Travels in Central Asia

Drinking the Kumys

It is Monday morning, Kyrgyzstan time, and again, I have been up for more than three hours.
I waited to first light before I strolled the half mile journey to this Internet cafe. Around 9pm each night, street lights seem to be turned off on any street a quarter mile or more from the White House. Yesterday found me travelling with my dependable student host, Seyit, and his fellow research assistant at Kyrgyz Turkish Manas University, Stambul, to visit the mountain people of the Kyrgyz Nation. Our trip began at 9am and after heading west along the nicely paved two to three lane road we headed south to traverse the 10,000 foot mountains which serve as a southern shield for the city of Bishkek. As we cleared the western part of Bishkek, we came upon what seemed to be a parking lot for any professional baseball or football game. Cars or all makes and lineage, from Europe and Asia (not the US as far as I could tell), were arranged in various collectives. Milling around them were any number of buyers, lookers, sellers. For those of you at Central Florida Community College it fondly (well not that fondly) recalled the days of car dealers taking over the front lawn of the campus for their newest Sale of the Century. Here, dealers, individuals and anyone with a car that could move can bring their vehicles for a day of trading. In length, this part auction/part community party extended for about a quarter of a mile, not unlike many of our own thoroughfares ( I can think of SR 200 in Ocala and Colonial in Orlando for example) as places where similar activities takes place. This was different though. Everyone seemed to be selling together; the sharp demarcation of dealerships which distinguishes the stateside equivalent to this experience in capitalism not present.

As we continued along our way, it was apparent how quickly things turn to rural lifestyles, although I must admit it was not unlike the feeling when I head on SR 50 east of Orlando towards Titusville. Once one clears the sprawl of the city, little towns pop up in no time, each with their own respective flare. The homes are simple one to two story affairs, wooden and tidily kept. Many in the villages near Bishkek bear window shutters in all shades of blue. Each town appeared to have its own bazaar (we would probably call it a flea market), where the locals had an opportunity to sell their diverse wares. This is rural life; many people are walking or using a variety of conveyances: horse and buggy, bicycle, microbus, mercedes.

Our journey speeds towards the mountains of the northern rim of the Tien Shan. In southern Kyrgyzstan, the second largest mountain in the former Soviet Union soars more than 7,000 meters (nearly 22,000 feet) . Stambul is a heavy foot outside of the city. In clicks or kilometers, he pushes it to 140, 160 even 180 kmh. Do the math: multiply these numbers by .6 and you get a rough mph equivalent. The only time he slows is when he alertly spots a defect in the pavement (for the most part the roads were quite smooth) or approaches the frequent police checkpoints. Shakedowns, for a motorist, is a way of life in this region. The same harrassment occurred last summer both in Armenia, and in India, when I visited those countries. At the last potential shakedown point, we readied for our modest climb over the 10,000 foot bunny hill in front of us. Our powerful Toyota which Stambul kept spotless (it seemed as if he kept Armor All under his seat to make the leather shine) crawled at times across the switchbacks, slowing often to 50 clicks. The barriers for the 15 mile climb were all concrete, not a metal or steel barrier existed. I imagine with reckless speed of faulty breaks you could flip over these barriers, but you would have to blast through them to violate this concrete coccoon on the roadway. At the top of the mountain, we drove by what I am told was and is a worker's camp for those that constructed this roadway. It was primitive, smacking of my memories of abandoned Appalachia coal mining camps I had visited in the 70s.

Unlike the brilliant sunshine of the previous day, this day began somewhat overcast in Bishkek, the sun never quite breaking through. When we reached the top of the mountain, the weather turned almost raw with intermittent showers, a persistent mist, temperatures in the low 40s and splotches of fog characterizing the next four hours we would spend in this region. Foolish me in cargo shorts and short sleeves was bone chilled in no time. However, the warmth and novelty of the experiences which followed made it worth it.

After a kilometer long descent, we came upon what we in the US would consider a scenic overlook, the green valley below and far off peaks of the Tien Shan making for photographic wonders on a clearer day. This pull off had other purposes. Atop a small hill were three yurts, the indigenous structure shaped like an igloo and a longstanding icon of Kyrgyz life. (I will post photographs of these yurts soon, but if you are curious, google "yurt" for images and you will come upon what I am talking about here.) Below on the roadway were tables set up with a melange of plastic bottles with the familiar logos of Pepsi Cola, Coca Cola, Sprite, and Dasani, and unfamiliar ones with the languages of the region (try Uzbek, Kazakh, Russian and, of course, Kyrgyz for starters) the famous national drink of Kyrgyzstan, kumys. The milk from a mare, that's right a horse!, the liquid is allowed to ferment in specially enclosed leather pouches and served in what might be described as large tea cups. I told my friends that I would try kumys and here was my chance. I didn't disappoint you, despite the sour, tangy taste of the drink. The first cup I handled without a problem, although the taste gave me pause (and not the pause that refreshes!); however, as the afternoon progressed and we dined and spent additional time inside a yurt, I simply could not get past the first sip of the drink. If I had, my retching would have turned to a serious clean up problem for my guests.

This could have been a way stop on the famous Silk Road, that marvellous expanse of commerce and adventure which has stretched back over the ages. Yo Yo Mah may be romanticizing the Silk Road as he features the region's performers in his Silk Road Ensemble, a performance of which I saw in the Kennedy Center in April as part of my participation in the U.S.-Armenia Teacher Exchange program sponsored by the State Department and Project Harmony.

posted by Student Success @ 5:46 PM