I think I will always remember my last few days in Uzbekistan! I had reason, or so I thought, to get a little 'hot under the collar' in many ways.
The temperatures were high. Low forty's and not a lot cooler at nights. Fortunately, in Tashkent, the capital, I scored a room to myself again so I could let off steam in privacy.
I spent one afternoon and the best part of the next day at the Embassy trying to get my visa for Kyrgyzstan. It should have been so simple but the 'Stan' countries excel at making any kind of form filling difficult and complicated.
The first afternoon I waited with Sue and others outside the Embassy in the shade of a tree. When it was almost closing time in the afternoon an official comes out to tell us that the office will not be opening that day as there is no power and the computers are not working. I guess their air-conditioning was not working either so perhaps waiting outside in the shade offered us a little respite from the hot burning sun.
Next morning I started the same procedure again. This time the wait was not so long. However, the process could do with a great deal of streamlining. After numerous trips and long waits at both the Embassy and Bank, where you have to make payment, I was fortunate to have my visa granted that day. Mind you, I did have to pay double the price for the privilege of express? approval.
I thought of writing to the Embassy suggesting an idea that would enhance their reputation. In fact it would go far towards making them the best Embassy in that part of the world! Nothing to do with paperwork, as I am sure they would not be open to any suggestion that would deny them a chance to show their authority.
No, I had a simple suggestion that would revolutionize visa procedure in hot weather, and cause the Uzbek Embassy to be remembered with heartfelt thanks. The suggestion, a long cool glass of iced water to every customer. A simple act of courtesy would work wonders. However, I did not write. Due to my prolonged exit from Uzbek I did not want to draw any further attention to myself.
After the Embassy, I had time to go to Post office to post a parcel home. Along the way, I have collected up a little excess baggage and I thought it would make it easier if I posted a few things home. How wrong I was. I had my parcel ready, so they could weigh it before I did the final packing.
Lack of understanding of the English language meant it was a difficult process. My parcel was the wrong size! Two hours later after two people had gone through all my carefully packed items including some breakables, extracting things I could not post and leaving me to repack, it was not only the weather that was making me feel hot! Finally taking up my wrapped and taped parcel for posting there was still a problem. A certain woman, whom I will refrain from describing further, took a long pair of scissors and threatened to cut open my carefully wrapped, twice supervised, packed parcel and take yet another look! It was too much. With many wild arm gestures, I stopped her cutting open my parcel for a third inspection! Flapping my arms to show a flying motion I told her I had changed my mind. I would not post my parcel but take it home with me in the plane. She still did not understand and I had great difficulty trying to get my parcel back. At last, reluctantly, she shoved the parcel back to me across the counter.
Fortunately, during my two-hour marathon, a guy had given me a big calico bag he could not use; his parcel was too big also!
I put the parcel in the bag plus the other bits and pieces I was carrying and hoisted it over my shoulder, pretending that almost 15kg was nothing for me to carry. I felt a bit like Santa Claus walking out of the post office with a big billowing bag slung over my shoulder. In hindsight, I would have created more of a sensation if, as some of the local women can, I had proudly walked out balancing the parcel on my head! However, I was not quite up to that feat.
Out of sight, I dropped my bag until I could work out the next step in getting back to the Hotel. I would need to get a taxi but first I urgently needed some liquid refreshment to calm my nerves and replace lost moisture. I bought a large cool orange juice. The liquid barely touched my throat. I bought another and felt a little better.
However, that was not my last close encounter with officialdom in Uzbekistan.
Crossing the border leaving Uzbekistan it was necessary to present a certificate you fill in when you enter, as well as your passport and visa. I could not find my certificate. I guess that somewhere in the visa process for Kyrgyz I lost it from my passport. Careless of me, especially when warned that it is vital to present that little bit of paper when you leave.
Fortunately, for me Ray had likewise lost his precious document so I had company in my predicament. It gave some comfort to know that I was not alone in my stupidity.
There is no way they were going to let us leave with the rest of the group. We must present that little bit of paper or else! They did suggest that if we were to give them a few, (well quite a few) American dollars, they would overlook the missing papers. No way.
We sat outside in the shade and waited. They wanted Sue to go but she was not budging.
"These are my group and I am not going without them," she said.
They also wanted George to move his truck.
"No way," he said, my truck stays there until we all go.
We sat for about half an hour and then went inside to try again. This time they calmly stamped our passport and visa as if nothing had happened. No mention made of the required scrap of paper. I guess they thought we had waited long enough to learn who was in authority.
I do not think the group clocked up any points against me for the episode. Ray was only half my age and he was guilty of the same crime! They were so pleased to see us that we all drank to our freedom with a bottle of Fanta!
You can understand now why I decided not to pass on my tip to the Uzbek Embassy. A tip, visa applicants would remember with grateful thanks, overlooking the long and painful process of paperwork. No, I decided it was wisest to forget giving any helpful advice.
Safely in Kyrgyz, I breathed a sigh of relief.
We stopped at Osh for two nights. It has a great walk up a hill close by to Solomon's Throne. It is not too strenuous yet gives fantastic views of the town and surrounding countryside. Osh also has fabulous markets and as you know by now, I am hooked on markets. Somehow, I forgot my need to conserve on baggage weight and ended up with some more treasures of the local handiwork. The tall white and black felt hats, some of the men wear with such aplomb fascinated me. They are called calpac's. I found out that a calpac with needlework on the brim can only be worn by older, esteemed, and respected members of society. I bought one of these for my husband but I am not sure of his reactions yet. Maybe, he will be able to wear it to the golf club!
After Osh we camped a night by the Tokloget Reservoir. It was very hot and our first chance of a swim in weeks. George and Osmond also took the opportunity to try their hand at fishing. They blamed their lack of success on their choice of a minnow. Locals told them they only needed a worm but in the dry and barren sandy soil, it was impossible to find even the skinniest of worms. However, as it was George's birthday we were not too hard on them for not providing fresh fish for our meal. It would have been appreciated though!
We had a special dinner that night, as it was a threefold birthday celebration for George, Kim, and Ray. After dinner, we sat around a camp fire, swapping stories and jokes. It was a fun night capped by a brilliant sunset over the lake. I pitched my tent facing the lake and later watched the moon's reflections over the water.
At first I found Kyrgyzstan countryside little different from Uzbek until the truck started to climb into hills that turned into high and mighty mountains of great beauty. From Uzbek you could see the mountains of Kyrgyzstan in the distance, but they had always appeared shrouded in cloud.
I was totally unprepared for their rugged and majestic beauty. For a start, I could have been travelling in Central Otago in New Zealand. Similar mountains and a deep turquoise river wound its way alongside the road.
We had to go over two mountain passes. The Ala-bel pass is 3184 meters and the Too-ashuu-pass is 3586. It is interesting to know that 94% of Kyrgyzstan is higher than 2000 meters above sea level. We passed through some of the most glorious scenery that I have seen. It reminded me of Switzerland. Mountains a bit like NZ but higher and more rugged. They had little vegetation on them except grass. Green grass extended to far up the mountains. Also paddocks of glorious wildflowers. At the top of the highest pass, we went through a 2 ½ km tunnel. Once out on the far side we looked down on a winding hairpin road that reminded me of Arthurs Pass except it was a lot further to go down through the gully. In fact, it was 46 kms and the truck had to go in low gear all the way. It took over three hours to do the descent, quite some hill!
In between the passes, we went through the Suusamyr valley high up in the mountains at 2000 meters or more and extending for thirty to forty kms. The grass was lush and green stretching way up high in the mountains. Here the traditional herders were setting up summerhouse, mostly yurts. They were dotted along the roadside where each little clump of houses has the names of the family group. I would say it is community land, where they obviously stake out a claim and put up their yurts. Some even make a little gravel pathway, outlined with bigger stones, from the road to the door of their yurt. Evidently, they had only recently moved to take up summer residence as some were still in the process of setting up. They each had many horses, a few cows and some had goats and sheep. However, to me it seemed that the livestock was few, compared to the people and horses. It was quite fascinating and exciting to see the moving process. Some already had put up little stalls on the roadside, where they sell their yogurt, (perhaps that is where the word yogurt originated, from the homes of the herders for whom it is a traditional dish), and other milk products. A favourite food is little solid balls made from goats milk and sort of like a cheese but very strong. I have not tasted them but other more adventurous young ones in the group advised against sampling the delicacy if it were possible. Their assessment was, 'pretty horrible.' The local people love them. Perhaps, like olives, they are an acquired taste.
Coming down from the pass on a winding zigzag path through this valley of majestic mountains was quite breath taking. Superb. It was a beautiful day with blue skies and a few white fluffy clouds. It was unusual to strike such a clear day in the mountains. At the top of the pass, it was almost cool but it soon warmed up once we reached the valley below. When we arrived in Bishkek, it was cool to us yet looking at a temperature screen on a building it read 32 degrees. It shows how you soon adjust to different temperatures. Three weeks ago, I would have thought that 32 degrees was very hot!
Bishkek, Capital town of Kyrgyzstan, is predominately a Russian town, in appearance and people. The main language spoken is Russian. Although few people understood any English, I found if I had a query, they tried to understand and help me. One Russian shop guard went to great lengths to help me find an ATM. He personally walked a couple of blocks to show me a separate small building where you used your card to enter, then the door closed before you used a machine. It was quite a unique idea to me, and very security conscious.
Next day I went back with a bag of sweeties to say thank you. He was a trifle overwhelmed and said, "Me speak no English, - I love you".
"Me too," I said, and went down the street grinning. I think he meant a simple 'thank you.'
I think back to Cairo at the start of my trip, to where I saw the motto 'think differently'. At the time, I did not understand what a profound change that sentence would have on me. I have certainly had my mind-set changed in many ways. I hope that once back in New Zealand I will be able to apply that same motto to my reactions to people and places in our own beautiful land.
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