ur first Kyrgyz destination was a city named Cholpon-Ata. Cholpon-Ata
is a summer resort town nestled into a bay along Lake Issy-Kul. This
slightly saline lake is the second largest alpine lake in the world
behind Lake Titicaca of South America. In summer, Cholpon-Ata is
claimed to be the spot for swimming, boating, parasailing - even
the Kyrgyz president has a second home here. All very impressive unless
you arrive in fall. We knew we were a bit late for the big rush, but we
didn't expect what we got. When the bus driver said, "Cholpon-Ata," we
looked at each other and thought, "Really?" It was early evening and
maybe the dusk clouded our view, but this town looked seriously dead.
(We almost thought we saw everyone in the bus look back at us laughing
to themselves, "Check out the foreigners who still think it's summer! Ha
Ha!") We were the only two people to get off here.
tanding on the side of the road, watching the taillights of the bus
disappear into the quickly falling night, a little part of each of us
was quietly wishing for the comfort we left behind. We had thoughts of
homelessness and were thankful for the one sleeping bag we shared
between the two of us. Walking down the main drag past boarded up
buildings, we looked for anything that was open. After getting a blank
stare to the word, "Hotel?" from the owner of a lone store with lights,
we were approached by a local Krygyz woman named Katja who seemed to
have materialized out of nowhere. A mother-turned-smuggler
(specializing in "contraband" aka cigarettes from Kazakhstan), she
offered her home to us for a few bucks a night. Rescued again, our
adventure continued.
atja's house was mid-construction pending funds, but like other Kyrgyz
people she was generationally not far behind a time when people lived in
yurts. This same people group would think it unclean to have a bathroom
in or near your domicile. So, Katja had an outhouse as did other places
we stayed. This experience is not new to us, but the frosty grass under
your feet on a midnight run combined with some magnificent stargazing
made for memorable, though usually unwelcomed experiences.
atja's family and neighbors all made us feel at home in our short stay
and we actually learned a bit about their lives. Last May, a truck
containing potassium cyanide from a nearby gold mine had dumped over
into the lake on the opposite side. Although the contamination area was
small and far away, publicity about the event had devastated the entire
lake's tourism for the whole summer. So impacting to them, they were
surprised to learn that this event didn't make headline news in America.
n the other hand, Cholpon-Ata does get some outside media. They
receive a few old Russian TV stations and an occasional film comes
through town.
Enough media arrives that Katja's brother found himself moved to
recognize
Dave from somewhere else. Our disbelief kept us from catching on sooner
(and he spoke not a stitch of English); but here in this sleepy,
outhouse-dotted town where the main mode of transportation is still a
donkey cart, this man was telling Dave that he resembled Duncan McCloud,
the Highlander. Dave's
true identity revealed...we had to move on.
ur first Kyrgyz destination was a city named Cholpon-Ata. Cholpon-Ata
is a summer resort town nestled into a bay along Lake Issy-Kul. This
slightly saline lake is the second largest alpine lake in the world
behind Lake Titicaca of South America. In summer, Cholpon-Ata is
claimed to be the spot for swimming, boating, parasailing - even
the Kyrgyz president has a second home here. All very impressive unless
you arrive in fall. We knew we were a bit late for the big rush, but we
didn't expect what we got. When the bus driver said, "Cholpon-Ata," we
looked at each other and thought, "Really?" It was early evening and
maybe the dusk clouded our view, but this town looked seriously dead.
(We almost thought we saw everyone in the bus look back at us laughing
to themselves, "Check out the foreigners who still think it's summer! Ha
Ha!") We were the only two people to get off here.
tanding on the side of the road, watching the taillights of the bus
disappear into the quickly falling night, a little part of each of us
was quietly wishing for the comfort we left behind. We had thoughts of
homelessness and were thankful for the one sleeping bag we shared
between the two of us. Walking down the main drag past boarded up
buildings, we looked for anything that was open. After getting a blank
stare to the word, "Hotel?" from the owner of a lone store with lights,
we were approached by a local Krygyz woman named Katja who seemed to
have materialized out of nowhere. A mother-turned-smuggler
(specializing in "contraband" aka cigarettes from Kazakhstan), she
offered her home to us for a few bucks a night. Rescued again, our
adventure continued.
atja's house was mid-construction pending funds, but like other Kyrgyz
people she was generationally not far behind a time when people lived in
yurts. This same people group would think it unclean to have a bathroom
in or near your domicile. So, Katja had an outhouse as did other places
we stayed. This experience is not new to us, but the frosty grass under
your feet on a midnight run combined with some magnificent stargazing
made for memorable, though usually unwelcomed experiences.
