In this, his second report from Kyrgyzstan, Cigar Weekly Contributing Editor Steve Smith (ServiceRifle) lets us ‘through the door’ to take a close-up look at what it’s like to live, work and party in the former Soviet Republic that is now struggling to find its way as a nation.
My last article, No Return Stamp, focused on an introduction both of myself and of Kyrgyzstan. This time around, I talk a little more about the local happenings.
Autumn in Bishkek was quite nice, with temperatures permitting outdoor leisure and planted flowers blooming in every city park. Couples sat at sidewalk café tables, and nights were filled with late-hour walks to the city fountains (that only work on occasion) or to Dijensky Park, a long promenade bisecting the city that offers reasonably safe lounging at nearly any time. People took advantage of the weather to the utmost, and whispered of winter only when they thought no one might hear them. Winter would come soon enough.
I feared Thanksgiving, a time when any American feels the need to be close to loved ones and to partake of that very special meal. Having spent Thanksgiving on a military base in Iraq before, I know that it can be a depressing time for anyone in shoes such as mine. Luckily, one of the other expats here in Bishkek took up the banner, invited about 30 people to his house and provided a huge amount of ‘Thanksgiving food’ for us all. Just like in the US, we ate ourselves silly, sat around in the living room talking and fell asleep. Perfect. In fact, I think this was one of the best Thanksgivings I’ve ever had, and I was sincerely thankful for the camaraderie.
The cold set into Kyrgyzstan in December. Temperatures dropped to minus 18º Fahrenheit, and people across Central Asia began to die of exposure. Most homes here are warmed either with coal or with electric heaters. But they’re poorly insulated if at all, and fuel is scarce and expensive. Many of the deaths I heard of were of homeless people in Bishkek.
Children playing in the park
With the cold came precipitation. We quickly received about 5-inches of snow, and the entire city transformed into a wintry scene similar to Miracle on 34th Street. Unfortunately, and unlike in the US, Bishek has snow handling issues. The city cleared the major streets, yet left everything else untended. Citizens, having never seen a snow-blower or realized the potentially dangerous effect of snow on the sidewalks, just trampled over it. As long as the temperature stayed well below freezing, there wasn't much of a problem. But as soon as some of the snow melted and then refroze, the sidewalks became skating rinks. Everyone, from the youngest child to the oldest babushka, had a slide-walk technique to resort to once the ice built up. This maneuver resembled skating without skates. Needless to say, slide-walking polished the ice very well, and before long I – and just about everybody else – could hardly stand up. The ice would remain until the spring.
Ala-Too Square under ice
As Christmas closed in, temperatures slowly climbed and the city became awash in the New Year’s spirit. Everywhere I looked, I saw ‘Christmas Trees’ and the familiar ‘Christmas colors’ of red and green – but with the phrase CHOBЫM ГOДOM, which roughly translates to ‘Happy New Year’. I asked my Russian-speaking girlfriend why there was so much ‘Christmas stuff’ if it were all New Years related. The astute among you already know the answer. Blame it on the Communists. You see, when the Communists wielded power here, they did not allow followers of the Russian Orthodox faith to celebrate Christmas. In reaction, the church moved all the Christmas imagery to New Year’s, and celebration of the latter grew substantially. Now, many years after Communism’s fading, the ‘New Year’s Christmas’ tradition lives on. Gifts are exchanged on New Year’s, and all the familiar scenes – including Santa Claus – are celebrated on this one day.
The center of New Year’s activities in Bishkek is Ala-Too Square, directly in front of the President’s house, and in the center of the government buildings. On New Year’s, everyone slid on down to the Square to look at the giant ‘New Year’s tree’, Santa Claus and each other. Ala-Too Square is also where the ‘fire’ of my story title comes from. (You were wondering, weren’t you?) Fireworks, or САЛҮT (salutes), are available to all, no matter their age. Let me tell you first-hand that nothing, and I mean nothing, worries you like 5-year olds holding Roman candles in their hands while running through a crowd of thousands. ‘Bottle rockets’ seemed to launch – sometimes vertically, sometimes horizontally – from every corner of the crowd. New Year’s was probably a big night at the hospital. And the temperature? About -10º! We slid around and shot fireworks from the center of main street, looked at the tree, sat on a Bactrian camel and hung out with Mr. and Mrs. Claus until we were so cold we couldn't feel our hands. Then, we retired to a café and warmed up for an hour or so.
Ala-Too Square before New Year's
We started to head back toward our homes around 11P.M., just before the real ‘New Year’s’ celebrating was set to happen. We, the Americans in our group, had been told how spectacular the event is. But considering that we had to work the next day, we made some attempt to get home at a reasonable hour. Unfortunately, there was no point to our efforts. We arrived at my apartment fifteen minutes before twelve, and prepared for bed. Around the time I walked into the bedroom, a ‘battle’ began to wage outside that dwarfed our ‘shock and awe’ moments in Baghdad. Huge fireworks, of the same class that American cities use on July 4th, were sent soaring into the nighttime sky from backyards all across the city. My apartment faces three directions, and I could easily watch the tremendous displays out of each window. It felt as though I was directly under the bursts. Interior lighting was unnecessary, as the walls changed from red to green to gold in a constant rainbow. The room roared with thunder, and the concussions were so fast that I could not discern one explosion from another for an entire hour. Yes, you read that right – an entire hour of unrelenting light and sound. After the first hour, the explosions slowed down, but still continued on until the sun rose above the horizon. The next few nights were often disrupted as leftover fireworks were randomly fired into the sky. All of this took an enormous amount of fireworks, and I was told later that nearly every Kyrgyz family saves all year long just to buy fireworks for New Year’s.
As the January cold seemed to set in permanently, we planned a herf in order to try to shake the winter blues. Having a herf outdoors would be madness in this weather, so we all agreed to meet at the Metro Bar, a local expatriate hang out. Five Americans, two Irishmen, an Afghan and a few Russians showed up, and each of us brought along a handful of his favorite smokes. As we were all ‘regulars’ at the Metro and knew one another, the daily annoyance of politics was not even mentioned. Instead, rugby, football (soccer, for us), and the upcoming Moto GP season were the topics at large. Just as the Brits have learned to appreciate American football, we have become rugby addicts. Everyone shares cultures and we’re equally enriched. I still don’t understand cricket, though. After several hours of cigars, good drinks and flirting with the barmaids, we retired yet again to our domiciles.
Metro Bar proprietor and barmaids at Christmas
Back to the cold! Remember my telling you about the poor infrastructure here in Kyrgyzstan and the electric heaters in homes? A recent announcement from the Kyrgyz government stated that “too much” electricity was being used to keep homes warm, and thus certain neighborhoods would only receive electricity for one hour per day so as to reduce strain on the entire system. One local girl told me a story typical of many here… She and her brothers sit around the heater in the evening and talk for entertainment, and then go to their cold beds at night. Again, it struck me that, for a city where every person seems to have a cell phone and where girls make sure to look their best at every moment, the people of Bishkek seem to put the cart before the horse all too often.
February offered more of the same, with snow beautifully blanketing the intensely cold city. February happened to be the month that my friend Zarina was having a birthday party. Now, I know in the US a ‘birthday party’ for an adult is not a yearly occurrence. It seems a little childish even. But here in Kyrgyzstan, it is serious business. Every guest brings flowers to the ‘birthday girl’, as well as a gift, of course. And everyone eats for what seems like forever. Just when you think you’re done with all the food, another plate comes, and then another. Birthdays are for celebrating health and for sharing what you have with your friends. And it is immensely important here for people, even if impoverished, to be generous with food as well as to be appreciative of the generosity of others. In other words, I ended up eating a LOT of food.
Birthday party
Luckily, there was plenty of dancing to be done before heading back to eat more. At one point, a particularly energetic Uzbek song began to play, and about ten people swarmed the dance floor at once. Seven of them formed a circle, and a woman of about 50 years went to the center and began an extremely fast and athletic dance in time with the music. Two men came into the center with her, and began an equally athletic dance while circling around her. The men watched her every move, literally circling like hawks around their prey. I had never seen such intensity in a social setting. The woman danced with a smile on her face, but the men were intent! Their role in the dance was so prescribed and so involved that all of their energy seemed to focus on the moment. This was obviously a dance that everyone knew, as different men and women took turns dancing in the center while the others watched. When the men stopped dancing and moved to the circle, their intensity was palpable.
Another aspect of living in a former
Soviet
State
is the police mindset. While walking down a main street early one night, I was approached by four policemen who asked me for my ‘documents’. I provided them with a copy of my passport (most of us don’t carry our originals), and they noted that I was an American. The four, apparently not aware that I had some limited understanding of the Russian language, began to discuss exactly how to harass me. One of them reached for my arm and motioned for all of us to walk behind a building. I looked at the two men with nightsticks and – let me tell you friends – was sweating bullets. I pulled away from the officer and, finally divulging that I knew some Russian, became quite emphatic that I was not walking away from the light of the main street. I told them I’d done nothing wrong. After more arguing, the policemen finally got to the meat of the matter; they wanted a pay off. Rather than open my wallet, I chose instead to give them my ‘bribe smokes’, a pack of Camels that I always carry just for such a purpose. It worked. They sent me on my way. These days, I just keep a more watchful eye out for the cops. And if I see several of them now, I usually go off in a different direction.
March came in like a lion, giving us yet one more snowfall. Things were now quieting down considerably. March 8th was International Women’s Day, a seriously celebrated holiday here. Every woman took the day off from work, and her husband, brothers and boyfriends showered their affection on her. This day was so important that even the men took the day off from work to spend it with the women in their lives. Throughout the city, men walked about with large bouquets of flowers and the women smiled. Nice – huh? At least they don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day too. All joking aside, they also have an International Men’s Day, even if it isn’t taken nearly as seriously.
Now that spring is right around the corner, the ice is slowly melting, and you will often see a babushka (grandmother) out on the sidewalk trying to clear it. The locals still don’t trust the weather at this time of the year, and wear long heavy coats even when the temperatures are well above freezing for most of the day. Nevertheless, I am witnessing the first true sign of spring in Bishkek… The Shoro sellers are out on the street. What’s Shoro? Shoro, or Bozo Shoro, or even Chalap Shoro, are local summertime drinks very popular with all Kyrgyz people. Shoro is served cold, and basically looks like a white or brown milkshake depending on the version you select. Don’t be fooled though. The concoction is most certainly a mix of some sort of grain wort and soured milk. And it’s terrible! The locals will tell you it cures anything from poor eyesight to infertility, and they’ll down several glasses a day to prove their point. As far as I’m concerned, they can have it all. I’ve tried it and paid my dues, and I’ll stick with something a little more Western from now on.
So, with that in mind, I’ll bid you farewell for now and raise a tall glass of Shoro as a toast. Maybe I can cajole one of my friends into drinking it.
Next time, I will discuss spring and summer in Kyrgyzstan, and maybe we’ll go for a hike.
Steve Smith is a communications engineer living as an expatriate in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan, in support of Operation Enduring Freedom. He has written several articles for Colorado Shooting, Colorado Cruising, and ADVrider.com. His favorite pastimes include motorcycling, travel, cigar smoking, and trying out new and unique restaurants. He enjoys working overseas and sharing his experiences with friends.
