Bishkek - Land of the Priceless Latte

Once upon a time, weary traveller in desperate need of good conversation and caffeine decided to embark on a quest for the most expensive latte ever.  It didn’t start out as that kind of quest.  Like all good quests, it began with a simple intent: coffee and frivolity – neither of which needed to be expensive.  But quests have a way of taking on a life of their own and soon our adventuress was in way over her head…

It all began in a town called Karakol.  A sleepy mountain village with one large Viper Russian Disco and shopping mall made out of discarded shipping containers.  Laid up with the flu, our protagonist finds herself in bed watching Mark Wahlberg and Denzel Washington in “2 Guns” and thinks: “This has to be the most sexist violent piece of s**t ever produced.  Caligula wasn’t even this bad!”  (But of course how could it be – Helen “Silver Fox” Mirren was in that one)  But I digress…

So the next morning the weary (but somewhat rested) Adventuress embarks on her mission – A LATTE.  She recalled that while cruising the Viper Den, there did appear to be a coffee shop and this was hopefully going to make up for missing 2 days in the hot springs and instead enduring 3 German brats high on sugar barging into her room all day and all night.  And no wonder, breakfast at the B & B was Frosted Flakes, cake, and a vast assortment of tea biscuits slathered in jam.  BUT NO COFFEE!!

Karakol did possess a latte-making device and in that moment, the Adventuress felt certain her quest had been met.  But soon the Evil Metal Monster would return and she would have to ride that beast to places unknown and without lattes.  Dread and despair fell about the town and a ferocious thunderstorm smashed open the sky.  The next morning the Metal Monster awakened and the heavens wept in fear and agony.

Just as soon as she had found peace, the Adventuress was robbed of it.  Forced into the bowels of the Metal Monster she watched Karakol slip away into the distance.  Where she was going she did not know.  Some spoke of a Lake.  Others simple sat catatonic in their seats.  The Adventuress looked around her.  A few faithful remained – There was Obi Wan KENobi, her faithful guardian.  St. Rutger – savior of all things rodent.  Sir Richard, the AleHeart (and Liver) and Lady Diane of the House Fartybumblast. Perhaps imprisonment in the Metal Monster wouldn’t be all that bad..

Eventually the Metal Monster stopped trying to kill other smaller metal monsters on the road and drove itself into a protected sanctuary called Issuk Kul.  Here the Metal Monster could get water, bathe in the icy waters to harden its resolve, and feed its minions.  Obi Wan KENobi checked for Ewoks but only found a lone Rebel Fighter AWOL on a rather handsome stallion.  St. Rutger attempted to befriend a kindly local over another game of non-violent footie.  That all came to naught when he kicked the ball into a thorn bush, killed it (the ball) and caused Said to have a complete emotional breakdown.  Meanwhile Sir Richard, the Aleheart (and Liver), took on the brave task of keeping the Metal Monster at bay by indulging his pyromaniac tendencies and setting fire to anything that would burn.  Soon there was a bonfire large enough to imolate 47 monks and Sir Richard, triggered by the flames, begins a bombastic tirade about the time he defeated the Flaming Pork Fat Succubus of Tasmania that only managed to engulf one hand.  Enter Lady Diane with ale for all, which she promptly spills all over the ground.  Sir Richard is not amused and our Adventuress realizes that a latte is now the least of her worries…

The next morning the Metal Monster required feeding and desperate to do ANYTHING to get a latte, our intrepid heroine begins the task of fueling the minions.  Obi KENwanobi captures it all for the Jedi Newsletter and Lady Diane tells Sir Richard to go F***himself when he starts getting OCD over how the prisoners tents should and shouldn’t be packed.  (Sir Richard is often delusional and through out the quest, he often believes – wrongly – the he is the true son and heir of the Metal Monster.)

Forced back into the Metal Monster, the Adventuress and her band of renegades endure another day of hell on wheels.  As evening approaches, Said – St. Rutgers’s trusty tent companion and ball buddy – leaps up and exclaims, “I know this place!  It is Bishkek! We are coming to the place of my father and his father before him! The Metal Monster must stop here and pay tribute! “  YIPPEEE!!!, thinks the Adventuress.  This means a chance to break free from questing and perhaps just settle for a latte since meaningful conversation is strictly forbidden by all enslaved by the Metal Monster.

While the Metal Monster is distracted by the swimming pool, Pole Dancing School and vast assortment of rough trade Ladas down the street, The Adventuress, Obi Wan KEN Obi, Sir Richard, Lady Diane, St. Rutger of Rodentia, Said the Merry Maker and a vast assortment of minions make a break for Azura – the place where expensive food is sold but you can only eat it cold and only after you have waited a minimum of two hours to have it served.  For it is here at Azura that one’s resolve is truly tested and the boys are separated from the men.  Sir Richard and Lady Diane succumbed to ale while St. Rutger stares at his salad attempting to emulate Jesus’s loaves and fishes miracle for the hungry minions.  No loaves ever arrived. .. Said had long since ditched the group by using family connections to buy his way out of the Azura Hunger Games.

As the full moon reached its crescendo – and Sir Richard had reached his limits of politeness – the Adventuress and her rag tag group think it would be wise to “walk it off” and seek out some magical ice cream for her Ladyship of FartyBumblastia.  Obi Wan KENObi peels off the group after a few blocks leaving the Adventuress with no guardian and a mere 500 Soms in the event there is a police shake down.  “I will protect your alms!!” exclaims Lady Diane and she offers up her pocket of extreme protection.  This seems like a very good idea at the time as there was no guarantee Sir Richard was be of ANY help if things went bad and St. Rutger was far to absorbed in his own mission for a rainbow strawberry milkshake to be of much use either.  “I know of a place where all our dream quests can be made true, “ claims Sir Richard.  “St. Rutger and I found it after a debauched afternoon in a German Beerhouse.  You won’t be disappointed.”

And so the remaining travellers walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and walked (you get the idea…) until the came to an oasis called “The Navigator” and it indeed looked like a place Sir Richard and St. Rutger would find after a debauched afternoon in a German Beerhouse.  But it did possess what each dream quest requires – ice cream, rainbow strawberry milkshakes, Pina Coladas (we already covered that Sir Richard is not a sane man..) and the holiest of grails  - THE LATTE!!!!!!  But all this came at a price – a steep price.  As in paying more for these things than you would in Sweden (and in Bishkek that’s like paying $400 for a latte).  But no one cared.  It was a full moon and our Adventuress had been lulled into believing there would be intelligent conversation…

After many insults were thrown by Sir Richard and Lady Diane it came time to settle the tab before our travellers where banned for life from another country.  And it was then that our Adventuress found out she had just achieved her greatest quest – that of consuming the most expensive latte ever.  For whist relieving herself, Lady Diane had dropped her velvet trousers a tad too low and her magical pocket of protection lost its magical properties.  “This is how it starts…!” bellowed Sir Richard.  St. Rutger was useless now that he was jacked up on rainbow sprinkles and ice cream.  Lady Diane began to cry.  Her tiramisu had already broken her bank and now the latte PLUS Obi Wan KENobi’s treasury!!!

“Don’t be upset,” said the Adventuress as she put her arm around Lady Diane, “Obi Wan KENobi only has to work .005ths of a second to make $10.  Plus it will make for a good travel story on the Silk Road.”

Lady Diane wipes the tears from her eyes “I just don’t want you to think I pocketed the money for myself.”

Sir Richard lights up a fire stick and puts it to his lips.

“She’s all class, this one.”

And that is how a weary traveller came upon the most expensive latte ever and some ok conversation.

Some Soviet Era Grand Building in Bishkek

Downtown Bishkek at Night

The Container Mall in Karakol

Helllooooo Dolly!

Rebel Guard - Bishkek

The Beauty that is Issuk Kul

Me and my Shadow on Lake Issuk Kul

Obi Wan KENobi trying to contain his enthusiasm...

Yes it's Real...

Lenin and I welcome you to Bishkek!

Horsing around on Lake Issuk Kul

Doing my bit to support the revolution

Team Canada Cook Team

Viper Lounger In Karakol

Just Bee...

Achievement Unlocked!!!

Seven Bulls,No Dragons, and the Sound of No Music in Kok-Jiayk

So about this place called Seven Bulls, Valley of Dragons, Vale of Flowers.  A place where the road is not meant to be well travelled.  A place where bridges and vehicles have an uneasy alliance.  A magical place – in all its forms.

****

On the mountain lives a dog.  He isn’t really a dog.  He is a God.  He has wise eyes and he stares at you until he sees right through your heart.  He collects pine cones from travellers who take the time to look for him behind the shed.  You bring him a pine cone and toss it.  He leaps and catches it.  He lays it at your feet.  You begin the process again.  He never misses.  Ever.  He is fierce but with you and a pine cone he is love and joy.  He likes it when you toss the pine cone  high above his head even though he can only jump the length of a three foot rope anchoring him under the tree.  I suspect he is tethered there because he is too smart for his own good.    He is a God in a German Shepard’s clothing.  He endures his imprisonment with quiet dignity.  I come to say good bye.  He runs behind the tree and brings me our pine cone. <I always remember you>  I never forget you…

****

He sits by the fire and tells me he is a lawyer.  It wasn’t his first choice and it won’t be his last.  He wants to make a difference.  He wants to help people.  He’s not sure how but he knows he is ready to let law go.  He says he is at that place where he is ok alone and doesn’t care what other people think.  He doesn’t have anything to prove.  He loves cats and secretly wishes he could have one in his office because he spends more time there than at home.  He asks me about what I do – or use to do – and I tell him.  He asked me why I stopped.  I tell him it was because I cared too much.  He asks me if I plan to start again when I get home. I tell him no.  “But you can’t do Nothing!”  (says the man who spent 20 minutes telling me he does not want to be judged or put in a box) “Nothing is boring!  You must do something!”  “Actually,” I reply, “doing NO-thing and being in an honest state of vulnerability is the best thing I could be doing right now.”  He takes a long drink from his mug of vodka and stares into the fire.  I look up at a sea of stars that would make Carl Sagan weep.  No-thing more need be said…

****

We walk in the valley of pristine trees and green pastures.  We cross the rickity bridges to the cave by the stream.  We can only go so far as we have no light.  We walk as far as we can until the darkness swallows us and we know we must turn back.  We pause by the river and sit on rocks already occupied by snails and flamboyantly colored lichen.  We silently apologize for the intrusion.  We make our way past a few yurt camps and the animals they graze.  There is not enough up here to feed everyone.  Occassionaly we are jolted out of our awareness by the sound of  an old military vehicle returning from an illegal logging mission.  We think this afternoon would be a good time to try for the glacier.  We walk farther up the valley away from the camps.  The grass is thinner.  So are the horses.  A mare drops to the ground and dies.  Her foal whimpers beside her.  I feel the warmth leave her.  Skin like paper.  Bones like twigs.  The flies are only now noticing.   The foal looks at me helpless.  He is so tiny and thin…  We walk a little farther.  We cry.  We decide to turn back.  A man with a stick and a noose is trying to catch the horse child  <Probably should have tried that before you took the axe to Mother’s neck>  Simon says she was disembowled by the time he walked by.  Nothing more need be said.

I will be your stick buddy forever

Keeping your eye on the Koan

A River Runs Through Us

Always time for Zen...

Rutger reconsiders singlehood...

"I take up very little room, I love to cuddle and I am handy with tent pegs!"

Shower prep Nomad Style!

This way to the Hotel that doesn't exist except in our dreams

Life an Death on the Mountain

"Greetings Comrades! Lenin and I salute you!"

Old Abandoned Orthodox Church

Harvest stuck in time

Tsar Peter The Great about to embark on his epic Starbucks run

A Fine Specimen of Turkey Masculinity

Bitches be Hatin' - me and my new Home Girl chilling at the felt workshop

Buzkashi and the Heart

Buzkashi – otherwise known as “goat polo” is an ancient sport played by the nomads along Lake Song-Kol.  It is described as being as close to warfare as a sport can be and involves using the headless, limbless carcass of a goat, sheep or calf as the ball.  It is full contact bone breaking every man for himself as riders on horseback attempt to grab the carcass and run it to the opposite end of the field.  It takes place in the late Autumn or Early Spring (planting and harvesting) or at a special occasion such as a wedding.  But here, in our camp, for a mere $5 per person, we can have full honor of witnessing this blood sport for no other reason other than we can.

So many questions… The first being, the senseless sacrifice of an animal merely for sport.  Now this is not a knock against tradition for I think we lack good ones these days – especially ones that challenge us in ways we never thought possible.  But this

seems less about tradition and more about entitlement.  Tradition dictates we would be here when it was meant to happen.  White Tourist Privilege dictates we make it happen at our own whim.  And it is our whim – people here are poor and live a hard life.  So in the name of adventure tourism we ask for the decapitation and delimbng of a goat for our sporting pleasure. 

Nomads living around Song-Kol live without sentimentality.  They will gladly house you in their yurt and feed you a meal.   But animal rights is not high on their list.  You live and die off the land.  It’s primal.  It is in many ways beautiful in its barbarity and simplicity.  Which brings me back to “The Game…”

When it was first broached, Ken without hesitation said “I am not interested in having an animal killed for sport.”  We were in the definite minority.  I said it just felt wrong to use a tradition as a tourist event to satisfy our need for entertainment.  At what point does our need to see and experience the world become an intrusion?  At what point do we stop being gracious visitors and instead become demanding children with more money that morality?  Buzkashi was said to have been started by Ghengis Khan as a way to test his warriors superior horsemanship and brute strength.  At a time when life was singularly about war it made sense.  It makes sense even now for the people living in a harsh unforgiving environment.  But does it make sense for us?  What is our war?  What is our fear?  What is it that makes us feel we NEED this to happen because if not, we are somehow less than we were before we came?

It is never easy when your faith in humanity is tested and humanity loses.  Bloodlust wins over humility and grace.  With so much to see and experience in this land, the one thing needed by almost everyone was a death.  A senseless needless death.  A throat slit.  A decapitation.  Limbs cut off.  Lifeless body tossed about battered and broken.  All in the name of sport and good fun.   I wonder…  did those who witnessed this feel sated?  Do they feel happier now than they did before?  Do they feel they are better people?  Does going home and sharing your story of “goat polo” make you a more interesting friend or lover?  Death after all is still death.  It is unavoidable.  But it need never be a senseless death.  And we should think long and hard when we have the power to impose Death.  For how we use that power speaks volumes to who we really are…

A small boy sits in the distance with a blow torch and his puppy.  He is burning the hair off the head and the limbs of the goat from the game.  His family will then boil it and make gelatin.  The carcass – battered and broken – is rumored to be stewed and eaten.  Not by the spectators of course – they are dining on sanitized duck breast fillet.

Final Score – 0 for love 9 for entitlement.

A day in the life of a small boy and a group of Adventurers

It just takes one to Breathe...

Our Home in Song- Kol

Doing the Dish Dry Dance at Song Kol

Horse love is the best Love (next to Yorkies and Camels!)

Ken's New Buddy

"Pink Lips" the pregnant mare

Wild Horse at Song Kol

And one donkey of Ill repute

Our Guide, Said

Said and Rutger playing non-violent ball games

Puppy Love on the Plains

Horseplay