Pamir Highway, part 2: Murghab to Osh

Even though it was late in the tourist season and there were few tourists because the Pamirs had been closed for a couple of months, Megi and I didn't have to wait long for a jeep from Murghab to Osh, as we obtained one leaving the morning after our first inquiries. Although we were supposed to leave well before 10:00, we spent a while waiting for additional passengers and then going to a few houses to pick up cargo, so it wasn't until after 11:00 that we actually hit the road.

The M41 leaves Murghab to the east and then curves north through a wide, flat valley, while another road continues straight east from Murghab towards the Chinese border at the Qolma pass.The first stretch of road, before the valley narrows and the road begins to climb the the Ak-Baital pass, runs through a wide, dry valley.

Looking east, just north of Murghab.

Barren but beautiful in the autumn sun.

Smudges on the jeep's windows made it hard to take pictures. The road to Rang-kul lies through this gap in the mountains.

The mountains close back in on the valley.

A little further north the mountains have a bit more colour, as I saw from the mountain-top on the northern outskirts of Murghab.

Murghab and the stark desolation of the high Pamirs

We arrived in Murghab after dark, and were dropped off in front of the hospital, which has to be one of the bigger buildings in Murghab. We went with our Pamiri friend to greet his colleagues, who offered us some dinner, including meat that they later said was Marco Polo sheep. Dwindling populations of these animals make them something you would really rather not eat, but it's also difficult to fault people who live in such a harsh environment for hunting animals.

After eating we were shown to the room where Megi and I would stay: a simply room with six single beds. These Soviet-era beds had woven steel springs underneath the mattresses, and age and wear had resulted in them being like hammocks with a mattress on top. Traditional-style tapchans on the floor would have been preferable. Although the hospital was a solid building built in Russian/Soviet style, the bathroom facilities were rather shocking. There was a large outhouse building located a few dozen meter north of the hospital, with separate men's and women's sides. There wwas no electricity or lights, so we had to bring our own flashlights. Inside, these were the dirtiest and smelliest facilities I saw on my trip. Although everything was concrete, the holes in the floor were surrounded by toilet paper and shit where people had missed their target in the dark. It didn't seem like anything was ever cleaned. Apparently the women's side was even worse. Hardly the sort of hygiene one would hope for in a hospital.

The next morning we split up and arranged to meet later at the Yak House, which is a tourist-oriented handicraft shop on the northeastern edge of town. Since META had folded earlier that year (but has since resumed operation), it was the center of tourism in the region. I headed down to the mosque and market area, those being the only real places of note in town.

The Murghab mosque. Most of the high Pamirs east of the Koi-Tezek pass is ethnically Kyrgyz and therefore Sunni, for whom mosques are of relatively greater importance.

Goats in the bumpy marshland in front of the mosque.

A pair of kids were near the goats, though not exactly shepherding them.

A foreigner with a camera? Let me get in on this action!

The Aga Khan doesn't limit his aid to Ismailis, but helps the greater community (including the water pipeline I saw in Kyrgyzstan near Sary Tash). On the mountain to the left of the dome you can see a message of welcome to the Aga Khan spelt out in stones.

The Aga Khan is also known as the Mawlana Hazar Imam, so I believe this is supposed to read "Welcome our Hazar Imam."

A river and backwater eddies are south of the mosque.

A brick and mortar yurt anchors one end of the market. Meat is sold inside. But what I really want to talk about in this picture is the blue plastic bag that old lady is carrying. It caries the logo of the "Aygen Collection," and it's the unofficial bag of Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. But although it looks like the bag of some sort of designer label or store—albeit one unintelligible to those who use it—it actually corresponds to no label or store known to Google. Instead, the label really describes the bag, and it's popular because it's a a relatively strong and reusable bag. You do have to pay for them, but they're everywhere. Apparently in the mid-90s the bag of choice in the region bore the logo of a Glascow pet store.

The ubiquitous bag photo-bombs an editorial photo illustrating drinks vendors in Kyrgyzstan.

Pamir Highway, Part 1: Khorog to Murghab

Megi and I were to meet in the morning at the market, where vehicles to Murghab leave. I arrived and wasn't able to find her, and after waiting around and periodically wandering down the main road to other places she might be waiting (we agreed to meet where vehicles leave, but it isn't always clear exactly where that is), I began to fear that she might have left before me for some reason. It turned out that she and the family she had been staying with had spent the night at a different house, and they had only returned relatively late in the morning. So it was pretty late by the time we were prepared to leave, and most of the vehicles had already left, but we found a Chinese-made minivan without too much difficulty, and were on our way before too much time had passed. We were stuck in the back seat with some cargo, and it was actually fairly comfortable because you don't have to worry about elbowing the cargo or slinging your legs over them.

Chinese minivans are popular on this route, as the road is decent enough for them not to be shaken apart, they hold a fair number of people, and they're dirt cheap: I think they cost something like $6,000. One of the other passengers in our van was a bright young girl of maybe 12 or so who was returning to her family in Murghab, and it was really charming to watch her talk with Megi and the other passengers, as she was absolutely nothing like the timid, downtrodden girls you see in the Fann mountains. She was bright and outgoing, and had no fear of challenging and disagreeing with the adult men in the van, let alone simply talking with them.She wasn't that happy to be returning to Murghab, however, as there simply wasn't enough there to be appealing to her

Megi had earlier told me about her taxi ride from Dushanbe to Khorog, where she had been similarly surprised at just how different Pamiri women were from the lowland Tajik women she was used to in Kulob. The women in her car showed no fear or hesitation to dominate and chide the men, telling her that in Pamiri families it is women who wear the pants in the family. This is so different than most of Central Asia, and Tajikistan in particular, but hugely refreshing, and a large part of the reason why Pamiris are my favourite people of Central Asia.

On the road to Murghab

For the first hour or so the M41 east of Khorog has scenery similar to the road between Khorog and Ishkashim, which is to say that it's relatively verdant with lots of trees and small villages. After a while, however, the valley rises and widens into a more desolate and rocky environment of the type we might expect to see in high-altitude mountain plains, rising to the deceptively high Koi-Tezek pass (4,272 meters high, even though the pass is not between close mountain but simply the crest of a long hill in the middle of a wide valley).

Entering the high plains.

Near the Koi-Tezek pass. Despite the snow, it feels like a desert and it's difficult to imagine that much vegetation grows in this stony valley, even in the summer.

Mountains to the south.

We came across a car stopped at the side of the road, and got out to stretch our legs while the drivers talked. It turns out the other car had run out of gas, so we gave him a ride to fetch some.

The road is often washboard and bumpy, but isn't overly rocky.

Chinese minivan in need of gas. Not the best place to get stranded.

We dropped the driver here to get gas; I hope he found some. When I see a building with a gabled roof line, I imagine that it's a Soviet-era building constructed by the government. This may explain why it's abandoned.

The much-hyped, internet infamous, flight from Dushanbe to Khorog

There's a lot of hype out there about the flight between Dushanbe and Khorog, with breathless claims about how dangerous and terrifying it is, and how the plane routinely comes dangerously close to the sides of mountains as it flies between them and not above them. You'll even read about how, despite there not being any crashes involving this flight, there have been instances where the wingtips have actually brushed up against the mountains, dusting the snow off them. That the flight only runs on days when they can confirm at both ends that the weather is clear, and the mountains they fly between clearly visible, only serves to confirm the notoriety of this segment.

But first things first: I had to actually get to the airport in the morning and hope for good weather so the flight could be confirmed. The time printed on the ticket was 6:30, and I figured that it would be a good idea to show up early. You know, like people do in most airports. I thought this would be an especially good idea since I had heard that despite tickets not being sold until the evening before a flight, there were sometimes more tickets sold than seats available if earlier flights had been cancelled due to bad weather.

I took one of the first-running trolley buses from the Farhang to the airport, and made my way to the domestic terminal, which is actually just a large room off to the left of the main terminal, with a separate entrance and a few counters. The terminal was open when I arrived around 5:15, but people were just milling around and they were not waiting for the flight to Khorog. I was pretty sure of this as I didn't see my friend from the day before.

At around 5:45, once the flight those people were assembled for had left, they closed the terminal and kicked me out, making me wait outside. This wasn't that bad, as I fired up my netbook and discovered that the flagship Megafon telecom store, located in the international terminal, had an open wi-fi connection that was extremely fast (a rarity in Central Asia outside of Kazakhstan). I took the opportunity to download a bunch of movies as I waited for things to get cooking.

It wasn't until the actual indicated departure time that people began showing up, and even as they began to gather in the square outside, the terminal still didn't open up. When it did open up the entire check-in process was remarkably relaxed and surprisingly informal. They have a 10 kg weight limit on luggage, and I ended up paying an extra 10 somoni for being a kilogram over. What was more surprising was how many people who showed up who weren't taking the flight, and were also not related to any of the passengers—they were there to ask them to take things to their friends or relatives in Khorog. Obviously this would be a big no-no from a security perspective in the West, and those who buy into the idea that Badakshan is a restive area filled with potential terrorists might also balk at the idea, but my Pamiri friend said that pretty much everyone would agree to do this as it serves an important function in facilitating the transfer of important items. He himself accepted a car part that someone would be waiting for in Khorog. Given the standards of hospitality in the area, none of this should be particularly surprising.

After getting everyone checked in an passing through the rudimentary security, we went out on the tarmac to the plane. You enter at the rear through bomb-bay doors and a little ladder, and inside there are five rows of seats, with single seats on the left of the aisle and benches that seat two (or three) on the right. The seats are little fold-down benches of the sort that might have appeared in cheap post-war cars, but which are more akin to lawn furniture than modern seats. I first picked the first seat on the left, but later asked my Pamiri friend if I could switch with him when I noticed that my window was cracked and scratched and practically impossible to see out of. Since he had taken this flight a number of times, I thought he wouldn't mind, and I was able to get his window seat on the right side.

The seats don't have seat belts—not that it would matter that much—and parents kept their kids in their laps or let them sprawl over the backs of the benches. Again, similar to post-war driving culture, before we cared about things like padded dashes, seat-belts, and car seats for kids, let alone air bags and the like.

We ended up taking off at about 9:15. This flat agricultural land was just outside Dushanbe.

The views on the right on the Dushanbe-Khorog leg are meant to be the best, but at this time of year you get a face full of glare from the sun, and hazy views from the smog, making views from the left side much clearer, if less spectacular. In the summer the sun would be much higher and less problematic, and in the later Khorog-Dushanbe flight it would also be less objectionable.

Nurek Reservoir, formed by a 300 meter high dam—the second-highest in the world.

Low mountains are already covered with snow. I know they're low because the plane apparently doesn't go above 4,200 meters.

Osh, and lessons in ethnic violence

The return to Osh brought a welcome increase in temperature. Where the daily highs in the Alay valley were about 5°C, down in Osh—some 2,400 meters lower—the daily highs were right around 20°C.

2010  Osh Riots and ethnic tensions

Back at the Taj Mahal hotel I was joined in the dorm by a couple of journalists from Bishkek. One was a French guy who had come to Bishkek to help set up a French-language newspaper, and the other was a Kyrgyz girl who was working with him at the paper. I was surprised there was enough of a market for a French-language paper in Kyrgyzstan, but he said there was.

Anyway, they were in the Osh to write about the 2010 ethnic violence in the area. Lonely Planet had a little bit of information about this—which was somewhat surprising given that the guidebook was published in 2010 and most of their stuff seems to be written a year in advance of actually publishing it—but the journalists told me that the widespread and severe, and that the interim Kyrgystani government had commissioned an independent report on the violence, and then totally disavowed the report once its highly-critical findings were published. Somewhat strangely, the 2014 edition of LP is even less helpful on the issue, merely saying that the issue was controversial.

I downloaded and began to read the Report of the Independent International Commission of Inquiry into the events in Southern Kyrgyzstan in June 2010, and I also spoke with the guys at the Osh Guesthouse while reading the 104-page report. At the beginning, some of the things they told me seemed far-fetched, and I suspected they were exaggerating. It turns out their claims were pretty plausible, and I was more surprised after reading the report that their accounts of what happened in 2010 weren't filled with more rancor.

Pretty much everyone agrees that at least 400 people died, and that over two-thirds of those killed were ethnic Uzbeks (others suggest these total represent only a fraction of the actual deaths, given that those buried quickly in accordance with Muslim beliefs were not counted at all). They also agree that over 100,000 international refugees were created, as Uzbeks crossed the border to Uzbekistan en masse. An additional 300,000 people were internally displaced within Kyrgyzstan—again, almost all of whom were Uzbeks fleeing the violence.

The immediate backdrop for this violence was the overthrow of President Bakiyev in April 2010, but the longstanding tensions between ethnic Kyrgyz and Uzbeks in southern Kyrgyzstan and the Ferghana valley also played a large role: Uzbeks had been marginalized from participation in civil society and employment in governmental positions for a long time, and there was significant resentment of prosperous, urban, Uzbek businessmen from the mountain-dwelling Kyrgyz in southern Kyrgyzstan.

Now in the aftermath of Bakiyev's overthrow, there is widespread belief that Bakiyev and his supporters wanted to foment racial violence in order to demonstrate the need for a strongman-style leader in Kyrgyzstan (as in neighboring CIS countries) who could effectively and ruthlessly control the country. Under this theory, Bakiyev's allies and relatives in the region began to spread rumors about Uzbeks intended to create violence, and Bakiyev thugs may have initiated the violence. We do know that in May, after his April overthrow and exile, Bakiyev supporters took control of government buildings in Osh, Jala-Abad, and Batken, although control of these buildings were quickly recovered.

We once again see that tales of inter-ethnic rape is always a reliable way to incite violence. We saw it in the violence targeting Uyghurs in the Shaoguan Incident in 2009 (which helped spark the Urumqi riots), and it seems to have been the most effective rumor used in June 2010 in southern Kyrgyzstan. After some small skirmishes on June 10, rumors spread of Uzbeks raping Kyrgyz girls at a university dormitory, and it seems that this rumor was spread to Kyrgyz communities in the mountains in an organized manner, prompting numerous Kyrgyz to come down to Osh and Jala-Abad from their mountain communities.

What seems to have happened after this is that Kyrgyz streamed into Osh and Jalal-Abad, and that the Uzbeks largely barricaded themselves into their districts in order to protect themselves. The arriving Kyrgyz then raided police stations and security vehicles that had been deployed by the police, seizing weapons and ammunition from these forces, who did not attempt to prevent them from doing so. Apparently a few Armed Personnel Carriers were also taken from the complicit police, and used to help break into Uzbek areas: direct military involvement seems probable.

Applying its evidentiary standard to the evidence, the KIC considers that there was some military involvement in these attacks. This arises from presence of expertly driven APCs carrying men in military uniform, the apparent readiness with which the military surrendered APCs, weapons and ammunition, the repeated system and order to the attacks and the evidence of planning in the specific targeting of neighbourhoods, people and property. Such discipline and order is not commensurate with the normal actions of spontaneously rioting civilian crowds.

Women were seized and raped, while men were tortured and killed. Police sniper rifles were also used against Uzbeks, though it's not certain if these were from civilians who had seized the weapons or from actual police or army officers. Those Uzbeks who could sought refuge across the border in Uzbekistan, while others fled their homes to seek refuge elsewhere in Kyrgyzstan.

Once the situation stabilized and peace returned to the area, almost all of those who were investigated and charged with violence were Uzbeks, and police failed to protect those Uzbeks from physical assault during their trials. It's clear that ethnic tensions continue to percolate in the region.

This happened only two years before I was in Osh and Jalal-Abad. Although many buildings had been burned out, I had failed to notice any, and if I did notice any I certainly didn't connect them to the violence. For someone coming from a stable and diverse country like Canada, it was really difficult for me to understand this level of ethnic strife, and to understand how people could continue to function as a society in the knowledge that there was so much widespread ethnic hatred which could be re-ignited at any moment. It was difficult to understand why there wasn't more anger from the Uzbeks. I'm sure that part of it is that as a tourist you simply aren't able to access and understand the tensions that simmer beneath the surface in most societies (I'm not sure that most tourists to the US really feel the the tense state of race relations there, even though events continually pop up that hint just how bad they are), but even accounting for this there simply seems to be a greater acceptance of—or resignation to—tremendous injustice, discrimination, and unfairness.

The M41 from Bishkek to Osh

Finding a share taxi to Osh was significantly more difficult than I expected. There weren't any at the place indicated in the 2010 Lonely Planet, and I kind of had to wander around Osh Market until I found a place with randomly-parked cars half-full with people. Although the going rate from Osh was only 1,000 som, I ended up paying 1,300 som for the return trip. It wasn't all bad, though, as I was given the front seat even though I was the last passenger, and because I was the last passenger we left right away. It turned out that this was really just a family returning to their home in Jalal-Abad, and they were picking up a passenger to help pay for gas.

The car was a Japanese-market, right-hand-drive Lexus. It was about 6 years old, had pretty low mileage, and apparently he only paid something like $6,000 for it. Having lived in Japan, this really isn't that surprising: Japan has an aggressive licensing system known as shaken that requires cars to undergo inspections every couple of years, and after a couple of inspections it generally becomes cheaper to sell the cars on the export market than perform the repairs deemed necessary. Of course, because there is a limited market for right-hand-drive vehicles, the resale price is pretty low. Add in the fact that Japanese drive limited distances and take care of their cars pretty well (even if the inspectors feel repairs are warranted), and used Japanese cars are usually a very good deal.

From what I saw on the road, however, it seems that Kyrgyzstan is the only country in the area that allows for the import of right-hand-drive cars (Mongolia also does), which is a good deal for Kyrgyzstanis but a bad deal for others (Kazakhs don't have the same need for cheap cars, Uzbekistan taxes foreign-made cars so heavily that almost all vehicles are made by the domestic Chevrolet factory, and in Tajikistan the market for cheap cars seems to be met by cars stolen from Europe).

Shooting into the sun through a windshield isn't the best way way to take pictures, but it's a heck of a lot better than from the back seat (especially the middle seat, which I had on the way up to Bishkek), and I took advantage of the opportunity on the way south.

The first 60 km from Bishkek you simply head west on a flat road that passes through numerous small villages and towns in the Chuy valley. At Kara Balta you turn south onto the M41, and head towards the Ala Too mountains to the south.

Passing through Sosnovka village, which marks the entrance to the mountain canyons and the exit from the flat and fertile Chuy valley.

The steep and narrow valley that the M41 runs through.

Bishkek: everyone's favourite visa hotspot

After three nights in Arslanbob, I decided to head to Bishkek. The American tourist staying at my homestay was heading to Sary Chelek (which was highly recommended by a couple of Kyrgyz people I spoke with, but a bit off the beaten trail) and agreed to give me a ride down to Kochkor-Ata, from where I could catch a ride to Bishkek. I knew that the price of a ride from Osh to Bishkek was 1,000 som, so I figured that a ride from Kochkor-Ata—about two hours closer—should be cheaper. Despite that, I had been quoted the same 1,000 som price from both Arslanbob and Jalal-Abad, which didn't make much sense. When we arrived at Kochkor-Ata we parked a bit away from the taxi stand and the Kyrgyz driver went out and negotiated a price (the Russian guide couldn't go, since as a white guy he would likely get quoted a tourist price), and it turns out that the going price actually was 1,000 som, even though we were a lot closer.

After waiting an hour or so for the car to fill up (share taxis only leave when full, even if it means waiting for hours—or sometimes even days—and only cars and not minibuses do the run between Bishkek and Osh), we started on our way. I've heard that minibuses used to do this run, but I honestly can't (or don't want to) imagine them bombing down the twisty mountain roads. Kochkor-Ata is on the northern end of the Kyrgyzstan Ferghana valley, and about 65 km away in Tashkomur the road leaves the valley and starts cutting through mountain valleys to the north.

At first the road follows the Naryn river, and you soon reach a hydroelectric dam, behind which lays Toktogul reservoir. The road skirts the reservoir, and instead of following the Naryn river on the other end, it continues to circle around the north end of the reservoir and climbs another pass before emptying out into the wide, long Suusamyr valley. This valley, in its width and length, is very similar to the Alay valley at the southern end of the country, and through which I entered from China, with the important difference being that it is almost 1,000 meters lower, at about 2,200 meters, meaning it is greener and more hospitable for a longer time. Both valleys are gorgeous wide grasslands with mountains to the north and south, however, and had I been there in the height of summer it would have been nice to spend some time there.

Caravanistan has a nice feature giving you an idea of what you can see on this road (though some of the pictures are a bit out of sequence), as does this cyclist's blog.

Looking north in the Suusamyr valley.

View from a gas station along the M41 in the Suusamyr valley.

About halfway through the Suusamyr valley, however, the road turns to the north and you make a long climb up relatively gentle slopes until you come to the upper reaches of the mountains, where you find a 2.5-kilometer-long tunnel through the top of the range at the Too Ashuu pass. Coming out of the tunnel, the northern side is nothing like the southern side, as it's all craggy mountains and steep slopes, and the road switchbacks down into the canyon-like valleys before emptying out into a fertile and heavily populated valley that runs to Bishkek. And although the road here is straight and flat, it's just about the slowest part of the trip since it's not a proper highway but a road through populated areas where it basically acts as main street for each of the respective towns and villages it crosses.

We arrived in Bishkek and were dropped off near the Osh bazaar in the western part of the city, and I hopped a bus and made my way to the Sakura Guesthouse, a very popular hostel owned by a Japanese man but run by his Kyrgyz wife. I think all the guy did was drink beer with his friends at night, and make noise well after quiet hours started, but I suspect the concept and standards behind the hostel were his. What do I mean by this? Well, it had spotless toilets and showers with good water pressure and lots of hot water,  extremely clean rooms, and free wi-fi. Although it is hard to find, has a tiny kitchen, and a cramped outdoor common area, it seems to be the place where everyone in Bishkek goes (especially cyclists and those who are driving their own cars or motorbikes). Because it's popular and because people tend to stay in Bishkek for a while to collect visas and catch up on civilization, it's extremely busy and you often have people sleeping in the hallways or on the roof in the multi-story main building (which is quieter than the dorm room near the entrance and kitchen).

In doing some research while writing this entry, it appears that the owner has been involved in a highly questionable incident with a young, black-out drunk Japanese tourist, and I can't say that this seems highly out of character for him. If you are a female tourist, be careful around him and definitely do not drink with him.

Like so many others in Bishkek, I also needed to get some visas sorted out. The key ones were the Tajik and Iranian ones. Tajik visas are relatively straightforward to get, and Bishkek is a good place to get them. They can grant single-entry visas on the spot for $75, or in a week for $55, with a double-entry costing $10 more. You just need to visit their embassy and fill out a form. If you want it on the spot, they process it immediately. If you're willing to wait, they just put your application on a pile and retrieve it when you come back: there's no need to pay in advance or leave your passport. I took the one-week service, since I knew I would need to come back to Bishkek later, and double-entry, since I knew I might want to visit the Afghan Wakhan.

The Iranian visa is probably the most difficult visa of all the ones I needed—and this was before citizens of all English-speaking countries needed a tour guide to get a visa. The main stumbling block is that you need an invitation from a tourist agency in order to get a visa. In theory, you provide an itinerary to the tourist agency, they apply to the government, and the government either approves you or rejects you, and then the agency sends you a confirmation number that you present to an embassy to which the tour agency has said you'll apply for your visa. The problem is that there are a mall number of people are randomly rejected, and that a number of agencies have a reputation for giving rejected applicants false confirmation numbers, so it's important to select a decent agency. The second problem is that North American banking regulations are quite strict, and it is very difficult to actually pay for these visa invites, as most payments to anyone even remotely associated with Iran will be blocked. I had payments to multiple UK bank accounts blocked, and was only able to successfully make a payment by giving a Dutch traveler some cash and asking him to make the bank transfer for me from his bank. I went to the Iranian embassy in Bishkek, but they said they couldn't find my confirmation number, and suggested I come back later. Uh oh. I confirmed with my agency that they had sent my confirmation number to the Bishkek embassy, and then hoped it would be there when I came back to Bishkek.

Aside from going to embassies, I walked around Bishkek and took in the city. Bishkek used to be known as Pishpek, which is the name for the churn used to make kumys, which seems about as apt a name as any for a settlement in this dairy-mad, kumys-guzzling country.

Today, the city is a fairly nice, relaxed place. And while Osh is the second-biggest city in the country, it pales in comparison to Bishkek, which seems like a city in ways that Osh simply doesn't. A little shabby, and not well integrated into the global marketplace (meaning that Western brands are unavailable or expensive), but nevertheless much more cosmopolitan and glamorous in a decayed Soviet kind of way.

One thing you may notice is a gender imbalance. You see a lot more women in the streets than you do in Osh, and while this might make some sense given how conservative Uzbek society is and how modern Bishkek is, the reality is that Bishkek is a city dominated by women. Indeed, much of Kyrgyzstan is, and Tajikistan is even worse. I later spoke to a couple of French journalists helping establish a French-language newspaper in Bishkek who said that over 60% of the working-age population in Bishkek was female, since so many men go to work in Russia. When you go into poorer villages and talk to people, you see old men, children, and women. Talk to them (family is usually the second or third question that arises, after where you're from and how old you are) and they'll tell you about their son, brother, or husband who is in Russia, working hard to send money home. If they're lucky, they've seen him in the past year. In central Bishkek banks are most noticeable by their signs advertising remittance services. It's even worse than the Philippines (another country highly dependent on foreign remittances from overseas workers), and kind of like the reverse of the cluster of towers in Hong Kong that cater to Filipina domestic workers wanting to send money home.

Your bar has a dress code? Well, all the classy bars in Bishkek have face control, too.

Soviet-style monumental architecture is often kind of interesting. This building was being turned into a casino.

This circle with crossed strakes is what the central aperture, or tunduk, of a Kyrgyz yurt looks like, and is the motif on the Kyrgyzstan flag. Here it appears on the Monument of Victory.

Typical Soviet statuary, this one to general Panfilov.

There is a light show by the fountains in downtown Bishkek. Here they have the souvenir photographers with digital cameras and printers you often see in low-income countries, as well as people selling cheap Chinese toys. One of the popular attractions for young males was a test of strength involving a thick pull-up bar that could freely-rotate. The object was to do a pull up and keep your position as long as possible—but since the bar could rotate, you couldn't use a natural pull-up grip.

When I had originally applied for my Kazakh visa, in Mongolia, I had originally thought that I would be entering Kazakhstan from China. Instead, I had come up through Kygyzstan. This was a bit of a problem because my visa was only good from August 22 to September 21, which meant I had been under some time pressure to make it to Kazakhstan before my visa ran out. I thus only spent one full day in Bishkek before going to Kazakhstan—this was probably a good idea given that visas mean one has to spend more time in Bishkek than one might otherwise like. (At least it's a better place to spin your wheels than Ulaanbaatar.)

Because the Sakura is such a popular place, I was able to hear about a new guesthouse that had just opened in Almaty—a godsend since the city is expensive and there aren't any other hostels there. I heard about it from this Indian-American guy who has been traveling continuously for years, making money by programming on projects that require no face time. He had been to something like 130 countries, and his goal was to visit more countries than Hillary Clinton's 180-something countries, if not to visit every UN-recognized country in the world. This seemed like a bit of a strange goal for me, especially since he was only spending 3 days in Kyrgyzstan before crossing it off and moving on to the next country. His advice on the new Apple Hostel in Almaty was very solid, however.

Budget

September 10, 2012, from Arslanbob to Bishkek: 1765 som

• Share taxi to Bishkek: 1,000 som
• Dorm at Sakura: 350 som
• Snacks and drinks: 210 som
• Dinner: 205 som

September 11, Bishkek: 1051 som

• Dorm at Sakura: 350 som
• Samsa and dumplings: 60
• Drinks, fruit chocolate, toothbrush, vegetable peeler: 180
• Fruit and snaks: 90 som
• City bus: 16 som
• Passport photo: 100 som
• Sandwich and iced tea: 40 som
• Dinner: 215 som

Osh: in Soviet Central Asia, culture shocks you

Like almost everyone—including most of those who travel there—I had no idea what to expect from Central Asia and the 'stans. Whatever expectations I did have as I entered from Xinjiang, however, were confounded by the reality I faced in Osh: although Osh is in one of the most religiously conservative areas of Central Asia—and certainly the most conservative urban area—the overwhelming impression, in sharp contrast to Kashgar, was Russian. The music was Russian pop. The architecture was Soviet Russian, with large communist blocks and stucco houses with tin roofs— no mud brick here. The language was Russian, as it remains the lingua franca throughout former Soviet CIS (Commonwealh of Independent States) territories—especially when talking with foreigners and outsiders. Even for the native Kyrgyz and Uzbek language, the script was Cyrillic and not the Arabic seen in Xinjiang. Russian food was back on the menu. Sandwiches, Russian-style hamburgers, and western bread were common, as were cheese and sour cream. Cleaning products—both of the household and personal variety—were a much more prominent section of local supermarkets, and bathrooms tended to bear evidence of their use.

In some ways it was like being back in Mongolia, except the Russian influence was even greater in Osh, and of course in Mongolia I hadn't had a more authentic version of  Mongolia to compare Russified Mongolia to, whereas in Xinjiang I had exactly this sort of contrast in Central Asian life.

Another way Osh and Kyrgyzstan resembled Mongolia was in terms of how many people looked. Ethnic Kyrgyz (and Kazakh) look very Asian, and quite Mongolian, which is fairly unsurprising given their proximity to Mongolia and Chinggis Khan's vast empire. Kyrgyz and Kazakhs also traditionally shared the Mongolian nomadic lifestyle and herder lifestyle. Kyrgyz are not very religious and enjoy drinking.

Although in Kyrgyzstan, however, Osh has a majority population of Uzbeks, who—like the Uyghur—are more Caucasian in appearance. Uzbeks are also religiously conservative—especially those in Kyrgyzstan, as the government in Uzbekistan has cracked down on devout Islam in recent times—and dress much more conservatively, with women covering their hair, and men often wearing beards. Between their physical appearance and their dress, Uzbeks look much more similar to Uyghur than Kyrgyz do.

As one might expect, the nomadic, herder Kyrgyz typically live in the mountainous areas of Kyrgyzstan, while the Uzbeks live in the valleys, plains, and other fertile areas where they can farm. Osh is on the edge of the Ferghana valley, at the border with Uzbekistan, and consequently has a majority Uzbek population. It probably would have made more sense to put Osh in Uzbekistan, but under Stalinist border-formation policies, the Soviets thought it best to relocate both ethnicities and borders in order to ensure that the republics would be ethnically divided amongst themselves, as this was thought to be a way from any of the republics ever becoming cohesive enough to unify against the central Soviet government. The result of this government-by-division is that many Central Asian states have ridiculous borders that make little geographic or ethnic sense, as well as significant internal tensions.

Anyway, after getting only a few hours of sleep in an Ulugqat ditch the day before, I was really tired when I arrived in Osh. I was also a little banged up, as I had hurt my knee while taking a fall while running back to the truck I was hitching in (we were stuck in a queue near the border, during which time I ventured a fair distance away; when the trucks started up, I ran back, worried that they were going to be moving more than a hundred meters or so) and I had to limp up the stairs in the hotel. This meant I slept in and took things pretty slowly in Osh, especially since things were so cheap compared to China. 400 som (about $9) for a single room with shared toilet and shower? I was paying that much for a dorm room in Kashgar.

Finally adjusting my watch to Xinjiang time (which is the same as Kyrgyz time), I gained two hours in which to sleep in (which also means I basically lost two hours of daylight), and I took full advantage of this on my first day in Osh. I then moved from the Alay hotel to the Osh guesthouse, mainly because the Osh guesthouse was where everyone stayed in Osh, and was the best place to meet people and get travel information. Osh guesthouse is basically a Soviet-style apartment, converted into a place that sleeps 10 or 12 people. It's noisy, cramped, and hard to find, but its a good place to meet people and the two Uzbek guys who run it are interesting to talk to.

After settling in, I went to explore the city.

Lonely Planet talks up the market quite a bit, describing it as one of Central Asia's largest bazaars and a great place to buy things. In reality, it's much less impressive than it sounds, as it's basically an network of a cuple of parallel shopping alleys lined with stalls that run north-south on both sides of the river, with smaller market squares appearing as little nodes along the alleys. Compared to Xinjiang, it wasn't particularly impressive, and it would be far from my favourite Central Asian market. Probably the most interesting part would be the fruit and vegetable market, which runs on the east side of the river on a pedestrian street, and terminates not far from the Osh guesthouse.

Sewing machines ranged from treadle-operated to modern plastic appliances. Any male wearing a skullcap is almost certainly Uzbek.

Baby bassinets display obvious Russian influence, with local embellishments (such as the fabric choice).

Dried fruits and nuts, in an old Russian-style section of the market.

Heading south from the market, there's a river-side park that follows the river for a considerable distance. This is a Russian-style park, which differs substantially from a Chinese -style park. Instead of artificial ponds and lakes with beautiful common spaces, you have a jumble of trees and dilapidated paths, with scraggly grass and a slightly seedy atmosphere.

Towards the southern end, near the monument to Lenin, there was a small amusement park and Ferris wheel, and an old airplane on a pedestal. I looked around at the plane, hopping up to look inside through the missing door. At this point I was called out by a lone policeman. Uh oh. I immediately figured I was in for a scam, and it seemed likely that he was indeed looking for a bribe. He asked for my passport, and looked through it, while saying something to me in Russian and me asking him things in English while explaining I don't speak Russian. As we did this, I moved so that we were near the main street, and kept offering to go with him to the police station. He eventually let me go, but it left me with a suspicious feeling, especially considering this was my first day in Kyrgyzstan. As it turned out, this was really the last time on my trip I would have any problem with the police, so it was really unfortunate timing.

British pub. We're substantially closer to Rome than Tokyo.

Kashgar to Osh in two not-so-easy days

There are basically two ways to get from Kashgar to Kyrgyzstan: the Torugart pass and the Irkeshtam pass. The Torugart pass is arguably more scenic and takes you past the Tash Rabat caravenserai on the way to Naryn, but it's a very difficult route to take because China requires a special permit and guide to take you on this route, which effectively means you have to arrange for private transportation with a tour agency. The Irkeshtam pass is much more heavily traveled, and is served by a once- or twice-weekly international bus running between Kashgar and Osh, with tickets running close to $100.

In 2012, it was also possible to hitch-hike over the border. In order to do so, you would take a share taxi or minibus to Ucha/Wuqia/Ulugqat from Kashgar's international bus terminal, then go to the Chinese customs point in Ucha, where you would be stamped out of China (despite being about 135 km  from the actual border) and put onto a truck by Chinese customs officials. You would then take the slow and bumpy ride to the border, which can take up to 6 hours because of the roadwork that limited your speeds to as low as 20 km/h. After that, cross into Kyrgyzstan and then either take a share taxi from the border to Osh or Sary Tash, or jump back on the truck and make it to Osh the next day.

I decided to try this, as it was better than waiting for the bus (which is reported to be quite bad) and braving the multi-hour waits to buy tickets at the international bus station. If you're trying to do something similar today, Caravanistan and Far West China have all the details: the short story is that you absolutely need to take a taxi between Ucha and the border.

Road to Ucha/Ulugqat

When you arrive at the international bus station, there will be huge lines (I estimated it would take 6 hours to get to the front of the line, as I waited in one before realizing I didn't have to), but you don't need to wait in them in order to go to Ucha. Instead, head out of the doors and into the courtyard behind the station: although someone will check you for a ticket, just tell them you're going to Ucha/Wuqia/Ulugqat, and they'll let you through. At the back left, there should be a stand with the Chinese characters for Ucha. I paid 60 yuan for the ride to Ucha in a share taxi, which is apparently a huge overpay, but then again there were only three of us.

Not far outside Kashgar.

Views like this make me regret taking so many night buses and trains.

Note the stone buildings and pens on the left.