2008-12-08T09:46:44-08:00 sarah http://www.singingtree.com/~strefethen/index.php strefethen@singingtree.com tag:pivotpowered,2008:sarahsweblog Pivot Copyright (c) 2008, Authors of sarah's weblog 2008-12-08T09:46:00-08:00 2008-12-08T12:46:00-08:00 tag:pivotpowered,2008:sarahsweblog.64

I hearby declare this weblog an archive. The writing is a little embarrassing, but the intentions were good and I'm still proud of most of the photos. I enjoyed this enough that I'm now a full-time journalism M.A. student at the City University of New York. Stay tuned.

I hearby declare this weblog an archive. The writing is a little embarrassing, but the intentions were good and I'm still proud of most of the photos.

I enjoyed this enough that I'm now a full-time journalism M.A. student at the City University of New York. Stay tuned. ]]> sarah 2006-12-22T00:00:00-08:00 2006-12-22T03:00:00-08:00 tag:pivotpowered,2008:sarahsweblog.61

The stories are many, and though I don't have sources for them I'm going to go ahead with some of my favorites anyway... When Turkmenbashi canceled everyone's pensions, he liked the results so much that he went on to make the pensioners pay back the money they had previously received. When Turkmenbashi publicly announced his disapproval for gold teeth, no one in the country was allowed back to work until they'd had theirs removed. The Turkmen word for 'bread' was replaced with Turmenbashi's mother's name. So was the word for Monday. Last year, Turkmenistan suffered a deadly outbreak of Bubonic Plague. I didn't visit Turkmenistan going through central Asia, but I got to talk to a lot of people who did and was thus at least aware of one of the world's sadder political situations. Should we be glad that he's dead? What this New York Times article fails to point out, in all its straight-faced talked of 'elections', is that the schoolchildren of Turkmenistan haven't read a book by anyone other than their now deceased president for decades. Not only has he left everyone poverty-stricken by diverting the country's oil wealth into rotating golden statues of himself, he's left them pitifully uneducated. He has no clear successor and we now have a country full of desperate, gullible, leaderless Muslims sitting on huge quantities of natural resources on the border of Afghanistan. This isn't my personal analysis, an article in The Economist spelled if all out for us this past summer. But now it's actually happening. I guess I just think it's a shame that all this went down right as The Daily Show was going on break for the holidays. Not only does it count as an under-reported and potentially very important news story, but the acting president's name is Gurbanguly Berdymukhammedov.

When Turkmenbashi canceled everyone's pensions, he liked the results so much that he went on to make the pensioners pay back the money they had previously received.

When Turkmenbashi publicly announced his disapproval for gold teeth, no one in the country was allowed back to work until they'd had theirs removed.

The Turkmen word for 'bread' was replaced with Turmenbashi's mother's name. So was the word for Monday.

Last year, Turkmenistan suffered a deadly outbreak of Bubonic Plague.

I didn't visit Turkmenistan going through central Asia, but I got to talk to a lot of people who did and was thus at least aware of one of the world's sadder political situations. Should we be glad that he's dead? What this New York Times article fails to point out, in all its straight-faced talked of 'elections', is that the schoolchildren of Turkmenistan haven't read a book by anyone other than their now deceased president for decades. Not only has he left everyone poverty-stricken by diverting the country's oil wealth into rotating golden statues of himself, he's left them pitifully uneducated. He has no clear successor and we now have a country full of desperate, gullible, leaderless Muslims sitting on huge quantities of natural resources on the border of Afghanistan. This isn't my personal analysis, an article in The Economist spelled if all out for us this past summer. But now it's actually happening.

I guess I just think it's a shame that all this went down right as The Daily Show was going on break for the holidays. Not only does it count as an under-reported and potentially very important news story, but the acting president's name is Gurbanguly Berdymukhammedov. ]]> sarah 2006-12-02T15:57:00-08:00 2006-09-25T15:46:00-08:00 tag:pivotpowered,2008:sarahsweblog.60

The other day the recently re-elected Prime Minister of Hungary announced in a closed meeting to members of his party that he had been lying about the state of the national economy for the past two years, and he did use the word lie. The speech was leaked to the radio and the opposition party came out with the observation that the public wouldn't stand for this and would probably take to the streets. The public duly complied; there was a bit of property damage the first day or so but by the time I got down to the parliament building yesterday it was your standard sunny weekend crowd of calm, multi-generational direct democracy types. I have no opinion about how people should run their countries or what they should or shouldn't do to try and break in to the Euro, but there was one thing about the scene around the parliament building that I found particularly interesting. Take a look at the pictures and see what strikes you - this is particularly directed at anyone who's been to a protest in their own country lately. Those red, white and green things are the Hungarian national flag. I commented to my friend that this was strange to me; that I wasn't used to seeing a lot of American flags at protests of the US government. She thought about it for a minute and then asked me if Americans really flew the flag on their houses, as she had seen in movies. She went on to conclude that this was a fundamental difference between our countries - that Hungarians would never put a flag on their house but it's the first thing they grab on their way to any sort of political demonstration, while Americans are the opposite. Hungarians are some of the most passionately nationalistic people in the world. They were around before the Ottomans and the Soviets and they're still here now, and they're remained almost obnoxiously attached to their history and culture and proud to be Hungarian - so much so that no crummy little government can take that away from them. Just something to keep in mind.

The other day the recently re-elected Prime Minister of Hungary announced in a closed meeting to members of his party that he had been lying about the state of the national economy for the past two years, and he did use the word lie. The speech was leaked to the radio and the opposition party came out with the observation that the public wouldn't stand for this and would probably take to the streets. The public duly complied; there was a bit of property damage the first day or so but by the time I got down to the parliament building yesterday it was your standard sunny weekend crowd of calm, multi-generational direct democracy types. I have no opinion about how people should run their countries or what they should or shouldn't do to try and break in to the Euro, but there was one thing about the scene around the parliament building that I found particularly interesting. Take a look at the pictures and see what strikes you - this is particularly directed at anyone who's been to a protest in their own country lately.

Those red, white and green things are the Hungarian national flag. I commented to my friend that this was strange to me; that I wasn't used to seeing a lot of American flags at protests of the US government. She thought about it for a minute and then asked me if Americans really flew the flag on their houses, as she had seen in movies. She went on to conclude that this was a fundamental difference between our countries - that Hungarians would never put a flag on their house but it's the first thing they grab on their way to any sort of political demonstration, while Americans are the opposite.

Hungarians are some of the most passionately nationalistic people in the world. They were around before the Ottomans and the Soviets and they're still here now, and they're remained almost obnoxiously attached to their history and culture and proud to be Hungarian - so much so that no crummy little government can take that away from them. Just something to keep in mind.

]]> sarah 2006-09-14T08:06:00-08:00 2006-09-08T19:41:00-08:00 tag:pivotpowered,2008:sarahsweblog.59

Georgia has one of the world's oldest civilizations and one of the shoddiest infrastructures of any country I've ever encountered. This is because the population is too busy making tasty wine and then getting each other sloshed with long, beautifully eloquent toasts to bother with home maintenance. My excuse for not updating from that country is thus either that there was no reliable electricity or that I was too tipsy; possibly it was a combination of factors. I'm in Turkey now, though, where everything is very modern and efficent and mass-produced and highly taxed. Cappadocia is neat, famous for funky rock formations where early Christians lived in caves. It really is famous, though. The town I'm in strikes me as what it would be like if Dali were in Joshua Tree, but without the drugs or the cacti. It's the sort of place where 50cc scooters are for rent all along the main road and even though it's clearly off season everyone seems to be carrying a guide book and speaking Spanish or Japanese. I was in an eleventh-century cave church drinking tea with the caretaker when two women walked in talking about where they get their oil changed in broad American accents*. This is why I'm traveling back like this: gradual readjustment. Speaking of which - I thought I was going to fly to the States from Turkey but flights are all well over $1000, so I'm going to have to go into Europe. Shucks. *Note that I'm not saying that there's anything wrong or even unusual about discussing one's lube work under a chipped and oddly-proportioned fresco of Our Lord and Saviour. I've just gotten very used to literally not understanding people's more mundane conversations.

I'm in Turkey now, though, where everything is very modern and efficent and mass-produced and highly taxed. Cappadocia is neat, famous for funky rock formations where early Christians lived in caves. It really is famous, though. The town I'm in strikes me as what it would be like if Dali were in Joshua Tree, but without the drugs or the cacti. It's the sort of place where 50cc scooters are for rent all along the main road and even though it's clearly off season everyone seems to be carrying a guide book and speaking Spanish or Japanese. I was in an eleventh-century cave church drinking tea with the caretaker when two women walked in talking about where they get their oil changed in broad American accents*. This is why I'm traveling back like this: gradual readjustment.

Speaking of which - I thought I was going to fly to the States from Turkey but flights are all well over $1000, so I'm going to have to go into Europe. Shucks.

*Note that I'm not saying that there's anything wrong or even unusual about discussing one's lube work under a chipped and oddly-proportioned fresco of Our Lord and Saviour. I've just gotten very used to literally not understanding people's more mundane conversations. ]]> sarah 2006-08-18T10:06:00-08:00 2006-08-16T21:06:00-08:00 tag:pivotpowered,2008:sarahsweblog.58

Yesterday evening I was wandering the streets of a mountain village in Azerbaijan with one other traveler. We were looking for food and ended up following the sound of some rather loud music, as the two often go together in this part of the world. We found not a cafe but a lively private party celebrating, we later learned, the circumcision of a small boy. A curious glance inside got us invited in for a tasty meal and some exuberant Russian dancing. Later we went for a tour of a beautiful blacksmithy built buy the grandfather of our guide, who would one day inherit the place himself. There was no motivation behind any of this beyond friendliness, curiosity and a healthy dose of personal pride. Late this morning, I set of in the same village in search of (Arthur Dent style) a cup of tea. Finding a likely looking cafe I enquired about (Ebenezer Scrooge style) prices. I was quoted a figure five times what I had paid for a pot of tea in the capital and turned to walk away in well-practiced budget traveler disgust. A small group of men called me back. "You're alone? Sit down, we'll get you some tea." I provided my standard autobiographical sketch and was addressed at length in eloquent Russian, the language of our initial interactions. My inability to understand was regretted but forgiven, and my new friends returned to talking amongst themselves in the local Persian dialect. Our group grew by two more and when I attempted to excuse myself I was implored not to leave before lunch. The cafe is idyllically situated on a bluff overlooking a river in the Caucus foothills, and I'm still here as I write this, to type up later. Throughout the meal I was more or less left alone, except to ensure that my plate and glass were always full and that we drank a toast to California's famous governor. I enjoyed the food and the weather and the ebb and flow of conversation in total peace - which seems to have been the intent. All of this has reminded me of a story I heard in Astana. I was staying in the flat of some local twenty-somethings as part of an experimental foray into Hospitality Club. One of my hosts had spent time in the States on a student work/travel visa. He spoke of his overwhelmed confusion on arriving, alone, in New York City, where he found himself wandering near the port in the early evening. "Then," he said, "I saw a big Black." I flinched in anticipation. Remember that I'm still used to China, were a highly racist culture has been exacerbated by a lack of exposure to and negative US media depictions of people of African descent. "I told him that I didn't know where to go," Sergey said, "so he took me to his apartment. I stayed there and we drank vodka." We laughed that he had such a typically Central Asian first night in the States, but a more salient point remained. In that one little story I felt the world become a better place. A week later, in Aktau, I ended up spending a couple of evenings watching Fox News. Talking points included "Germany trades with Iran - are they part of the Axis of Evil?", "Would the world be more Peaceful and Profitable without the UN?" and the always constructive "Why do They hate Us?" I was upset at the time but right now, in this little corner of paradise, I'm not that worried about Fox News. No amount of hate-mongering can ever win as long as we have nice scenery, good food, (vodka) and the humanity to extend ourselves to strangers.

Late this morning, I set of in the same village in search of (Arthur Dent style) a cup of tea. Finding a likely looking cafe I enquired about (Ebenezer Scrooge style) prices. I was quoted a figure five times what I had paid for a pot of tea in the capital and turned to walk away in well-practiced budget traveler disgust. A small group of men called me back. "You're alone? Sit down, we'll get you some tea."

I provided my standard autobiographical sketch and was addressed at length in eloquent Russian, the language of our initial interactions. My inability to understand was regretted but forgiven, and my new friends returned to talking amongst themselves in the local Persian dialect. Our group grew by two more and when I attempted to excuse myself I was implored not to leave before lunch. The cafe is idyllically situated on a bluff overlooking a river in the Caucus foothills, and I'm still here as I write this, to type up later. Throughout the meal I was more or less left alone, except to ensure that my plate and glass were always full and that we drank a toast to California's famous governor. I enjoyed the food and the weather and the ebb and flow of conversation in total peace - which seems to have been the intent.

All of this has reminded me of a story I heard in Astana. I was staying in the flat of some local twenty-somethings as part of an experimental foray into Hospitality Club. One of my hosts had spent time in the States on a student work/travel visa. He spoke of his overwhelmed confusion on arriving, alone, in New York City, where he found himself wandering near the port in the early evening. "Then," he said, "I saw a big Black."

I flinched in anticipation. Remember that I'm still used to China, were a highly racist culture has been exacerbated by a lack of exposure to and negative US media depictions of people of African descent. "I told him that I didn't know where to go," Sergey said, "so he took me to his apartment. I stayed there and we drank vodka."

We laughed that he had such a typically Central Asian first night in the States, but a more salient point remained. In that one little story I felt the world become a better place.

A week later, in Aktau, I ended up spending a couple of evenings watching Fox News. Talking points included "Germany trades with Iran - are they part of the Axis of Evil?", "Would the world be more Peaceful and Profitable without the UN?" and the always constructive "Why do They hate Us?" I was upset at the time but right now, in this little corner of paradise, I'm not that worried about Fox News. No amount of hate-mongering can ever win as long as we have nice scenery, good food, (vodka) and the humanity to extend ourselves to strangers. ]]> sarah 2006-08-13T02:18:00-08:00 2006-08-13T13:18:00-08:00 tag:pivotpowered,2008:sarahsweblog.57

There really is a train that runs from Astana here to Aktau (on the Caspian) in three nights; that bit at the end of my last post was perfectly true. It was the implication that I would be making this journey myself that was inappropriate. A physical shortage of trains, apparently, means that this popular line runs every other day and is book solid almost two weeks in advance. For me, it was two more night waffling around in Astana trying to arrange transport (anything but the bus, dear god) followed by a character-building 28 hour bus ride to Aktobe, where I spend three days livin' large in the station dorm. From Aktobe it was another 20-some-odd hours (I've run into a little trouble keeping track of time) on the train to get here, where it is quite hot. In Astana, when I identified myself as a tourist, people were startled but rather pleased. Out here, in sub-Siberian Aktobe and oil-and-uranium-ville Aktau, the reactions are more suspicious, almost hostile. "You're a what? Nah... What are you really doing?'" My only response to this is to indicate that I'm passing through. I don't really speak Russian and there really aren't any tourist attractions to point to; northern Texas has western Kazakhstan beat on this one, with that big cross. Which isn't to say that the trip has been without its points of interest. Impressively, the road along the Russian border from Rumy to Aktobe runs through literally nothing for the better part of a day. Our bus stopped for cigarette breaks every couple of hours in the middle of the steppe. The train south from Aktobe passed through slightly more populated areas where no people but plenty of grazing camels could be seen. Camels are old news at this point, but these herds included the two-humped kind, which I didn't really believe existed before now. And then, train journeys themselves are always interesting. On the leg from Almaty to Astana I was sequestered in a first-class compartment with a nice young militistia (who I taught to play rummy) and thus missed getting a good sense of Kazakh railway culture. On this recent trip I was in a much more personable second-class carriage, complete with friendly stow-aways in the baggage racks. I fly to Baku (Azerbaijan) tomorrow afternoon. At some point before then I need to figure out what time zone I'm in.

In Astana, when I identified myself as a tourist, people were startled but rather pleased. Out here, in sub-Siberian Aktobe and oil-and-uranium-ville Aktau, the reactions are more suspicious, almost hostile. "You're a what? Nah... What are you really doing?'"

My only response to this is to indicate that I'm passing through. I don't really speak Russian and there really aren't any tourist attractions to point to; northern Texas has western Kazakhstan beat on this one, with that big cross. Which isn't to say that the trip has been without its points of interest. Impressively, the road along the Russian border from Rumy to Aktobe runs through literally nothing for the better part of a day. Our bus stopped for cigarette breaks every couple of hours in the middle of the steppe. The train south from Aktobe passed through slightly more populated areas where no people but plenty of grazing camels could be seen. Camels are old news at this point, but these herds included the two-humped kind, which I didn't really believe existed before now. And then, train journeys themselves are always interesting. On the leg from Almaty to Astana I was sequestered in a first-class compartment with a nice young militistia (who I taught to play rummy) and thus missed getting a good sense of Kazakh railway culture. On this recent trip I was in a much more personable second-class carriage, complete with friendly stow-aways in the baggage racks.

I fly to Baku (Azerbaijan) tomorrow afternoon. At some point before then I need to figure out what time zone I'm in. ]]> sarah 2006-08-03T23:09:00-08:00 2006-08-04T12:05:00-08:00 tag:pivotpowered,2008:sarahsweblog.56

I don't think I've made it explicit to many people, but a couple of months ago I set myself the goal of traveling accross Asia (from Beijing the Istanbul) without taking an airplane. I'm announcing this now only to say that I apear to have failed. I arrived at the Azeri embassy here in Astana on Tuesday to discover that said diplomatic outpost is closed for the month of August. Short of arranging a visa ahead or time, I'm obliged to arrive in Azerbaijan by air as visas are issued domestically only at the international airport. Because of this, I'm going to have to fly over the Caspian rather than taking the cheaper and more romantic (confused CS Lewis refrences come to mind) ferry. My life is such a trial. Meanwhile, Astana is not a place I would ever have visited were I not on a bureaucratic scavenger hunt, but it's been mildly interesting. The government moved here from Almaty a few years ago, and the fancy new capital city skyline is about half finished. From here, it's three nights on the train to the Caspian. Trivia for the day: Kazakhstan is the largest country in the world not to border any of the oceans.

Because of this, I'm going to have to fly over the Caspian rather than taking the cheaper and more romantic (confused CS Lewis refrences come to mind) ferry. My life is such a trial.

Meanwhile, Astana is not a place I would ever have visited were I not on a bureaucratic scavenger hunt, but it's been mildly interesting. The government moved here from Almaty a few years ago, and the fancy new capital city skyline is about half finished. From here, it's three nights on the train to the Caspian.

Trivia for the day: Kazakhstan is the largest country in the world not to border any of the oceans. ]]> sarah 2006-07-30T05:39:00-08:00 2006-07-30T18:39:00-08:00 tag:pivotpowered,2008:sarahsweblog.55

On Thursday - to the surprise of many - I crossed the northern border of Kyrgyzstan into Kazakhstan. Staying too long in comfortable places is something of a Trefethen family travelling tradition, and Kyrgyzstan was very comfortable. It was about a four hour bus ride between Bishkek and Almaty, and the two countries share quite a lot of common culture. The difference is, no one in Kazakhstan seems to actually live in a yurt anymore. People are too busy spending zillions of dollars in oil revenues on US-style monster SUVs. I can't afford ANYTHING here - add that to the heat and I've been spending the past two days waiting for my train to Astana and moping. At least the nasty seltzer water is less nasty than in Kyrgyzstan.

On Thursday - to the surprise of many - I crossed the northern border of Kyrgyzstan into Kazakhstan. Staying too long in comfortable places is something of a Trefethen family travelling tradition, and Kyrgyzstan was very comfortable.

It was about a four hour bus ride between Bishkek and Almaty, and the two countries share quite a lot of common culture. The difference is, no one in Kazakhstan seems to actually live in a yurt anymore. People are too busy spending zillions of dollars in oil revenues on US-style monster SUVs. I can't afford ANYTHING here - add that to the heat and I've been spending the past two days waiting for my train to Astana and moping. At least the nasty seltzer water is less nasty than in Kyrgyzstan. ]]> sarah 2006-07-20T02:38:00-08:00 2006-07-20T15:38:00-08:00 tag:pivotpowered,2008:sarahsweblog.54

Tuesday:

Wednesday:




Thursday:




Friday:


more here - not an internet explorer-friendly link! ]]> sarah 2006-07-07T02:29:00-08:00 2006-07-06T17:44:00-08:00 tag:pivotpowered,2008:sarahsweblog.53

For the past few weeks my primary purpose in life has been to secure a tourist visa for the Republic of Uzbekistan. Uzbekistan's government is of the authoritarian, ex-soviet type, and is in the habit of periodically massacring its citizens. Relations with most western nations are strained, but the particularly prickly diplomats are sent to those neighboring countries, such as Kyrgyzstan, that have the gall to be home to thousands of Uzbeks who live without fear of being shot for jaywalking while standing in their front yard. Do I sound bitter? The Uzbek embassy in Bishkek has a reputation as a difficult place, and if I'd been planning I would have gotten my visa easily in Beijing. Instead, I've been doing my very best to spring through all the proverbial hoops, standing for hours on the sidewalk in front of a ten-foot fence in the hope that I'll be given an opportunity to pay one hundred US dollars for a sticker in my passport. I was turned away twice before this morning, when I not only got in to the office but was granted an audience with the consul. His eyes were beadier than expected. After a brief interrogation I was told that I could have my visa if I flew into the capital, but that I wouldn't be permited to enter the country overland. Come back tomorrow with a plane ticket... you'll only have to stand outside for two hours. When I tried to explain my love of the public bus, he turned his back on me and walked away. SO - my land border options are Kazakhstan, Tajikistan and China, or I could actually (having recently been spared the expense of a one hundred dollar visa) fly somewhere - just not Uzbekistan. The wonders of Samarkand will have to wait until I learn how to give bureaucrats whatever it is they're really after.

Do I sound bitter?

The Uzbek embassy in Bishkek has a reputation as a difficult place, and if I'd been planning I would have gotten my visa easily in Beijing. Instead, I've been doing my very best to spring through all the proverbial hoops, standing for hours on the sidewalk in front of a ten-foot fence in the hope that I'll be given an opportunity to pay one hundred US dollars for a sticker in my passport. I was turned away twice before this morning, when I not only got in to the office but was granted an audience with the consul. His eyes were beadier than expected. After a brief interrogation I was told that I could have my visa if I flew into the capital, but that I wouldn't be permited to enter the country overland. Come back tomorrow with a plane ticket... you'll only have to stand outside for two hours. When I tried to explain my love of the public bus, he turned his back on me and walked away.

SO - my land border options are Kazakhstan, Tajikistan and China, or I could actually (having recently been spared the expense of a one hundred dollar visa) fly somewhere - just not Uzbekistan. The wonders of Samarkand will have to wait until I learn how to give bureaucrats whatever it is they're really after. ]]> sarah 2006-07-02T10:37:00-08:00 2006-07-02T02:28:00-08:00 tag:pivotpowered,2008:sarahsweblog.51

An English teacher acquaintance of mine was grading homeworks this evening. As one must, she relayed the tedious output of her little geniuses to those of us she found seated with her around a kitchen table. On the subject of their nation's capital these students were more or less of one voice: Bishkek is beautiful, modern and well-lit. The first claim is even true, to an extent. Being twelve and having never been anywhere else, however, they forgot to add that Bishkek is surprisingly cosmopolitan but doesn't seem to have noticed, that it's at once a Soviet throw-back, the proud and heir of an ancient culture and the touchingly naive heart of a very new country, that each block has it's own imposing bronze resident and that water flows and flies everywhere because this is one Central Asian republic who's liquid wealth comes from the sky rather than the ground. They, in contrast with my kids in dusty Hanzhong, didn't even bother to claim that their city of leafy green spaces and a big blue sky is clean.

Bishkek photos on photoprism ]]> sarah 2006-06-27T23:08:00-08:00 2006-06-23T16:17:00-08:00 tag:pivotpowered,2008:sarahsweblog.50

For a complicated cocktail of reasons ranging from my personal disorganization to the intricacies of global politics, I'm stuck in the Kyrgyz capital of Bishkek for the foreseeable future. This does, however, give me a chance to shop around for internet cafes with nice fast connections. If you go to www.photoprism.net and click on my name there should be some new stuff there. You will encounter some mild browser nazism, but if you must use Internet Explorer the frame-based version works fine.

If you go to www.photoprism.net and click on my name there should be some new stuff there. You will encounter some mild browser nazism, but if you must use Internet Explorer the frame-based version works fine.

]]> sarah 2006-06-23T01:26:00-08:00 2006-06-12T19:49:00-08:00 tag:pivotpowered,2008:sarahsweblog.49

Arslanbob is a village of 12,000 people equipped with one telephone, no cell phone reception and three computers about as far offline as you can get. I stayed in a CBT homestay and was literally rather than figuratively nauseated by the hospitality that assaulted me at every turn. I did a lot of walking and horseback riding and visiting waterfalls and getting lost in the massive walnut forests that define the local economy. There are probably elves in Arslanbob; the old guys in the teahouse, with their white beards and tall hats and long coats and leather boots, are definitely wizards.

Arslanbob is a village of 12,000 people equipped with one telephone, no cell phone reception and three computers about as far offline as you can get. I stayed in a CBT homestay and was literally rather than figuratively nauseated by the hospitality that assaulted me at every turn. I did a lot of walking and horseback riding and visiting waterfalls and getting lost in the massive walnut forests that define the local economy. There are probably elves in Arslanbob; the old guys in the teahouse, with their white beards and tall hats and long coats and leather boots, are definitely wizards. ]]> sarah 2006-06-28T00:57:00-08:00 2006-06-02T20:02:00-08:00 tag:pivotpowered,2008:sarahsweblog.48

Yesterday afternoon I was strolling through residential Osh and, as often happens, passed a group of women talking on the side of the road. One of them - who turned out to be just my age but with two daughters of four and six - spotted me and suddenly, in English, asked my name. That was about the extent of our common language skills, but I was invited to sit and visit anyway. We did names, ages and homes (theirs all within sight, mine somewhere in 'America') and I was about to escape unscathed when a younger cousin/sister/neighbor of seventeen spotted me. I was then dragged into the house, fed, induced to write a note in the keepsake book, identified as a 'best friend', made to look foolish in a traditional Uzbek hat, and ultimately obliged to promise some sort of a present along with prints of photos upon my return to 'America'. I'm not sure what to make of the incident, other than that I was rather uncomfortable and that I suppose this is the sort of thing that is supposed to happen when traveling in areas unaccustomed to tourists. That, and I almost wish I a few photos with me to show people - at least of my family, since a picture of my house would be problematic. Encounters with aggressive hospitality aside, I've been enjoying getting oriented here in Osh. There are dill pickles in the market and kalamata olives and Turkish delight in the corner shop. The most marketed product I've noticed is a brand of what appears to be yak milk (I have no idea what it is - it's thick and white and foul and never came out of a cow.) The city, at around a quarter of a million people, is the second largest in the country and boasts a university and a big craggy hill that Solomon supposedly admired. I've yet to see a color TV, though I'm sure they're around. The air and water are the cleanest I've encountered in a long time, though I don't know about the radiation levels. Earlier today I ran into an Australian NGO worker who is raising his family in Osh. You can hardly blame him; the place - at least on the surface of it - is insanely pleasant. Ten years ago there was non-trivial violence between the Kyrgyz and the Uzbeks, but today the diverse population seems to be getting along amicably in modest prosperity and lovely weather - though it's been established that Uzbek women will not hesitate to smack an American man who has the gall to question the bill. We'll see what I think after I've been here a few weeks and talked to some people. I've been staying in a dingy hotel with hard, lumpy beds and sporadic hot water (never mind that yesterday morning there was no water in the city at all.) There are no chairs behind the front desk, only a couch where the receptionists - all about twice my size and terribly Russian - lounge out of sight so that you have to peer over the desk to see if they're there at all. It's called Hotel Sara. I love it. The bad news is that freeing myself from the Chinese internet censors has returned my access to Wikipedia and blogger and websites maintained by the government of Taiwan, but I still can't get my photos onto photoprism. I think I'm just too far away. Thus, I am taking recommendations for commercial services. Daniel Myers uses smugmug, which looks very nice but doesn't take paypal, and I have started playing with a free account on filckr, even though it is a Yahoo! product and therefore to be despised. Do either of you who read this know of any others?

Encounters with aggressive hospitality aside, I've been enjoying getting oriented here in Osh. There are dill pickles in the market and kalamata olives and Turkish delight in the corner shop. The most marketed product I've noticed is a brand of what appears to be yak milk (I have no idea what it is - it's thick and white and foul and never came out of a cow.) The city, at around a quarter of a million people, is the second largest in the country and boasts a university and a big craggy hill that Solomon supposedly admired. I've yet to see a color TV, though I'm sure they're around. The air and water are the cleanest I've encountered in a long time, though I don't know about the radiation levels. Earlier today I ran into an Australian NGO worker who is raising his family in Osh. You can hardly blame him; the place - at least on the surface of it - is insanely pleasant. Ten years ago there was non-trivial violence between the Kyrgyz and the Uzbeks, but today the diverse population seems to be getting along amicably in modest prosperity and lovely weather - though it's been established that Uzbek women will not hesitate to smack an American man who has the gall to question the bill. We'll see what I think after I've been here a few weeks and talked to some people.

I've been staying in a dingy hotel with hard, lumpy beds and sporadic hot water (never mind that yesterday morning there was no water in the city at all.) There are no chairs behind the front desk, only a couch where the receptionists - all about twice my size and terribly Russian - lounge out of sight so that you have to peer over the desk to see if they're there at all. It's called Hotel Sara. I love it.

The bad news is that freeing myself from the Chinese internet censors has returned my access to Wikipedia and blogger and websites maintained by the government of Taiwan, but I still can't get my photos onto photoprism. I think I'm just too far away. Thus, I am taking recommendations for commercial services. Daniel Myers uses smugmug, which looks very nice but doesn't take paypal, and I have started playing with a free account on filckr, even though it is a Yahoo! product and therefore to be despised. Do either of you who read this know of any others? ]]> sarah 2006-06-28T01:11:00-08:00 2006-05-28T18:50:00-08:00 tag:pivotpowered,2008:sarahsweblog.47

Xinjiang, a province and 'autonomous region' dedicated to the Uighur people, takes up one sixth of the PRC and is even less Chinese than I had expected. People are surprised - dismayed, even - when I j-walk within inches of their cars. The staff of this Kashgar hotel can seem slightly less comfortable speaking in Mandarin than in English, produce is sold by the kilo rather than the catty, the sun sets at 10 pm Beijing time and everyone plays international, rather than Chinese, chess. I overnighted in Urumqi, the city that claims to be furthest in the world from the ocean. Unfortunately I spend the night in bed with a fever, but I did manage to have a walk around and get myself some much (and justifiably) anticipated Uighur bread first. For the past four days I've been in Kashgar, waiting for the Monday morning bus to Osh. Apparently I could have saved a lot of money taking one of various slightly more complicated forms of transport over the border, but I think I'm allowed to cushion my first encounter with a new country a little bit. On Friday a couple of Dutch girls and I hired a taxi for a day trip along the Karakoram highway as far as Karakol lake. The scenery was stunning, but I was a little discomforted by our encounter with the nomadic people and villagers living around the lake. Their preemie tourism industry bears slightly more resemblance to begging than it does to business, which doesn't seem necessary for people whose livelihood has been established over generations. The village, in my mind, was badly in need of a craftsmen's co-op and probably also a system for coordinating homestays, but hopefully these things will come in time... and before a Chinese speculator usurps the potential to their own end. I'm looking forward to the Community-Based Tourism project in Kyrgyzstan; hopefully I won't be too disappointed. Most likely I'll be back here before too long, but when my final encounter with my beloved Bank of China involved a one percent fee for removing my own money from my checking account my only thought was a very relieved 'zai-effing-jian'. I'm ready for a change. Word has it this bus journey can take a while, but I should be in Osh in three or four days at the latest.

I overnighted in Urumqi, the city that claims to be furthest in the world from the ocean. Unfortunately I spend the night in bed with a fever, but I did manage to have a walk around and get myself some much (and justifiably) anticipated Uighur bread first.

For the past four days I've been in Kashgar, waiting for the Monday morning bus to Osh. Apparently I could have saved a lot of money taking one of various slightly more complicated forms of transport over the border, but I think I'm allowed to cushion my first encounter with a new country a little bit.

On Friday a couple of Dutch girls and I hired a taxi for a day trip along the Karakoram highway as far as Karakol lake. The scenery was stunning, but I was a little discomforted by our encounter with the nomadic people and villagers living around the lake. Their preemie tourism industry bears slightly more resemblance to begging than it does to business, which doesn't seem necessary for people whose livelihood has been established over generations. The village, in my mind, was badly in need of a craftsmen's co-op and probably also a system for coordinating homestays, but hopefully these things will come in time... and before a Chinese speculator usurps the potential to their own end. I'm looking forward to the Community-Based Tourism project in Kyrgyzstan; hopefully I won't be too disappointed.

Most likely I'll be back here before too long, but when my final encounter with my beloved Bank of China involved a one percent fee for removing my own money from my checking account my only thought was a very relieved 'zai-effing-jian'. I'm ready for a change.

Word has it this bus journey can take a while, but I should be in Osh in three or four days at the latest. ]]> sarah