Nuclear Missiles

Our flight from Bishkek to Istanbul left at 3:00 a.m. The plan was to rest at the hotel until 1:00 a.m.; then Rysbek was going to be kind enough to take us to the airport. We never rested, but we had an unforgetable evening.

My first stop back in Bishkek was the National Hospital of Kyrgyzstan. I was seen by the chief opthamologist; she examined my eye and assured me that - while it looked horrendous - it was a surface laceration - "not serious." I was given eye ointment and told to keep my eye covered for 48 hours. The visit was expensive though - it cost me a little over three U,S dollars!

It was now about 8:00 p.m. Babur's family had decided that they wanted to treat us to dinner at a restaurant. The people there that night were: Rysbek and his wife Jyldyz, their two daughters Anara and Chanara, Chanara's husband, Anara's daughter, Teligay, Chanara's daughter, Sanirabiga, and their family friends: Babur, his mother, father, and sister.

The meal was delicious! But, the conversation was again the most memorable. We had two interpretors at this meal: Anara and Babur. It was funny and endearing. I would ask a question, like "How did your parents meet?" And, each of Babur's parents would give this long explanation, with lots of gestures, laughs, and we could tell - contradictions. Finally, we'd look to Babur, who would sweetly say, "A friend introduced them." (A lot was lost in translation!)

The most touching conversation of all was between Leon and Babur's father. Earlier in the trip, Rysbek had learned that Leon had been in the Navy, serving on a submarine in the North Sea. While we couldn't understand Russian, we could tell that every introduction thereafter included the fact that Leon had "driven" submarines. Tonight was no exception. Babur said that his father respected military service/ had himself been in the service. Via tranlators, they started comparing notes. Leon had been on a submarine containing Polaris nuclear missiles. Babur's father had worked with Soviet nuclear missiles. You could see the realization dawn, as Babur's father made hand gestures of missiles shooting at each other. Usually a smiling man, he pensively said, "When I was in the service, never in my worst nightmares, did I ever dream that I would one day be having dinner with an American." (We were the first Americans they had ever met.) He made many, many toasts celebrating that he was indeed having dinner with an American.

My favorite personal memory is Babur's mother telling me (through an interpretor) that she thought I had such a friendly, open face - she could just tell that I was a good person. "Isn't it true," she continued, "that mothers are simply mothers the world over?" I agreed; we hugged.

Golden Eagle Hunting; The Hot Springs

It was late by the time everyone left Teligay's birthday party last night. Leon slept out under the stars again. With no light pollution, the "Milky Way" here is a broad ribbon across the sky. With a pair of simple binoculars, each of a million stars jumps into view. None of us had seen the stars this clearly since we were kids.

The next morning, we were still sleeping (around 8 a.m.) when Leon roused us, saying that the local falconer was here for a hunting demonstration. We got dressed and walked with the falconer up the mountainside. He had brought with him a golden eagle --- and a live rabbit. I had been looking forward to this demonstration of falconry, but I didn't enjoy it. The falconer climbed higher yet. When they released the rabbit down by us, it was so scared it didn't move at first. But when it did - the golden eagle saw it, dove, and sank its talons into it. Later, we were able to take our pictures with the golden eagle. (I could handle that!)

At our last breakfast in the yurt, we asked Askar if there was anything we could send him from America. The answer, "Tourists." The family wants to keep the farm as it is, but add to it a "nomadic life" tourism business. (Want to go?) We can attest that it is authentic!

We packed our gear, reluctantly said our good-byes, and started back on the trek to Bishkek. Our first stop was a welcome one. We stopped at a natural hot springs (and not a commercial production as we experienced in Turkey). We had the hot springs pool all to ourselves. The water was HOT! We learned later that the water was about 112 degrees Fahrenheit. Granted, the boiling point for water is higher in this altitude, but I felt a little cooked. Anara explained the procedure - first, you go into the hot water for as long as you could stand, then you are to cross the road and lay down in the mountain stream. (I don't know the temperature of the mountain stream, but Jim put his foot into it before the hot pool, and it quickly became numb.) We were to do this "hot-cold" routine twice. We all did. Along with a little shampoo, we were very refreshed!

We stopped at a few more small towns. My left eye was swollen shut from something, and we were looking for a doctor. But, it was Sunday, and those few we saw recommended that we go on to Bishkek. The ride back to Bishkek was slightly shorter in distance, as we had circumnavigated the huge lake and were now on the southern shore. Still, the trip took about 8 hours. It was a beautiful day, but riding in the back of the van in need of shocks, over a jagged road, the trip seemed longer.

Abilay Abilay

Our friend Kunduz has an unusual email name -- abilayabilay. When we asked her about it, she answered that Abilay was her grandfather's name, with whom she is very close. Today, we were honored to meet him. But, first, the whole day:

I crawled out of my tent fairly early. Jim had left with Rysbek even earlier... off on another hunt. The rest of us stumbled around and got a fire going. Mark and Beth had froze. The mountain nights, even in August, are chilly. (Jim and I had had a horse blanket over our light sleeping bag and had been comfortable.) Again, the hunters came back successful. Jim had shot four rabbits this time. The rabbits were taken, skinned, and cubed - and a slow-cooking potato and rabbit stew started.

One scene remains indelible in all our minds. The stallion that Rysbek had been riding the day before got loose from its fetter and decided to flee. Its mane and tail were perpendicular to the ground as it galloped away. Rysbek's nephew jumped on his own horse. Horse and boy FLEW over the mountainside, jumping rocks, small ravines after the stallion. The nephew gained inches on the stallion at each turn and twist. They disappeared from our sight, but we all knew that the young man would be back - with the stallion. He was. (Jim has recalled that scene several times since we've been back; but neither he nor I are able to adequately describe the scene in words...)

After breakfast, the five of us went for a walk, while the others rounded up and saddled the horses; cleaned and stowed gear. We crossed the river at a small wooden bridge, then climbed up toward a mountain forest. The ground here was covered in tiny flowers of all hues - I picked a small, beautiful bouquet of yellow, purple, red, and blue. We came back to the campsite but on the other side of the river, and crossed one at a time over the rushing water. Here's Mark..

After eating the delicious rabbit stew, we started down the mountain. The return trip seemed shorter. The horses knew they were going home, and although none broke into a gallop, their steps were quicker.

When we returned to the yurt and farmstead, we found that many other family members had gathered there, including Kunduz' grandfather and his wife. Rysbek's older sister and three more brothers were also there. Telligay turned five years old that day. Five, ten, and twenty are important birthdays in Kyrgyzstan, and the family had gathered to celebrate it. After cleaning up a tad (remember we had now not bathed in three days), we joined the festivities. Again, the boiled lamb was brought out. Again, the ceremony - only this time, the grandfather distributed the sections and Mark was presented with the head! Telligay received a large bag of candy for her present, which she was kind enough to share.

We sat and talked into the night (with Anara as interpretor). Grandfather Abilay is an important man in these parts. When all the land was in collective farms under the Soviet Union, he was this area's collective farm leader. He even went to Moscow representing the area. He has helped to build the local school; it is named after him. He has recently written a book of his life, and brought out newly printed editions for his family members. All eight of his children have finished college. He is rightly proud.

The evening is beautiful on the mountain. My favorite picture from the whole trip is this one of "our extended family" gathered that night.

"Best Trail Ride Ever"

We ride towards the snow-capped mountain. The valley stretches forever - first one bend, then another. Through the middle runs a mountain stream. This area is all open range. The farmers rent grazing rights from the village, but there are no fences, no power lines, no development, none. Leon surmises that this is what the west must have been like in the days of Zane Grey and Louis L'amour lore.

We round a bend and see a horseman with a dog, a flock of sheep. He rides up and pleasantries are exchanged with Rysbek and Askar. Around the next bend is a herd of horses. Again, hands are extended and grasped.

It slowly soaks in that we are riding through an amazing, wild part of Central Asia. We snap hundreds of pictures of the valley; none do it justice. After five hours, we come to a small farm, comprised of a tent made of cotton and a horse corral. They welcome us with tea. We are supposed to ride another 90 minutes, but we declare "here is good" and set up our tents about 50 feet from the rushing stream.

Rysbek would like to go hunting, and Jim's willing. Rysbek has brought two guns along. One -- a 1915 Browning (Belgian) shotgun --he received as a present from his son-in-law, and has never shot. Leon figures out how the pieces go together, and Jim claims that gun. Rysbek meanwhile has a World War One Russian sniper rifle.

The rest of us stay in valley and start a campfire for supper. We hear a few shots now and then. When they return, Jim has shot three rabbits. They are taken from him, skinned, washed in the river, skewered, and put onto the fire's coals within 10 minutes.

Iskar, another farmer, comes riding by with his two dogs, his sheep. He crosses over the stream (leaving his flock on the other side) and sits with us and shares the meal of rabbit. We LOVE that he does so, noting the instant camaraderie of this nomadic life.

Saddling Up

The next morning, we arise to see for the first time where we really are. We are on a simple ranch, but nothing about the scenery is simple. In one direction, we see their grazing horses against a backdrop straight from a movie set, except it's real. In another direction, mountain flowers paint the ground with purples, yellows and blues. It is heart-stopping beautiful.

After washing up in the stream, Askar and son start rounding up the horses, but not to be saddled -- yet. First, the mares need to be milked. (Fermented mare's milk is a famous Kyrgyz drink.) I had not heard of milking horses, but Askar says they can be milked up to five times a day.

Then, the saddles come out. The saddles look like a wooden frame, with little to no leather attached. My butt is anticipating several hours in these, and I wince. But, atop a saddle blanket, they put on these saddles "frames", another thick blanket, then a cinch that goes around the entire works. By the time I'm seated, it feels very comfortable.

The horses are well trained. They are not small ponies, but the same size as an American quarter horse. We all name our horses: mine is Blue Babbette; Beth's is Loretta; Mark's is Lucky; and Jim's is Star. The mouth noises Askar and his son use with them are obviously different than our "giddy-up" and "whoa;" I can't roll my r's so I'm unable to even make one of the sounds. But, my horse is trained for neck reining and responds well to me.

We ultimately ride a 30 mile round trip over two days through mountainous terrain, including fording quite fast-running streams. I assume correctly that my horse knows where to plant his hooves better than I and I give him a lot of rein.

Traditional Ceremony of the Lamb

We knew we were going to be staying in a yurt our first night on the mountain, but it was very different than I had expected. I had imagined an igloo-shaped temporary shelter, covered in wool. (I got the shape and wool part right.) But, the rest was wrong. Askar's yurt was built many years ago by his father. It is a permanent structure, with wooden ribs. Plain from the outside, it is beautiful inside, filled with cushions and carpets on the floor.

As we entered it late that first night, the yurt was filled with food and family. We were asked to sit down, cross-legged style, and the introductions began.

With the exception of 50 plus years as a collective farm while part of the Soviet Union, this farm has been in Rysbek's family since the 16th century. His brother Askar and his family live here; they shepherd sheep and over 40 horses. The farm is simple and beautiful. There is a small farmhouse and this yurt, where the family takes all of its meals. There is no running water, indoor plumbing, or electricity. A single bulb lights the yurt, powered by a 12-volt battery.

It's 10:30 p.m. by now and the family has been awaiting our arrival. On a tablecloth on the floor are many small dishes of cream, honey, jam, and nuts. There are hundreds of small baked bread puffs spread across the whole. We eat and sip tea, and talk. It is delicious. We think that is the meal.

Then, a whole lamb is brought in. It has been killed to honor our arrival. It is boiled, and the head of the lamb adorns the top of the plate. We are told that the most honored guest receives the head to eat; that is Jim. He receives it with aplomb. Rysbek instructs us on the importance - and ceremony - of the lamb. Depending on your stature, you receive different joints or pieces. After parsing out the parts, Rysbek says that if anyone entered the yurt at this point, they would immediately know the status of each person, based on the lamb section in front of them. This is a custom that has been followed for hundreds of years.

Beyond the End of the Road

One of Jim's magical moments of this entire trip is our journey the second day in Kyrgyzstan. As Jim describes it to others, "We fly to the city of Bishkek, which 99% of Americans have never heard of, we drive 300 miles on bumpy asphalt roads, only to turn off onto a washboard dirt road that winds up a mountain. It's dark by now, and I can only glimpse a drop-off at the side of the road here with no idea how far it drops or what is below. Finally, we drive up to a gate, where there are a few houses clustered. I imagine we must be there, but we go on - another 20 minutes. I realize that I have never been this far away in my life. We've just traveled beyond the end of the road."

And, he has yet to really see where we are. But, let me start at the beginning of the day...

We leave Bishkek early in the morning, around 7:30 a.m. We're all together in a fifteen person van, which sounds big, but it contains the driver, his wife, son, and daughter; the five of us; and Rysbek, Anara, her daughter and niece. All of our luggage (we brought too much!) is piled on several seats, so it is cozy!


We travel along the northern edge of Issyk-Kul lake; the road at times also abuts the border with Kazakhstan. The lake is the second largest mountain lake in the world. The lake is clear and stunning, with little development along the shore. We can often see the white peaks of the Tien Shan mountains looming on the southern shore. We stop to swim at - get this! - the Moscow Communist Party Resort. I swim and swim.

We also stop at a cultural center along the lake that epitomizes tolerance. Through statues, buildings, and other art forms, it tries to represent the central tenets of each world religion.

Other than these stops, and for breakfast and lunch, we travel fairly continuously. Finally, we arrive at Rysbek's brother Askar's family farm. We get out of the van, stretch, and see a million stars. We are up high!