It's 5am on Some Day
I have always liked that line from an early Billy Joel song and it's multiple levels of meaning: one of the night extending into day, another of incessant insomnia and still another for the person who rises early. In this case, I am not sure whether I am in Kyrgyzstan or back in the USA. My watch remains fixed at ten hours ahead of Eastern Daylight Time, one last remnant of my week long rush through the land of 3000 glaciers. This will be my last post for a while, or until I know more about my Fulbright application and will serve as a final summary of my last two days in Kyrgyzstan and the trip home.
The erratic sleep patterns have continued. Never could it be said that I had a restful and normal night sleep, and the saga continues. I have been awake since midnight, having crashed on my sister's couch for four hours following my trip from JFK airport in New York to her home on Long Island. To travel to Central Asia, unless one has conscripted private means of transportation, requires one day each way. Seyhit rapped at my door at 3:45am for the half hour ride from my apartment to Manas International airport. I had prepared a goodie bag for him, of a flash drive I had brought from Best Buy, of some March of Dimes flowers, and of a few bucks. At a research assistant's of $175 a month, my modest "fee for services" should help him.
The night before I gave the wonderful Elira a similar contribution, "for the baby of course." For perspective, when I was a graduate traineeship recipient in 1972 at Penn State University, my monthly check was $160. And, remember that Kyrgyz Turkish Manas University is one of the highest paying institutions in the region. I could have emptied my wallet and given the 15 or more research assistants similar tokens of my appreciation. They were that good. What is more important is that they all were invited to the common evening functions of the event.
The last function was held on Ala-Too Square, another monument to Soviet massiveness. Looming, boxlike marble structures, this time the State Historical Museum, with a soaring bronze statue in the foreground, flanked by a facade, which reminded me of the half circle stone perimeters which serves as part of the recently opened World War II memorial in Washington, D.C., dominate this 200 meter open space. Under the facade, so named to cover the pedestrian facilities behind it, in Soviet times the place where factory uniforms were made for the citizens of the Kirgiz SSR, the symposium attendees dined under the brilliant Bishkek sunset at a restaurant, the Orient, which occupied one corner of the facade. One long table stretched almost the length of the facade, with more than 40 of my new colleagues participating. At the end, another table with more than 15 research assistants, among them the camera people, public relations specialists, translators, and registration desk personnel who helped pull off this event.
I shared conversation with the photographer and the filmmaker, neither of whom spoke much English, speaking to them with the help of a Turkish scholar who took my English, translated it to a KTMU faculty member who understood Turkish and used this third hand way to speak in Russian to the photog and the director. We barely missed a beat. I learned that the photographer's son is entering his sixth and final year at Georgia Tech and that when I return to Bishkek I am invited to stay at his house. For two hours, we focused on our common ground, good company, the bonding quality of a good and relaxed meal, and the hope for more projects tomorrow. The dean of the communication faculty, the fiery, faux redhead Inek, hosted this final gathering until the Vice Rector arrived for a formal greeting. I am not sure whether it is a Turkish thing, a Russian thing, or a European thing, but when the boss enters or leaves a room, everyone rises and waits for an acknowledgment to sit. It is a very dramatic and respectful symbol of power that did not go unnoticed throughout the week. He himself is a handsome man with olive Turkish features with closely coiffured hair. Through my Turkish friend, I passed on a message that he should be a leading man somewhere, beyond his role as an educational power broker. In the governance of KTMU, he is the leading Turkish representative at the institution, bowing only to the Rector, who is from Kyrgyzstan and who attended several of the sessions of the symposium.
This was a powerful meeting for me, perhaps because of the tightness of the group and the relatively small number of participants (60). I learned that the Turkish academic system have their own powerful traditions and, at least in media and communications, could be competitive in U.S. academic circles. The level of accomplishment of the graduate students at KTMU (four students presented papers) was outstanding. One woman convincingly and dispassionately analyzed the newpaper accounts prior to and after the 24 March revolution; and another, Elira, produced a compelling analysis of internet usage, particularly online newspapers, in Kyrgyzstan.
Creatively, the photographic exhibits from students and faculty were also impressive, and most significantly, the films made by the KTMU film students incredibly important in depicting to the rest of the world different aspects of Kyrgyzstani culture. Thankfully, samples of their work was included in a final goodie bag of treats given to me at the final dinner of the symposium.
I had figured to stay up all night, typing a final blog at the 24 hour Internet cafe just down from the White House before waiting for my final ride to the airport. However, it was standing room only at the cafe, and after two unsuccessful attempts to land a machine, I gave up and took the sleep I was prepared to give up.
But, earlier that Friday, another clash of civilizations and customs unfolded for me. I had been to the Osh Bazaar several times during the week, ostensibly to shop for souvenirs and to watch people. One of the student films shown during the week, entitled Asil, was the story of a young boy working at the Osh Bazaar as a meat carrier. Each day, farmers from miles around bring their slaughtered meat by car or truck to the meat delivery area at the back of the Bazaar. As car after car pulls up, young men from 10 to 60 will race with their steel push carts to unload the fresh meat and a trip up a slight incline to the market area inside where the meat will be sold and the proceeds given to the farmer. Asil's story, in the day of a life genre, shows him unloading various parts of the slaughtered animal, arranging it carefully on his cart and pulling, pushing and negotiating the often uneven path to the selling area. The film continues with him returning home to prepare for school (children wear uniforms in many schools here), playing football with his friends and eating with his family. Last Friday, I returned to the bazaar and took pictures of the market in action, of a gaggle of Asil's moving meat, of an elderly couple in a late model Russian vehicle selling kumys out of the trunk of their car, and of a Russian "babushka" sorting, stacking and selling tomatoes to a gathering crowd. I also spoke to Ricik, a young man of 23, who was at the Osh Bazaar on this day as a middleman, having brought another farmer's slaughtered meat to the market for sale. He would earn $50, of the $500 total his cow would bring. Most of the time, he would spend talking to me, in very passable English, of his hopes and dreams. He drove a Mercedes sedan, lived at home with his parents and had studied English for several years. For a while, he had served as a driver for a civilian contractor working out of the Ganci Air Force base at the Manas Airport, earning $700 a month for his duties. He had recently lost his job when other vehicles arriving from the states made the use of his care superfluous to the mission. Some day, he wanted to own his own farm and make the lion's share of the proceeds of slaughtered meat. He told me that those who move the meat earn $1 for their trouble and that perhaps in one morning a cart pusher could earn between $8 and $20. He also told me that most of the young people who worked the bazaar did not attend school and often stayed with relatives or friends. I thought about their futures and their role models: did they look up to older men with lengthy or more stable carts?, what did they do outside of the bazaar?
As they sported an array of western logowear (Nike, Coca Cola, Hilfiger were advertised on this day), I admired their work ethic, little people pushing carts with hundreds of pounds of meat with grit anyone would admire. More than one youngster wore the markings of their toils: rivulets of blood painted on forearms, calves and even cheeks, to say nothing of clothes that should have been nothing but disposable but I knew would be worn for days to come. As I was leaving the Osh bazaar, I caught up with Ricik, hanging out with friends near the front of his car, waiting for the proceeds from today's carrion. He gave me his phone number and even insisted that he drive me around this day; indeed, it seemed as if Ricik really knew how to hustle a buck or a som. Perhaps, he is the role model the legion of Asil's look up.
My time at the symposium was short on this Friday as I managed to catch one session which featured the work of a young impassioned Turkish director, who spoke about his work on an ethnic community in Istanbul. Later, in the evening, he would give me a signed copy of his VCD.
VCD, or Video Compact Disk, is a popular Asian media format that I am told is rarely used in the U.S. It will take some doing to convert this video. However, on passion alone, I know that this work will be compelling. I did spend some time giving March of Dimes flowers and pens to the student helpers for the symposium. I was also given a 24 carat gold pin of Kemal Ataturk, the founder of modern Turkey and its first president, by one of the friends I made at the symposium. He is an education consultant living in Turkey who was involved in the initial planning stages of KTMU in the mid 90s. Two times a year, he returns to Kyrgyzstan for meetings such as this one and to renew his contacts with KTMU colleagues. I saw him sporting this pin on the lapel of one of the classy suits he wore to the symposium sessions and asked him what it was. He told me it was a profile of Kemel Ataturk. Think about it, can you think of anyone who has sported a lapel pin of a living or deceased individual? Ataturk's influence on Turkey is more than pervasive. Every room of KTMU sported a large portrait of him on the longest wall. In a dominantly secular state such as Turkey (in spite of its Islamic core beliefs), perhaps it is religious leaders who earn placement on a lapel.
Before I left the communication faculty for the last time, I visited with the dean and donated the books I had used in my presentation to the faculty's library. These were books on technical communication which I had found useful for my teaching during the past five years.
Two more stops were in order before I joined my symposium mates at the Orient Restaurant. I visited the engineering faculty and its dean to discuss potential interfaces with this faculty in a Fulbright year. When I first began exploring contacts in Kyrgyzstan in February, I sent ten emails to different Kyrgyzstani universities to explore a relationship. It was Dr. K. who communicated the most and kept me interested in KTMU. From him, I found out about the symposium, and through him, I submitted my original presentation abstract. Thus, it was great to put a face with this man who had introduced me to Kyrgyzstan. I found out that he is the dean of computer, food and ecological engineering, his own expertise in food science. He had spent two years at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst, studying engineering, and had recently completed a research stint in Switzerland. He showed me his facilities and introduced me to the English language faculty who helped train his students. We will keep in touch.
My last formal stop was at Kyrgyz National University where I was to pick up a formal letter of invitation to teach at Kyrgyz National University as well as English language publications on the university. Iris was at a board meeting, so the dependable Turania provided me with the required goods. At this point, I had intended to spend two hours at the Museum of Fine Arts, but again, I was thwarted by a schedule change. The guide book says that the museum is open until 6pm on Friday, however, when I arrived at 3:55 pm, the waving finger from the other side of the door glass immediately told me that this museum was closed for the day. With two hours to kill, I spent time writing notes at a different park cafe, watching the young people gather at the end of the day. While there, I watched how new servers are trained in the protocol of the outdoor cafe business. Never leave an empty glass, an ash tray or a menu on an unoccupied table, serve only one table at a time, were two of the rules i could pick up. When one trainee seemed disinterested in learning the tools of the server trade, the cafe owner quickly approached him and told him how to shadow!
I watched another beautiful unaccompanied young woman come into the cafe and sit down at a nearby table, positioning herself so that she could see the entrance way. I recalled the dysfunctional pair at another cafe earlier in the week, she showing up, dressed to the nines, only to wait a half hour before her friend arrived, leaving soon after delivering stern rebuke to this disrespectful. I thought this was a Kyrgyzstani replay, but was relieved to watch that this young woman was waiting for a group of friends to arrive, each with a colorful bouquet of flowers for this young lady, who was probably celebrating a birthday or some other event.
My last major stop in Kyrgyzstan was to the department store known as dZum, pronounced "zoom." This five story block structure, situated opposite the monolithic telecom building and one short block from the Hyatt Regency hotel, could be described as a stacked version of the watch and camera stores that once dominated the 42nd Street area of Manhattan. Under one roof, every imaginable consumer goods, from plasma televisions to the most exquisite in Europen watches, was available. Of particular note was the FLOOR devoted to cell phones. In one area, I would guess 5000 cell phones were on display for purchase, each behind glass and angled in such a way to invite purchase. The contradiction in this culture is the dominance of cell phones in the absence of competitive incomes. It was rare to meet someone, at least in Bishkek, who did not have a cell phone. With phones selling from 100 to 200 dollars, and prepaid service available at the rate of $5 for 15 minutes, maintaining service is not an inexpensive proposition.
Yet, on the other hand, the availability of land lines in many homes is rare, and the prospect for future service even more unlikely. Beyond the cell phones, the visual memories of case after case of consumer products from Asia, Europe and the US, gathered in this capitalist monolith remain astonishing. Apparently, the dominant marketing maxim in play here is more is better with the focus on all available selections and existing stock in full view. You may recall that a competitor to the tZum stores, Beta Stores, was the only looting casualty in the revolution which occured on 24 March. It is undeniable that these stores were rooted because they were owned by the former president.
From here, I took a taxi back to my apartment to ready my bags for the trip home and to change clothes for the evening gathering of symposium attendees, my on the ground experiences complete for this trip but the fertile possibilities of new and challenging ones for tomorrow awaiting.
Winding Down and Moving On
I missed a day, I know. Actually, only by an hour did I fail to provide an entry for 9 June. Today, you will have two entries, and I should be writing up until the time I go to the airport at 4am for the 6am flight to Moscow. Then, following an eight hour spell in the transfer terminal, the world of $6 coffees and $10 hot dogs, I will head back to New York arriving at 6pm on Saturday evening. What that means, and I have done this before, is that I will be up for some 36 hours, cat naps aside. That's the way it is when you travel across the big ponds, but for me, a small price to pay for the wonderful experiences that await us when we visit another land.
Thursday at the symposium began slowly, with a morning panel of five presenters, all speaking in Turkish, and, for the most part, on topics outside my realm. Perhaps, it was my drowsiness from the 2am wake up call when the lights came on. Panel presentations at this symposium follow a strict protocol. The moderator is king (or queen) and sits at a table. Places are designated with name plates for the presenters. When the designated time arrives, the moderator calls for each presenter to come to the table, introducing each person one by one. As in the U.S., presentations last for 15-20 minutes. Some moderators at this symposium enjoy this power position and invoke a by the minute time constraint. Others are laissez faire and appear to be an interested audience member rather than the moderator. Questions may be entertained after each presentation or following all of them. Some male moderators appeared to invoke different standards for men and women presenters, invoking the stop watch rule to the distaff side and allowing the men to extend beyond the scheduled time.
Conferencing Kyrgyz-Turkish Style
The walk from my apartment to the 24/7 Internet cafe is about one mile. I avoid the main drag, Chuy Prospektisi, and stroll on the parallel Kiev Street. At 4am, it is quite dark around the apartment (and inside as well, again tonight the lights dimmed at 10pm and 15 minutes later were gone again for five hours.) When they came back on, that was my wake-up call, so after spending time organizing my stuff for the trip home, I headed down Kiev for another bout with this blog.
Kate and others have asked about my apartment, so here is a description. It was built almost 70 years ago, is four stories tall, includes balconies on all windows on the outside and is another concrete monolith. Boxlike in shape, inside it consists of an 8' x 10' living/sleeping room with a pullout couch propped up on wooden blocks. The ceiling is at least 11 feet high and a single cord with a light fixture on the end (no shade) extends from the middle of the room. In one corner is a 13 inch tv with a 50s style antenna on a small table; in the opposite corner a portable closet is the sole storage place in the apartment. The kitchen/breakfast room has no sink, is 6' x 10' in size and has a hutch with assorted and unmatching eating utensils stacked among an odd collection of flowers, curios and two clocks. On the window sill is a small hot water pot plugged into the only outlet in the room. One table and two chairs complete the room furnishings. The bathroom is 3 x 7 with a tub, large tub and sink contained within, tight quarters to say the least. No wallpaper design, plug or fixture matches from room to room. The wooden floor is in need of years of stripping and finishing and is intermittently covered with a melange of throw rugs. Get the picture! You may ask, why not stay at the Hyatt? I counter with this: I would rather spend $25 a day on a translator to negotiate the cyrillic alphabets and multiple foreign tongues in Bishkek than the $160 a night at the Hyatt. Also, if I am awarded a Fulbright, I envision a place like this as my base, not anything remotely approaching stateside digs.
The past day was consumed entirely by the first day of the First International Symposium on Communication and Media Studies in the process of Social and Cultural Interaction (the title makes for a long banner!), a meeting whose aim was "to get together the communication scholars, researchers and sector professionals to present the latest research results, ideas and applications in the field of culture, communication and media studies." Long ago in March I submitted a proposal to speak about the outlook for technical communication in Central Asia.
It was accepted and I began the process of raising funds, adjusting schedules, getting a visa, checking my shots and, in essence, planning the trip. This was a bold move for me as travel arrangements for last year's trips to India and Armenia were handled by support personnel at the University of Central Florida and Project Harmony. I am glad that up to this point everything has worked out well.
Seyit was scheduled to pick me up at 9am for the 20 minute ride to the symposium site at Kyrgyz Turkish Manas University. At 9:05 he called to say that he was tied up and asked me to take a cab. No problem, I said, I had passed by the campus on the way to Al Archa the day before. However, the symposium is being held at a branch location some 5 miles away from the main campus. He gave me directions, which I quickly forget, and told me to say to words to the cab driver: university najou. I was on scramble mode now, some 20 minutes away from the site with 25 minutes before the first meeting. Hustling out to Kiev, I hailed a cab within a minute. However, I forgot the word after university and said ajow instead. The Kyrgyz/Russian speaking driver had no clue. I knew it was near the main campus, so we headed down Manas Street and stopped at three universities to ask for directions to the branch campus. Finally, at the third one, I found one student who spoke English and he told the driver where I wanted to go.
The facilities for the symposium are topflight. The building for Iletisma Faculti (that is not elite faculty if you are translating as you read; the Turkish word for Communication is Iletisma), is open air, multi-leveled and mostly white inside. We were met by the dean of the communication faculty who ushered all of the presenters into her office for tea or Turkish coffee. Two groups of people were sitting in separate clusters, three men and three women. I introduced myself to everyone and then sat with the women, (but I wondered why the groups weren't mixed). Each of the women spoke at least passable English so we chitchatted about their fields (marketing and mass media), drank our coffee and waited for the opening session to begin. At least 20 students in the school of communication assisted all of us: at the registration desk (the fee was $50 cash), getting coffee, offering directions, advising us on the current displays which dotted the open areas of the school, and simply being nice to all of us. We were offered free copies of the school's publications on Turkic studies and given a welcome gift, a traditional Kyrgyz hat.
At 10am, the starting time for each of the three days, (late by U.S. standards to be sure, but comfortable, nonetheless) we gathered in the 200 seat auditorium. Theater seating, with translation earplugs at the ready, the room had a control booth in the back and an ample stage for performances and presentations. At least five different video cameras and three still photographers were documenting the proceedings. Each of the presenters in the audience (the entire crowd was probably 50) were photographed watching the proceedings.
The morning session consisted of five forms of welcome from the rector (president) of the university, the vice rector, the dean of communications and two Turkish professors who were scheduled to present during the symposium. Most telling about the morning session was the common theme of media exaggeration of the events of March 24-25, particularly by CNN. The rector reminded us that only two classes were cancelled on the day looting was reported and shown in the New York Times, CNN and elsewhere. He and others rued the fact that several presenters cancelled their trips because of the March problem, and that the negative reporting will cost the country in terms of economic progress. Yet, the question remains: what should be shown and how do we know when we report on something how the endgame will play out. What if the type of violence which occurred in Uzbekistan, the western neighbor of Kyrgystan, had followed the looting? Would the country and others be criticized for not having a free and accessible press? Great questions which are open to debate, and certainly of critical interest to the educational power brokers in this country.
Before I recount the symposium's first day, let me tell you about KTMU. The university itself is celebrating its 10th anniversary and stands as a collaborative venture between the Kyrgyz and Turkish governments. The latter has put up all the seed money for the project, which includes the construction or renovation of two campuses and plans for more, as well as the operating budget which exceeds $4 million per year. All of the 2000 students are on scholarship and compete for highly desirable slots by taking an entrance exam developed by the university. The Kyrgyz government has given or leased the university the land, and is guaranteed 35% of the 2000 slots for its use (provided these students pass the stringent entrance requirements). We received in our packet the modest, four color and four language catalogue which outlines programs and features of KTMU.
For the three days of the symposium, presentations are organized around five 90 minute sessions with each presenter allowed 15 minutes. For both Wednesday sessions, the panel moderators could be described as obsessive time watchers, warning each presenter with five minutes to go and summarily cutting off some when the witching hour struck 15 minutes. Content wise the 10 (two sessions of 5) presentations covered such topics as mass media, the role of television in Asia (Turkey has 700 cable channels), film critiques (one on Turkish films, the other on the films of Elia Kazan (Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, A Streetcar Named Desire, On the Waterfront among others), the changing image of the male body in men's and women's magazines, and my favorite, a survey of documentary photography who focused on migration (this included extensive treatment of the work iconic American photo-artists Jacob Riis, Lewis Hine and Dorothea Lange, as well as a healthy dose of Turkish documentary photographers). Save for the presentation on the Kazan films, and a bi-lingual presentation of the paper on photography (the author gave his introduction and conclusion in English and the body of his work in Turkish!), all of the presentations were in Turkish or Russian. Enter my second student lifeline. If Seyit has been my footsoldier, looking out for my accommodations, transportation and well-being away from the symposium, my new lifeline is Elira Turdubayeva.
She is a 23 year old student at KTMU completing her masters degree. Once it was determined that the translation facilities would allow for only one language to be distributed, the needs of the sole English only participant (ME!) had to be addressed. The solution was to have the 8 and 1/2 months pregnant Elira language babysit me. As each presentation would progress, she would summarize, rather than simultaneously translate, what was being said. At this moment, I feel as if I have not missed a Russian, Turkish or Kyrgyz word. If the speaker used English, Elira, who speaks Kyrgyz, Turkish, Russian and English, simply sat next to me and produced written translations for the conference proceedings. What a talented student, who incidentally will present, in English, on the problems of online journalism in Kyrgyzstan.
About half of the presenters used PowerPoint to support their talks. One thing I have noticed is that the advantage for English speakers to view a language which is written in the Latin alphabet is enormous compared to the problems one has in viewing Cyrillic, Arabic or ideographic scripts. Even though the text would be Turkish to me, key words repeated in the presentation could easily be translated. At the same time, Turkish words such as "spor" (sport), "teknoliji" (technology) and "medya" (media) can quickly be decoded for English counterparts.
Several countries in Central Asia have already made the shift from Cyrillic to Latin, including Moldova and Uzbekistan. Kyrgyzstan intends to move in this direction, but like most of its "Inner Asia" counterparts suffers from a lack of funds to do so. Consider this development for a moment. Imagine if our goverment decided to "cyrillicize" or "hindiize" our latinized American English. How would this affect publishing, libraries, government bureaucracies, consumer signage et al? But, consider this as a tool for political correctness. In the 30s when the Soviet system continued to find ways to exert control over its Asian subjects, rules were enacted to scrub all texts, both past and future, which contained Arabic script. Thus, instead of banning books, the Soviets banned alphabets. This certainly brings new meaning to political correctness.
Outside the panel presentations, we were treated to lunch and dinner, the latter a lavish affair in the courtyard of the main campus. Just prior to the meal, our group was taken on a city tour. Since no one was taking the role of bus tour guide, I stepped up, and at least to those in English, gave my take on the significant tourist sites in Bishkek. When I was done, Seyit smiled and said that I knew more than he did about his own town. But back to the dinner. Long tables with white linen allowed us to dine under the 70 degree something Kyrgyz night. Five courses (tomato soup with croutons, cucumber and tomato salad, a meat plate of liver and sausage, an unnamed fish in creamy, tasty sauce and a fruit plate of fresh watermelon, apricots, cherries and strawberries, all doused with the drink options of mineral water, Coke, Sprite, cherry juice, orange-grapefruit juice or sauvignon wine) were served by more than 20 students from the school of hospitality management. An all female, three violin and one cello ensemble entertained us throughout the 90 minute meal. Following the meal, a form of a capello karaoke emerged with several participants (not me) grabbing the mike and serenading the audience. One university faculty used the moment to sing a love ballad to the dean of communication, who dutifully stood and smiled at him while this three minute song transpired. He then jumped off the stage and rushed into her arms. YIKES.
Another performer used the stage to sing a ten minute passage from the Manas (see my earlier blog on this epic poetry). He joined me later and, through Seyit, I learned that this student, who doubled as the master of ceremonies for the opening panel, had, years earlier, won a nationwide competition on singing the Manas. He remembers hearing his father sing this poem to him from the time he was two, and since the age of six he has performed passages. When he won the competition, he performed for six hours without a break. He also told me that the entire epic would take 24 hours to sing. Ah, in some cultures, the spoken word is still sacred.
I will end this now with the report of only one regret. My video camera failed after one hour of taping. Tomorrow I will try to borrow one from the video department to tape the proceedings. I also would like to interview several Kyrgyzstani students for the gang back home.
In and Around the Land of 3000 Glaciers: Kyrgyzstan
This post will be quite brief as, what I was told might happen, has: NO POWER. As it stands now, the bathroom facilities, or shall i say kitchen/bathroom sink, lack hot water (the place expects it back on Monday!). So, in the dark, with cold water, I dutifully shaved and showered (brrr!) to get out by 8am Kyrgyz time. Our first meeting is in two hours: YIKES. The power outage also prevented me from accessing the 24 hour Internet cafe (all of downtown, i.e. the capital, was without power). And considering the country made the past president leave on March 25 (he fled to Moscow with billions), power has both literal and figurative meanings in this case.
That being said, I will tell you that day four was spent among the glaciers in Al Archa Canyon, only 20 miles south of Bishkek. The height of these mountains is small for this region: only 15,000 feet, or Mt. Rainier (near Seattle) size. But there is only one Mt. Rainier which looms over Seattle. This range of 15k high peaks stretches for about 15 miles. Farther south and east these peaks really soar, to as high as 21,000 feet. My translator, Clarissa, tells me that those who tackle the likes of Annapurna and Everest practice on these foothills of the Tien Shan range. We leisurely walked for about a mile to a wooden footbridge, this in the rain which seems to fall over the mountains in a pocket of rain forest green (my other visit over the mountains on Sunday included a rainy spell while on the other side as well.) The guide book says that to trek beyond the footbridge would be classified as an easy trek. At the other side of the bridge, we were faced with an abrupt ascent and any path the trek evaluators suggested as present was covered by a rush of large boulders. Straight up the hill was about a half a mile. Shouldn't they provide tow ropes for us novice western hikers? In any event, we turned around, captured the admixture of fog, green pine, rain and even a ribbon of blue sky sunshine in sight, smell sound and photograph, to stroll back to our driver, who was dutifully waiting for us at the entrance, chain-smoking and listening to Turkish music. By the way, before the president was forced to abdicate in March, he had built for himself a cozy chalet at the entrance. Perhaps, he received inspiration from Camp David in the Maryland hills. In any event, this secure dream cottage (well, glacial palace) remains unoccupied; the new president has refused to enter it and that is probably just as well.
From there, I spent an afternoon researching the Kyrgyz language at the Center of Social Research in the National Academy of Sciences. This proved most informative and I will include some of this material in my presentation tomorrow.
Oh, and before I go, I contacted the U.S. Embassy on matters Kyrgyz and otherwise. When I took a picture of the new embassy for the file, I was forced to visit with no less than three officials to determine what kind of picture I took and what I intended to do with it. OOPS!
More from the conference later.
Day Three: Education Matters
It is 3am on Tuesday, a day devoted to another trip to the mountainous country which borders Bishkek, this time to Al Archa Canyon some 40 minutes away. My sleeping regimen continues to be a blur. My cycle has not shifted; I am up in the middle of the night and extremely drowsy by the early afternoon. So I am up and ready to type. Having taken the 3/4 mile jaunt to this all night Internet cafe, it is time to get some blog work in, I guess. Incidentally, this cafe is located some 50 steps from the front gate of the country's White House. What do you think the closest all night business to the U.S. White House is? and where is it?
On Monday, the Kyrgystani train stayed at the station while I took another walking tour of the capital. My guides this time were two twentysomething female Kyrgyz National University (KNU)students, Jibek and Sultanat. Their names mean "silk" and "happiness" respectively. This was an opportunity for me to navigate through any language morass I might find with non-English speaking contacts and for them to get practice in speaking to "real" Americans. The teaching of English is a priority in this nation, with KNU enlisting 15 instructors (all female) to meet the task of providing all students with some English training each week. Students in the first two years take English for up to 12 hours a week (they also are required to take a second language with the widest of options, from Chinese to Arabic to the romance languages, etc.). It doesn't appear that they teach Russian, however, an interesting development in itself. Once this nation declared its independence from the Soviet Union in 1991, mass emigration ensued with a significant percentage of the Russians in the population returning to their homeland. Those who stay, according to several people I have spoken to in the past few days, refuse to learn or speak Kyrgyz. Since the languages are derived from the same roots, communication is quite easy between speakers of both languages. The Kyrgyz people appear to resent this tacit rejection of the Kyrgyz language and are quick to point this out.
I met my new best friends, in age like my nieces Kerry and Casey and in spirit like any young college student living at home with their parents and commuting (or walking) to school, at the front entrance of Kyrgyz National University. I was was there at 8:45 am for my 9 o'clock appointment and had a chance to observe the arrival of students for their first day of summer school. Their facial features might be unfamiliar to our western gaze, but their gaits, social groupings, behaviors and dress quite similar to what you would see on any college campus. There were more women than men coming through the doors on this day. I would guess their ages between 17 and 22. Many sported cell phones as they walked. They carried plastic bags, with logos from in country and out. The logowear on their shirts, blouses and pants spanned the globe, in some cases with obvious misspellings from the original. Few male students, maybe two, wore shorts. Women were all dressed in skirts, dresses or slacks, many in jeans. Footwear was upscale, with many women wearing elegant yet flimsy high heals as they plodded through the stone tiled entrance area of KNU's main building.
A few male students were smoking and finished their butts at the entrance. I did not see any women smoking as they approached the entrance; although I did spot around a tree some 50 metres from the entrance a few female students smoking. While I have seen many women smoke in public, usually outside their offices in what we would call a smokebreak, I wonder if this practice is eschewed by young women in the country.
My guides finally arrived at 9:20 am and I suspended my people watching as they escorted me through the gathering crowd of students inside the building. Students attending summer school at KNU do so for enrichment and improvement, much like our U.S. institutions offer continuing education courses. The ungraded and relaxed atmosphere allows students to bone up, catch up, or gain more knowledge as they continue their education. The main building opened up to a kind of rotunda with hallways emanating in various directions. On either side of the back of the rotunda were two counters with books displayed, much like we would see in a small museum's gift shop. According to my Jibek and Sultana, these served as the university's bookstore. Winding our way down a narrow hallway, crammed with young, sociable and eager students, it was throwback time for me. Bulletin boards outside each classroom displayed notes, announcements, grades and other information (all in Kyrgyz, of course). Up the stairs, we soon came upon the department of International Education, ably overseen by its dean, Dr. Iris Betancourt. The signs outside of the classrooms here were in English and Kyrgyz. A quick glance revealed the names of Conflict Resolution and American Studies on the doors of two rooms. I was greeted at the door by the professsional and warm, Dr. Betancourt, and we sat down at her work area, a six foot table extending from her desk stacked with folders, books and other residue of a busy person. She soon introduced me to one of her English teachers, Turani, a 31 year old woman who wore a shirt announcing the recent grand opening of the Native American exhibit at the Smithsonian Institution (This was a gift to her by a visiting professor from Kentucky who has recently taught and consulted at KNU.)
Within minutes after introductions and small talk about what I had been doing the past two days, Dr. Betancourt and I began to discuss a potential relationship between myself and KNU. I had brought with me a Technical Communication textbook, as well as a report on the Kyrgy educational system, conducted by Indiana University, which I had acquired a month prior to my trip. This concise document gave me a cursory overview of how education has fared in the post-Soviet days. We then began to discuss the needs of KNU and what my credentials could assist them with. They welcomed the potential addition of Technical or Professional Writing courses to their roster of offerings. In particular, Dr. Betancourt was most interested in having her current staff of English teachers to be schooled in the aspects of technical writing. At the same time, I echoed a component of my original proposal to Fulbright submitted earlier this year and proposed teaching a technology studies course, much like the course I have been teaching at CFCC for the past five years entitled Computers in Society. She was in agreement that such courses would enhance the international education program in general and even more the extensive American Studies program which has been developed at KNU during the past seven years. Scholars from the University of Kentucky, the University of Washington and other institutions have spent extensive time working with KNU in developing this curriculum. At the same time, more than 10 KNU instructors have spent a semester at the University of Kentucky to take courses and learn the components of a viable American Studies program.
Once we were in agreement on how we could help each other in a Fulbright year, Dr. Betancourt brought me to the American Studies conference room for a visit with several members of her English language staff. This was a large conferene room, perhaps two or three classrooms deep, with high walls stacked with books, most in English and all donated to the University by former For one hour, we exchanged questions and answers about education in both countries. They were particularly interested in how Kyrgyzstan was perceived in the United States. It is sad how little most of us know about our world. Few of us can distinguish one country which ends in STAN with another. I told them that few people in our country know that Kyrgyzstan is a country. This is why exchange programs and Peace Corps contingents (there are more than 60 in the country now) are important to spread the knowledge of these countries to our fellow citizens. At the same time, the knowledge and effort shared by the dedicated Fulbrighters and PCV (Peace Corps veterans) is motivation for me as I pursue my dreams.
I marvelled at their obsession with language: these ladies spoke Kyrgyz, Russian, and very passable English. They also, if they attended KNU, were required to take a second language in their studies (German, French and Turkish were among the choices of second language study for this group).
I asked them how much they worked each week and what their schedule was like. Some taught four days a week, others five. To teach two classes (which met each day), each was paid $50 per month. If they taught an additional course, their wage would increase by half. Most of them tutored students at the rate of $1 to $5 per hour to supplement their income. As single women, custom dictates that they would live at home or with relatives until marriage. This was the case with all of these women. They enjoyed their jobs, commented on the range of student abilities and interests. Turani noted the recent trend of students being increasingly irresponsible in meeting tasks and deadlines. All of these teachers who ranged in age from 21 to 31 required daily attendance in their classes, considered themselves demanding instructors and valued the opportunity to work at KNU. They wanted to learn more.
I asked them about the much touted corruption between university students and teachers in Kyrgyzstan. More than one article comments on a "pay for grades" element throughout the university system. They rebuffed this charge.
All of their students are full pay students, as the university receives no financial aid for their students to apply for. Other universities qualify for this program, with those students on financial aid referred to as "budget" students. Turani also mentioned that the transparent student evaluation system for all courses reveals when a teacher resorts to such measures. Comments such as "will take bribes" and "must be paid" have appeared on instructors' evaluations in the past and seem to help minimize this perceived practice in the country, or at least at KNU.
One final point in our discussion involve technology and the classroom. They use cassette tape recorders for their language instruction, but rarely employ computers. Technology resources are scarce on campus and any rooms dedicated for computer labs are normally taken by computer classes and not language classes. The few mobile computer stations are in great demand and perhaps subject to excessive administrative red tape to obtain, according to this group of teachers. On a side note, they did inform me that the basic computer application courses (Microsoft Office, etc.) are taught in Russian. This figures as the language for this browser and computer as I type this blog entry is also Russian. The only thing in English in this operating system is the websites I access and the words I type!. Before I left on this day, I looked inside two computer labs, one for journalism and the other for computer instruction. The rooms were small, fully occupied and staffed with many of the students appearing to be writing reports. I did not see any computer screens with English on them, however.
Dr. Betancourt appears to be the right person for this department. She is aggressive, seeks connections, is smart and efficient (she buzzed in and out of my conversation with her instructors several times). She introduced me to her staff of five secretaries who run the department and proudly stated that her department was very lean, with no assistant deans or other administrators in her team. By Friday, she will have ready for me a letter of invitation which should be useful to me for any future Fulbright applications. In sum, though, I felt very good about this visit. The teachers were interested and inquisitive; Dr. Betancourt accomplished and open-minded and the students, well, just like any students anywhere. I like that.
Our two and half hours at KNU flew by; Jibek, Sultanat and I now strolled for about a half mile through the narrow, oak lined streets near the university to Secondary School 27, the site of our next visit. This area is dedicated to universities. At least five are within one-quarter mile of each other, including the International University of Kyrgyzstan, the American University of Central Asia and KNU. We passed by a streetside car detailing business, with the most pricey Mercedes and BMWs being serviced by a diligent group of streetside workers. At each corner more than a few vendors sold their magic liquid elixirs, potions derived from tea, spring water and other natural ingredients that can be purchased for 5 cents a cup throughout the region. These stands are almost formulaic. A vendor, often a woman, sits on a low riding chair next to the smallest or tables on which sits an insulated cooler of their potion. The ingredients are clearly marked and the business is brisk. Jibek and Sultanat, as well as Seyit and Stambul, swear by these juices as the key to healthy living.
On the way we spend a few moments at the rundown, Sport Stada, the site of national football (soccer), and athletics (track and field) competitions. The scorboard is missing its facing, the concrete supports are gradually being chipped away in this facility which appears to comfortably (in brightly colored seats) to hold 25,000 people.
Finally, we arrive at the school and make our way through the hallways and floors. The students are on three month holiday, according to Sultanat, who is an alumnae of Secondary School #37, but signs of school life remain. We begin to tour the classrooms in this forty year old structure. As we approach the first one, we are greeted by a woman who is painting her way out of the room. She is Margaret, a middle aged, English teacher at #27 for twenty years, who tells me, in English, of course, that she is just helping a colleague out. She has been applying a dark brown paint to the wooden floors of the empty room. All along this hallway, teachers are completing their year end teacher's only days by repainting their rooms and readying them for the new term in September. Into one room, I step onto an island of unpainted slats and see the chipped surface the new paint is covering. I gather the teacher/painters for a group shot. I am sure that I + tracked some of this paint out of the room. Finally, I come to a room that is not being painted and come upon this full older woman, with Russian features and a broad smile. Sultanat introduces me in Kyrgyz and tells me that she is physics teacher. Small wooden chairs, sturdy, slatted and upright, and similar to those I saw in Sosommyr a day earlier, are stacked atop their wooden desk counterparts. In the backpart of this physics classroom was a cabinet with a gyroscope and any number of seemingly antiquated dials and voltage meters. Atop them were a healthy collection of plants, a fixture of each classroom I have visited thus far in Kyrgyzstan. The front of the room included a blackboard divided into two sections, one half much like those in our U.S. classrooms (if they do not have a whiteboard!) and the other separated into what might be called either blackboard pixels or a blackboard spreadsheet allowing for the easy listing of numbers and computing calculations. On the long wall of the room opposite the window was the Periodic Table of Elements, notably fixed with the profile of its inventor, the Russian Mendeleev. In the upper right hand corner of the front of the room are a small 13 television and a VCR. The teacher's desk is on a raised slate platform, ideally suited for demonstrating experiments or principles. One thing sits off to the side of the desk, a vase with beautiful flowers. I ask this woman to pose with her flowers and ask her to hold the protractor which she uses to draw arcs on the left side of the blackboard. She broadly smiles and I take the picture.
We move to other rooms and watch the rooms take shape for the 2005-2006 academic year. Outside what appears to be an administrative office, the entire schools schedule is presented in a multicolored chart. This outlines the entire workings of the school. This is next to the school logo which includes traditional school icons (the atom and alphabetic characters) as well as the name of the school, written both in Kyrgyz and in Russian.
Our last stop in the school is the gymnasium, up on the third floor and accessed through young student activity room in which spacklers, painters and carpenters are completely restoring the room. Inside the dustfilled gym, while one young student is chipping away at a crumbling buttress at the far wall, another student is attempting to kick a soccer ball into the wooden goal above. Off the court there is perhaps room for one row or spectators. Gymnastic bars and windows fill out the side walls of the room.
Clearly, small funds exist for education in general in Kyrgyzstan. Teachers, already well underpaid with some earning as little as $7 a month) are expected to keep their own room in order. Inside, the spirt is positive, visual and engaging. Personally, I found the teachers to be focused, forward thinking and industrious, not unlike what you SHOULD find in any elementary school classroom.
Our trio then moved down towards the corner of Sovietska and Frunze to visit the National Library of the Kyrgyz Republic. Since my visit to Armenia last summer and the wonderful afternoon the Project Harmony Group spent at Matenadaran, the ancient manuscript depository in the country's capital of Yerevan, I have been most interested in a nation's library. For our tour of the Kyrgyzstani edition, I was privileged to meet Fedor Bakolov, a computer a library science graduate of Kyrgyz National University, who conducted a brief tour. Another concrete monolith common to the entire Soviet realm, the National Library of the Kyrgyz Republic was Founded in 1934, and now includes a second nearby facility. The library holds more than 6,000,000 items, serves more than 200,000 patrons per year. Fedor could not have been more gracious on our tour of the layout of the main building, of the Internet access and card catalogue areas and the rare books room by Fedor Bakolov, who spoke impeccable but heavily accented English and was all to pleased to show us around, I was impressed by the role of the library in this society. Already the library has developed an exhibit on the recent "revolution" when the former president Akayev fled to Russia. This includes newspaper accounts from around Kyrgyzstan on the events of late March. In the same room as this exhibit, I also inspected the rare books of the country. One in particular caught my eye (and my camera), a 1772 edition of a History of Russia, written in Slavic, and consuming some 700 thick pages. Also on display is a full wall of books and articles on the Kyrgystani epic, the Manas. The selection below from a typical online dictionary provides descriptive material on the work.
"Manas is a traditional epic poem of the Kyrgyz people and the name of the epic's eponymous hero. The poem, with close to half a million lines, is twenty times longer than Homer's Odyssey and one of the longest epics in the world. It is a patriotic work recounting the exploits of Manas and his descendants and followers, who fought against the Uyghurs in the ninth century to preserve Kyrgyz independence. Although the epic is mentioned as early as the fifteenth century, it was not set down in written form until 1885. Different opinions abound regarding the origin of the epic: the VII-X century, the XI-XII century, and the XV-XVIII century, but it seems likely that the earliest of these periods is the correct one.
One final stop in our tour was the Internet room, where 15 workstations provided access to a world-class collection of online databases, all provided free or with support of such organizations as the Soros Foundation for Kyrgyzstan (and I am told, other libraries in Central Asia). Fedor also told me that the workstations utilized open source operating systems as well as appliation software, thus saving on costs. The only software the library is required to fund is the integrated library system software, much like the state of Florida's LUIS or LINCC systems.
Naturally, in the post-independence days and the temporary chaos which has resulted, budgets for anything are scarce. Most of the cement structures, built by the Soviet Union as shrines to technology and progress and the future world order of the Soviet state, are in need of repair. Each structure, including the library, the Historical and Fine Arts Museum and even the Philharmonic Hall, is adorned with statues and fountains, some in need or major restoration and others showing more than initial signs of age. Yet, the city of Bishkek fashions itself as a "Green City," with flowing oak trees and pink and red roses everywhere brightening up the area around these state structures and making for wondrous walks as the visitor navigates the compact area downtown.
We winded down our day with a chatty lunch in Fatboys, an expat hangout where we dined on chicken and tomato sandwiches and mineral water. For three sandwiches and drinks, our bill was under $6. I then left my guide/friends and headed to the historical and fine arts museums, only to find that they, like many US museums, are closed on Mondays. Stupid me. I must squeeze these visits into the already cramped afternoons on Thursday and Friday.
I appreciate your reading of this and hope it helps you share in my experiences in the Kyrgyz Republic. More to follow, particularly if I have more sleepless nights.
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.
Settling into Central Asia
This journey has been planned for almost six months. After two wonderful experiences overseas as part of a Fulbright-Hays Study team to India, and a U.S. State Department funded program to Armenia last summer, I had set out to carve my own future Fulbright experience to another spot in that vast expanse we might know by names such as Eurasia, Central Asia, the Confederation of Independent states, or crudely that land of the "stans": AfghaniSTAN, KazakhSTAN, KyrgyzSTAN, PakiSTAN,TajikiSTAN, TurkminiSTAN,and UzbekiSTAN. If you have not been here or had a compelling interest to study this region, your familiarity with these countries is limited to Afghanistan and Pakistan, or if you are a regular reader of the NY Times you probably encountered front page stories on what might loosely be called "politial unrest" in Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan during the last three months. Long range, I have as my goal to serve as a Fulbright scholar in this region as part of a study on schoolteachers in Eurasia and Central Asia. My invigorating trip to Armenia last summer put me in contact with the compelling stories teachers in the region face as they encounter the the shifting ideological nuances of their countries in the face of little or no pay, burdensome responsibilities and often crumbling facilities. I submitted a paper to the International Symposium to get a closer look at this part of the former Soviet Union, while making contact with scholars and university administrators in the region. Yesterday, for example I was greeted by a young male graduate student, Seyit, a research assistant at Kyrgyz Turkish Manas University and an assistant to the symposium organizers. He was waiting for me at 4am just outside of immigration and was brandishing a sign with the letters PATRICK FLEMING in the crispest. landscape oriented, laser printing of Times New Roman font I had ever seen (and welcomed). From there he brought me to my flat and then helped me negotiate my way through the Bishkek phone world. When he left, I must say that in this world of Cyrillic alphabets (used for both the Russian and Kyrgyz languages), I initially felt as if I would never leave the place. I have had wonderful experiences in my life wayfinding through foreign spaces, from the skyscrapers of major cities, to the Arabic language towns in western Saudi Arabia, to the elongated scripts of the Hindi and Tamil languages of India, to marked and unmarked trails in the Olympic Peninsula of the Pacific Northwest and the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Yet, my initial reaction to Seyit's leaving me in my new flat was that if I left the building, I would only stray as far as I could walk and remember. In the absence of clear English signs, I just knew I would never find my way back to my apartment if I left it. On this, I took a nap and hoped this bad dream would end.
Hello from Bishkek
Greetings from the capital or Kyrgyzstan, a cozy republic in Central Asia and the site of the First International Symposium of Culture and Communication, hosted by Kyrgyz Turkish Manas University, one of many universities in this city. It is 7am as I type this from what is believed to be the only 24 hour Internet cafe in the city. A balky and unfamiliar keyboard (the left shift key does not work, the backspace key is in a different spot from mine at home and the left mouse button doesn't always work) makes this blogging slow going. I arrived here some 26 hours ago after a journey which began at 5am Thursday June 2 when I began traveling from Ocala Florida to Bishkek. The sectors included a 90 mile trip in my truck from Ocala to Orlando, a two hour flight to New York's LaGuardia airport, a visit with my sister (she picked me up), another short car ride to Kennedy Airport for a two hour wait before our flight from JFK to Moscow, an eight hour layover in the Transfer Terminal there, a gulag of Duty Free shops and expensive anything (a cup of coffee was $6), then another four and a half hour flight from Moscow to Bishkek, one hour in immigration and customs and a 30 minute travel to the flat where I am staying for the week. From start to finish 40 hours elapsed before I could rest my head on a pull out couch in my new home.
