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Sunday 2004-06-20 - Tashkent, Uzbekistan
My name is Johan
Our driver, Vladimir, has gone to the office to pick up our plane tickets. When they arrive at seven this morning, just before we are to leave for the Tashkent airport, we find all our names have changed! Instead of a group of 9 women and 3 men, our tickets claim we’re all men now and though most (not all) have kept their last names, all of us have new first names… My name is Johan Katsma now. Our guess is someone, somewhere, seems to have mixed up two spreadsheets in their computer, and ordered the tickets in the wrong names (some other group must have tickets in the wrong name, too!). Will we be able to fly?
After a phone call to the local agent, they promise a representative will be waiting for us at the airport to sort things out. Someone is there, indeed, but we don’t get new tickets (they can’t print tickets at the airport); the situation is accepted though, and we’re entered in the computer — and the agent’s representative leaves again … too soon, since we still have to check in. Luckily, the airline official who’s to check us in has a sense of humor: for starters, our luggage is far too heavy for the small plane according to the rules but he accepts it because the plane isn’t fully booked. “Bring me a present next time,” he says, and proceeds to literally walk us through the rest of the check-in procedure, first keeping all tickets and boarding cards and taking care they are stamped, until we get onto the bus that takes us to the tiny Yak-4 plane.
It’s like a bus, with at most 40 seats, some of them at the back taken up by our luggage. On the 50-minute flight to Fergana we even get a drink but the seats have no head rests and no folding tables, so a meal is out of the question. We get beautiful views from the windows: plains, gradually changing into the mountainous area of the Fergana valley. Touching down at Fergana airport, we see scarecrows in the sparse grass along the landing strip, obviously meant to keep birds away but I doubt they’re very successful. A bus is waiting to take us via Andijan to the border crossing near Osh. Along the road friendly villages with light-blue washed walls and sidewalks and front gardens shaded with grape vines: I’d like to see more of this area some time!
We have an easy border crossing, and on the Kirghiz side our ‘team’ is waiting for us with the truck bus that will take us across yet another country.
Sunday 2004-06-20 - Osh, Kyrgyzstan
Getting used to camping
Osh, geographically still in the Fergana valley although thanks to Soviet administrators it’s part of Kyrgyzstan now, not Uzbekistan, is not far from the border. We go straight to our ‘hotel’ first: it’s what used to be a sanatorium in Soviet times but turned into tourist lodging - and very basic. There are simple rooms (though with decent beds), with shared bathrooms and washrooms for every couple of rooms. This serves as a good preparation for the next four nights when we’ll be camping in nature, without any facilities at all…
After we’ve checked in, the “truck bus” takes us back into town where we have some time to change money (there are a lot of money changers on the market — as expected at a typical border town) and then roam over the big market which covers a long stretch along the river, at some places on both sides. It’s a nice market, once of the largest in Central Asia in fact, and apart from a few things we buy for dinner (it’s too early for us to eat dinner now), I do a bit of other shopping as well. There’s even time to take some photographs although by six the market is beginning to close down.
Osh is not only a bustling border town but a smuggler’s center as well where a big part of the opium trade passes through. Looking around it’s not only obvious a lot of Uzbeks live here among the Kirghiz — there’s a lot of money around here as well although most people doing business on the market are clearly not part of that economy.
Monday 2004-06-21 - Toktogul, Kyrgyzstan
An uncomfortable feeling
After breakfast in a separate building on the sanatorium grounds (also rented out for weddings and other occasions) our camping trip really starts. From Osh the “truck bus” takes us north along the new road around the corner of Uzbekistan that pushes into Kyrgyzstan here: the old main road went right through that bit but is no longer used as a main connection after the independence of the Central Asian states: two border crossings aren’t all that efficient for the mainly freight transport that goes along the road between Osh and the capital Bishkek. We make a short stop at Uzgen where there’s a complex with an old minaret from the middle of the 11th century, with beautiful brickwork decorations, and two tombs, still being restored. Then we go on. In this fertile area there’s a lot of agriculture: cotton, maize, onions, sunflowers and rice - and more that I don’t recognize from the truck.
A little later we turn north into the Naryn valley: the valley is narrow but the river is wide here thanks to a number of dams. The Toktogul basin, our goal for today, is one of the main reservoirs used for hydro-electric power — power from the dams is Kyrgyzstan’s major export product.
It had been dark for a while already, and now it starts to rain. That is probably the trigger: I suddenly start to feel very uncomfortable. This is landslide country and although with this light rain on still-dry ground there’s no real risk I can’t shake the feeling; the signs of past landslides are all around: big rubble cones right up to the road on one side, rubble cleared away by bulldozers on the other. It’s mainly the memories this brings back: we not only got stuck right here three years ago as a result of two landslides, I’ve seen my share of even bigger ones in Northern Pakistan, Tibet and Nepal as well, one covering several houses.
In spite of my discomfort I can’t help admiring the mountains which show a spectacular range of colors here, from gray-green to bright yellow, warm red and a dark, almost purple color, sometimes in striking combinations in the layers — all that contrasting with the bright blue-green color of the water of the Naryn here. Still, I don’t really cheer up until we leave the river valley and a while later reach our first camping spot on the southern shore of Lake Toktogul. We’re camping right on the stony beach (which turns out to be very bad for my hurt foot) and enjoy a beautiful sunset over the lake.
Wednesday 2004-06-23 - Song Köl, Kyrgyzstan
Coal and cold
Today we pass through some of the most beautiful landscapes of Kyrgyzstan that I know. At first we continue along the main road from Osh to Bishkek. Then we make a short shopping stop in Chayek (where I buy a nice shawl); this is the last occasion to shop for now: we turn off the main road onto the track that will take us to Song Köl. The track first goes through a valley but soon starts to wind higher and higher into the mountains; on the road we start to see chunks of coal and their origin soon becomes clear: high up in the mountains there’s a huge open-face coal mine — a desolate place in the middle of beautiful mountains where the workers live in old railroad wagons near the mine. This settlement (one cannot call it a village) is called Kara Kichi; we have a photo stop to record the ugliness. Once past the mine we go over a high pass and a little further on we make another short stop: nearby horses are grazing in meadows full of flowers and in the distance we can see glimmering Lake Song Köl: our target for today.
To get to the lake, we take a side track, then an even smaller track through a river bed. Here it becomes really clear why we have a “truck bus” instead of an ordinary bus: it would not make it through this terrain. The truck bus, like a bus built on top of the chassis of a heavy truck with very big wheels, has no problems with it though; such vehicles were (in Soviet times) originally used either by the military or to transport workers to the factories; now they’re very much part of the fledgling tourist industry in this country.
When we arrive at the lake we stop near a yurt to have our picnic lunch. The woman who lives in the yurt (she welcomes us traditionally with fresh bread and cream) recognizes the family in the pictures I took here two years ago: their yurt is a distance away, but maybe I can walk over there this afternoon.
In summer, grazing is good on the meadows around the lake (a nature reserve) and many nomads bring their horses here then. However, the lake never completely freezes and in winter fishermen camp out here in the harsh cold to fish the lake. Lots of birds also take advantage of the fish in the lake. Unfortunately, it’s so cold now (like it often is around the lake, even in summer), we decide to move on and camp in the valley across the mountains where it will be a lot warmer. Alas, that means I won’t be able to deliver my next set of photographs either.
We go back along the side tracks and continue on the main track again which soon takes us into the mountains up to another high pass. There’s a very steep descent with a spectacular road winding down the face of the mountain: some of the turns are so narrow, the truck can’t round them at once. The pass marks a striking change in landscape: while the high plain around the lake is completely bare of trees and even shrubs, right from the pass we see a landscape with mountain sides dotted with shrubs and trees, both deciduous and coniferous. During the steep descent, the changes in vegetation are remarkable, too: buttercups are replaced by white clover; small compact alpine plants are replaced by big sturdy ones; flowering wild roses appear farther down. Our camp is a way into the valley, where we ford the river to reach our camping spot: no problem for the truck but not so easy for humans to get through! Next to our tent is a small meadow with lots of purple orchids, and in the field between our tents are lots of bunches of blue irises (probably Iris germanica): a lovely spot to camp!
