In Some Places

January 21, 2016

Ashu Guesthouse in Chong-Kemin Valley

Over fall break in October, we finally bought a car. The next day we took off for the mountains. Learning under pressure to drive a right-wheeled car in a country that drives on the right side of the road, we made it out of the city unscathed. One dubious traffic stop, 1 000 som, and three hours later, we arrived at Ashu Guesthouse in Chong-Kemin Valley.

Still feeling tired from back-to-back moves, we decided on Chong-Kemin Valley for our first car trip. For one, it was close to Bishkek (about a 2-hour drive). Also, we heard great things about Ashu Guesthouse.

After checking in and eating a delicious, veg-friendly late lunch with buckwheat and eggs, we took Roxie to wander around the little town. Roxie enjoyed pretending to threaten the chickens while we fended off the group of children that decided we were the town’s newest celebrities. School had just gotten out and small groups of kids in dressy school uniforms sporadically emerged from the building in the center of town. Shouts of “hello!” and “what is your name” followed us down the street. When a pack of boys decided to protect us from a nearing stray dog, we decided it was time to head back to the guesthouse.

The next morning we took an early walk as the sun rose. The frost crunched beneath our feet as we made our way through the valley, flat land scrolling only a short distance before rolling into towering mountains in almost every direction. Our breath came out in tall white puffs, but the smoke rising from nearby houses reminded us that warmth wasn’t too far off.

The sun had barely risen as we walked by the last house in the village, only a block away from our guesthouse, and into an expansive field.

For two days we didn’t do much but explore, taking Roxie on walks outside, practicing yoga in the pagoda with our breath billowing in puffs of cold as we moved. We read and walked and played cribbage and drank coffee and ate delicious food, and it was so relaxing.

Ashu Guesthouse is a beautiful place. A double room including all meals (breakfast, lunch, and dinner) runs about $60 per person. This is extremely expensive for Kyrgyzstan, but the feel of the guesthouse was very luxurious, at least for us, and for Kyrgyzstan. Since it was my birthday and we were looking for an easy, quiet getaway, we decided to splurge on a weekend retreat.

Wandering around town, we felt for the first time in a while how foreign this country we call home is. Living in a city where we can wander to the pizza place or burger joint and speak to our friends and coworkers in our native language, sometimes it doesn’t feel like we live abroad. This trip took care of that. We watched farmers on horseback herd their cattle in the mornings and evenings. We waved as a boy jauntily rode is donkey by, smiling ear to ear. We laughed as we watched a goat try to scale the roof of a small house nearby.

When we weren’t entertained by the local quirks, we were eating. The meals alone were worth the expensive price. We raved over the jam served at every meal.

The meals were extremely filling, and easily adapted to vegetarian fare. They are simple but healthy and delicious. For breakfast we were served a spread of bread, eggs, porridge, and pancakes. Lunch and dinner were different each day, including eggs and bulgur, oromo (a Kyrgyz dumpling), and soup, among other dishes. Just thinking about the food makes me wish I could go back immediately.

The decor of the accommodation was also beautiful. Krygyz felt pieces decorated the seating and the walls, and the bedding was soft linen with simple Kyrgyz designs. The beds were plush and cozy.

While we were there, a government financial organization was conducting a conference. The facilities are fantastic for a retreat or conference; I’m hoping to plan a yoga retreat over a weekend in the spring, but in the meantime hope to make it back just to relax and hang out.

The village itself doesn’t have much happening, but we were happy to meander the village and explore some local trails up the mountains. There is a lot to do in the area, and the guesthouse will help arrange transportation or guides to local sights. For us, it was enough this time to breathe the fresh air and listen to the roosters.

On the way out we noticed a woman who had been at the guesthouse standing at the bus stop in town. She was headed back to Bishkek so we picked her up to give her a lift. Good thing, too. I forgot to turn the lights on (a law on highways in Kyrgyzstan no matter the time of day) and was again pulled over by traffic police. However, our friend explained to the police that we are silly foreigners and it’s our first time driving and thus saved us from paying a 300 som fine.

We made it back to Bishkek relaxed and happy.

November 9, 2015

Asking for Help in Another Culture

I very much prefer to be self-sufficient. I like the time to read about things and think about them and understand them before making a decision. Living abroad prohibits most of these things from happening almost 100% of the time.

Ryan and I often rock-paper-scissors about who pays at the grocery store or for meals. We are both introverts even in our own language, so layering on a foreign language and foreign customs doesn’t simplify things. Even in English I like to avoid small exchanges, but even the small things can become giant mountains to climb when surrounded by things you simply don’t understand.

I constantly marvel at what life must have looked like for those living abroad before the time of GPS and smartphones and google translate. Even though Ryan and I have studied a little Russian (Ryan so much more than me), there are still daily struggles with communicating. We are vegetarian but often end up with food sitting in front of us stuffed with meat. We hop on the wrong bus heading in the wrong direction. We simply cannot figure out where to buy a cord for our printer no matter how many electronics stores we peruse.

It’s so much simpler to just ask for help.

But it’s hard for me to ask for help. I don’t want to inconvenience those around me. After all, we are all busy, especially since almost everyone I know is a co-worker of mine. I’m well aware of how much work they have to do, because I have that much work to do . So needing to ask my co-teacher to not only help prepare for a science lesson and take the kids to music but also to call the internet company and find out if they offer coverage for the house that I just moved into seems like it’s adding an unfair workload. I constantly hesitate to ask.

There’s also the layer of feeling sheepish. Sometimes I feel like I have no right to ask for help. After all, didn’t I specifically choose to move to this country? Didn’t I know for six whole months that I was moving somewhere where Russian is not the primary language? There are so many little moments of guilt or embarrassment about not being able to speak the language, not being able to be properly polite or inquisitive to people whose home I am living in.

But asking for help is something that is simply a necessity living anywhere. The reality is that no matter how much the internet and technology has allowed us to live in compartmentalized lives, there are times when all of us simply need help from someone. Sometimes we have to pay for this help in the form of experts, and sometimes friendly neighbors or coworkers lend a hand, or sometimes you help someone and they end up helping you back.

Last week, Ryan and I bought a car. We had asked around to many different people for help. Coworkers had recently bought a car with the help of a student’s family’s local driver. So, we called the driver. He offered to take us to the car bazaar and walk us through the logistics of purchasing a car. When I mentioned that we were buying a car, my co-worker mentioned that they were selling their car. We ended up purchasing their old Subaru, and they helped register the car and settle the paperwork.

On the way home from our first road trip, we drove past a woman who had been staying at our guesthouse. She was walking down the main street of the village with all her luggage dragging behind her, so we pulled over to ask her where she was headed, and she hopped in our car for a ride back to Bishkek.

Of course, we were pulled over about an hour later; I forgot to turn my headlights on (a law here if driving on the highway). She helped us translate with the police and ended up relieving us of the 300 som fine by explaining that we are foreigners and this is our first time driving.

I felt extremely grateful. I felt silly for not remembering to turn my headlights on. I felt embarrassed at what the girl must think about me driving here but not being able to properly communicate with the police. But I did feel grateful.

The help we have received from locals is silly when I add it up. Rides from the airport, help finding an apartment, help finding a veterinarian for a hurt puppy, help buying a printer, help buying a car, help getting out of trouble with the police, help finding an electrician to turn on the heat, help figuring out where to buy fabric, help figuring out where to buy tofu or coconut milk or cute non-leather boots.

A lot of the time I feel stupid. It’s humbling realizing I have absolutely no idea what is going on around me. I am entirely at the mercy of people explaining to me what is happening and why and where to go to fix it. It’s terrifying and stress-inducing, but it’s also reassuring. It’s amazing that anywhere in the world there are people willing to help. I just have to buck up the courage to ask.