Monday, May 01, 2006
I Haven't Been This Let Down Since I Didn't Get the Casio Keyboard I Was Banking on for Christmas in '85
The giant, we-might-have-to-hide-behind-the-locked-door-of-our-apartment, not-ending-until-some-changes-get-made-god-damn-it protest over the weekend was over about twenty minutes after it started. I'm exaggerating, but not by much. The square was empty of all but normal traffic by noon. Sure, it was raining pretty hard, but c'mon! I was looking forward to some good people watching. And there were rumors floating around on Friday that Prime Minister Kulov was going to resign his position as soon as the rally started and join the crowd in their call for change. Instead, he accompanied President Bakiyev out to the square sometime shortly after things got going and the two of them convinced the protesters to pack it in and come back in a month. By then, said the politicians, changes will have been made. Or, you know, you can get your protest on then. In the meantime, though, why don't you go on and get out of the rain, have a cup of tea, maybe a nice lunch, and head on back to wherever it is you come from. And change your wet socks soon as possible, 'k? You don't wanna catch a cold.
When Erin and Janika and I walked through the Ala-Too square around 2:00 Saturday afternoon, it looked like this:
which is exactly how it looks most all the time. Except there's usually more people moving around. You got some serious staying power, protestors. You get an E for effort and a T for nice try.
Beyond the crushing blow that was the lack of protest and mayhem, this weekend was surprisingly action-packed. Friday night we went over to Janika and Elham's for some delicious fricasse made by Janika's cousin Katerina, here on vacation. There were about 25 people there at its height and about 67 liters of beer. Needless to say, it was a late night. By the time we left it was down to us and about five Germans too drunk and/or tired to speak English, so any inter-ethnic communication was done primarily through body language and vocal tonality. Mostly there was laughing. Lots and lots of laughing.
Saturday we met up with Janika and Katerina and another German from Friday night, Heiller (here working in orphanages teaching kids to read) for dinner at Time Out, a restaurant halfway down the next block south of us. Though it was after 7:00 at night and none of us had done anything more strenuous with our day beyond going for a walk and watching movies, the atmosphere at the table during the meal can only be described as "hungover."
After the no-holds-barred fiesta that was dinner, we walked down to the Metro Pub for the late night jam session scheduled as part of the first annual Bishkek Spring Jazz Festival. (It was, for the record, actually scheduled as a jam session; I'm not just being hokey.) The music on stage that night was variously described by those among us as "rigid," "competent," and "unfortunate" (with the exception of a Puerto Rican band who came in from Almaty around midnight to save the day). We opted to get drunk and the good times picked up from there. It was an especially good move considering it was our first foray into the large ex-pat community and therefore our first experience with nightlife surrounded by a large number of Americans. I've gotten used to not being around our kind, so to speak, and the results were mixed at best. Let's just say that the culture shock on the tail end of this trip will likely be greater than those experienced at the front.
Sunday passed as Sundays pass, with much time spent on couches with books and computers and imagined playtime with dogs. (That last is pathetic, I know, but the dogs always get good treatment on Sundays and as I'll be seeing them soon, I had a little fantasy time with the mutts. What? Don't look at me like that. Oh, whatever.) Then today we went on a mission--thus far successful--I can't talk about currently. Suffice it to say it involves artwork, a man with magic feet, and four people soon to be legally bound. Well, two and two, not all four. I'm not sure all four's legal anywhere. Not even Massachusetts.
Anyway, following phase one of Mission Magic Feet, we came home with Zemfira for a lesson in how to make manti, the ubiquitous Central Asian dumpling. It was delicious. If you happen to find yourself sitting at our table sometime in the future, feel free to request manti. In the meantime, you'll have to imagine their deliciousness and simply enjoy their surface beauty:
Filed under: Kyrgyzstan, Bishkek, Protest, Cuisine.
When Erin and Janika and I walked through the Ala-Too square around 2:00 Saturday afternoon, it looked like this:
which is exactly how it looks most all the time. Except there's usually more people moving around. You got some serious staying power, protestors. You get an E for effort and a T for nice try.
Beyond the crushing blow that was the lack of protest and mayhem, this weekend was surprisingly action-packed. Friday night we went over to Janika and Elham's for some delicious fricasse made by Janika's cousin Katerina, here on vacation. There were about 25 people there at its height and about 67 liters of beer. Needless to say, it was a late night. By the time we left it was down to us and about five Germans too drunk and/or tired to speak English, so any inter-ethnic communication was done primarily through body language and vocal tonality. Mostly there was laughing. Lots and lots of laughing.
Saturday we met up with Janika and Katerina and another German from Friday night, Heiller (here working in orphanages teaching kids to read) for dinner at Time Out, a restaurant halfway down the next block south of us. Though it was after 7:00 at night and none of us had done anything more strenuous with our day beyond going for a walk and watching movies, the atmosphere at the table during the meal can only be described as "hungover."
After the no-holds-barred fiesta that was dinner, we walked down to the Metro Pub for the late night jam session scheduled as part of the first annual Bishkek Spring Jazz Festival. (It was, for the record, actually scheduled as a jam session; I'm not just being hokey.) The music on stage that night was variously described by those among us as "rigid," "competent," and "unfortunate" (with the exception of a Puerto Rican band who came in from Almaty around midnight to save the day). We opted to get drunk and the good times picked up from there. It was an especially good move considering it was our first foray into the large ex-pat community and therefore our first experience with nightlife surrounded by a large number of Americans. I've gotten used to not being around our kind, so to speak, and the results were mixed at best. Let's just say that the culture shock on the tail end of this trip will likely be greater than those experienced at the front.
Sunday passed as Sundays pass, with much time spent on couches with books and computers and imagined playtime with dogs. (That last is pathetic, I know, but the dogs always get good treatment on Sundays and as I'll be seeing them soon, I had a little fantasy time with the mutts. What? Don't look at me like that. Oh, whatever.) Then today we went on a mission--thus far successful--I can't talk about currently. Suffice it to say it involves artwork, a man with magic feet, and four people soon to be legally bound. Well, two and two, not all four. I'm not sure all four's legal anywhere. Not even Massachusetts.
Anyway, following phase one of Mission Magic Feet, we came home with Zemfira for a lesson in how to make manti, the ubiquitous Central Asian dumpling. It was delicious. If you happen to find yourself sitting at our table sometime in the future, feel free to request manti. In the meantime, you'll have to imagine their deliciousness and simply enjoy their surface beauty:
Filed under: Kyrgyzstan, Bishkek, Protest, Cuisine.
