Fermented Mare's Milk

We attended a charity gala ball on Saturday night at the National Opera and Ballet House hosted by the American Chamber of Commerce Kyrgyz Republic. Also in attendance was the US Ambassador. During the performances (among them the weirdest version of Porgy & Bess ever), Madame Ambassador looked to lack inner resources, for she was heavy bored. Her legs were in constant swing below her seat (the chairs were kind of tall but mostly she's just tiny) and at one point she took out a compact and reapplied her make-up. Erin leaned over during a particularly rowdy dance number and said, "You know what? She looks exactly like Mary Poppins. Do you think she's going to sing the country into first world status?" I had difficulty explaining to the Kyrgyz woman we were sitting with why I was laughing so hard.



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At the bigger intersections around Bishkek there are underground passages for pedestrians to use for crossing rather than the street. These all take the form of small bazaars, some of the bigger ones with booths and full-on stores built right in. We were walking through one of these last weekend on the way home from the Osh bazaar when we saw a Kyrgyz man sitting in his guitar booth playing a song we both recognized. He was singing in Russian, but we clearly recognized the melody and the rhythm of the lyrics. We looked at each other, then at the man and when he hit the chorus and switched briefly to English, we knew what it was: Big D & the Kids Table's "Find Out." (For those of you unfamiliar, they're a ska band from Boston whose guitar player, the honorable Sean P. Rogan, is a friend from high school.) We stood there dumbfounded until he stopped playing when a customer approached him and the push of the crowd moved us away from his booth. We haven't yet been able to find him again. But I will. And I'll be wearing a Big D t-shirt when I finally talk to him.

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In the midst of a lunchtime Scrabble battle, during which I was particularly hyper and talking in an army of different voices and dancing in my seat and loudly singing along to each and every song that played on the computer, fueled by unexpected word-making success and a fair bit of sugar, Erin turned to me and said, in a very pleasant voice, "So, you're going to go away and put on your headphones and write after this, right?"

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I had a full-on conversation with a man at the bazaar the other day. We discussed, of course, the weather. Then he embarrassed the two women Erin was buying veggies from by introducing them as his beautiful wives. I understood it all and joked back and forth with him. As we walked away I felt like I had just split the atom or walked on the moon.

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I cannot stop listening to a live version of Sleater-Kinney's "Words & Guitars" I accidentally downloaded a few days ago. Seriously--cannot stop. 123 times played already. Yes, I've loved those three women since high school, but this is ridiculous. Even for me. But it could be worse. I just downloaded Tom Jones' "What's New Pussycat?" and Christopher Cross' "Arthur's Theme (Best That You Can Do)". The fun's just getting going.


















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There are rumblings of another revolution sometime in the future, as people aren't happy with the considerable lack of change following last March's Tulip Revolution. But not to worry. By all accounts, if it is to happen, it won't happen until the weather clears. Wouldn't want to revolt in the cold now, would we?