Kyrgyzstan

Since I wrote last we moved from a collection of villages where a car passing was an event to a city of a million people and seemingly that many cars (and horns).  For the first while we were perpetual deer-in-the-headlights but now we’re practically local, at least when it comes to dodging the cars on our walk to work.  Rural Afghanistan is different from urban Kyrgyzstan in almost every way.  Kyrgyzstan, it turns out, has pretty much more of everything than Afghanistan, except people and donkeys (where Afg has a significant lead).  And there’s not a war in Kyrgyzstan, although a coup and ethnic clashes in 2010 brought very tough conflict and a new (hopefully improved) government to the country.

We’ve gone from living in a mud house surrounded by wheat and potato fields to living in a 7^th story apartment.  Luckily we have a great view of the 15,000 foot mountains south of town.  We can also see the parliament building, national museum, and national stadium.  From our apartment we hear the call to prayers, church bells, and, amazingly, a lone donkey, which, like any donkey, hee-haws at any time day or night.  Here in Bishkek public life is abundant (a plus) but it’s more than a short walk to the mountains (a minus).  There are incredible mountains here, the Tien Shan, Pamir Alai, and dozens of smaller ranges.  92-96% of the country (depending who is counting) is mountainous and Kyrgyzstan has been called the ‘Switzerland of Central Asia.’  All these mountains just aren’t quite on our doorstep like they were in Bamyan.  We do, however, have a mini amusement park right across the street and the Kyrgyz are incredibly undeterred from riding roller coasters even in the cold and dark of winter.  Walking home from work tonight through the park it was 15 degrees F and snowing and although the rides were shut down, the music played, girls talked and laughed, and couples sat on frozen benches.

Bishkek has an impressive amount of infrastructure including a 17-story building.  There’s not quite the maintenance and public safety ethic to keep up with it however so there’s lots of treacherous icy steps and sidewalks, uncovered drainage holes that appear mid-stride, and elevators that make you want to assume some sort of safety position when they jerk into motion.  Outside Bishkek, there’s even more derelict infrastructure, crumbling concrete, bent rusty rebar, rigged and re-rigged electrical wires and poles, cracking bridges.  Anything metal (including irrigation pumps and pipes) got sold to the Chinese for recycling in the destitute years after the collapse of the Soviet Union.  But the concrete is all still here.  Concrete walls, houses, roads, canals, and more walls.  I wish we could trade in all the gray concrete in this country for a few more irrigation pumps.  And do away with some of the sagging electrical grid in favor of local renewable power generation.

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A week later.  We just celebrated the Women’s Day holiday (a big occasion here) with three days of skiing in the Ala Too range above the Suusamyr Valley, an incredibly beautiful place.  We got up high, had lunch and tea breaks in the sun, and got back to the lodge one night in a snowstorm in the dark after a long tour.  On these days it’s easy to forget about all that concrete.  Now back in Bishkek spring has suddenly arrived—birds chirping, green grass sprouting along the sidewalks, and snow gone from all but the darkest shadows.  I’m continuing my work on climate change adaptation in rural mountain communities and Chad is laying the foundation for the University of Central Asia’s new Mountain Societies Research Center.  We have good colleagues and are slowly making some new friends (although none that can remotely compare to you!).  We’re studying Russian, a language with more grammar than any American should have to learn.  Even a person’s name can change in certain tenses.  For example, Chad becomes “Chada” when something is for him (dlya Chada).  At least I get some humor out of lessons like that.  We’ve got a spare room in our apartment so if you find yourself looking for an adventure, book your ticket and come visit yurt-filled summer pastures, glaciers and peaks galore, the second largest alpine lake in the world, and a people whose national drink is fermented mare’s milk.