Two Stops Past Siberia

For the second time in as many weeks, ol’ Kyrgy Carl has left the mountain paradise of Sunny Naryn for the warmer, more urban bastions of Kyrgyzstan. However, unlike last week’s frantic mission for sewing machines, this journey was a slower, friendlier, more artistic adventure.

The whole event started in the far back seat of an overcrowded passenger van. I had been taken in by a wide eyed and well dressed, ten-year-old village boy who said, so sweetly, “come, ride with us.” With me well in his pocket (and by his mother’s urging) he proceeded to sit on my lap for the duration of the journey.

As every trip in country must roll through Bishkek, this was, by necessity, my first stop. Before even arriving, however, I got a very excited preliminary phone call:

“Carl, we’re gonna have dinner tonight with a writer. He did Peace Corps Uzbekistan, even wrote a book about it. He’s kind of a big deal.”

The man turned out to be Tom Bissell, and was delightful company. He was working on a book where he visits every site said to hold the remains of an Apostle, and was in town researching one alleged grave of Saint Matthew, said to be buried in an old monastery on the shores of Lake Issyk Kul. “In the book,” he said, “basically I will go to the site, talk to some people, and then go into the history.” If the quality of his company is any testament to the quality of this new book, I say, keep an eye out for it.

From Bishkek, then, it was on to Talas, home of the expression, “if you’re offended, then go to Talas,” as well as my friend Corey. My travel companions were David (who some of you may remember as the owner of the SUV and 80’s music from last summer) as well as his caring and wildly intelligent girlfriend.

Talas itself is kind of like Naryn, but different. It is poor and isolated and very Kyrgyz, much like Naryn, but less so in every way: the area has a strong bean market, leading to affluence, it has a direct road to Kazakhstan, making it less isolated, and still has some Russians. The Talas city bazaar is twice the size of Naryn’s, and carries a wider selection of items, like sewing machines, home-made jam, and pork. All this with roughly the same number of residents.

And then, there are beans. Talas is unarguably the bean capital of Kyrgyzstan, and the locals don’t even eat them. “They are regarded as poor person food,” Corey told us, “almost all of them are sold abroad.” Not all, of course, mind you. At least 40lbs have been sold domestically: specifically, of course, to yours truly.

After some overall fun, a short run in with some local hoodlums, and just enough work with Corey’s NGO to make it a business trip, quick as we came, we were gone again. It was two days of much needed catching up. I haven’t seen Corey since this summer’s visit to China, and it seemed much too long.

And then, on our way home, one moment stood out like no other. As we crossed one of the high passes to return to Bishkek, deep in a mist of fog, horses emerged from the mountain side: two cowboys were moving a heard.

“Whoa,” was my line, and “get the camera,” was David’s.

And so there we stopped, 11,000 feet in the sky, the three of us, friends, each artists in our way, to simply absorb the moment. It was, indeed, what life is all about.