5.00pm and, in one version, for three days solidly. A little tricky to know what to expect, then, based on those descriptions, so we decided just to walk down to the main square and see what was occurring.
The various parks and green spaces were full of people of all ages out for a jolly day. Something that seems very popular is for the whole family to have their photograph taken in front of a gaudy banner proclaiming Independence Day and the date painted in vivid colours, often surrounded by stuffed animals and huge, blousy, unnaturally bright fake flowers. There were lots of people setting those up here and there, in between others selling pastries, drinks, ice-creams, candy floss, balloons and every kind of small plastic toy you can think of. In the evening, these were augmented by all manner of sticks with flashing lights, whirly things with flashing lights and cars with flashing lights. No; wait: they were the police, who looked like they had been given general instructions to do nothing unless absolutely necessary, which it never was. The whole thing was very laid back and we felt absolutely safe, even when the odd car managed to find its way on to the cordoned off streets and mingled with the pedestrians making there way to the centre of things.
At the centre of things, a large crowd had assembled in front of a small stage where hundreds of performers in colourful costumes took their turn to dance, sing or play for the audience, interspersed by small groups and solo artists performing their latest hit. Sometimes there would be so many performers at a time that they overflowed the stage and spilt out on to the space in front of it. While one group of performers were on stage, the other artists would wait their turn just standing around elsewhere in the square or in one of the two dressing-yurts that had been erected either side of the stage. There were photographers and video camera crews and people conducting interviews plus others who seemed to be just hanging around a little closer to the action then the rest of us, politely held back behind an exceedingly thin and sparse blue line. Sometimes, the policemen on duty would be far more interested in what was going on on-stage than in keeping us lot in our place. At other times, they would leave their posts and gather together in clumps for a little chat and a laugh. I say ‘policemen’ because, with one exception they were all men. The one token policewoman is worthy of a mention in dispatches, however, for her brave stance against the oppressive male regime, which he showed through her complete disregard for authority, demonstrated by her sling-back sandals with a good three inch of heel, her matching handbag and they way she spent most of her time, when not chatting with her male colleagues, texting on her mobile phone, possibly about all the jewellery she was wearing. No one seemed to mind though, including two, obviously more important policemen in big hats with lots of gold braid on their epaulettes, who smiled and chatted just like their subordinates. I think the Kyrgyzstan police force must be a very egalitarian and laidback organization within which to work.
However, every rule must have its exception, in there was one policeman in a patrol car who spent the day barking orders to other motorists and pedestrian through his Tannoy system and trying out every variation of siren sound his vehicle was capable of producing for no apparent reason whatsoever. The other policemen simply ignored him, as did the majority of motorists and pedestrians, so I guess, as long as he was enjoying himself too, that’s okay.
[Speaking of donkeys in black and whites, on the way back to the hotel, we saw an actual donkey giving rides, made up to look like a zebra.]
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| A Zonkey? |
After lunch and a lie down, followed by some tea and another lie down, we got ourselves ready for our double celebratory dinner, which we’d arranged to have brought to us in the hotel’s outdoor eating space. Shortly after announcing our presence, the long awaited ‘champagne’ arrived. In hindsight, the ‘Pomagne’ (remember that?) style plastic cork should have sounded warning bells. The eruption of white foam all over my trousers when I opened the damn thing – and I’ve opened a few bottles of bubbly in my time – should have given me cause to pause. The ease with which this so recently highly effervescent liquid filled our glasses should have given me a clue. However, perhaps because we were so looking forward to it, so wanting it to satisfy our craving for fizz, that it was not until we actually tasted this poor, pale, neigh pathetic impersonation of a the drink from which this below average beverage, so bereft of bubbles, steals its name, that we knew our champansky would not do; would not do at all.
Still, all was not yet lost: we had, after all, the main event to look forward to. Oh, who am I kidding: you’ve already worked out that the meal was a disaster too, right? In fact, Kuurdak turns out to be boiled mutton with chopped onions, and the fresh vegetables, were so fresh, the chef hadn’t even wanted to take the time to cook them. Lesson learnt: come to Kyrgyzstan for fabulous scenery, come to Kyrgyzstan for amazing hospitality, but don’t come looking for gourmet delights.
After our disappointing dinner, we headed back to the square to see what happens after dark on Independence Day; we’d been told there might be fireworks at 9.00. (Woo-hoo!). The square was still as busy as before, including with folks of all ages having their photos taken. One enterprising chap had set up an optical instrument of a different kind: a very large but still portable telescope trained on the full moon and was charging any one who wanted a look 20 Soms a go. (About 25p) Obviously, we couldn’t resist and were amazed at the detail it revealed.
After a lot of pop-y singing on stage, at nine o’clock sharp, even though there was still an act in full flow, the fireworks began. Not the most amazing display ever, but amazing to be so close to the display itself. (That’s another thing, possibly in Kyrgyzstan’s favour: they’re a lot more relaxed about people’s health and safety. You only need to see the state of the pavements in their capital city to know that.) I took a bit of video of the fireworks (not the pavements) which you can see below.
Days 77 (final preparations)
Lots to do today: last chance for laundry; change more money into three currencies (Kyrgyz Som, Kazakh Tenge and Russian Rubles – we’ll get whatever Mongolians use when we get there) to cover the three countries our first train travels through; and shopping for some essential supplies including tea bags and plastic mugs. (Wish we’d brought our stainless steel mugs from home.)We travel with US Dollars; it’s still the most widely used and accepted form of transnational currency. Dollars to Som: no problem. Dollars to Tenge: a bit more of a problem to find someone who’ll do that direct (rather than going Dollar to Som then Som to Tenge and taking two conversion hits – three, if you count the original Sterling to Dollar hit back home) but with so many money changers, we found one without too much difficulty. The problem exchange was Dollars to Rubles. We got very confused by all the conversion factors been quoted at us by people whose interest was not necessarily served by helping us to understand what was going on, so we came back to the hotel and did little research before venturing out again, only this time a little more savvy.
While we were out, we noticed quite a few little girls (and some not so little girls) with very large, white pom-poms in their hair. Also we noticed that everywhere you looked, young people of both sexes were very smartly dressed in black trousers with white shirts or black skirts with white blouses. We’d been told by Ainura that the 1st of September is traditionally know as Bell Day and marks the first day of the new school year, but had assumed, being a Saturday, that school would still be out. Perhaps Kyrgyz children go to school on Saturday mornings, maybe or they just love to were the uniforms anyway. Who knows.
All ‘to do’ items ticked (and a quick bite of lunch had too) we headed back to the hotel. On the way, we saw a man out walking his camel. (A Bactrian, in case you were wondering.)
Tomorrow, after breakfast, we’ll settle our hotel bill (bank anti-fraud measures permitting) and then wait (in the hotel’s business centre-cum-library, if they’ll let us) until it’s time to take a cab and all our clobber to the station to catch our first train. It leaves Bishkek number two station at forty-two minutes past midnight (local time) and gets into Novosibirsk, Siberia, Russia at 08:06 local time, two days (and two borders) later on the 5th. After a night there, we catch another train (possibly meeting Adam and Corinne on-board) late in the evening of the 6th that arrives in Ulan-Bator, Mongolia (three nights, two days and one border later) early in the morning (06:30 local time) of the 9th, where we have hostel accommodation for five nights.
More from there. Tweets along the way, if I can.
TTFN -N
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