From Bishkek

On my last night in Almaty, I was taken to Tau-Dastarkhan, a spa and resort in the mountains. The name means something like mountain feast, "tau" being the Kazakh word for mountain and "dastarkhan" literally meaning "tablecloth" but which also refers to a feast for family and friends on a special occasion. Unfortunately, I was not expecting such an elaborate farewell, so I didn't bring a camera and it's much prettier at night, but there are pictures posted on the complex's website here, here, here, here, here, and here. There are six restaurants each with a different national theme, private dining gazebos, several heated swimming pools, saunas, and a hotel all tastefully built into the mountain side. During the day, four wheelers and helicopter rides are available.

I left Almaty at 8 a.m. the following morning as the only passenger aboard a minivan from the bus station. We reached the border around 12 o'clock and arrived at the Manas International Airport around 12:30. The first person who greeted me was the woman at the exchange office who seemed genuinely happy to see me at the virtually empty airport and tried to speak to me in Spanish.

The road from Almaty to Bishkek was mountainous and sometimes beautiful but otherwise unremarkable except for the gradient of increasing poverty that appears upon leaving Almaty. Shortly after leaving the city, the countryside becomes agricultural and sparsely populated except for the occasional village or cottage. The infrastructure is good in Kazakhstan, but changes noticeably upon entering Kyrgyzstan, where the roads are Soviet era and even in Bishkek the sidewalks are cracked and full of holes and electrical wires hang dangerously low on their poles.

Crossing borders always presents a relatively stressful moment insofar as you are entering a no-man's land where you feel quite powerless in the hands of the border police of both your places of exit and entry. Realistically, the most trouble I have ever had in crossing a border was at the Chinese Zamin Uud - Erlian border, where the Chinese border guard kept me for a while complaining that my passport picture didn't look like me. But in actually, I think she just saw a Chinese-speaking foreigner as a curiosity...flirting as it goes in immigration. More recently, after being voted off the bus in Khorgos, perhaps sensing my dismay at having my travel plans forcibly changed, one Russian remarked, "Just tell the border guards your name is 'James Bond.' You'll have no problems." and the bus shook with laughter as I was ejected into the stalled border traffic.

Crossing the Kazakhstan-Kyrgyzstan border was surprisingly uninteresting, but nerve-wracking as is any situation that places a person at the mercy of strange people toting ugly semi-automatic firearms. The border police with their broad Soviet-style brims appeared bored and uninterested in me. At each border they did not even bother to check my bags or scrutinize me beyond the basic passport/visa check with the exception of simply asking me whether I was carrying drugs or weapons. "Pistolet?" the Kazakh guard asked me as he pulled an imaginary trigger.

In all, Bishkek is a far less attractive and more unfriendly city than Almaty. However, like Almaty, Bishkek is a very green city with large, health trees lining virtually every street and large parks, albeit unmanicured with overgrowth and undergrowth. It is also a very poorly-lit city at night, and once you leave the downtown area, Bishkek becomes a very dark city indeed and the foliage that is pleasant during the daytime becomes rather intimidating. It is much like walking on a sidewalk through the woods at night, although it is not so remote as the woods and there are plenty of people around who could plausibly quietly rob you or worse.

I have also quickly discovered that the police are an issue in Bishkek, and for whatever reason, they frequently stop foreign-looking people to check for travel documents and today, I was nailed twice. The first time was decidedly frightening not only because it was the first time and I have read so many stories of shakedowns by corrupt police in Central Asia, but because it occurred at the bus station (notorious for such crimes) immediately after I had turned a corner, as if by design.

About 10 meters beyond the corner as I walked down a dusty dirt road, I heard someone call me from behind and turned quickly to wave him off, thinking he was a taxi driver hawking tours. But at his second call, I noted that he was a shabbily uniformed security officer. He called to me "Passport! Document! American? Deutsch? Rusky?" as a second officer followed behind him. I didn't answer, but walked back towards him with my heavy pack in tow and opened my passport to my Kyrgyz visa. He quickly showed me his official ID as he took my passport and checked the visa and then looking down at the ID page. "Ah, American!" he exclaimed, handed back my passport and quickly walked away. I guess that's the benefit of having a huge base and paying massive bribes...er, rent.

This brings me to the conclusion that when you are threatened or perceive a threat, you get the idea of exactly what "security" means. And if you view the situation from the perspective of a Kyrgyz police officer, he has no idea who an American might be and what sort of repercussions any mistreatment might bring (presuming that he may wish to do something other than his job). And while some people consider gratitude to "army guys" as a priori to citizenship (to be sure, certain special-interest groups do), I was a little surprised how thankful I felt at that moment.