Here I am in the very landlocked capital of Bishkek, Kyrgastan. As mentioned before, my ticket allows me 6 stops around the globe, the first three all being Africa, and now a quick introduction to Asia before I arrive home (October 19th, for inquiring minds). This stop was done by spinning a globe with my eyes closed, and it landed here in Kyrgystan. So glad it did! So the posts will continue here for the Asian Invasion. Quick notes: My mom mentioned that in a past blog posting I used the term "pink" bodies, and that not all bodies are this color. Really strikes home as I read one of Obama's books (the only one I could find in English on the Ethiopian sidewalks!). I was referring to the interiors of these bodies and not the epidermis. Sorry for any confusion there. Also thank-you to Marianne Romeo for posting the blogs in Ethiopia. The government there has strict control over which websites can be accessed, and blogger.com is not one of them. So the flight here from Adis Ababa was a long one. I flew out on New Years Eve from Ethiopia, so the timing was not great one my behalf. Happy 2002 everybody! Get to relive it all over again! The plane ride was packed with young European couples and their brand new adopted Ethiopian babies. They were so cute, and remarkably well behaved for having to leave on New Years Eve. All except one baby who made up for the rest with cries that were on the verge of hysteria. I felt bad for it, because it was certainly due to the pressure of taking off and landing. Rather than fighting the sound, I tried to turn it into an Arabic song with all of the subtle pitches and that it was just singing. It kind of worked. After the flight landed in Amsterdam, I had a few hours till a connection to Moscow, and figured this would be my last chance to buy some more quality colored pencils, as my black and brown ones were worn thin from drawing so many Africans. I am going to begin sketching everyone with their skin pulled off so that I will use up that slow going pink pencil! The Dutch being so efficient had that public transport so well set up, I made it to the art supply store, and back with enough time to have my first Starbucks coffee in 5 years, and all 50 oz. of it were quite disappointing after Ethiopia. Onto Moscow, where I performed another concert in the airport. Many people were curious and shyly (word??) gathered around, always pretending they were doing something else though...scroll through the cellphone, look at watch...hey listening is not a crime! Even after a few cold beers my throat sounds better than the airport paging machine. Now the sport is hockey, and everyone gathers around the TV with drink in hand. The Russian men seemed to all be stocking up on the Vodka from the duty free stores. Enough to kill an army. Many of them ordered Cokes on board the plane and made themselves little cocktails. No free drinks on Aeroloft...no one would ever leave the plane. The meals are always the same too! Salmon pate, rice, and cabbage mix. Not too bad, except a bit much at 7 a.m., and two more of these meals to go. So interesting to see where all the connecting flights are to after Kenya's African cities: Kiev, Tashkent, Budapest, Siberia. While waiting to pass customs, people just kept cutting till finally, I became fed up and said "Hey" to this big Russian guy, and nodged my bony rump between him and the clerk. It worked. You just got to fight your way around with a little more muscle in Moscow. One man was dressed in a polyester gold suit! He was the first one to cut me, and later I saw him pacing back and forth at the gate to Bishkek, Kyrgystan. I loved the way he would slide around on his penny loafers! Bishkek is a funny little capital. Quite modern looking, but in that "Soviets were here" look. The people could not be nicer. Sometimes people will walk up to you and shake your hand with a slight bow, not saying a word, and then carry on walking. They look so unique: a blend of Chinese, Mongolian, Russian, Middle East...and every other silk road wanderer. I took a bus on Monday up to lake Issy-Kol at the base of the Tian Sian mountains. Absolutely gorgeous mountains with brown foothills all around, and snow capped peaks in the background. I stayed the first night with a family in a town called Karakol. Kind of like a Colorado mountain town with long bearded Kirghiz men in strange hats. The family was incredible. The father's name was Timor, and he built the house himself. Also the pool table inside, the furniture and virtually everything insight. The mother was also an artist. They painted together, made rugs together, all in the stillness of their little house. The son and daughter, both in their late 20's, lived in the house and also made art, and helped run a section of the house as a guest house. The son was the only one who really could speak English (he was also a lawyer!). Timor was just so cool. I enjoyed so much being in his presence. He would always say in his soft patient voice "John, John, John", and smile as if he were reading my future and it looked good! I showed him my sketch book, and he took me upstairs to a library of books on mainly Russian artists. There I spent many hours drinking some red wine and thumbing through prints in the big silience. In the morning, the daughter had prepared a breakfast the size of the landscape...Omlettes, pancakes, coffee, tea, cheese, bread, juice, honey, candy, cucmber, tomatoe, and more. Ludicrious, even for my appetite! I then hiked about 16 km. up one of the mountain valleys to a place called Altyn Asharan, where there were oodles of hotsprings and concrete tubs. Big pine trees, glaciers, and a fast moving river. Every now and then, a yert would appear. And maybe a few guys doing some work outside. The nomads just kind of spend their life camping...like a Grateful dead tour. When things get stale, they pack up their horses, trucks, and house and find another spot. I stayed in a little old cabin run by two alpine-plump Russian immigrants. There I ate soup in a quiet room with two old Kirghiz men as a thunderstorm rolled in high above the snowy peaks. All I could here was the occaisonal thunder roar and the slurping of th esoup and tea. Too good to speak! After pretending I was a boiling potatoe in the hot spring (very meditative by the way! Just curl ina ball and feel starchy and rootlike), I went in side for what I thought would be a peaceful night sleep. Two Russian guys in the next room were shouting at each other. Not because they were fghting, but just because they felt that this is the way to communicate with each other only one meter apart in a serene mountain setting. I could almost smell the vodka underneath the door and down the hallway. I woke up in the middle of the night quite thirsty. I walked with my bottle down to the river underneath a now brilliantly clear sky. Countless stars. I stopped on one rock, and bent down to look at a small frog. I wondered if it was cold. When I put my hand in the water to fill the bottle up, I could feel the blood slow down in my hand. My bones bean to ache the water was so cold. It tasted so delicious. In the morning I sketched and then talked with a nomad grandpa and his grandson. I tried to teach him how to yo-yo with m friend Tom's handmade yo-yo gift (If anyone passes by my shop, please alert Tom to check the clip out here on the website. I think he would enjoy this...). After eating more of those littel Russian candies, I set of back down the mountain with a lighter head (and belly). Matt, Dustin, Alex- please make sure the Russian shops are well stocked with these treats upon my next San Francisco visit. I collected trash on the way back down the hill, and managd to fill up three bags! There really is not that much around, but it all added up quickly. Mostly cigarette butss and.....uh oh....candy wrappers. When I returned to Karakol, it seemed like the autumn had arrived with that small storm. Apples for sale everywhere, and a cool golden sun. I walked through a field to an old Muslim cemetry, and it seemd like you could hear the grass moving for miles around. Grasshoppers everywhere. I took a bus ride half way around the south end of the lake, and from there took a taxi (a nice Audi) another 2 hours to a city calley Balyckyk. The cab driver, Turkenbek, was really a great man. He just kept speaking Russian to me as if I understood (sometimes I did!), and I just kepy speaking English to him. We got dinner, and then he found me a hotel room in this depressingly grey city. He picked me up at 7:45 (EXACTLY when he said he would) and drove me to the mini-bus station. When I offered him money he refused. I took his picture, and then he carried my bags to the bus and sat with me in silence for a while as we waited for more passengers. When He left, he hugged me as if I was one of his 3 sons with his big military arms. I think he started to weep a little bit, and left the bus waving periodically. I played a concert for he and the woman and her daughters who ran the ramshackle guesthouse, and they all sat around and listened with the most precise attention. Always clapping just at the right time. Off to Nepal tomorrow a.m. With Love, jg
Picture Description:
The video of Yo-Yo in Kyrgystan priceless,
ReplyDeletetruly a joy forever, should start a whole
new internationally recognized sport.
great report, John -- looking forward to
what you tell us about Nepal.
on on,
Barry