Sunday, October 31, 2010

Ashgabad - to- Almaty

Hello from Alma Ata/Almaty. We flew out of Ashgabad, over the "White City" or "City of Love" last evening. In the evening glow,the white Italian Marble facings on all of the Presidential Palaces, Ministeris, and new highrises almost blinded us. Amazing what money and a determined dictatorship can achieve! We know that many people have been displaced to rebuild the city, but we were also very aware that the hotel rooms are  "bugged" and the internet monitored. (I had to give my passport to use the internet at the Turkish Department store). So, we have been very cautious in our comments. We were warned about the many crazy rules and especially about taking photos of any offical buildings. We thought that the warnings were over the top until we met an Aussie girl at our hotel who couldn't resist taking  photo in front of the golden domes of one of the Presidential palaces. She spent 2 hours in a police station deleting her photos and faced several threats.

All that aside, on every street, there were police or military every 50 Meters. We felt quite safe walking the streets of Ashgabad. On the last evening we found a Beethoven/Brahams piano concert at a music conservatory not too far from our hotel. It was a fine way to close our stay in Turkmenistan. Our best memories are of the archeological sites, meeting the archeologists, and watching them at work. One woman was patiently piecing together the skeleton of a 2 month infant, from 2,500 years ago. I was able to name the boney prominances of the face, arms, legs and spine, and she seemed to appreciate my interest as she put the tiny fragile bones together like a puzzle. I felt very sad thinking watching her piece together the skull of the ancient baby who lived so shortly in the Margush area. I wondered what caused this little one to die. There were many bones and pottery fragmens scattered over the archaeogical sites and even though these were from antiquity, I found the experience walking among the ruins to be quite emotional.

I just remembered something that I forgot to tell all new parents about. Traditionally in Uzbekistan babies are placed into a special crib with a hole in the floor of the crib. For little boys and girls there are special wooden "pipes" that are put over the urethera to channel the urine into the hole. I did not see any pampers in use or dispose anywhere and found this solution very economical and practical. Well, give this idea some thought; no diaper rash, no environmenal waste, no additonal cost. I took a couple of photos of these little wooden tools and maybe we can experiment on one of the babies.

After a marathon of passport checks and x-rays of our bags, we got onto the right flight and arrived in Almaty at about 11 pm. Despite having to drag bags over no-mans-land, maybe it is still easier to cross Central Asian borders overland. We are staying in a lovely suite of rooms in the hotel Kazzhol but alas, fly out at 10 pm tonight. We have walked around this city of 1.3 Million people and most especially enjoyed Panfilov Park where we met local people enjoying this fall day. Stefan is getting pretty good at reading Russian signs and we have had coffee and cake in at the Coffeedeia and pasta for lunch at Mamma Mia. In the park we have met quite a few people who speak English and several people know Canadians working here. The people here are beautiful and look very Eurasian; Chinese Russians is how they are desribed. The women dress in the latest European fashions and have mastered the art of running in spike heels and tight skirts. We found that we miss the modest, long but tight dresses and hats/scarves; the national dress of the other Central Asian people. Like Ashgabad, Almaty is very modern but not palatial. We've been spoiled by double ply toilet tissue and will probably have another adjustment to make in China

Off to Urumchi tonight. Love to all. Corine and Stefan

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Farewell Ashgabad

Hello friends, today is October 18 and the last time that we will communicate from Central Asia. Did I tell you that we had to have our temperatures taken by a physician in a white lab coat, at the border? I had quite a head cold and was worried that I might have a fever or start coughing. It seems that foreigners need to have a temperature check before getting into Turkemenistan. In spite of the dictatorship and all of the strange rules, we will be sort of sad to leave Ashgabad. Ashagabad, with a population of about 650,000, full of grandiose fountains; spectacular monuments; parks filled with roses and flowers of every description; trees, shrubs and lots of weeping willows, sucking up the water and blowing gently in the breeze; and of course really stunning architecture, many with gold domes. While we watch the water running into pools and fountains, it is often hard to remember that only a few kilometers away, the desert encroaches upon the city-the villages are without clean, running water or reliable electricity, and a few kilometers the Murgab delta and of course, in Uzbekistan the Aral Sea shrinks into the desert. At first Stefan didn't much like this pretentious city and he called it a "monument to bureaucracy", but now the city has grown on him and he said that of all of the Central Asian cities, living in Ashgabad would require the least adjustment for North Americans (even though there isn't all that much to do here and the mountains are a bit of a drive). We have found a couple of very good restaurants and had dinner for the second time in a park, under the trees and hey, complete with a live jazz band. It was a nice change from hearing Whitney Houston belting out the over-familiar "I love YOU". (Sadly, nothing more current than Unchained Melody. Lady GAGA has not reached Turkmenistan).

We got up early yesterday so that we could visit the Tolkuchka Bazaar. This bazaar is about a 20 minute drive from the city center, near the airport. The farmers don't have to enter the city so they don't have wash down their trucks or cars. The bazaar site is huge and quite well organized. Like all markets, parking is a problem and cars are helter skelter everywhere, then you notice a real parking lot. The lot is filled with used cars for sale. Each vehicle is polished and clean with hoods and trunks open. A few 4x4's still had the logo of the NGO clearly visible. Many deals were being made. Then further out, is the animal market with chickens, ducks, geese, cows, horses, and of course, goats and sheep of every description. I watched one guy put 4 big sheep into the trunk of a BMW. Then, over in another section are men in big shaggy sheepskin hats bargaining for noisy, braying camels. Honestly, I now know how to load camels into a truck. First, they hobble the animal, make it sit down on all four legs. Then they tie a rope over the back and over the back legs and put a sling under their front and hind quarters. A crane then lifts slings and the animal high over the truck and into the box. I think that they must squish the testicles because, the camel really protests. He opens his mouth, sticks out his 1/2 meter tongue and brays loudly! Each camel costs about $1,000USD and I can only tell you that there must be quite a few very wealthy farmers in the area. They use the camel for transportation, wool, milk, meat and maybe even for exotica. They are pretty amusing animals to watch sailing across the desert. Maybe we've been spoiled by visiting too many markets or maybe we're getting tired. The noise, chaos, mountains of vegetables and fruits piled artfully, the carpets, the jewellery, even the women in colorful, long dresses and the
men in long coats and big hats seemed to pale compared with the markets in Kyrgyzstan. I haven't quite thought this through, but for some reason, we didn't enjoy this bazaar as much.

This morning we visited the Museum of Fine Arts. The multi-columned building with domes and big gold doors was lovely and the exhibits were beautifully desplayed. I am in love with the finds from preBronze age period and spent quite a bit of time looking at the archelogical finds from the Merv and Gonur Depe area. The anthropomorphic figures have captured my imagination and suspended me in that timeframe. The second highlight in the museum was a scupture by S. Artykmannedow from 1937. Picasso might have been inspired by the preBronze age figures and by this artist too.

If anyone has been trying to leave a comment or ask questions on the blog, you will have noticed by now, that we are not able to see the blog, nor are we able to respond to any questions. So, this is one-way  communication and we hope that you are finding it a little interesting. Thanks again to Mark for his help to paste our messages onto the blog. Love to all, Corine and Stefan

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Uzbekistan to Turkmenistan

Sat. 02 October

Hello everyone, we left Samarkand a little disappointed with the pristine restorations but still in love with the mystery of unrenovated sections of Bibi Khanym Mosque in our imaginations. Our driver, Safir tore up the highway that was in relatively good shape to the ruins of Timurlane in Shakhriabz. Timur was born on April 9, 1336 in a village near here. Shakhrizabz was called Kesh and was the center of his family's power. The monuments and tombs have been restored and are big and impressive. The drive across the Kyzylkum desert was very pretty. Sands change color and support all kinds of little shrubs and trees. I appreciated the waves in the sands and the little dunes, evidence of the winds. Life and death is in these sands for the goats, sheep and people who hover in small, poor villages along the road. Water is so precious and lies in life-giving canals.

Then onto Bukhara, population of about 255,000. This ancient desert town spanning thousands of years of history is focused around a central ground water pools, called hauz. Our hotel, the Kabir, was just opposite the Lyabi-Hauz, a plaza built around a pool in 1620. The plaza must have been an oasis for camels and caravans, and now has a sort of carnival atmosphere with colored lights, tourist shops and Uzbek music at top volume. I must say that there were more than a few interesting carpets and bags laid out to trap me. I was dragged away, kicking and screaming. We visited the many mosques, bazaars, medressas, minarets and of course the Ark, a royal town within a town. The Ark is Bukhara oldest structure, occupied from the 5th century right up to 1920, when it was bombed by the Red Army. Outside in front of the fortress is medieval Bukhara's main square, the Registan, a favorite venue for executions, including those of the British officers Stoddart and Connoly on June 24, 1842. Their dark, tiny jail cells were positioned under the animal pens. The cells are still very spooky and the thoughts of bugs and other vermin and animal droppings gave us the creeps. They might actually have been relieved to be ordered to dig their own graves and then get beheaded. According to the Lonely Planet, there was public outrage back in England, but the British government chose to let the matter drop. You can read more about the Great Game played out between Russia and Britain and the spy work of journalists and explorers. The highlight for us in Bukhara was discovering the Ismail Samani Mausoleum, completed in 905 AD. This is the town's oldest Muslim monument and probably, the sturdiest. What impressed us was the intricate brickwork. Every bricklayer in the world could take inspiration from the 18 different patterns in this baked terracotta brickwork. Honestly, it is awe-inspiring. The patterns change character with the sun's shadows and looks different at each glance. As we had 4 days in Bukhara, we visited the Samani Mausoleum at 3 different times of the day, just to catch the magical play of light. We got quite friendly with the lady selling tickets and guarding the museum and in the end, I guess that she considered us pilgrims and didn't charge us entry. The Kabir hotel was very centrally located but we were the only guests. We had lots of time to buy watermelon and borrowed knives from the kitchen. By now, we were "shashlik-saturated". These kabobs are made mostly with mutton (not lamb) and are cooked to death over open flames. Only the chicken shashlik are left very raw in the middle (ugh). So you can imagine how excited we were to find a terrific little restaurant called Minzifa. After several visits, we made friends with the waiters, the cook, and the guys working there.

We walked around the Jewish section of Bukhara, visiting the two surviving synagogues and the cemetery. One Rabbi told us that Bukhara's Jewish community used to be about 10% of Bukhara's population but now, these are only about 200 Jews remaining in Bukhara. At cemetery, we met a guy from Queens, NYC. He told us that most of the Bukharan Jews have emigrated to Israel or to NYC. He has a few relatives still in Bukhara and was home to visit his father's grave. You might want to read about Bukhara's Jews. There have been Jews in Bukhara since the 12th Century and there evolved a unique culture with its own language, Bukhori, which is related to Persian but uses the Hebrew alphabet. Bukhara's Jews still speak this language as do about 10,000 Bukharan Jews living around the world.

October 6, 2010 Khiva, population 50,000. Khiva was most famous for their slave caravans, barbaric cruelty and terrible journeys across deserts and steppes surrounded by wild tribesmen. The drive from Bukhara through cotton fields and fruit orchards was quite tame by comparison. The historic heart of Khiva is preserved and retored in its entirety. The old city enclosed in crumbling clay brick walls is like a living museum. It sort of reminded me (not Stefan) a bit of other old cities - centers preserved but without many real people living in the center, maybe a bit like Venice or Salzberg. At night, colored lights spotlight each of the buildings and gives the whole city a weird spooky feeling. I was glad to have had my headlight with me. Until Samarkand, Bukhara and Khiva we hadn't met many tourists and few tour groups. However once in those major sites, we met groups from Europe and Australia and many of the restaurants catered only to the groups. At one place, called the Khiva Restaurant, we talked the waiters into letting us eat dinner there and the 3 course meals were great. The densely packed mosques, tombs, palaces, caravanseris, alleyways and at least 16 medressas are beautifully restored and each houses women ticket takers, cum entrepreneurs selling every sort of hand knitted socks, scarves, and other kitch. (Rest-assured, we didn't buy a single thing and none of you will be burdened by these kinds of souveniers). We climbed the Juma Minaret for a nice view. We found daily life in Khiva just on the other side of the walls. There were markets and bazaars  buzzing with the mystique, bustle and squalor that we savoured. We discovered a somsa-maker and went 3 times to feast on her oven-baked, meat-filled dumplings. The ovens are big rounded, white clay "boobs" with a fire burning from the bottom. Just where you would expect a nipple, is a big hole and the woman has to quickly paste the raw buns (or bread dough) onto the hot oven walls. After a few minutes at very high heat from the flames below, she peals the perfectly cooked somsas off the oven wall and into our plastic bag. We walked around the markets with grease dripping off our chins. It all looked pretty clean and we didn't get sick. On our last day, we climbed walls at the West Gate late in the afternoon. We had a splendid view in the dying sun, over the fortress and residence first built in the 12 Century. After 3 days in Khiva, staying with a family at their guest home, the Shakhrezada, we drove to Nukus.

October 9 Nukus,population 230,000 and capital of Karakalpakstan, in the deltal of the Amu Darya river. The Karakalpaks are often the butt of "slow" jokes, much like the way Canadians refer to Newfies. This is a quiet, provincial town and we walked all along the tree-lined boulevards. We stayed at a hotel called the Zhibek Zholy, but in reality is spelled with "j's" so don't look for it on any city map. The hotel was very conveniently located, only 5 minutes walk to the Savitsky Karakalpakstan Art Museum. This elaborate, marble-fronted museum houses one of the most remarkable art collections in the former Soviet Union. It owns some 90,000 pieces that are rotated often. About half of the works were brought here in Soviet times by renegade artist and ethnoghapher Igor Savitsky. According to the Lonely Planet, many of the early 20th Century paintings, that did not conform to Soviet Realism were banned by Moscow, but found protection in these isolated backwater town. I found 2 Grigoriev paintings and almost wept. I doubly appreciated the works of art knowing that most of the artists were imprisoned, rehabilitated, or murdered simply for their artistic expressions.

From Nukus, we drove to the border with Turkenistan, letter of invitation and 150 USD in hand. The border crossing was easier than we expected and easier than the border between Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. Right from the border we found Turkmenistan to be more modern. Even though the completely ignored X-Ray machines blinked all colors, the facilities were more modern and the distance to drag the bags across "no-mans-land" was only about 300 M and the road was sort of paved. From Stan Tours, David's friend and colleague, Oleg met us and drove us to Konya Urgench.

Konye-Urgench population 15,000 is rural backwater town with empty plazas and the usual wandering livestock and bad roads that end in agricultural fields. However, the ancient state of Khorezm, located right along the Silk Road was the ancient state of Khorezm, an important oasis of civilization in the deserts for thousands of years.  We visited Nejameddin Kubra (1145-1221) Mausoleum and Sultan Ali Mausoleum. Kubra was a famous Muslim teacher and poet, who founded the Sufic Kubra order with followers throughout the Muslim world. He was killed by the Mongols and his head separated from his body. My what violent times those were!! We felt lucky to visit these ruins, parts still so beautifully decorated with painted tiles.

After a long afternoon, we drove south into the Karakum desert for a night in the desert at the burning crater. There are lots of stories about this crater. Some say that the Russians were drilling for gas in the desert and hit a big reserve that some how started to burn. Right now, this a big deep hole in the sand and it is burning deep and all around. It is huge and as you get close to the edges, it is hotter than hell. There is no smell, no sound, just the sight of leaping flames. It was Quite the sight at night in the dark! From a little hill behind which we camped, the flames roared away and presented a vision of hell. Gotta say it impressed us as a "journey to the center of the earth". At the crater, we met a couple from Toronto, also camping with Stan Tours. We have met lots of local people and tourists from Europe, Belarussia, Siberia, and parts of Russia and the former USSR that I had never heard of. It was nice to chat briefly with "people from home".

Since then we have been spoiling ourselves in the mecca of all cities, Ashgabad. You simply cannot imagine the grandeur of this city. Destroyed in 1948 by an earthquake, this city has been entirely rebuilt by mostly French architects and the reconstruction continues every day and I'm sure that the city map changes drastically every year. At first, after visiting very poor villages in the desert, this city is a real shock. When driving into the city, every driver is required to wipe down his vehicle so as not to dirty the city. (We met some Aussies travelling in a Dragoman Bus, and they had to get out of the bus and wash it down completely). There are more white palaces with columns and gold tipped domes that you can imagine! The streets are perfectly paved, there is no garbage or graphitti anywhere. The streets are tree-lined and even though this city is in the middle of a desert, there are fountains and parks on every avenue. Maybe they have used Dubai as their role model city!

After all of the highly restored ancient sites we fell in love with Merv, "Queen of the World". Merv stood alongside Damascus, Baghdad and Cairo as one of the great centers of Islam. Before Genghis Khan laid waste to the great city and slaughtered its population, Merv had been a melting pot of religious faiths and ethnic groups. Merv was known as Margiana or Margush in the time of Alexzander the Grat. It reached its greatest heights druing the 11 Century. There were 3 big cities build in the area and we enjoyed wandering through the dusty, archeological sites. The oldest of the 5 Merv cities is Erk Kala, an Achaemenid city dating from the 6th Century BC. We sat on the highest point of this very old cite and thought of the Zoroastrians, Nestorian Christians, Jews and Buddhists who lived and worked together harmoniously afrom 250 BC to 226 AD.

But long before Merv raised the first tower, Bronze Age villages were assembling along the Murgab River with the greatest of these ancient settlements with Gonur Depe being excavated in 1972 by Viktor Sarianidi. He considers Gonur to be one of the great civilizations of the ancient world. The first settlements were agricultural and evidence dates these to 7000 BC with current excavations dating to 3000BC!! The sites were slowly abandoned when the Murgab river changed course.  The Turkmenistan government has a very different approach to ancient ruins. Turkmen prefer to excavate and preserve rather than Uzbekistan that is really into restoration and sterilization. We met the famous Greek Russian archeologist, Viktor Sarianidi, who discovered these ruins in the 70's. He is now over 80 and still out there on the site, of course with an equally famous, but much younger female Russian archeologist. It was a very special honor to meet him. I will treasure the moment as much as I still remember meeting Mary Leaky in Kenya. Making this visit even more magical, there were dozens of camels strolling and chewing their ways around the Gonur Depe ruins and the site was simply extraordinary. Our flight to Almaty was cancelled so we have an extra couple of days here in Turkmenistan.

Right now, we are in brand new Turkish department store called Yimpas. Excalators and glass elevators are a novelty. The internet cafe is in the middle of a bowling alley and we are surrounded by excited families using Skype. Everyone wants to get a word in so, screaming is coming from all directions, including the bowling alley.

We will spend a few days here, fly to Almaty for a day and then onto Urumchi, Xinzhang China. With love to all, Corine & Stefan

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Smack dab in the middle of the Silk Road

October 1. We had a last minute hotel change in Samarkand. Rather than staying in the very pretty Malika Prime Hotel that our friends the Pairaudeaus enjoyed so much, we were booked into the Orient Star, a modern place lacking ambiance but compensated with good plumbing. The location of the Orient Star allowed us to walk fairly easily all around Samarkand, into the old Jewish sector, out to the Silk Carpet factory, over into the Russian sector, and of course along the Registan (Medressas (religious universities), Mosques, fort and residence of the Emirs). It has been about 35-40 degrees during the day time, so walking is best done slowly. We have been using the hottest part of the day to try to use an internet cafe. Most of them are very dimmly lit, the connections are variable, the power comes and goes, and the keyboards don't have any visible letters. I've been thinking of Mrs. Wilson, my grade 7 typing teacher. Thank you Mrs. Wilson for making us memorize the keyboard on those old Underwood typewriters. I still able to type quite fast, but as you know, with quite a few errors.

I think that I mentioned that the President has had many of the old archelogical sights cleaned up, some of the near by streets paved, restorations of varying quality and a few public toilets installed. The parks are beautiful and in time, the trees will provide much sought after shade. We enjoyed visiting the sites but I was still looking for the magic found in 19th century photos that had captivated me for decades. Well, late in the day, on Oct. 1 we revisited Bibi Khanym Mosque. This is an enormous congregational mosque (14th century). Once one of the Islamic world's biggest mosques (main gate higher than 35 M) but it slowly crumbled and mostly  collapsed in an earthquake in 1897. Legend says that Bibi-Khanym, Timur's Chinese wife ordered this mosque build while he was on campaign, but the architect fell in love with her, kissed her and the kiss left a lasting mark. Thereafter, the myth goes that Timur ordered women to cover their faces in order not to tempt men. Well myth or not, we found an unrestored section of the mosque and in the late afternoon light, filtered through the dark and dusty mosque, with the cracks and cobwebs and pigeons, we felt the immense magic of this empire.

Genghis Khan and his hoards sweeping across the steppes in the 13th century uniting an empire bigger than anything we can imagine pretty much destroyed most buildings, but the ruins left behind lots for the imagination.

October 2. We drove via Shakhrisabz (pop 75,000)toward Bukhara. Shakhrisabz was Timur's hometown and once upon a time it probably put Samarkand in the shade. Timur was born on 9 April 1336 in this ancient town then called Kesh. He rose to power and build a tomb for himself and his grandson Ulugbek. We visited the Ak-Saray Palace, a crumbling relic in the midst of everyday contemporary living and climbed to the top for a view of the area. There is a huge statue of Amir Timur in a park and we saw about 8 weddings taking place simultaneous. The brides here prefer very big puffy. white dresses and veils with lots of sparkle. The wedding attendants are beautifully dressed in traditional national dress and the men seem stuck on the shiny Italian suits with very pointy shoes.

We stopped for lunch enroute to Bukhara and then the driver drove like a bat out of hell across the Kyzylkum desert toward Bukhara. The desert is alive with poisonous snakes, gazelles and maybe a couple of foxes, and has been planted with a few purple shrubs planted in vain to try to stop erosion. We drove up one last pass at about 3000M and had a last look at the Hissar Range and into the snowcapped Zerafshan Mountains and remembered our trek and experiences in the beautiful Fan Mountains. The asphalt is pretty good but there are only occasional white lines. Where two lanes are intended, often there are 6 vehicles racing across the roads beeping horns to indicate passing. The speeding traffic weaves around wandering cows and the occasional donkey cart loaded with dried corn stalks. Driving seems to be some sort of crazy sport here in Central Asia and is just plain scary, but so far, we have arrived at our destinations only a little shaken.

Our hotel, the Kabir, is located right on the main square and we walked around for the rest of the day. There were tour buses in Samarkand and again here in Bukhara we are seeing other tourists, mostly in large groups from all over Europe. Yesterday we had a guided tour of Medressas, Mosques, Minarets, Towers and key sights of Bukhara. On June 24, 1842 Col Stoddard and Captain Connelly were marched out from a dungeon before a huge crowd in front of the Ark (fort and citadel), made to dig their own graves and, to the sound of drums and reed pipes, they were beheaded. The Guide described the event as though it happened yesterday and as we looked into their lice and vermin infested cells, felt that they must have been relieved to die. The Guide described these members of the British military as spies who deserved execution. Well, truth is always a distortion. Today, we retraced our steps and at our own pace absorbed each of the ruins by ourselves. At our own pace, we have privacy and it is so special to be here. We have seen all of the major sites, the Medressas, the Mosques, the Caravansaris. Most have been restored during Soviet times and now house souvenir shops selling everything that you can imagine: carpets, hand woven silk, ceramics, "antique jewelery" etc. Stefan reminds me constantly that we are already overweight and threatens to make me drag my own bag across the Turmenistan border.

I love Bukhara. My favorite archeological site is the Imail Samani Mausoleum completed in 905, Bukhara's oldest Muslim monument and certainly the sturdiest. It was built for Samani, the Samanid dynasty's founder,  his father and grandson. It is an intricately constructed baked terracotta brickwork so amazingly designed that with each shift in light, the structure takes on different characteristics. The walls are about 2 M thick and there are ruins of a spiked dome. We haven't drunk from the well of Job, but it is nearby.

We have visited the last remaining Jewish Synagogue here in Bukhara. There remain only about 300 Bukhori Jews living here. After Independence, we have been told that most have moved to Israel or the USA. According to the Lonely Planet, Bukhori, which is related to Persian but uses the Hebrew alphabet. Bukhori is still a spoken language, but it seems that it is probably spoken more in Israel.

The hotel staff and many of the guys serving us in restaurants speak Tajik, Uzbek, Russian and English. We seem to be the only guests in the hotel and the guys like to talk to us. They tell us that many Uzbeks work in Russia to earn more money and that they would like to go to Russia to work. Funny isn't it! When the Russians first came to Central Asia, workers were king and praised in statues and murals and money and the rich were evil. The mosques and medressas were closed and for 40 years, no one had a religion. Now it is all changed; the mosques are reopened and money makes the "heart beat faster and the head swim". Young men (and a few women) are leaving their families to go to Russia to earn more and to send money home. We have been told that the policy of the government is to teach Uzbek and Tajik with not much focus on Russian. It seems that few of the younger kids are learning Russian and later, I suppose that if they go to Russia they will only be able to find menial labor. It will be a time of much social change.

But speaking of social change, we can see antiquated farm equipment, fragile and mostly non existent infrastructures, and many closed factories. Near  Tashkent, I actually saw a woman driving a vehicle and close to Bukhara, I saw a woman riding a bicycle, but everyone, I mean everyone has a cell phone. I think that the internet is monitored, but young people know all of the computer programs. Despite many colleges and universities, we learn that unemployment is a major problem and the young people want to emigrate. It has been fascinating to try to watch TV. Certainly with Aljazzeera and Asian Channels we are getting different
perspectives of news. Tomorrow we will explore more the back lanes around Bukhara and then on Wednesday, we'll get back into the car with our Kamikaze Driver, Safir, and drive to Khiva.

Thank you Mark for sticking with us and trying to post these blogs. This is almost the 50th day of our travel and you'll all be happy to know that we are still speaking to each other. XX00 Love to all, Corine and Stefan

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Alive & well in Samarkand

Hello friends, here we are, alive and well in Samarkand. Davi Rumel linked me to a contact, Abdulldubois, an infectious disease physician in Tashkent and we met him and his wife for dinner. They told us all about the good and bad about life in Uzbekistan. Corruption is their major concern and they are hoping to emigrate to Canada. Luckily they told us about the train from Tashkent; had we not known that this train continued to Bukara, we would have forgotten to get off. Anyway, the train was slow but good and I enjoyed people-watching on the train. I saw small gestures of human kindness and it was so nice. One lady pulled the curtain so that the sun wouldn't shine on her seat-mate's face; everyone shared the food that they had brought along for the trip with their seat-mate. Always nice to watch people being nice to each other.

Samarkand: "We travel not for trafficking alone, By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned. For lust of knowing what should not be known We take the Golden Road to Samarkand (final lines of James Elroy Flecker's 1913 poem The Golden Journey to Samarkand). Also referred to as "Marakanda in Greek liturature". This has been the romantic city of my dreams. We checked into our hotel and started walking around the town. The population of about 500,000 is mostly Tajik speaking people. We have entered the Registan (3 medressas)from the back streets and tried to recapture the ambiance that the traders of the middle ages must have found.The site is an ensemble of majestic, tilting facades and towers covered in lovely patterned tiles. While there are among the world's oldest preserved medressas, alas, it's better to look at old photos and try to imagine the scene. The 14th century ruins have been spruced up and the whole area has been sanitized and dressed up for tour groups. Any buildings older were pulverized by Ghenis Khan. A couple of earthquakes have shaken many of the buildings and the gold and jewels that adorned the work have long ago been stripped and probably have found their way into many of the world's crown jewels.  The original inlaid tile works (majolica) are of course still very beautiful and the turquoise blue domes captivate your attention.

We have been walking the streets and have visited 14-15th century mosques and mausoleums and have enjoyed the Russian neighborhoods, wide streets and beautiful parks. Yesterday we attended a "spectacle" at the Drama Center.

The drama theater was very attractive; the production was in Uzbek but was pretty much a comedy-a woman wanting to be younger; flirting to get a husband. We were surprised by the flirtation between the actresses and
actors. The audience was mostly wom en and they found it all very hilarious. Lots of knee slapping and elbow jabs indicated that the women felt very superior in the situation to the suitor on stage. The singing and dancing was pretty but too loud. We are enjoying walking around this city and this afternoon walked a couple of kilometers to visit a silk carpet factory. Of course I found many beautiful carpets that I would love to fly away home. These carpets are about a thousand dollars each and well worth the price. Interesting designs, natural dyes and so beautifully made. However, we are already overweight with our bags and we just can't drag them around with us. The factory offered to send them to us, but we've been cautioned that the carpets may not arrive....c'est la vie.

We are enjoying new adventures everyday; albeit that we are a bit preoccupied with staying well. The roads in Samarkand are paved, but the sidewalks are in very bad shape and as is typical across Central Asia, pedestrians are fair game for any and all vehicles. Donkey carts compete with cars, but so far, we haven't seen any cows or goats on the streets; there are more bicycles in use here than we have seen anywhere else. We've found all kinds of good things to eat in the markets and both of were feeling well. Today, I encountered something that is upsetting my stomach and will hesitate before eating dinner. We have been very lucky with the weather. Still gets to about 30 degress at mid-day and cool evenings.

The internet connections are often interrupted; I've been booted out twice in the last hour.  Love to all, Corine and Stefan

Monday, October 4, 2010

Closer to the 21st Century

Hello everyone, the internet systems in Tashkent are very very slow so I will try to update from where I left off in Ferghana.

Bazaars: we have made a point of visiting bazaars and markets in almost every city and have enjoyed seeing the wide varieties of fruits, vegetables, spices, meats etc. The Ferghana valley is a wide valley that seems to go forever. From Penjikent to Khujand, Tajikistan and then into Uzbekistan and Ferghana City, we could see that the crops were being harvested and that the bounty would be great. We have munched on pink, purple and yellow Pomegranants. Each sweet and delicate flavors. Reminded me of the harvests in Iran. The meat sections of the bazaars are quite clean and well organized by animal. Every part of the animal is used and you can buy feet, heads, livers, kidneys, tongues; whole hind quarters hang like human bums but complete with the tail to ensure animal distinction. Taking a photo, I narrowly missed tripping backwards over a black cow's head, complete with horns. None of the animal or vegetables are cryo-packed and if you are squimish, shopping would be a big problem.

Etiquette: we had such a good time in the Khujand Market. I wanted to take a photo of women selling cotton oil and a very busty young woman threw her arm over my shoulder and insisted that we be photgraphed together. I commented on her ample busom and she patted my butt. The whole row of women, including me, erupted in laughter. Soon a young man came along and kissed my hand. After that, we had more photos and outrageous laughter. If the Ferghana valley is known as being a hot bed of tension and potential religious strife, we didn't see anything, but good, hard-working people and "girls who just want to have fun". Everytime that people greet us, the men quickly put their right hand over their heart before shaking hands and the women, openly smile and shake hands. Of course, everyone wants to know where I come from and whether or not Stefan is my husband, or just a friend. Many women who have been able to speak English tell me that they can't believe that we have been married for almost 30 years. Then they launch into stories about how they love but often hate their husbands. In the end, we agree that it's the same story all over the world and we end by laughing and laughing. (Stefan, just grins and bears it all).

Fashion: for the most part in Tajikistan the women wear a style of bright and often sparkly, Shalwar Kameze. In the cities, the girls dress in the latest European fashion. Here in Tashkent, the capital with about 2.1 million people, the street scene is pretty European. We have passed Escada, Mexx, Mango and all of the other fashion shops. The girs totter along on very high spike heels wearing tight, short skirs. The guys prefer tight pants and pointy shoes. The school boys always wear a white shirt, dark trousers, and a tie. The girls mostly wear black skirts and white blouses. During harvest time, most of the universities and colleges in the rural cities are closed and everyone is expected to help with the cotton harvest. I have to say that I feel like a real frump in my Mountain Co-Op clothes and my Gortex shoes. I sorely miss my high heels and tight skirts. However, the sensible clothes and shoes have been really practical and again, will be very useful when we have to pull our bags across the next 1Km, no-man's-land between Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan. The best way to cross borders here must be by air.

Countryside to Markets: in Tajikistan, the only equipment that we could see was old and decrepid; even the hand plough being pulled behind a donkey was wooden. In Uzbekistan the equipement is modern and the fields are full of men and women bent over and harvesting tomatoes, cucumbers, ground nuts, walnuts, potatoes, carrots, squash, melons, cotton etc. Acorns, walnuts, almonds and dozens of different kinds of apricots are being harvested. All of the fruits and vegetables are arranged artfully and piled beautifully in the markets. Each of the markets are a little different, but everyone seems to be in a jovial mood and offer us all kinds of samples to taste. The Chorsu M arket here in Tashkent has the atmosphere of the Calgary Stampede. The country side is gradully developing infrastructure, but a constant source of electricity and water is variable.  I must say that over the last 5 days our hotels in Penjikent, Khujand and now here in Tashkent have given us a chance to wash a few things and to have really hot showers. We are both feeling as though we have finally recovered from the demanding conditions of travel in Tajikistan.

Tashkent: We drove from Ferghana City to Kokand and visited the Khan's Palace, a 19th century palace and then up and over the Kamchik Pass 2267M. As we drove through this section of the Pamirs we could see snow capped Tien Shen mountains in the background. We paused at a roadside market in the mountains and tasted many different kinds of apples and honey. What a luxery to see so much produce. Lovely asphalt highways out of Tajikistan and into Uzbekistan we began to feel as though we are sliding back in the 21st Century. Sure there aren't any white lines on the road and Maurat, our driver pulled "G's" all along the steeply curving road, but we could see that the farm equipment in the fields were of this century and that there was actually road maintence equipment in action. On the Tajik side, a shovel, pick, and adze are the only standard issue; so many more resources on this side of the border. Each of the cities that we have visited are blessed with towering trees, lots of green spack and parks. While the rural villages look medieval with the brown clay brick, the cities are quite lovely and we are enjoying Tashkent. The Metro has been easy to use and we have had a good impression of this busy city.

Best regards to all. Corine and Stefan

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Sliding In & Out of the 21st Century

Hello everyone, today is Sept. 26 and we are happy to report that we are
in the Ferghana valley in Uzbekistan.
The last blog post was from Dushanbe and we were about to leave on a trip
into the Fan Mountains and so I'll try to give you some highlights:
Sept. 17. Having recovered from the dreadful roads but spectacular views
along the road into the Wahkan valley and to Murgab, we spent a couple of
days in Dushanbe. Note, if you really want to avoid the car-swallowing,
bone jarring, pit-holes on the really bad roads, there is a flight from
Dushanbe to Khorog, but it only flys if the conditions are perfect. You
can wait for days and days to get a flight and in the end, most people
risk the roads. It is reported that during Soviet times, the pilots
received "danger pay" for this flight along the Pamirs. The mountains
create dangerous up-drafts but there was apparently only 1 crash in the
last few years, and that was supposedly when the plane was shot down by
Afghanistan. During our final days in the Wahkan valley, we heard that the
drug trade was alive and well. Apparently the trade follows along the
lines of the NGO's and as the saying goes, "follow the money". We enjoyed
each of the home stays and meeting the local people. You simply have to
stand back and applaud their courage and determination. Since the Soviets
left and the communal farms and factories closed, the people have learned
to plant and harvest their crops by hand, to manage their own animals and
somehow to cope with the concept of privitization. The lives, especially
for women, are harder than hard. About 1.5 million Tajiks are in Russia on
temporary work visas. Women of all ages and old men seem to be working the
fields and tending the animals and constantly washing clothes in any
standing water. Still whenever possible, we stopped to meet people and to
talk to them. They always made time for us, greeted us with smiles and I
learned about the land and about what they are doing. I noticed that
before the girls headed out to the fields, they took time to curle their
eyelashes and to apply make-up! The women most usually wore the 2 piece
salwar-kameeze, and brightly colored head scarves. The men worn a
smish-smash of suit jackets and trousers. The Pamiri people almost starved
to death in the 1990's and had it not been for the Aga Khan foundation,
there would have been a full scale disaster. I must say that I have new
perspectives on subsistance farming, survival and on the drug trade.

We arrived back in Dushanbe feeling as though we had a mild concussions
from the ravages of the road. After recovering for a couple of days we got
back into the Prado and drove north from Dushanbe, along the Varzob river,
on beautiful asphalt road. The beautiful black top lasted long enough to
get past the President's villa on the Varzob river, and then it fell
apart. There is a tunnel to end all tunnels. It is 5 Km long, only 5 years
old and constructed as a gift from Iran. It flood regularly, there are NO
lights, there is NO center line, there is NO ventillation, there is NO
pull over lane, and there are pot holes and contstantly broken asphalt.
Last year during the winter, several people died in the tunnel from
exhaust pollution. Who thought that a road could be so dangerous. The
Chinese are now working on the road and with luck and a few years, it may
improve. After a few hours of being shaken around, we turned up a valley
in the Hissar Mountain range and drove up to Iskander Kul, as famous in
this part of the world as Moraine Lake is in Canada. And in fact, it sort
of looks like Moraine Lake. Big, glacier covered mountains, a lovely
turquoise lake falling away into a water fall. During Soviet times, there
was a very large resort on the lake. Remaining are 30, 3 bedroom cabins, a
disintegrating, lakeside restaurant, and a sort of cafe. Of the 30 cabins,
about 10 are still good enough to offer bedrooms. The showers looked as
though they would issue toxic gasses, if they worked and the toilets,
well, they were bad! I laced the soup and tea liberally with idodine and
tried to stay focused on the beautiful mountains and think of some sort of
paradise when I had to use the toilet.

Sept. 19 Fansky Gory - The Fan Mountains. Now, why is it that I have never
heard of these before? This is an amazing mountain range, just beautiful
with more than 13 peaks over 5,000M. Over the years, a favorite climbing
place for the Russians. We left our car at Alautin lake, met our donkey
driver, Siad Marat and the two donkeys that would carry our tent, the
stove, and our food. We camped and began our trek up over Alautin Pass at
about 3700M. The guide, Stefan and I carried our own packs with sleeping
bag, mattress and personal clothes. The packs felt heavy, the trail was
wet with fresh snow and slimy from the droppings of thousands of grazing
animals. Both Stefan and I had quezzy stomachs, but at least we didn't
have the full out runs. The climb was a slog, I was glad to get to the
pass. Windy as it was, it was very nice to look around at the big peaks.
Along the climb, we met a group of 5 French tourists, and a couple of
Czech trekkers. All were surprised that we had been in Krygestan. Seems
that the BBC has been scaring people away from that beautiful country. We
had the views up the mountain pretty much to ourselves and we took in as
much as we could.

Sept. 20 Kulikalon Lake. After the pass we walked downhill, through
Juniper forests and among thousands of grazing animals to Kulikalon lakes.
A bit tricky walking. There was a trail but it was rocky, wet and dung
covered. This was a pretty lake, but I insisted upon treating the water
because of all of the animals. The guide was sort of surprised, but went
along with the Pristine treatment. We had a campsite on the lake and a
fire in the evening. Having survived the pass, we both started to relax
and enjoy the scenery. We started off in the morning after a coffee and
more settled stomachs, walking to Chukurak Lakes. These are formed by
valley streams and settle into a natural amphitheatre. We were stunned to
see the pee-green color of these shrinking lakes. I tried hard to think
that maybe the mineral deposits must have colored these lakes, but just
couldn't get past the animal smells and dung-covered slopes. I hit "the
wall" at the Chukurak Lake. When we set up our tent, we found the fecal
evidence and garbage left behind by many other campers. In this part of
the world, there is no park policy about latrines and it is a free-for
all. The results would simply astonish most of you and you would soon
gladly pay those park fees and 50% taxes just to have garbage and sewage
organized. I hated to see that we would be leaving behind tin cans and
juice boxes and I tried to clean things up around the campsite. It is a
losing battle, but at least, I hid the garbage bag and didn't leave any
fecal deposits! The evening was lit by a full moon and filled with the
echos of shepherds calling to their animals. My sorry mood dissipated at
about 6 am when to my great joy, a shepherd started to wake up this herd
and began a song that lasted for about 15 minutes. His voice rang clear
and strong, singing a mournful song in Tajik, and the echo following him
around the mountainous amphitheater. It was magical and I was sorry that
Stefan slept through it. In the morning I asked Siad Marat about the song,
he said that it was just a Tajik song "about life". Luckily we had good
hiking weather in the Fan Mountains. Cold frosty nights, blue skies in the
morning. The donkeys were good company making their strangled, plaintive
braying at the strangest times. Siad Marat slept outdoors and walked
around in the night. We felt well protected by him and the donkeys. The
guide, Vlad, was knowledgeable about the mountains and told us with matter
of factness, that if we had an accident there is simply no rescue service.

We looked down at the well known Artuch Alpinist Camp and then started the
trek out to Guitan Village via Guitan Pass at 2650M. We hiked down through
beautiful valleys, among more herds of goats and sheep, cows, donkeys and
through the poorest villages that you can imagine. Each village is walled,
and is composed of mud brick huts that house animals and people, mostly
women and kids. The sweet smell of dung fires filled the air. The running
water is from the stream running down the side of the hill or from time to
time, where really lucky, from a spring. Many of the villages do not have
access to a vehicle road and must walk considerable distances. This area
must be much like most of the area that we could see along the Pyanj river
in Afghanistan. I asked about medical services and maternal health. The
women have access to clinics offered by a medical worker and must travel
quite a distance if they want to have their baby in a hospital. The
country has poor maternal and infant mortality data and as I recall
Tajikistan has one of the highest infant mortality rate.

Sept. 22, we were very relieved to hike into Guitan Village and to find
Hatam, the driver and the Prado at our guesthouse. The animal track up to
this village almost defies all vehicular traffic. There were very few men
in the village and the man of this household had a very bad hip and limp.
This guesthouse had a sort of raised toilet with a broken toilet seat. It
was heartwarming to see the efforts that they were making. We had a
comfortable bed on top of quilts on the floor and warm water in a bucket
to wash off the dirt of the trail. After soup and watermelon, we felt
refreshed. After breakfast we piled back into the Prado and the man of the
house decided to accompany us to Penjikent. We stopped to visit Rudaki's
mausoleum enroute and to think about the famous 10 century poets who took
time to think about life and to write beautiful words that have withstood
time.

Sept. 23 Penjikent. Lovely tree-lined streets; enjoyed visiting the Sarazm
ruins 3000 BC, the remains of the Sogdian village 800 AD and of course,
the museum with a French guide who showed us all of the 5th century BC
ruins and pottery, followed by the Soviet propaganda.

Sept. 24 Khujand. After driving over more bone-crunching roads and over
the Shahkristan Pass 3378M, and through more terrifying road construction,
we somehow arrived in Khujand. Such a beautiful city on the Syr Darya
river. This was the site of Alexander the Great's eastern empire and one
could easily imagine his reasons for settling here. The climate supports a
wide variety of crops from cotton and fruits to vegetables and grains. We
wandered through the bazaar and enjoyed a last evening dinner with our
guide and driver in a ChaiHana (tea house) across from a theatre with a
Grecian frieze.

In the morning we drove from Khujand to Ferghana City. Sounds easy, but
the border transfer was something else. We left the driver and guide and
started to the the Taijik side of the border pulling our big bags. We
could see that Vlad and Hatam were watching our backs and probably hoping
that we wouldn't be running back for help. After several passport checks,
we were directed toward Uzbekistan customs and checks. After pulling out
bags across 1/2 km of "nomansland" in 35 degree heat, many passport
checks, writing down in duplicate our declarations, record of currencies,
watches, cameras etc. we we admitted into Tajikistan and found our new
driver Marat, waiting patiently for 3 hours for us. We managed to avoid
the latest military incidents in the south, to trek without incident,
survive highly polluted water, and even avoid getting polio. After just
one day in Ferghana City, we feel as though we are in another world.

Sept. 25. Uzbekistan feels considerably more stable. The streets in
Ferghana City are in relatively good repair, the food is tasty and the
levels of sanitation seem to be light years ahead of Tajikistan. Clearly
the economy is very much better in Uzbekistan. We visited the silk factory
in Margilon and have learned the process from mulberry leaf to silk work
to cocoon, into a hot bath, unfurling of over a km of silk strand,
spinning into silk thread, washing, dying and weaving into beautiful silk
products. Simply amazing! We see no evidence of religious tensions or
radical extremism. We've met happy, friendly people in the bazaars and
markets and we've found a good internet cafe. We had lunch at Cafe Bravo
under the mulberry trees, enjoyed eating "angry chicken" while listening
to Norah Jones.

Thanks again to Mark for posting our blog. Thinking of each of you.
Birthday and Anniversary wishes to those of you celebrating special days.
Thanks also to John and Sue Pairaudeau for suggesting Stan Tours to us.
There have been a few glitches, but overall, David Berghof seems to have
organized our trip very well. Travel in Central Asia, especially in
Tajikistan is not for the faint of heart. Love to all, Corine and Stefan

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Part II-Pamirs, Hindu Kush - Continuing Kalaikum to Khorog (population 35,200. Elevation 2100M)

September 9, 2010
It has been interesting to stay in guesthouses and get to see how real families live. The families have given us their very best and we are most appreciative. Our beds have been mattresses on a carpet and a quilt or blanket. I am very grateful for the suggestion from Alain Loyer for the suggestion of a bug net, and to Tasha Pairaudeau for the silk sleeping bag liners from Vietnam. We have been using these when it is obvious that washed linens are out of the question, which is almost every night. I will summarize by saying that the guide and driver most likely think that I'm some sort of a clean freak by my use of hand sanitizer and for my preference for peeing in the bush over the use of a "toilet". Briefly, while the President of Tajikistan like the President of Kyrgestan faces the 3 major hurdles of alcoholism, corruption and regional tribalism, when our guide asked me what I thought could be done to increase tourisim, very thoughtfully, I suggested that these 3 priorities: toilets, toilets, toilets. Currently, despite the modern architecture in cities, the girls wearing beautiful shoes and carrying the lastest bags, and the ubiquity of the cell phone and internet access, the toilets remain holes in the ground with urine and fecal-soaked wooden planks to place your feet upon. Sometimes, I just don't have the courage to face the stench and the slippery situation, so I beg for a roadside stop and hop into the bush or squat behind the Prado and think of the Queen (or stare into the face of a passing cow). I was thinking of the chemical toilets at the backcountry huts in Canada and was thinking that introducing the toilet value could be a great idea for Central Asia.

The Pamirs are known locally as Bam-i-Dunya (roof of the World) and once up in the valleys, it is easy to feel a little closer to heaven. The word "pamir" means "rolling pasture land" in ancient Persian. Tajik, Pamiri, Afghani, and Farsi are closely linked languages and like the borders, the people are closely related. That said, during the 1991 civil war in Tajikistan, when people tried to flee across the river into Afghanistan, they were shot. Bitter memories.

The road from Kalaikum to Khorog follows the Pyanj river, across from which rise the steep Pamir mountains on the Afghan side. Mostly, the mountains rise steeply up from the river valley, but in every stream trickling down to the river there is a settlement. We felt a bit like voyeurs looking across the river, in places only about 30M, into the often glass-less windows of the homes of Afghan villagers. A track parallels the Tajik road on the Afghan side of the river, but the track often petersout into the river or into a rock slide. We saw people walking and working in the fields and donkey trains, but only 3 motorized vehicles (a minivan, a small car, and a motorcycle) on the Afghan road. The Afghan villages and the people were dressed much like the Tajiks, but there was little sign of electricity. The splashes of green pastures and crops, the orchards and the landscape held our attention and interest. I kept wondering what the Afghans think about all of the traffic on the Tajik side of the river and wondered whether they call across to each other. There are 3 heavily guarded connecting briges and workers do have permits to go back and forth. Near Khorog there is a weekly market where Afghans and Tajiks can meet, talk and trade.

We arrived in Khorog on Sept. 9 to join a very festive mood and celebrations in the beautiful tree-lined park near our hotel, the Delhi Durbar. It was Independence Day and the end of Ramadan and it seemed the whole of Khorog turned out in their best national dress. A real party: a band played, politicians spoke, people walked along with their kids eating ice cream. Khorog is beautifully situated in a mountain valley along the Gunt River and about 100 years ago, a Russian with geat vision for the future, planted a botanical garden high up on a slope overlooking the city. There is evidence of every NGO that you can think of working here, with the Aga Khan Foundation taking the lead. We met a nice guy from Nepal working on a micro hydro project in Afganistan. Maybe in a few years, electricity will light up the lives in this part of the world. Despite the lack of electricity, the Nepali guy told me that everyone was aware of Pastor Jones in Florida who planned to burn the Koran. That little gesture has sparked even more animosity against Christians and the West. Little provocation is necessary to create the chaos that occurred in Kashmir last week.

I could live in Khorog and can see that like the mountain towns in Kyrgestan, there are very pretty villages in Tajikistan that could welcome the world. The Wakhan Valley, shared with Afghanistan is superly remote with stunning side valleys revealing stunning views of the 7000M peaks of the Hindu Kush (Killer of Hindus) marking the border with Pakistan. The Buddhist Monk, Hsuang Xang passed this way around 627 and Marco Polo tavelled through the valley in 1274. We passed through about 20 military checkpoints and our driver skillfully handled each one. We had heard stories about cars and goods being checked, luggage opened and delays, delays, delays, but we only had to present our passports and Hatam ingratiated himself with each guard. There was an exchange about the moans and groans of life, but thankfully, no bribes were requested.

We visited the remains of 12th fortresses and had long broad views up the valleys and into the Hindu Kush. We stopped at the Bibi Fatima Hot Springs and in particular, the calcite formations reminded me of Pamukkale in Turkey. Bibi Fatima is a bit "Dizney", is segregated between the sexes, but is supposed to imbue fertility upon all. Given that that is a bit late for me, we opted to hike up the cliff-side into the high pastures above the springs. Hatam and Vlad went for a bath.

The highlight while travelling on the still bumpy road was a stay in Yamg and a visit to the house museum of the Sufi mystic, astronmer and musician Mubarak Kadam Wakhani (1843-1903). We stayed at the home of his grandson, Aydar Malikmadov who has a very beautiful, typical Pamiri house, a friendly family, and a clean outhouse. The food that we were offered here was the best on the trip: plov (rice or noodles fried with vegs and meats, home made jams, and dried fruits from his own trees. Aydar took dinner with us and spoke Russian and a little English and Stefan did his best with fractured Russian. Down the road a little way, we stopped at Vrang to visit the Buddhist Stuppas and ruins of the hermit caves. The caves are pretty obvious, but you need alot of imagination in the "Ruined ruins". Then further down the vally we stoped at Langar walk up a steep hillside, through a Muslim cemetary and up the cliffside to see some of the 6,000 petroglyphs. Some have been badly vandalized, but many are lovely. One can easily recognize the forms of ibex, sheep, hunters and horses and remember the early Sythian gold impressions taken from these petroglyphs.

We have met a few other travellers: a French ethnographer working in Uzbekistan, a couple of nutcases cycling along the dusty, gravel-pitted road, and we picked up 2 hitchhikers at the military check post at Khargush on our way to Murgab-the guy from Omsk and the girl from Minsk. They met 3 weeks ago in Dushanbe and are travelling as "brother and sister". They hoped for very gullible hosts to believe that they had a common father: the guy was handsome, slim, fair but with jet black hair and eyes; the girl was slavic looking and blond. He said he was a photographer now living in Moscow and she was supposedly a Mandarin, Russian, Spanish translator in Minsk. They got stuck off the beaten track and we gave them a lift to the Pamir Highway where it was more likely that they could flag down a Chinese transport truck. I didn't envy their situation and hope that they make it.

From Khargush we descended onto the Pamir highway for a short way, noting a few salt lakes and desert. Posted just at the junction where we dropped the hitchhikers, was a big sign United Nations Fishing Project. No sign of Fish in this dusty dirty place. We drove on to Bulunkul, a place that truly seemed to be the very end of the world. I've never ever seen a dustier, poorer, desolated place. I have absolutely NO IDEA what keeps people there, but there are archaeological sites near by a lake and the area was long ago a major trade route between the eastern and western Pamirs. Maybe it is a part of the drug trade route, but there was no fish nor food to be had in the settlement and so we pressed onto Murgab. Bulunkul reminded me a little of small, Inuit settlements in Canada's North.

We travelled along the Pamir Highway to the town of Murgab, population 6500 souls, at 3576 M, like Khorg, a former Tsarist garrison. The only charm about the place is the sight of the 7546 M Chinese peak of Mt Muztagh Ata. To give you some idea of bleakness, electricity alternates daily, and people somehow survive in the dark, with lights that flicker, or have only 1 candle power. Again, we stayed with a kind family, and when getting up to pee in the night, stared up at a starry milky way, with unrecognizabel constellations, and mountain sillouettes. The next day we followed the power poles along the Pamir Highway, the poles the only relief breaking the solitary landscape of flat pastures, between rolling hills and steep mountain peaks. Shaggy sheep, sleek goats, fat cattle and yaks, and wide eyed donkeys were our only company. Huge transport trucks from China were the only traffic that we met. You will be assured to know that maybe the UN project did find success. Our guide remembered a little house selling fried fish. The man patching the side wall told us that he catches fish in a nearby stream while he walks with his herd of sheep and goats. His pretty wife in a red, sequined house-coat with matching scarf, cleans and fries the fish. The fish were fresh and with fresh warm bread, a welcomed change from the usual lunch of lagman (noodle soup of course, at this altitude laced with iodine).

Sept. 15, 16.

We are back in Dushanbe. We have had the luxeries offered by this old, faded Russian hotel: a sort of hot shower but big rooms to spread out our stuff and to get ready for the next adventuresome week of hiking in the Fan Mountains. It was 3 degrees and snowing a couple of days ago as we drove the Pamir Highway, and was 30+ degrees yesterday when we arrived in Dushanbe. Today it is about 25 degrees, overcast and rainy, but this city with the broad streets and tall trees is quite lovely. Success, we have had a long chat with the woman who sits at a desk with a TV set on our floor and have finally managed to get another towel and a piece of soap. Some of you will recognize the discipline of the great Russian empire and the terror that the "floor ladies" in a hotel can still wield.

Fortunately, both of us are holding up well. We've both had a few stomach problems, but luckily, nothing major. Love to all, Corine and Stefan

Tajikistan - Part I - The Pamirs - glimpses into the Hindu Kush and Afghanistan

Hello everyone, today is Sept. 16. We have just returned safely to Dushanbe after a week of travelling. We drove east and south from Dushanbe via Tavildara to Khorog, made a circuit into the Pamirs driving through the Wakhan Valley, across the Pamir Highway and back via Kulyab to Dushanbe. Here are some thoughts and highlights. Inshahallah (God willing), Mark will be able to attach some photos from Kyrgestan and Tajikistan.

Sept 9. Our guide, Vlad and driver, Hatam picked us up promptly at 9 am from the Poythat Hotel in Dushanbe. We proceeded through this busy city eastward toward Tavildara to Kalaikum and then onto Khorog. The road is described in the books as being rough, but that is an inadequate description. Here are some elaborations: Animal trails from prehistoric times evolved and became donkey-wagon tracks. From photos in the Khorog museum, we could see that sometime during or after WW II, a track was hand-hewn up the Wakhan Valley along the Pyanji river. During Soviet times, a sort of road was built and the road construction machines still sit rusting along the way. The road may better be described as head-bashing, bone-jarring, bladder-bashing rollercoaster. At any given moment, the road washes out, turns into sand or requires going over a rock pile. There could never be enough road signs to advise the unwary drive.

The best one was simply an exclamation mark. The ! was good for complete disappearance of the road, an indication of repaving-a work in progress, or no road at all. No signs indicated animals, people, kids, or ruts deep enough to swallow the whole car. Just after Tavildara, we crossed the Sagirdast Pass at 3252 M. The views along the Pamirs were were spectacular. High mountain pastures with cell-phone talking shepherds guarding their animals. The villages are small, composed of flat-roofed houses, stables and walls constructed from mud brick and wattle. Men in distictive Tajik hats, women wearing brightly colored salwar kameze outfits and flowered or sparkly head scarves, kids and donkeys, and dogs work the fields. Straw was being harvested by hand with sickle and scythe in the patch-work of fields with cows, goats and sheep munching on the stubble. The sun was very warm; people were stooped and working hard, but seemed cheerful, waved and were chatty with each other; and there was sort of a festive atmosphere in the fields. Whenever we stopped, people waved, greeted us openly and asked for their photos to be taken. The straw gets piled up on trucks and then piled in pyramids on top of the flat-topped houses. Some of the newer houses are covering the piles of staw with an A shaped tin roof. Change is slowly coming to this valley but the machinery and tools are right out of the last century. I have seen one or two decrepid combines that could be regarded as antiques in Canada. When the Soviets withdrew taking with them the technology, equipment and know-how the Tajik people have had to relearn how to farm and harvest by hand. We can see that the people are strong, resilient and determined. With everyone using a cell phone and satellite dishes here and there, they seem to be moving from middle-ages living conditions into the technology age quickly. Music sounds Tajiki or Persian. No Lady Gaga in evidence here.

Our road vehicle was a Toyota Land Cruiser, the Prado edition if you must know, but the tires are balding and smooth. Despite 2 tire punctures and a dislocation of the steering strutt from the right,front wheel, Hatam's very skillful driving saved us from disaster. Every second required his complete attention. At any time, I felt as though we were one bump away from overturning and plunging into the river gorge; maybe with a swim across the rock-boiling river into Afghanistan. Thankfully after a full day of driving, we stopped for the night at a guesthouse in a little village called Kalaikum.

Photos from Kyrgyzstan



Monday, September 6, 2010

Lady GAGA on the Silk Road

Okay, imagine us driving along the Bishkek road near the Burana Tower, about 80 Km from Bishkek, an 11th century monumemt while crooning along to Lady Gaga's "Ale, Ale, Alexandro". That tune will stick with me forever. Arriving at Burana, you see a mound to the north of a restored 30M tower - all that remains of the stump of minaret from the ancient citadel of Balasagun, founded by the Sogdians (ancient Persians) and later a capital of the Karakhanids. This Shamsy Valley yeilded a rich hoard of Saka (Scythian)treasures, including the heavy gold burial mask. In St. Petersburg at the Hermitage, we looked at the gold treasures excavated here. The intricate work was fascinating. So it seems that the Canadian-Kyrgez gold mine is simply picking up on the tailings left behind by the Scythians. Guess that's the reason for having to use so much cyanide. We found the Kyrgez people to be very attractive and enjoyed the last evening in Bishkek. While Kyrgestan is quite secular, this is the month of Ramadan. Young men and women, families, kids, grandparents flooded into the restaurant where we were having Kabobs and it was interesting to see that most people wear western clothes; the women in tight jeans, short skirts and stilletto heels. I could feel their side way glances at us and felt their contempt for our treking clothes. Where ever you are in the world, it seems that women are determined to look beautiful. Bishkek has lots of trees and parks and the roads are paved; it has been described as being like "an ugly woman in a beautiful dress". Very sexist comment, but goes along with the culture where men (Stefan) will always be served before women (me).

Sept. 4 2010. Bishkek. We had a nice but short stay at the Silk Road Lodge and awoke early for the flight to Dushanbe. Although we knew that the Americans are using the civilian airport as US base, it was a bit of a shock to see 10 big US Airforce military airplanes on the tarmac. Just as I remembered in Vientienne Laos in 1969, where the Viet Nam war was being provisioned from Laos, it seems that the same thing is happening from Bishkek for the war in Iraq and Afganistan. We were told that the Americans serving on the base in Bishkek are not permitted to leave the base. Everything is provided from the USA for the military personnel, but they are confined to barracks. Must be boring. We flew in an acient, Russian turbo prop aircraft over big mountain ranges covered with snow and glaciers to arrive in Dushanbe. We had been a bit worried about this flight as the major flights had been cancelled. However, everything worked and we flew into Dushanbe without incident. The only disappointment for me is that the weight restrictions have kept me from buying anything. The population of Dushanbe (estim. 600,000) is a little smaller than Bishkek (900,000) and Tajikistan is sthe smallest of the 5 Central Asian countries. It is described to be stable since the civil war in the 1990's but economically impoverished. It seems when the Russians departed from Central Asia, they left everything as it was but the people with special skills, training and know-how left too. So the factories stand abandoned, there are few markets for the produce of the counries, and many of the local men are working in Russian and sending money home to their families. Our hotel, Poyhat, previously called the Dushanbe Hotel, is a huge place with two arms and a big trunk. It was generously planned with double, wide marble stairways and chandeliers but everything is in disrepair and looks worn-out. The current president gets involved in everyday life and advises women that the chador and headscarfs are not Tajik standards and neither are gold teeth. From what we can see, about 90% of the women on the streets of Dushanbe are wearing a modified version of the "salwar chemise", pants under a matching long top. They look quite beautiful, tall and elegant and use every flashy fabric that you can imagine. Most wear a matching scarf or hat. The other 10% have been watching European TV and have become incarnations of Lady Gaga. I am constantly amazed that women can speed along broken, chipped sidewalks in stilletto heels and not miss a beat. They have tougher meta-tarsels than I and are undaunted by open sewers, uncovered manholes, and traffic that adheres to no written rules of the road. The Tajik ancestry has roots reaching into the Bactrians and Sogdians. The Turkic language is similar to Persian and to Afgani. While the country is reported to be on economic life-support, we have seen more new, spotless BMWs, Mercedes, & Hummers than you would see in Calgary. Our guide, Vlad, assures us that most of the economy is drug-related. While we have only met hard working normal people, like waiters and people in the shops, there must be another industry behind these scenes that I can only imagine. We've visited the market and have seen hand guns for sale. What I was looking for was good toilet paper. The paper provided in this hotel is recycled from something, the result being just like crepe paper but peppered with bits of wood. You can use your imagination.
We have met a few tourists: in Karakol we met a Swedish guy living in Verbiers France. He and a buddy had just climbed Khan Tengri (7,010M) on skis. He is an engineer by background and has a fascinating job working 4 weeks on and 4 weeks off doing sea rescue from Norway. It is a dangerous job, but he is very well remunerated and loves the time off. We have run into a few groups of French, and of course, the Germans travelling in a huge bus pulling a self contained "RolHotel". Yesterday we attended an opera in Dushanbe and met a couple from Atlanta, Georgia. The man was Afgani and is a Fulbright Scholar now retired and teaching here in Dushanbe for a term. Seems they wanted some English speaking company. He visited Kabul 2 years ago and he gave me his version of the political situation in Afghanistan and it pretty much sounds like Ahmed Rashid's books.
The central part of Tajikistan encompasses the southern spurs of the Tian Shan and Pamir Alay ranges, while the southeast comprises the Pamir Pateau. Within these ranges are some of Central Asia's highes peaks, including Koh-iSomoni (Pik Kommunizma) at 7495M. Tomorrow we will drive to Kalaikum via Tavildora. Please note that using the internet and computer is both timed and expensive. I don't have a chance to edit my posts. Hope all is well at home. Lots of love to all, XX00 Corine and Stefan

Karakol to Tash Rabat to Song Kul

September 3, Hello from Bishkek. Please forgive any typos, fragments and spelling errors. Just can't check them. Every few minutes the power goes down and I lose the last few words.
August 29. After the nice walk down the Arashan Gorge in 18 degree temperatures, we arrived back in the mountain town of Karakol. At 5 am we were up and on our way to the weekly animal market. It's like a gigantic auction market day: full with fat goats and sheep, sleek horses, cows, bulls and the run of the mill yak. The people attending were mostly men looking rather elegant in tall, white, felt karalpak hats. I learned to feel the sheep with their fat wiggly bums. I couldn't get my fingers all the way through their thick curly fleece. The air was thick with the smell of animal dung, sweat and cooking dough balls. The chaotic, noisy market set in the valley between two towering mountain ranges was very specil. After almost coming away with 3 sheep at $100/each, we went off to visit the local Russian Orthodox Church. Every self-respecting Russian still living in town was gussied up and geneflecting (never could spell that word). The wooden building was nicely constucted with domes and all and behind the church I noticed the Kyrgz priest necking with a pretty, blond Russian woman. One could say that "a good time was had by all". In the afternoon we took a taxi out to visit the Przewalski monument and museum. I only remembered this famous explorer of the Russian Geographical Society for the little horse that he discovered on the steppes. The stuffed beast in the museum has bullet holes in his hide. Poor Przewalski died in 1888 while hunting tigers when he drank the water and contracted typhus. The Tsar gave permission for him to be buried beside Lake Issy Kol, dressed in his explorer's clothes. Looking down from the grave site, one overloos the Mikhaylovka Inlet and a clutter of cranes, docks and warehouses-all once part of the old Soviet top-secret polygon for torpedo research in the 700M deep lake Issy Kol.

August 30, We drove from Karakol to Kochkor and enroute to visit the Broken Heart Mountain and Seven Bulls. These red rock formations are part of the interesting geological formations and close to the southern shores of Lake Issy Kul. We paused near the beach to wet our toes in the lake and to look at the few sunbathers still on the beach. Most of the big resorts are along the north shore and this side of the lake is famous for a garish resort built by a Kyrgz millionaire-what do they say, more money than taste! Along the way we drove through the town near the Kumkor Gold Mine. I'm not sure whether or not Canadians are very popular here. There was a nasty spill of toxic chemicals (cyniade) into a river. Several people died and the water was polluted. Gold mining provides about 20% of the economy and I'm told that the Canadian company paid a big fine. I do wonder whether or not the company adheres to a Canadian environmental standard. Kochkor is a little, alpine town that reminded us of Canmore, 50 years ago. Mountains on 3 sides, little unpaved streets, a market street and new guesthouses offering bed and breakfast. We stayed the night and drove up a rough and windy road to Naryn and onto the 10-15th century Caravanseri, Tash Rabat. The ruins are sunk into a hillside at about 3000M. A stream runs down the vally and cows, sheep, goats and horses graze all around; a perfect lay over for the well-to-do traveller over the centuries. We were told that there are remnants of a mosque, a well, and a dungeon in the original structure deep inside. The Soviets did some sort of restoration in 1984 and in the light rain and drizzle it was an impressive site. We slept in a yurt near the site and getting up every 2 hours to pee, we were rewarded with seeing the site with a star-studded sky, in the moonlight. In the morning we drove back down the twisty road, back through the town of Naryn where we almost got to meet President Rosa Otunbaeva, who was having lunch in the town where she attended school. We drove on over rutted, gravel roads, up big switch backs and onto a high alpine plateau. Wide open spaces, rolling hills, little streams and animals dotting the hillsides. After another 2 hours we spotted Song Kul, an alpine lake that is a gigantic watering hole for the pasturing animals. No wonder the animals grow big and fat, there is nothing for them to do all day but eat and run and play in the wide open spaces. We finally located our yurt camp, just as a big thunderstorm was approaching. A yurt is made from sheep's wool and coated with sheep fat to make it waterproof. The top has an opening that opens to the sky and the light that filters in is quite magical. However, in the rain, the flap is closed, the door is closed and despite the colorful wool and reed screens and the home made quilts, the space is dark, cold, smelly and very boring. The outhouses are about 50M away and bring no great joy. A freshly skinned goat awaited us and I must say that the long, silky hair looked much better on the goat. The goats are very cute and reminded us of our doggie friends, Finnegan and Smidgey.

We started to smell like the sheep and it wasn't all that appetizing to watch our hostess make a cow-dung fire and then cut our bread with unwashed hands. A little dirt is okay but I was thinking that there are real opportunities for health inspectors here. The "home on the range" experience was very worthwhile, but I must say that the hot shower and warm bed in Kochkor were very welcomed. Kochkor was a charming little town and the guest houses were clean and hospitable. It reminded me of Canmore 50 years ago before the streets were paved and the wealthy Calgarians turned it into an overpriced playground.
We will be sad to leave Kyrgestan. The Kyrgz people are very attractive and have a long, rich history. There are more than 80 ethnic groups living here and for the most part, everyone gets along. Despite underemployment and the political tensions, the country is a minature Austria or Switzerland with huge potential for agriculture, meat production and tourism. We have been eating Manty's (dumplings stuffed with veggies and meat), tomatoes that taste like real tomatoes, delicious soups, stews and omlettes made with yellow-orange yolks. Dinner for 2 is costing about $10.00 (including Stefan's beer). Unfortunately vodka and cigarettes are really cheap (a litre of vodka costs about $2.00; pack of 20 smokes costs about $.50). The country has major challenges to overcome corruption, alcoholism, regional tribalism. Thanks to iodine in all drinks, pristine in the water, and with lots of luck, we have been staying healthy. We are flying from Bishkek to Dushanbe tomorrow and will look forward to adventures in Tajikistan. Lots of love to all, Corine & Stefan

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Kyrgestan-one of the world's best kept secrets

Greetings from Karakol, We drove from Almaty to Bishkek and had a quick look around Bishkek before driving around the north shore of Lake Issyk Kol. the lake is a huge dent filled with water between the Kungey Alatau to the north and the Terskey Altau to the south, which together form the norther arm of the Tian Shan mountains. It is extremely deep and there is thermal activity and mild salinity-it never freezes. It is over 170 km long, 70 km across and the second largest alpine lake in the world (Lake Titicaca is still number 1. While scores of streams pour into the lake, none escape; the shoreline rises and falls and artefacts have been recovered from what is called the submerged city of Chigu, dating from the 2nd century B.C. Someone had the forethought to plant beautiful poplar trees along the lake and you feel as though you are driving through natural arches of greenery. There were quaint roadside stalls selling dried fish and then it started to rain. After that we saw very little except oncoming headlights through the rain and arrived in Karakol at the Amir Hotel in the dark. We met our guide, Aziz and our cook, Tashtanbek and had a quick sleep.

We started first thing in the morning on our trek. A huge old Russian truck picked us up at 0900h. We drove with our new team, Aziz, Tashtanbek and porter, Murat to the park gates. The road reminded me of a steep mountain road on the way to Valkyrs but in much worse conditions. The rocks and ruts were big, but our truck lumbered up and over each. The views were more and more spectacular. Steep mountains rising out of the valley floor and summer pastures; grazing flocks of sheep, goats, horses and the yurts of the ranchers. We put on our packs and the team of 5 started to climb. The cook and porter with 35kg packs simply disappeared and we slowly took one step up at a time the trail.

Within about an hour the altitude started to hit me (Corine). I felt lightheaded, nauseated and short of breath but Stefan seemed okay. After another hour and half we arrived at a shelter called "Sirota". This is a Kyrgez word meaning orphan because it is all alone. Camp was set up when we arrived and a good thing too because within minutes, it started to rain and the rain and wet snow continued. It was good on one hand because it made us stay there and acclimatize to the altitude, but the snow was discouraging. On the otherhand, the scenery was so beautiful. The giant peaks were there and then they disappeared in the snow. It felt like a dream-a rather cold, wet dream. We started the Diamox and started peeing every 2 hours, but felt much better. On the 3rd day, the weather cleared and we had a long hike up to Lake Ala Kul. The hike was steep and exposed in a couple of places. I can say that the trek is not for the timid, but I can die a happy woman now that I have seen Lake Ala Kul. It is 80m deep, 1 km wide and 3 km long winding through the mountains. Big snow capped peaks all around. The campsite is on the rocks so it would be very cold but Spectacular!

Because we had stayed 2 nights at Sirota, we decided to carry to over the Ala Kul pass to the Karakol gorge (3700m). That's when the altitude hit Stefan like a ton of bricks. For the first time in history, I was faster than he was and I was feeling great. We were climbing through about 1/2 meter of heavy snow and it was sort of cloudy in the pass. The guide, Azia wanted to do this but was a little timid in approaching the cornice. So Stefan kicked off a big avalanche and the snow rolled down as far as we could see. This was great because we could scree run all the way down. I think that our experience in scree. We camped that night at the bottom the scree run, but on the snow. The team was just excellent and our meals were hot and nutritous. The most important part, they were very clean and we didn't get sick. Ecotreks was a very good investment and I would highly recommend the company. Descending 500m Stefan was feeling much better. We got up to hard snow crust and slowly made our way down through the high pastures, called Jailoos (rhymes with J-Lo). Seeing and walking in the Jailoos was my dream. Sleek fat horses, cows, sheep and goats cling to the mountain sides and graze along the river on high pastures. The cowboys ride among them and we met a few-always, it seemed, just when I had my pants down behind a bush. The walk through the ge was truly spectacular, trees suddenly started up out of the rock and funny little bridge crossings were found in the woods. The trails were not blazed, there were few cairns (no Innukshuks)and a GPS would be useless. Our 19 year old guide was just outstanding and we soon found ourselves in Altyn Arashan. Arashan is a cute little mountain village, blessed with hot springs. The cottages dot the hillsides and the people live close to the animals. The few houses were sort of Russian styled, with verandas filled with babuska wearing-fat ladies in colorful dresses, who chain smoke. Nothing passes the view of these ladies and I'm quite sure that they know all of the latest gossip (if not the fashion). Some of them probably come up from nearby Ak Suu village or Karakol for the summer to eat, smoke and tend the pools. The bathing pools, called the Source, were a longish hut, two rooms with locks. Inside each was with a deep concrete pool, about 3M X 3M-an inlet with hot, mineral water and an outlet going somewhere. The walls didn't go to the ceiling, so we could hear the neighbors spashing and moaning. I tried not to moan loudly, but my god, the hot water sure felt terrific. The Source was very basic, clean and unspoiled. It was a perfect end to a very, long hike. We decided to take the room with the pool access as the $10.00 price for foreigners was about the same without the room. For the price you can go back in 3 times. We went back after dinner to warm up. The price to bathe for Kyrgz is 100 som (46.2 som/1 USD), free for EcoTrek staff and our team who set up their tent in the pasture. The village (family houses, kids running with the animals, wool sweaters) sort of reminded me of the Arn valley in Italy about 30 years ago (but without the plumbing). I suppose with time, the full outhouses will be replaced with real plumbing, but then the charm might also disappear. The morning dawned bright and clear.

We hiked the last 3 1/2 hours down along the Arashan river and had a last picnic with our team. A truck met us at the trail end and we drove to the town of Karakol, population 66,000 where I'm told there are 11 schools, a big animal market on Sundays, and a clinic. The rows of giant poplars and the little gingerbread, Russian houses makes for a nice place to retire. Oh if only to speak Russian or Kyrgez.

I'm sure that there must be other tourists still coming to Kyrgestan, but there are few. The hotel had a few German-speaking hikers, there was an intrepid Japanese American woman at the hot springs, but that's all we've met. All in all, it's easy to fall in love with Krygestan-one of the world's best kept secrets. Small towns, big mountains, nice, friendly people. A few too many geo-political problems, but otherwise, once down from the mountains, the fruit trees are producing, the farms look in good shape and the animals are fat. Tomorrow we'll be at the market bright and early to see the sheep that we watched get herded all the way down from the Karakol gorge get sold for our plates. This trek was about 48km, over 4 days, but the altitude was the challenge. We had a very competent support team. Tomorrow, after visiting the market and thinking about buying a few sheep, we'll visit the Karakol regional museum and then the Przewalski museum. On Monday, we'll drive to Kochkor and onto Tash Rabat, the Stone Castle. Don't know when we will have computer access. System access is very slow, but thanks to Mark, we are able to post to the blog.

Love to all. Corine and Stefan (Stefan doesn't seem to like to type, so this is pretty much Corine's version of travel-you might get his version once we're home).

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Beijing to Kyregestan

"Beijing, once the center of the universe" is showing signs of once again
becoming a world leader. It was fun to stay in a Hutong in the 800+ year
old center. Small courtyards have been renovated into small hostels and
ours with only 8 rooms was run by 3 cute girls. The Hutong Ren Creative
Cultural hotel was very clean, friendly and our bathroom opened out into
the courtyard. Fortunatly there was a full time running fountain to
masquerade the bathroom noises. We found terrific restaurants nearby and
enjoyed nice spicy Szchuan food. The Metro makes getting around easy and
the streets are clean and public toilets, while holes in the floor,
flushed and were conveniently located so whenever the nature called, I was
happy.

Our flight to Almaty took us over the soaring Tian Shan mountains. We had
good views of towering peaks covered with ice and snow. As we neared
Urumchi we could see the Flaming Mountains-well named because even from
20,000+ feet, they glowed red in the setting sun. Fortunately the stop in
this direction was short. We could see the sandy desert and hear that the
temperatures were around +35, but a dry heat.

Almaty struck us a bit Russified but busy, modern city. Bishkek is small
and we could see burned out buildings, evidence of the riots and protests.
Yesterday we drove from Almaty around Lake IssyKol in the rain to Karakol.
We are just going in for breakfast and then plan to start our trek. The
next 4 days will be fun and we hope that the rains will abate.

It seems that access to Google is blocked across China and in most of
Central Asia. We are able to email only 1 person at a time and will ask
our friend Mark to post this blog.

So far, have eaten well, slept well, and other functions are working
normally. Love from Kyrgestan to all.
Corine and Stefan