Delhi Impressions

Delhi is everything everyone ever described and more. We are staying in a rather dingy hotel (the"Smyle Inn") in Paharganj near Old Delhi. Last night we discovered the meaning of "cleanish" rooms- ie. there's hair on the sheets and pillow and the blankets smell like a dirty dog. Actually, it's not so bad for seasoned travellers such as ourselves. Well, we did sleep covered head to foot in our clothes (primarily due to the chilly night air though), banged the bed several times to kill any microscopic flesh munchers, and surveyed the wall thoroughly for blood (it is said the bed bugs lie in wait on the wall instead of in the beds for their prey). We also covered the pillow cases with Cara's sleeping bag to make sure no remnants of the last sleepers haunted us at night. You see, Cat is a little paranoid after being attacked by those mysterious bed bugs in London, that left her itching for weeks and scarred still.

Paharganj is a bustling tourist haven. Bright oranges, purples, blues, greens, yellows, golds, silvers, and every color in between dangle from shops. The streets are just wide enough for two rickshaws and a motorcycle to squeeze by each other, of course, narrowly missing colliding with the scores of pedestrians also trying to pick their way through the busy streets. Street vendors constantly haggle passersby to come into their shops and sample their wares. Blaring horns urging anything in front of it to get-out-of-the-way. Cows really do seem to "blend right in", unperturbed by the noise, chaos, and frantic mobility. It is common for a cow to stop in front of a cafe and gaze at you while you eat, or to see an elephant walking through the streets while eating dinner. The cows often graze in the garbage (wouldn't want to eat that) though shop owners do feed the lucky cows a carrot or two in the evening. The streets are uncommonly clean considering the cows wander throughout, in fact we do not have to "watch our step"at all. Although we have decided that this may be a result of the constant traffic, resulting in the fact that any fecal matter is simply ground into the street, rather than the possibility that there are persons specially employed to clean up the shit of these holy animals.

We are still discovering the food. Indian food definitely deserves its good reputation. So far, we've only tasted the vegetarian fare, and lots and lots of chai masala (what we know as chai in the states- a milky, sweet, ginger, cardamom delight). We've also had a couple of fabulous sticky honey sweets from street vendors, and samosas of course.

Peanuts cooked in hot sand, rice balls boiled and topped with syrup, samosas (a pastry filled with curried veggies and potato) with chutney and yellow curry served in a biodegradable leaf bowl, many forms of chapati, etc also line the streets . ..

We arrived in Delhi on Saturday morning, fortunately avoiding the exceedingly long immigration line at the airport through the stealthy work of a business man Cat befriended on the plane. We then sailed through the crowds of taxi cab drivers, having pre-arranged airport pickup with our hotel. Ahh, smooth sailing . . .we loved India already.

The people are joyful, kind, friendly and helpful, save a few amusing calls, "where are you from? Are you from Australia? You are very beautiful. Why are you so serious?" As far as the impending tormet that we were told awaited us, we have experienced very little of it. Of course, there are the typical pushy shopkeepers and male stares, but this is nothing threatening in the least. Maybe many people who've travelled here and felt immensely harrassed had not travelled to Arab countries previously. So far, nothing compares!

As far as begging goes, yes, it is intense. This is definitely a country of contrasts. Children and elderly people do tug your arm, but children seem to know you will not give them $$$ and ask for chai instead (of course this request is much harder to refuse). Their feet are black with dirt and crusty from walking on pavement. Mothers with babies wrapped in their arms follow you and look after you with pitiful eyes. It is a difficult situation to deal with because we want to do all we can to help them, but we're not sure what the best approach is. We have had a number of conversations about this, but these social problems remain unresolved. The poverty in India is more "in your face" than in many other places, so it makes one have to confront the problems, rather than simply push them to the side... How many countries have open, tiled urinals in side streets where men go to relieve themselves, backs to the street, requiring passersby to squeeze past them as they urinate and fill the air with their filthy stench? (the street referred to is on the way to our hotel. Funnily enough, we didn't notice that men were actually openly peeing right next to us until maybe our 4th or 5th time passing by. Wondered where that smell came from...)

We had a discussion with a shopkeeper the other evening who loved Bush, and thought all Muslims were bad people (of course we do not share his opinion). He said that everyone here has his or her place (referring to the caste system) and told us of his state, Rajasthan.

Yesterday evening we wandered to Connaught Place, past families and groups of rickshaw drivers cooking their evening meal on open-fires on the sidewalks. Trees overhang the dark street that glows with the firelight. . . .we meandered through a labyrinth of concrete barriers blocking the construction on the metro, and finally found our way to the heart of Connaught Place. Here, wealthy Indians go to have icecream and eat in nice restaurants. McDonalds and Pizza Hut were available. After wandering around for awhile we decided to hire an auto rickshaw back to Paharganj.

We spent much of today and yesterday wandering the bazar in Pahaganj and have already broken down and purchased gifts. We know of two friends getting married and just couldn't resist the urge to buy wedding gifts. There are many tempting products in the shops here, and we simply can't resist the prices!

Somehow three days have disappeared and we're not really sure what we've done with ourselves. Wandering up and down Paharganj, talking with shopkeepers, sleeping late into the morning, trying to make plans to leave Delhi (seems we keep postponing a departure), getting caught up on email, and simply commencing the real vacation.

We’re trying to figure out what to do for the next couple of weeks. We have two girls from the office coming down to meet us here on Sat. Masha, the director of YHRG and Nadira, the program director, will be here with us for New Years. We can't wait to see them, but it does make our touring a little complicated as Masha has already been here and will only stay for a week. I think our best travel options are to either visit Rajasthan or Kashmir during their time here. Maybe Cat and I will go to Varanasi for a few days before they arrive this Saturday. Well, that's all the news for now.

-Written by Cat, with a few additions by Cara

Travel adventures begin anew as we wander the streets of Delhi, taking in the vibrant life of one of the world's most crowded and exotic countries....

First, however, we want to post some rather amusing anecdotes on Central Asia, written by two British travellers-- Basher and Jeremy-- who we met during our last week in Kyrgyzstan, and who added a bit more fun and flavor to an already memorable week in Bishkek. Here are Jeremy's observations on Central Asian Livin':

[This is an account of Jeremy and Basher's visit to Uzbekistan (one could easily substitute Kyrgyzstan- the cultures are very similar), with insights into Central Asian families, food, and toilets.... ]


"So with equal amounts of curiosity and trepidation, we arrived in Samarkand to the home of Feruza's spinster aunt Madluba, a mafia hunter employed by the government, and a sort of ball-busting version of Dorien from Birds of a Feather. Madlubu had devoted her off-work hours to caring for the hibernating bundle of blankets in the corner who she introduced as her mother. Grandma manifested few visible lifesigns, but stirred sporadically to mutter something in Russian to nobody in particular. You are like Jesus・she told me inexplicably. Unfortunately, my healing hands didn't run to curing advanced dementia.

Next up was the home of another aunt, Madriga, whose domestic arrangements involve labouring all day to bring in the mutton, while hubby sits around in a khalat, and occasionally gives his teenage son a clip round the ear. Then finally to the Bukhara abode of Feruza's own dear mother ・a journalist of some local renown, apparently, but one battling behind closed doors with the demon drink (Anyone for vodka? Oh, just me again then)・. Despite putting on her Best Mum in the World act for our benefit, mother-daughter tensions were clearly running high. The What are you doing with your
life・routine was the favourite, although the truth is that Feruza is engaged in highly daring political activism as well as putting hand to mouth as a waitress, whilst her mother subsidises big bruv professional naval-gazing. Nevertheless, the order of the day was plov-a-plenty (see below), many jovial enquiries into all things British, a rather disturbing randy fascination with Basher, and an insistence that we propose a lot of toasts, as a poor excuse for the woman to neck more vodka.

The Uzbek Book of Hospitality contains only one golden rule: offer your visitors everything you've got, and don't take no for an answer. Whatever food you have must be served up immediately (We got six mint humbugs,
half a melon and some vodka), and if your kids have any amusing talents they must use them to full effect (Dance girl, can't you see we've got guests?!). Oh, and remember: mutton equals happy guests.

Food, spurious food

Central Asian cuisine has evolved from the traditional diets of ancient Turkic tribes. The sum total of this accumulated culinary wisdom comes down
to this: catch an elderly beast that's fallen behind the herd, then boil it. Vegetables are an unnecessary extravagance for a hardy nomadic folk. Plus, I think, seasoning was outlawed as unrevolutionary during Stalinist times. So Uzbek dishes are all offal-based: ostensibly comprising either udders or double chins. All the regions of Uzbekistan put their own spin on dinner time, investing an inordinate amount of effort in reparing the kinds of cuts of meat that your cat would laugh at scornfully. Thus, the pride and joy of the Jizzekh region, for example, is the incomparable, salty
Jizz. What every Uzbek family prays for when gathered round the dinner table is, however, the nation's favourite plov. Here is a recipe for plov, just like your mother used to make:

WHAT YOU WILL NEED:

1. Some form of meat・ Ask your butcher for something that died in mysterious circumstances・
2. Plov is a rice and mutton dish. Calculate the quantity of rice needed for the evening to end like the Gluttony scene from Seven. Then double it.
3. Vodka for the chef (mandatory).
4. Garnish of soggy carrot scrapings, fished out of the plug hole (optional).
5. Spices or flavouring of any description? Not for this recipe Delia!

PREPARATION:

1. Laying your pound of flesh on a chopping board, carefully cut out the leanest, most tender morsels. Throw those bits away.
2. Tenderize by dropping on the floor a few times. Any bits of fluff that get stuck on only add sophistication.
3. Heating the rice in chip oil will be much more original than doing it the old-fashioned way.
4. At this point in the cooking you will probably begin to realize the sheer scale of the cock-up you've created. Start drinking your vodka NOW.
5. Serve the whole lot on a single plate in a great steaming heap. Stand over your guests swigging vodka menacingly until they either finish it or start to cry. As they run to the toilet, cheerfully inform them that it doesn't work.

Tummy trouble

After a few days with an Uzbek family, mealtimes will start to look a bit like this:

Breakfast: garlic and pig trotter soup
Lunch: cocktail of antacid tablets and Imodium, washed down with tea that looks like crude oil.
Dinner: plov time again, is it Mother?

Now the human digestive system really is a miraculous thing. Think about it: day after day it does its duty, sifting through the inappropriate matter you shovel down to find something salvageable and nutritious, and
compacting the rejected remainder into soft, manageable pellets for easy disposal. After a particularly good clearout you congratulate yourself, with nary a thought to who the real hero is. Yet your stomach labours on.

After this much punishment, however, your well-maintained plumbing will have degenerated into a bubbling, gastric Chernobyl. Dashing from the dinner
table to the bathroom, therefore, you will not be best pleased to find that the antique lavatory hasn't flushed since Stalin, and is now a museum of mutant parasites, trapped like flies in amber in the encrusted bowl.
Time for a trip outside, then, where yet more horrors await.

A rickety shed down the street houses the communal dumping ground where bad plov comes to die. A letterbox shaped hole in the floor goes down 15 feet
to what can only be indelicately described as an enormous pile of crap. You're going to spend a good deal of time here, getting to know every knot in the timber, and striking up a decent rapport with the old woman from up the street who seems to walk past like clockwork every time the wind blows the door open. Aiming your watery bowel movements accurately from a
squatting position ought to be a training exercise for the RAF. Bonus points if you can make the turd pillar topple over by the sheer force of your own discharge. Twenty odd minutes of listening to the faint patter of
turd on turd later, thoroughly drained, its time to go for a lie down, and hope to God that everything will be alright in the morning."


Well, at least Cat and I didn't have to endure any stomach traumas quite that horrible, although we did have an encounter with the toilet in Osh that made us vow to become vegetarians forevermore (hmm, that didn't last long). The letterbox toilets are definitely a favourite out here, and I must note that in some ways at least, guys have it a lot easier than girls on that account!!

Written by Cara
(with a lot of help from Jeremy)

Our time in Kyrgyzstan (well, my time, since Cat is coming back here after our India trip) has flown by so fast and now there is only a week left! We've barely had time to write in the blog here, but we will make more of an effort in India when we resume our vagabonding ways. We fly to Delhi next Saturday morning, the 20th. Unfortunately, our schedules are so packed that we haven't had much time to do any preliminary research on what we would like to do in Delhi, so that will all be done on the spot.

Anyway, winter has definitely entrenched itself out here now. Yesterday was probably the coldest day of the year. Poor Cat was freezing at her work out at the base- most stores here are along the lines of open-air stalls with only small, portable heaters for warmth- and the North Face shop at the base is no exception.

I've decided that Kyrgyzstan at this time of the year is a combination of winter wonderland and winter nightmare. Everything is blanketed in white and it is gorgeous. The air is crisp and clear and the white mountains tower behind the Soviet buildings. Lenin points skyward from underneath a blanket of snow (the Lenin statue is ironically now right next to the American University- it was banished to this less conspicuous locale earlier this year and replaced on the main square with a statue of liberty-esque thing). Everywhere I go, I see mothers and fathers pulling their small children behind them on sleds.

This winter joyousness is directly juxtaposed with the vision of a woman sitting on the roadside, shivering beneath a plastic tarp that is draped over her like a shawl, hoping to make money from the small pile of sad-looking pickles that is vanishing under the falling snow. The work goes on and you would think this country would be equipped for winter, but it is not. All of the markets are open-air. Vendors weigh out oranges with chapped and swollen hands. Sniffling and rosy-cheeked children wander around trying to sell whatever they can get their hands on. I know that there are hundreds of street children in this town- you cannot avoid them- and I cannot imagine how they cope with the cold. I mean, we suffer because the heat isn't turned up high enough! This is another appalling problem that the Kyrgyz government must face: lack of gas to provide heat. Uzbekistan supplies Kyrgyzstan with gas, but their tyrant of a leader makes this relationship as difficult as possible. For example, now, for the first time in thirteen years Uzbekistan has demanded that Kyrgyzstan must pay entirely in cash for their gas imports. Of course, there is no way Kyrgyzstan is capable of doing this. So the Kyrgyz people will likely have to suffer from no heat right in the middle of the coldest part of winter. No wonder people still yearn for Soviet times.


written by Cara

Quick apologies for the slap-dash manner of the last entry. Was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt for not writing in so long and wanted to at least put something.... grammar and punctuation mistakes and all!
-Cara

I have the unfortunate task of trying to write a monumental blog entry without the help of Catherine. The two of us are almost becoming co-dependant on each other! Our writing, our cooking, our fumblings in Russian- all have become enhanced by our combined efforts. We’ve been thinking about how we have become each other’s family out here and what a change it will be when I go back to the U.S. and Cat stays out here… I’m going to miss her so much!!! And I must say that I am quite jealous. I think Central Asia has worked its way into my blood. So much so that I am already plotting ways to come back out here this summer. Another legal internship perhaps? It’s a thought…

Well, it’s another cold, snowy evening in Bishkek. Cat is out with a friend, Boris, a local guy of Ukrainian origin who has a very cute curly mop and is interested in her North Face-sellin’ self… I’m passing the evening as usual at the office, working on a paper for law school, and listening to Russian MTV in the background. I was thinking I ought to write a bit about what our days are like here in Bishkek. We are so busy that we don’t have time to write often, and here’s why….

8:30 Cat has Russian lessons (I used to attend lessons also, but the pressure of getting my law assignments done as well as the internship work has become too much, and I’ve had to let this go- while I tell myself that I will try really hard to study Russian in the evenings). Russian lessons last until 11:30. It is 3 hours of grueling one-on-one combat with a robust and boundlessly energetic Russian woman who seems to be just a little drunk at times…

I go to work at the same time- normally to the Legal Aid Center for the morning. There, I do random tasks helping Altynai with translations or legal issues, drink lots and lots of tea, and hope that there are no explosions that cause the power to go out for hours on end. Sometimes I am left to my own means at the office, when I try to answer the phone in Russian and communicate that the caller needs to call back later.

Cat usually goes home for a shower and a mini-break after Russian lessons and then meets me at the office around 1:00 or 1:30. We normally have a pile of errands to get done- post office, bazaar, tailor, administrative tasks errands for the office, travel agent, etc.

Then around 3:00 or 4:00 we make it out to the main office where the real work starts. We battle our way to a computer and get working on our various projects. For example, Cat just completed a rather involving report on Child Protection Systems in the US, and I am now starting a report on Juvenile Justice issues in the US. We also put in a lot of time preparing a recent publication in English: Monitoring Human Rights in Orphanages and Boarding Schools for Abandoned Children in the Kyrgyz Republic.

Sometimes we make it out of the office by 7:00 or 8:00 pm, but oftentimes not. In fact, Cat has taken to sleeping on the floor at the office lately! (a direct result of this child protection report).

We also have a good circle of friends and a pretty busy social life here. Many evenings are full with dinners and outings with friends. We go out dancing at least once or twice a week on weekends. It’s doubly insane now for Cat now that she has this North Face job on weekends. She gets up at 6:30am to go to work and gets back from the Base around 9:30 or 10:00 pm, and usually meets us straightaway for a night on the town.

My weekends lately have been full with the usual work or some huge projects for the organization. Last weekend I spent the entire time preparing for the organization’s 8th birthday. I made little paper hats for 10 hours!! That was enough artistic creativity for one day…. I thought I never wanted to see a paper hat again. They were smash hits at the party, although I secretly thought we all looked like giant ice cream cones bobbing around on the dance floor.

Well, I am being summoned- business dinner with people from the OSCE. They were out here for a conference yesterday regarding human rights in orphanages. So, this is going on and on, but I still can’t come up with an adequate conclusion…. Desolee!

Written by Cara

Whenever we get back to Bishkek everything returns to the work routine, life slows down, and we no longer have interesting anecdotes to relate in this blog! Winter has definitely come to Kyrgyzstan- we had our first snow this weekend and it is still lingering. The cold has set in, and we are shivering our way to work in the mornings, and trying to avoid the gray mood that can come with the onset of winter.

Cat had her first post office experience yesterday, which was soooo frustrating. Imagine, waiting in a huddle for nearly an hour with approximately 8 other people all trying to shove their way to the front of the counter, eventually never to be served. A pointless waste of time. It reminds me of Morocco when I had to buy my books and ended up waiting in line for 2 hours, even though there were only two people in front of me. One of the things one really grows to appreciate while travelling or living abroad is the American sense of efficiency and service. It's also rather disheartening to think about the fact that if these societies cannot even run a post office efficiently, how are they supposed to develop and run a democracy and capitalist market economy?

Written by Cara

“Tumblings and Ramblings”

So, we left you stranded in a Sanatorium outside of Osh. The seminar, “Teaching Human Rights” for educators ended last Friday, November 7th. It was interesting and we learned many techniques to teach human rights to children and youth. After a night of dancing until the wee hours and saying goodbye to the other participants we piled into a van and were driven back into “civilization”. We stopped briefly at a new marvel, the “Aga Khan” school, where we were astounded by the ornate handiwork and detail of everything from the tiled and patterned wooden floors to windows imprinted with traditional Kyrgyz designs. The fresh scent of wood lingered everywhere.
We moseyed briefly through the bazaar with the girls from the Youth Human Rights Group. Alas, our visit was rapidly cut short because several of the women became lost and the rest of the group waited impatiently. We opted to wander the streets in search of our hotel instead of taking the ride out to the airport and back.
The “Taj Majal” hotel was better than expected, decked out with a TV (with more than one babbling Russian channel) and a rather nice bathroom. Although, we thought we trapped in the North Pole during the night and succumbed to wearing all of our clothes (which incidentally haven’t been removed since, as it is very, very cold). We smartened up the next night and stole the blankets from the proprietress next door (actually, she willingly conceded them).

We’ll save you from more boring details and move on to climbing (actually strolling up) Suleman Mountain (more like a rocky hill) in the middle of the town. Osh actually celebrated its 3000 year anniversary in 2000. Well known historical figures like Alexander the Great are part of Osh’s colorful history. The mountain chill got to us so we went in search of some local art. Cati stopped in a nearby deserted building to leave remnants; the smell emanating from the locally-frequented building drove Cara twenty feet away. There was a side door opening into a dark hallway, and thinking that it was just a typical establishment we entered and peered at drawings lining the walls. We happened upon a man who turned out to be a professor and he gave us a private tour of the gallery and his personal studio.

After much confusion and meandering in the dark in the opposite direction from our hotel we managed to communicate to Mr. Artist that we were staying by the old Demir Bank, not the new one. We passed the night brainstorming ideas of how to “save the world”. It was a nice break from the previous evening of being surrounded by random men in an internet café who kept asking us definitions of words such as “sponge” and “cuddle” in between their heated conversations with internet lovers. The walk home consisted of constant dodging of gangs of prostitutes (it was shocking because these women dressed normally and on first glance were unrecognizable as prostitutes) and vodka soaked men.

Navigating the local transportation seemed daunting, but turned out to be rather fun. We traveled from Osh to Uzgan on a mashrutka and mangled our way through several Russian conversations with fellow passengers. It was overcast all morning and lapping the dirt streets of Uzgan several times in search of the architectural monuments and main bus station made us a fine shade of blue (note the theme of the day, we need to buy more warm clothes ‘cause its frickin freezing).

The red brick mausoleums honoring bygone kings of the 12th century stood determinedly against the pasture and gray sky. They are marvelous testaments to Islamic decoration and architecture. The solemness of the people and weather were tempered by a rather theatrical muddy face plant by Cara. Cat did not come to the rescue as she stood in blatant disbelief of the slow motion tumbling passing before her eyes. A group of youngsters were thoroughly amused by the event and Cara, she took it very well, though she was covered in mud for the rest of the day. Throngs of hard faced men stood in packs along the road (ogling us), and we admitted that it would be a very, very difficult place to be a female Peace Corps worker. After stopping several women and asking directions to the main bus station we wandered into an enclosed area lined with buses and overflowing with head-scarf clad women, and men in long jackets and tall white embroidered felt hats. Different people directed us to different buses supposedly departing for Jalal-abad and at long last a young man approached asking in perfect English, “where are you going?” We followed the other women and climbed on to the bus early to obtain seats and huddled there for several hours while the bus was repaired. The ride passed quickly as we spoke to several young Kyrgyz and Uzbek youths in broken Russian and English. Finally, the broad tree-lined streets (a seeming must for city-planners) of Jalal-abad welcomed us. It is true that there is nothing to do here except eat in cafes and we have taken care of that this evening, eating in three of them. So, we’re moving on tomorrow for the mountains and ancient walnut forests (cat loves walnuts).

Written by Cat and Cara in a dark internet café in Jalal-abad!

Disaster struck. Four times so far- and we thought bad luck only came in threes. It seems that we’ve been cursed this last week… (I have to add that since we wrote this- we’re doing a looong blog update thing by writing during the evenings after a conference- the disasters keeps on multiplying).

It all started on Wednesday night with Cat, deserted in the office, Russian MTV blaring American pop, cramming to finish her project by the impending deadline. An explosion. Shards of glass everywhere. Total darkness. She practically dove under the desk thinking she was the target of some crazy sniper attack. It turned out just to be the induction, “everything goes wrong when you spend you’re first night in the office alone” experience. The exploding light bulb was followed by crashing computers and the disappearance of her document. Many humorous calls were made to Nazgul for help. A sleepless night was followed by semi-conscious Russian lessons. Cara and Cat finally made it home that afternoon barely in time for their rendezvous with Ben and John outside their door (a meeting arranged so that the boys could do their laundry and pick up their pots and pans). The key was put into the lock, but the door refused to open. After attempting to jiggle the lock free with a credit card (as if it is really ever that easy), and even toying with the idea of scaling the walls to enter from the balcony, they called upon Nazgul to get the spare key. A fairly straightforward, albeit rather annoying, solution. Predestination had other plans. A little background: the previous week Cat and Cara had returned home one evening and locked the top lock, as usual. However, try as they might, they were unable to later remove this key from the top lock. In fact every visitor treated the key “as the sword in the stone.” There it remained until this fateful day, when it had somehow gotten twisted when the housekeeper came to clean, jamming the lock shut. Nazgul, (who’s beginning to gain ta reputation as our savior), loaded down with a VCR and our keys, arrived an hour and a half later. But, the stubborn lock still would not budge. We left, beaten, destined to spend the night on the floor of the boys’ living room. This wasn’t much of a hardship though, as we lightened our spirits with a “Sex in the City” video marathon.

The next morning was a frenzy of activity. At long last, a locksmith came and Cara and Cat were able to take showers after a three day hiatus from cleanliness. The afternoon flew by. We packed for the conference in Osh, wandered around Bishkek looking for a bank, ate ice cream in the park and finally ended up at the tailor. Cara’s getting some clothes made from her African fabric: bright yellows, oranges, blues, maroons, with squiggles, zig zags and masks. They’re her to a T. Cara and Cat finally dragged home around 7 pm, just in time, or so they thought to be the Good Samaritans by starting the boys’ laundry and cooking dinner for the girls from the office (a pre-Halloween warm up). Second load done and third to go. Cat’s changing for the evening’s festivities were interrupted by loud shrieks from the kitchen by Cara. “Holy shit! Help! Help! Cat get help, get in here now!” Torrents of black water spewed from the washing machine pipe, flooding the kitchen and snaking across the hallway floor. Cat, naked, raced to help. In transit, the doorbell rang. Nazgul, the first of the guests to arrive for dinner, waited patiently on the other side of the door, unprepared for the chaos that would meet her. She heard screams from the apartment and was greeted by Cat streaking by and a river of soapy black water rushing toward her. “Ah, turn it off, turn it off!” she yelled. Cara hit the “off” button (should have thought of that before) and the waterfall subsided. We scrambled for towels and buckets to mop up the mess, meanwhile bewilderedly staring at the washing machine hose that had spontaneously decided that it had had its day, and busted in about ten places. Unfortunately, the cycle wasn’t finished though, and we couldn’t leave the laundry to mildew. So, we rigged a double bucket system and held the hose just right. Every now and then runaway squirts of water re-soaked the repeatedly mopped floor. The rinsing cycles seemed never ending. At least an hour passed of “quick, change the bucket, change the bucket,” “stop squirting water everywhere,” and never-ending mopping. The other guest witnessed a rather subdued version of the funny predicament. As is Kyrgyz custom, they all arrived suitably late (thank God), merely finding Cara with her pants rolled up to her knees, running back and forth with buckets. Finally, all was clean and the ten of us sat down to enjoy good ‘ole home-cooked spaghetti with cabbage salad. The party laughed about the night’s adventures and headed to the “Metro Bar” for the Halloween celebrations “a la Americaine.” The costumes conjured up pictures of “Animal House” and the walls reverberated with Russian disco music. We weren’t quite into the spirit of the party, not having dressed up (who has time when there are exploding washing machines to worry about?). However, about halfway through the party some face paint came our way and we spiced up our boring outfits with some facial art. Cara painted a huge butterfly on Cat’s face, and soon random people were coming out of the woodwork asking her is she was “the face painter.” Right… anyway, she did her civic duty and painted a few extra faces, free of charge of course. By the way, Cat has gotten the bright idea that we need to take our face painting skills to the streets and start earning some valuable money. It’s an idea….

We departed for Osh at 8:30 on Saturday morning (after about 2 hours of sleep), sigh, believing all was well on the home front, and that our week of disasters was to be replaced by new adventures (of the more welcome sort) in Osh.

Osh is in the south of Kyrgyzstan, a more traditional area of the country. The city represents the Kyrgyzstan that we expected before arriving. The town is full of cafes and a huge bazaar, mosques, and cars driving every which way, ignoring the possibility that there might be any traffic rules. A large hill, or mountain, dominates the center of the city, and is the major landmark by which to orient oneself. Luckily, we arrived on Saturday afternoon but didn’t have any duties until Sunday. So, Cat, Cara, Nazgul, Sveta, and Kahramon (guy from Tajikstan), took a taxi into the city to spend a few hours wandering around- the conference is a bit outside of town at a Sanatorium, so this was one of our few chances to explore the city. Nazgul took us to a “milk café” (where many foods are made from milk products) and we feasted on raspberry pancakes, fried donut-like things with smetana (like sour cream), shashlik (meat on a stick), and palmeni (or however you say it- it’s kind of like ravioli dumplings in a yogurt/smetana sauce). We all agreed that milk cafes are awesome and that we need to learn to cook some of these delights (to add to our small Kyrgyz cooking repertoire, which now consists of: funchoza, umari, manti, and pilaf- not sure how well we can make any of those, but theoretically, we should be able to manage these cooking feats). Nazgul also took us to the bazaar, where we loaded ourselves down with nuts and chocolates to take back to Bishkek, and if we can manage to fit them into our bags, maybe we’ll even bring some back to the States with us- the nuts here are amazingly tasty and cheap.

Since we’re talking about food again (yes, food is an inevitable conversation topic while traveling because a large percentage of a traveler’s time is spent exploring foreign cultures, including the varying cuisines). Right now we have become self-declared vegetarians. At least temporarily. Because two nights ago (Sunday) we all had the lovely opportunity of experiencing food-related illness of the highest order. Actually, Nazgul was the sickest of the sick. Catherine and I listened in horror as she proceeded to vomit out what sounded like all of her internal organs throughout the night. Everything only proceeded to get worse. At about 3am Nazgul was in such pain that we feared she had appendicitis, or an ovarian cyst, or hepatitis, or about anything else we could imagine. Cara ran to get Nadira, who drowsily stumbled down to our room, freaked out by Cara’s frantic mutters in French that Nazgul was very very sick and should go to the hospital. Problem. The sanatorium where we are staying is in an isolated area outside of town and there are no cars. So it took two hours for a doctor from the hospital to make it out here. All the while Nazgul was writhing in pain and we kept imagining worse and worse scenarios. Luckily, it just turned out to be a serious reaction to some rather nasty food. In fact, just a few hours later, Cara had her own bout with the food devil (although not nearly as bad as Nazgul) and Catherine, too, experienced some lingering discomfort from what we have decided must have been some rancid meat. Hence the newly-adopted vegetarianism.

To return to the disaster saga, our laundry adventures did not end with our departure to Osh. Of course not. Being the good and trusting friend that we are, we loaned our keys to our friend so that he could finish his laundry while we were gone. We told him all about the exploding washing machine and the debacle of Friday night. He promised to fix it- i.e. replace the hose- and then complete his laundry. Well, Sunday afternoon Nadira arrived here with a rather grave look on her face….. shit. Turns out that the laundry disaster erupted into a laundry horror story, when, on Saturday night Masha (our boss) received a phone call that our apartment was completely flooded and that water was washing into the apartment below. Ok, we’re still not quite sure what happened, but we most emphatically state that we are not to blame (we were, after all, in Osh) and that we are simply cursed by the laundry gods. Maybe we will forego doing laundry for the rest of this trip….

The good news is that the rest of the week has passed without incident.

Written by Cara and Catherine

After a night of enduring mosquitoes gnawing on my forehead and sweating from the uncharacteristic humid weather, I awoke to a beautiful morning. The necessity of crawling out of bed after a scant few hours of sleep to go to Russian lessons could not diminish the beauty of the new day. Ah! Even the smoke seemed thinner than the last few days. In fact, I didn’t notice as many burning piles of leaves today—maybe people are finally realizing the futility of such efforts when the leaves just keep on falling.

An unfortunate calamity befell us a couple of weeks ago—my camera broke. I’m not quite sure how this happened, and can hardly believe it, after having that trusty camera never fail me for at least 10 or 15 years! But alas, these things happen I guess. Everything seems to be working perfectly, except that the film doesn’t catch and start winding. So of course, right when this happens, I keep spotting perfect photo opportunities and wishing that I had my camera at hand. I guess we’ll have to either venture into the world of disposable cameras or get a generous friend to loan us a camera.

Written by Cara

Sorry- just realized there are weird symbols popping up all over these posts. Must be the Russian keyboards. I'll see if there's anything I can do to fix this little annoyance, but don't count on it-
cheers,
Cara

We’re spending another Monday night sleeping at the office- this is becoming a habit. The place is so busy during the day that sometimes it is difficult to have computer access, and as our work revolves largely around research and writing, this is essential. For example, right now it is 4:30pm and the office is teaming with people dashing back and forth working on preparations for next week’s human rights conference in Osh. Well, perhaps I exaggerate the hectic atmosphere of the office. I wouldn’t say that it is ever really stressed out here- in fact, I would characterize the YHRG as a relaxed office full of good-humoured and efficient workers. Which is why we love it so much here! It really is the ideal work atmosphere to be surrounded by good friends that you trust and enjoy working with. If only every work environment was quite so ideal….

8:00pm has just passed now and I am slaving away editing the English version of a report on Human Rights in Orphanages in the Kyrgyz Republic. I am actually learning lots of interesting (and disturbing) information about the conditions of orphanages in Kyrgyzstan, but I must admit that it can be tedious work. I don’t know how professional editors or translators do it- staring at grammar, grammar, grammar all day long. It is totally different from the creative process that goes into one’s own writing, and sometimes it can be quite challenging to technically correct another person’s writing without changing the content or the essence of the words. This is my big task for the week, as I want to finish this report before we head to Osh. It needs to be ready for publication.

Catherine is working on finding information about child protection and juvenile justice in the US right now, and I must admit that I am a bit envious because her task is far more interesting than mine! I’m not sure how exactly we assumed these duties for the week, but it just kind of happened…

I guess that’s a bit of background on the workaday routine here in Kyrgyzstan. Just to prove that we are actually working hard and not just flitting around paragliding, having dinner parties, and shopping at the bazaar-

Written by Cara

Bishkek is ablaze with Autumn. Literally. Leaf removal crews are out about the city clearing up the abundance of golden leaves from the streets in whatever way they can, be it with small, handmade straw brooms or enormous bulldozers. Heaps of golden leaves sit on the street corners, bidding goodbye to the remnants of summer- one last hoorah before incineration. Smoke tendrils curl up from the wilting leaves, creating a haze that drifts over Bishkek. The air feels a bit heavy during this time of year, and the expectation of impending winter is slowly creeping upon the inhabitants of this Central Asian city. Small children are bundled up to keep out the cold- their pumpkin faces sandwiched between fuzzy winter caps and warm jackets. Street vendors appear well-equipped for the crisp cool of morning.

Last weekend summer made an unexpected visit, and we greeted it joyfully by heading to the foothills for an afternoon of paragliding. Our second paragliding adventure was as exciting as the first- better in many ways because the gray clouds had disappeared from the horizon, and the towering white mountains came into view. Thus, we spent an ideal afternoon alternating between flying through the air against a backdrop of painted mountains, and sunning ourselves contentedly on the hilltop as we watched various paragliders take off and land in the distant fields.

The unexpected heat of the weekend has now crawled back into hibernation, letting autumn reign in full glory. We are celebrating the season by hosting various dinner parties this week, and cooking up a storm with the last of the fresh produce. Apparently, we will soon be subsisting off pickled vegetables (other people’s pickled vegetables since we have neglected to prepare any for ourselves) and the interminable bread and meat.

Written by Cara

"Lake Issyk-Kul"

We've been a bit incommunicado this week because we've been holed up at the Royal Beach Resort at Lake Issyk-Kul for a seminar on the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights' Standards and Mechanisms. Will write more about it later, but basically we had a great time collaboring with and getting to know lawyers from around Kyrgyzstan, as well as diving into the frigid lake.........

-Cara

Tried to post this earlier in the week, but had some trouble. But anyway, here it is-

Nearly a week has passed since our last entry and it is getting more and more difficult to remember everything we’ve done without writing a novel in order to include it all! But, do not despair, I’ll do my faithful best to relay all of our interesting exploits of the last week….

This has been a week of meeting interesting people and never lacking new things to do. It seems that nearly every night after work we had somewhere to go and someone to meet. In fact, George had to play absentee daughter for most of the week and crash at my place because of all the late nights on the town.

This chain of activity started on Wednesday night when we had the great fortune to attend a free concert at the Philharmonic. The concert was a special production sponsored by the Swiss Corporation. A music group called Tien Shan, which was composed of twenty musicians from Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Mongolia, Khakassia (a region of Russia), and Switzerland, fused their music together to create one of the most unique and eclectic sounds we have ever heard. The low, guttural vocalizations of the Mongolians harmonized with the softly beguiling pipes of the Kyrgyz, while the Tajik drums simultaneously added depth to the jazz-tinged yodels of the Swiss. I don’t know if it’s really possible to paint this music into words, as it was the most unexpected combination of sounds that one can imagine! Each group on its own produced extremely beautiful music, and when they came together they had us entranced, eyes and ears soaking in the ethereal magnificence of the performance.

After the concert we weren’t ready to go home, so we went across the street to the newly-opened Metro Bar (formerly called the “American Pub”) to hang out for awhile before retiring for the night. I had visited this club with Masha the previous week, and I wanted to show the place to George, as it was apparently one of the “in” places in town (which has definitely been confirmed). We were tamely enjoying some tomato soup and water when a guy behind us asked us “if we were American missionaries?” Ha! That’s the first time anyone’s ever asked me if I was a missionary…. Apparently, he had taken in our appearance and ruled out the possibility of us being diplomats or another form as expat (we’re a bit too shabby to pass ourselves off as such) and he knew we weren’t peace corps volunteers, seeing as he was one, which left… missionaries. Well, we forgave him for this grievous mistake, and we had a nice long chat and received an invite to a dinner party the following evening.

So, Thursday night rolled around, we did our best to appear the least missionary-like that we could, and found our way to Ben’s (another peace corps volunteer) house, where we were surprised to find that we were the only girl guests in a crowd of around 10 or so guys. Unavoidable observation. But, these guys turned out to be a really friendly and interesting group, and we had a great time. We even had the great fortune to partake in some homemade apple pie, a pleasure that is rare in this corner of the universe.

Friday night passed by fairly uneventfully in preparation for the promise of a more exciting Saturday.

We had been looking forward to Saturday all week, as it was Nadira’s (one of the girls from the office) birthday. We all planned a big bash for her at Janae’s (an American foreign service officer) house, and then at Metro Bar afterwards. Cat and I wanted to surprise Nadira with a cake, so after spending the morning at the office, we bought everything we needed (not an easy task) and headed to Masha’s for a bit of baking. Now, this was probably the biggest accomplishment of the week, because the cake that we managed to produce was absolutely orgasmic…. who would have thought? A bit of creativity, and wow, together, we can come up with some incredible inventions in the kitchen. This one is definitely a keeper and will probably be passed down to our respective kids as a secret family recipe….

The party was really a lot of fun. To begin with, the embassy does very well by its employees, and Janae’s apartment was the perfect place to host a party for 20 or so people. And then Altynai had called over to Metro Bar earlier and specifically requested that they had the DJ ready to cater to our dancing needs. All in all, it was one of those fun and memorable nights.

Sunday was supposed to be a slow day of relaxing and getting some work done. It’s a really good thing that it turned out otherwise! John (the guy who made the apple pie on Thursday night) called us up and asked us if we wanted to “go flying.” Hell yeah! This meant that he took us out paragliding with him. He is in the middle of his training and takes weekly lessons from a daredevil Russian guy with a metal plate in his head, Sacha. Cat and I, as well as a former peace corps volunteer, Lucas, and Janae made up a merry party of paragliders headed for the mountains. Janae drove us all in her jeep (we were telling her that she ought to get her jeep sponsored by the company or something as the day was full of “jeep commercial” moments- jeep driving through herds of sheep across a field to pick up paraglider, jeep perched on hill top with towering mountains behind, mud-covered jeep at end of happy, active day…). I was particularly lucky to get to be the first person John ever took on a tandem ride. This meant that we had 3 crash take-offs before finally managing to make it into the air. Nothin like being dragged through brambles behind a runaway parachute, the smell of cow shit assailing the nostrils as the ground thumps by. Actually, as most of you can probably guess, I really didn’t mind having a few crash and burn experiences. I always think that it’s a great way to get rid of any fear that might be teetering on the edge of the mind- you know, it’s no longer unknown, so what’s there to fear? Anyway, both Cat and I agree that paragliding is one of the most incredible sports ever, and we are contemplating taking it up ourselves....

Written by Cara

"Bishkek Wanderings"

First weekend in Bishkek and our plans to visit Lake Issyk-Kul were aborted in the hopes that we will have the chance to attend a conference there next week. Instead, we spent the weekend orientating ourselves with Bishkek. We went to a place called Manas Isly- something like that. It was a sort of an ode to the cement creations of mankind commemorating the Great Manas. Manas is the Kyrgyz national epic hero- "The Illiad of the Steppes" that tells of the formation of the Kyrgyz people. Manas is the superhero who carved out a homeland for the Kyrgyz people.

The best part of the visit was actually the stunning view of the mountains. Most of the time the mountains hide behind a shroud of clouds, and you wouldn't even know they're there. But on a rare day when the clouds part and the sky is a soft azure, the mountains tower over the city, their snow-capped peaks reaching into eternity. Bishkek is on a sort of flat plain rolling out from the base of the mountains (kind of like Denver, although the mountains here are far more stunning). Cara, who now uses "The Lord of the Rings" as her measuring stick for worldly beauty, definitely classifies these mountains as something of such epic proportions.

That was Sunday... actually, now that we look back on this weekend, we didn't really do that much.... Saturday was Cat's host mom's birthday so we both attended her celebration and got a taste of some fine home cookin. We were also coerced into dancing with her mom to try to banish the blues when the whole family left for the airport because Julia, one of Cat's host sisters, was surprisingly called to take a job as a stewardess on a flight to the UAE that evening.

Sunday afternoon was a beautiful, magical day in Bishkek. But we spent most of the time wandering around trying to find brown sugar so we could make cookies. To no avail. But we did substitute cinnamon and white sugar for brown sugar, and it turned out somewhat decent. Well, Cara was horribly offended by the quality of these cookies, definitely terming them the worst chocolate chip cookies she had ever made. A true travesty to cookie making. Cat thinks Cara is delusional and has too high standards for cookie making. Once we figured out how not to use foil and charboil the bottoms they were a delicate mix of chocolate hazelnut and sugar cookie. Although, by this time we'd both had so much dough, they all tasted the same and maybe we were both just hoping that our craving for real American chocolate chip cookies had been satisfied. We both had rather upset stomachs for the rest of the night. There's a reason why mom's say not to eat so much dough...

At least we know that we can cook normally, and these cookies were just a fluke (it's only because we didn't have the right ingredients and the oven was old and testy)... right. Well, we did manage something spectacular with that lasagna in Istanbul. Look for more cooking adventures to come throughout this time in Kyrgyzstan, as we will attempt to delight our friends with culinary splendours.

Anyway, we've been at the office since 9 this morning and have the enviable job of staying here all night and all day tomorrow. There has to be someone at the office 24 hours a day in order to ward off crime. Actually, it's not a bad job cuz there's a comfy sofa bed and internet all night long...

We are both determined to regain our healthy selves and put the days of food food and more food behind us. Thus we have started our new resolution by fasting for a day and drinking lemon water. Although we are about to eat soup.

Written by Cara and Cat

It seems we're finally figuring out living arrangements, after a bit of drama. Don't worry, we're back to our old "wedded bliss." George will be staying with a Kyrgyz/Russian family for the duration of her time in Bishkek, and Cara will spend the first month partially with Masha, the young and vivacious Director of the Youth Human Rights Group, and partially in an apartment (where Cat expects to crash several times a week). Next month Cara will be able to move in with Nazgul, another girl in the office, after Annelie, an intern from Germany, departs.

The gray of the other day has disappeared and the sun has emerged once again today. It teasingly reminds us of summer, although we know fall is just around the corner- the leaves have already begun to change. We are passing a peaceful afternoon listenin to a little Nelly at the Legal Aid Office, because Altynai, the permanent staff member here, has the day off. So we're holding the fort and trying to avoid answering the telephone, where we would only be confronted with a garble of Russian.

Let's backtrack a litte and give you a review of the last couple of days since our arrival in Kyrgyzstan. After much confusion in the airport in Tashkent regarding our bags (we were living in deathly fear that our bags might end up on the other side of the world, and never catch up with us....), we decided to trust the nonchlant airline agents in Tashkent and get on the two engine jet plane to Bishkek filled with a group of 30 turbaned male Indian tourists, who we secretly feared were Muslim extremists plotting their next maneuvre. Of course, our fears were completely ludicrous and they turned out to be a friendly group of Siekh tourists. We also discovered why it is so easy for people to hijack airplanes, and for terrorist groups to travel around this area of the world. First, Cara herself was a bit of a danger to the airplane. She had a bottle of camping fuel in her backpack that she totally forgot about and none of the airline security seemed to even notice, though it did go through multiple x-rays in Baku. Whether or not those machines actually worked is debatable. Once reached Tashkent we were ushered to the transit lounge, without anyone double checking our identities, and then, on the flight from Tashkent to Bishkek nobody even looked at our passports a single time. What a stark contrast to the land crossing between Turkey and Georgia, where our passports were scoured at least a dozen times.

We arrived in Bishkek on Sunday morning, and much to our pleasant surprise, easily obtained two-month multiple-entry visas at the airport. So, for all of you travelling this way, that's the way to do it. We were met by Sveta, Catherine's "sister" at the airport. She is a tall, beautiful, blond-haired Kyrgyz girl of Russian heritage. She gave us our first taste of Kyrgyzstan at a roadside stop on the way into the city, where melons could be bought for 5 cents. We still can't remember the name of the melon, although we've been told a million times, but it is was delicious and similar to a honeydew.

Much to our surprise, Cara was dumped off alone in an apartment (although it was rather plush, outfitted with English TV and the best shower she's had the entire trip), and Cat was taken back with Sveta to her home. We ended up meeting that evening for dinner with some of the other girls from the office (Nazgul and Annelie) for "traditional" Kyrgyz food (what is really Italian food), and then sadly went our respective ways to get some rest for the start of our internship on Monday morning.

Monday was a late start and all we did was meet everyone and basically hang around the office and read literature on what the Youth Human Rights Group does. We also did a lot of wandering around the city looking for appropriate housing for Cara (she definitely nixed the option of living with a scary Russian woman who demanded that she stay away from the kitchen- or rather, all parts of the house except the bedroom- because she thought Cara would negligently burn the place down). Alas, it was an unfruitful endeavor, although we did get to know the town much better in our wanderings.

Early Tuesday morning Cat tried her Russian skills on the musudka (minibuses packed with many people that are the major form of public transportation in Bishkek), and managed to say "Astanavitze pazausta" - however you spell it - which means "stop good sir and let me out here." We rendezvoused at the only main landmark we knew in town, a cafe named "Fatboys." We had the good fortune to meet a Montanan by the name of Jim Carney who is the in-country director for the Montana-Kyrgyz State Partnership Project (which is part of the Army National Guard program here in Kyrgyzstan). We had a sumptous American breakfast, a real cup of Joe and eggs with salsa (Jim's offering which was purchased at the army base). He was kind enough to give us a ride to the U.S. Embassy which is very far from the center so we could register. He also returned to "Fatboys" and we went on our way to the Legal Aid office. The rest of the day was tranquil, except Cara had a cultural experience around midnight trying to get into her apartment building after an enjoyable evening with Masha and Nazgul. Much to her horror the outer door was locked and required a code to enter, so using her creative problem-solving abilities and her newly discovered talents as a mime, she approached a road-side shopkeeper to help her out. After many refusals by neighbors to use their phones, a fellow building resident happened by to a while later and let Cara in. Bishkek is a bit of a Dr. Jeckyl at night, with many the vodka drinking drunkards and cat callers wandering the dark forested streets (more like pot-holed alley-ways). Basically, the experience scared the shit out of her (which for all you who know our strong, courageous Cara, it takes a really sketchy situation to do that)!

Wow, it seems like we've been here much longer than four days. Yesterday, Wednesday, was eventful. After much floundering and anxiety Cat finally figured out what she's going to do her research on, the Child Protection system in the U.S. and how it can be used to help form Juvenile Justice policy in Kyrgyzstan. In the evening we went out to try Manty (meat dumplings) and mushroom soup with Sveta and then met Bella and John (Bella is Jim Carney's interpreter and she's married to an American from Oregon, John) at Zum (a state owned department store). We went back to their place for some vodka and cherry juice (a bottle of vodka costs about .50 cents). There was a delegation of legal professionals in town from the US. Two of the group members who happened to be a judge and prosecutor went out on the town and we joined them at a Zeppelin's (where a severely out of tune Kyrgyz cover band was playing Rock'n Roll). Afterwhich their driver a hard core Sovietesque guy named Dima who took it upon himself to give the guys a real "cultural immersion" escorted us to a fancy white hotel with a red sign out front sporting "Go-Go" dancers. We ascended the stairs amdist increasingly lude photographs and were greeted by two shrewd business women sitting in vacant foyer in front of an unmarked door. As this was men's entertainment the women were let in for free. As depicted in the big screen the door opened to a large, misty, black-lite room dominated by a stage, with three very conspicuous poles front and center. Needless to say we spent a rather amusing and unexpected night in a Russian strip club with a judge and prosecutor. To all our guy friends out there, we really don't understand why you're willing to pay so much money to see a few naked girls on stage.

Written by Cat and Cara

My first impression of Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan is a jumble of massive Soviet-style architecture, streets, and squares. The city is full of parks, including the "children's park" complete with nightly amusement rides and groups of young people strolling the many green paths. Today is a grey day- the air is still, but a drizzle has persisted throughout the day. I hope that it might clear up by this weekend so that we can enjoy a short trip to Lake Issyk-Kul.

Signing out,
Cara

We've arrived safely in Bishkek. Sorting out housing and details with the internship, etc, right now. Looks to be a good two months in Kyrgyzstan...

One important recommendation for any of you that plan to visit Turkey- if you want to save money take the train rather than the bus. Granted, the train routes are somewhat limited, and train trips can take around 18 hours, but the savings are astronomical for the budget traveller. A $25 bus ticket costs about $5 for the equivalent train trip. We’ve also found trains to be the most comfortable form of travel- especially our most recent train trip from Tbilisi, Georgia to Baku, Azerbaijan. The trains out in the Caucuses are relatively empty and we had a compartment to ourselves, with two beds for each of us to stretch out on and sleep the night away…

But we would be remiss not to backtrack and tell the tales of what happened after we left Istanbul. First, we passed a lovely day in Adapazeri with Berkay. He neglected to inform us that it was actually his birthday, so imagine our surprise when we ended up joining in a family birthday celebration for our friend! Not to mention eating four servings of cake each…

That night we had our first night train journey across Turkey to Kayseri, and then a bus to Goreme, Cappadocia. How can one possibly describe the awe-inspiring region of Cappadocia?? It is a geological wonderland smack in the middle of Turkey- volcanic eruptions and ensuing years of erosion have molded a landscape of steep cliffs and valleys populated with “ferry chimneys.” These ferry chimneys are tall, rock towers, many of which were hollowed out hundreds of years ago and made into homes and churches by the local population. They look very much like something out of a fairy tale- perhaps Hobbit houses or the dwellings of gnomes or elves… On our first night in Goreme we watched the sun sink behind a backdrop of ferry chimneys and distant cities from atop our own cave hotel. The beauty of the departing day, in combination with the stillness of the city below, the faint breeze drifting up from dusty valley, and the crisp smell of the onset of evening made for a memorable and perfect snapshot in time.

We opted to take a day tour , the Green Tour, the following day because it was the most efficient and affordable way to see as much of the region as possible. It turned out to be a good decision, because we both really enjoyed the tour! Our guide, Ali, was well-versed in the political, social and geological history of the region. One of the wonders, which made the greatest impression on us was the eight-story underground city at Derenkuyu (there are some eight underground cities in the area, the one we visited is the largest and could at its zenith house 33,000 inhabitants). Some of the tunnels were so small that one practically had to slide side ways and fold in half to fit through, this ingenius architecture protected the city from hordes descending upon them, as beseiging armies could only march single file down the tunnels. The city was complete with an underground well, ventilation and communication systems and chipped by hand out of the rock. The Ihlara valley was the next spectacular destination. We got a chance to strech our legs and wander through valley floor next to a stream, munched on wild blackberries and gazed at the towering cliff sides rising above us spotted with ancient cave dwellings and churches. Cara also dramatically fell in the water trying to avoid getting her shoes wet, she turned her whole self brown instead. After lunch by the stream we explored one of the many fascinating carved churches. Burrowed columns create a large open space for worship, and tiny windows shed dim light in the many tawny colored rooms rising in and out of the rock. We then hopped in the van and headed for Avanos, the ceramic capital of the area, where a uinque style of pottery has been made since the Hittites period.

The next morning we arose with plans of exploring and hiking all around the valleys of Cappadocia. We set out with a bag of nuts and fruit for sustenance, and our camera in hand. We were hoping to make it to a place called Devrent Valley, but sadly failed in this endeavor when we realized that we would not be able to pass over or under a large plateau (White Mountain) dividing the valleys. We did, however, trek all around the nearby Rose Valley, popping in and out of abandoned caves before emerging several hours later, dust-covered and ready to explore other regions. We had read quite a bit about a nearby town called Urgup that sounded quite interesting, and we had good luck in hitching a ride there. Urgup is home to a famous winery, where local wines are made in abundance, and tourists have the opportunity to taste the many types to their heart’s content…

Our time in Cappadocia ended too soon, and we were sorry to say goodbye to such a beautiful and unique corner of the world, but we had already stayed in Turkey longer than intended. We found ourselves on another night train- this time bound for the Eastern town of Erzurum. It wasn’t quite this simple though- we did accidentally get on the wrong train, thus enduring the rather animated gestures and shouts of the Turkish conductor before we figured out what the heck was going on. Needless to say it wasn’t entirely our fault since we asked many Turkish people who told us that we were to get on that train and the train was three hours late and we were not told that there were two trains going in our direction.

We were dropped at 4 AM at the next train stop, a small building on the tracks. It was chilly and we couldn’t wait to get on our train. Luckily, we were able to find a compartment with only three people two of whom left shortly. Cara and I streched out and enjoyed having to use our sleeping bags as the last ride had been stifling hot. We found ourselves in Ezurum at 8 PM and decided to walk to the bus station to head up to Yusefeli (a little mountain town near Atvin to do some treking) as it seemed close on the map. After walking ways in the dark we clamoured into a taxi preffering safety (after a man charged out of the dark and grabbed Cara’s ass, crotch to be more precise) to saving money. The bus station was bustling, we found out that there were many families in transit to register their freshmen for university classes. We found a nice secluded spot and set up “camp” ie put down our bags and sat on the thermarest. We looked every- bit the “hobos”. A girl passed and we pondered whether she was Turkish or a tourist, she approached us and started babbling Turkish. We said we didn’t understand and she said, “Are you tourists?” and started blushing excitedly. We said yes, and made instant friends. She was with her father and they proceeded to invite us to their home and we changed our bus ticket to go to Trabazon instead of Yusefeli. We chatted and drank chai until 2 Am with Sennur and then went to curl up and catch some ZZZs. The next day we caught the bus at 7 AM for Trabazon and due to falling rock, and an abysmally slow driver, we ended up arriving at 5 PM (three hrs later than she expected us). We were deposited at the Police Station in Arakli (she lives above it, her father is a Policeman) where we exchanged hand-language for Turkish and finally found Sennur. She frantically brought us upstairs and shared all that is the beauty of Turkish hospitality. Sennur has two younger sisters and two younger brothers. Her mom is warm and jovial. We learned how to make Borek and some Black Sea dishes, and Cat tried her hand at embroidery. We went to a local futbol match (where we were the only women in a stadium full of rowdy men, some of whom were banging huge drums and blowing torches) and visited her friends in Sumela. All in all it was a fabulous blessing to spend two days on the Black Sea with Sennur and her family. . . .

We rushed to meet the bus that stopped for us in front of Sennur’s house, barely able to maneuvre the bags chock full of pounds of organic hazelnuts, tomatoes, green peppers etc. that her mom prepared for our ride. The bus ride was long and uneventful until we had the luck to meet a fellow traveler, Tamir, at a morning rest-stop, who unbeknownst to us was on our bus as well. The three of us endured the many hours of boarder crossings. The passports were checked every five feet by yet another man dressed in khaki. A sketchy moment was when a man dressed in black demanded our passports and headed into a warehouse, but all turned out well.


Tamir knew of a great place to stay in Tbilisi, Georgia and we found ourselves in a women’s international tennis match before finding the pension. Nazi’s pension is recommended for all travelers. Nazi, a stately Georgian grandma, opens her home to all and treats them like family during the period of their stay. We stayed with her for two nights and wandered the streets of Tbilisi with Tamir during the days. During this time we got to know Tamir, a truly beautiful and inspirational human-being whom we felt blessed to meet. He has the amazing ability to bring a smile to any one’s face and make a friend of any passerby. Nazi also hosted some other colourful individuals who made our stay memorable. We spent our evening in the company of Mike, who might be described as a humorous critic who enjoyed discussing all topics ranging from the “Bachelorette” (an American Reality TV show) to globalization and the pros and cons of protest movements. We also made the aquaintance of Chris, a roving Canadian Buddhist concert pianist, who had explored just about every corner of the world and gave us some great ideas for future adventure and how to live a la Marco Polo.

Tbilisi, the capital of Georgia, is a tree-lined city that sits astride a meandering river. It abounds with the architectural remnants of Moorish, Persian, Turk, Armenian and Georgian ancestry. The endless rain soaked us to the skin and after wandering up to the top of a hill to see an ancient fort converted to a church, and seeing most everything the town had to offer, we returned to Nazi’s and drank Chai (care of Cara). The view was fabulous, a low hanging rain haze mingled with church steeples, sliced by the green river.

We were assured earlier that day that the daily train for Baku departed at 8 PM (we bought our plane tickets for Bishkek at the main travel agency in town, Caucasus Travel). So, that night we arrived at the train station just after 7 PM and tried to buy a ticket at the ticket window, but were directed to the “American Express” train upstairs. We diligently followed these directions and prepared to board the train where we were stopped and asked for our visas and tickets. Of course, we had our visas, but still needed the tickets. Prepared for the $25 ticket fee we were horrified and stunned by the $220 US fee demanded by the man with a giant smirk on his face. Cara declared enraged, “I know the price of the ticket, 8 people told me it was $25”. We tried to negotiate and Cara even tried storming the train, but alas, a mean-spirited very hefty bouncer with a gun didn’t think it was too funny and dragged her off. Cat stood by shocked and somewhat dumbfounded. Not defeated, we marched away determined to prove the “stupid shit-head,” excuse our French, wrong. (Note that we had to be across the border by midnight when our visas expired) We pleaded with one girl and she half-heartedly help us to no avail. After getting about 10 men in the train station running crazy trying to help us find the cheap train going to Baku we were made aware that the “American Express” was indeed the only one going that direction and that there were no buses or mini-buses going that way either. Frantic, about to pull “girl tears,” a really nice Georgian guy, Mike, came to our aid. He tried yet again to haggle with the evil American Express men (who ever heard of a train costing 5 times as much as a flight especially when Georgians make less than $2 US a day- It’s all a big, big scam that’s what it is!!!!) to no avail. Mike arranged a speedy taxi ride for us and after crashing over many water-logged pot-holes we caught up with a train headed for Baku just as it was to cross the border. The next thing we knew we were being scurried into the customs office by military personnel and let on to the train with a smile. Whew!!!!

To our pleasant surprise the compartments were decked out with two beds, pillows and a blanket included. We settled in for the night ready for some sweet dreams. We closed our door and were awoken by banging and when we finally managed to open it (old Soviet train with sticky, sticky doors) we were greeted by severe looking Azeri border guards asking for money and passports. After some jumbled Russian conversation we said we only had “personal clothes” in our bags, and the guy stopped demanding money and let us alone.

In our struggle to shut the door once more a kindly German man tried to help us and we ended up having a lively conversation long into the night. Reiner was a former Merchant Marine/Ship Captain/Habour Master who has lived all over the world and is now working with the World Bank to train navigators in developing countries. We tossed and turned and arrived in Baku this morning at 9:30. Cat was immediately put off by the horde of wolfish taxi cab drivers waiting at the train door, but we continued on foot and found a money exchange and metro. The hotel, Canub, is an old Soviet building, and we found it easily. Today, we cut each other’s hair in order to look spiffy for our internships that begin on Monday. We indulged and ate scrumptious Indian food at the Taj Mahal restaurant and have been emailing the rest of the afternoon as there is not much to see here.

- Written by Cara and Cat

One of our friends from Istanbul, Asuman, has written a letter that she requested we post in our blog. So here it is!

***

Dear Cat and Cara,

It has been lovely to meet you and have a nice visit in Istanbul, around St. Sofia (one of our pictures in front of this superb historical piece is really nice) and the Grand Bazaar ( I remember our bargaining-girls three days later I took a friend of mine from England there and we didnt find any cusions that cheaper, you see). I am sure you will not see places like the Spice Bazaar in Eminonu-have you packed the apple tea
yet?- and the Arasta behind the Blue Mosque, where we have bought ceramics for you and Miho. And I am sure you have already missed us and the days we spent together in Istanbul.

It is life, you see. Everything is done through the desires. Certainly through our deepest desires we have met and learnt from each other
whatever we had to. I am hundred percent sure we are going to meet again.

You have accepted the challenges for your growth. Good luck for that.
And good luck for your effort and work for humanitarian issues.

We have accepted each other from the first moment we met. AND now please accept all my love towards you, your hearts and your activities
you need to fulfil.

All the best for you.

Asuman

Ahhh, we're nearly a week behind on the blog and it seems impossible to catch up! We have done so many interesting things in Turkey... We stayed in Istanbul until Monday afternoon- we kept putting off the departure because we were having so much fun! What else did we do? We actually didn't do all that much sight-seeing. Thursday we attempted to continue our tour of Istanbul (the same group of ppl) but it was really really cold and rainy- a drastic contrast to the scalding heat of the previous week. We visited the bazaars again and the Aya Sofia, which is one of the most famous mosques in the world. And we had a long breakfast consisting of almost every kind of borek that exists- borek is a breakfast pastry that can be stuffed with many things- cheese, potatoes, spinach, or just with powdered sugar. It is delicious!! As the theme of our stay in Istanbul seemed to be food and more food, and our Turkish friends were introducing us to the many delights of Turkish cuisine, Cat and I decided to repay everyone by cooking a more "American" meal for the whole group that night. So we cut our day short and headed to Berkay's place to somehow concoct lasagna with none of the right ingredients. I must say that the two of us together in the kitchen can sometimes work miracles! The lasagna turned out great, even though we had to make our own tomato sauce, and use Turkish cheeses mixed with yogurt, etc, etc. It was really fun cooking for everyone too and spending another night enjoying good company at berkay's house.

Friday was the date of Miho's departure, unfortunately. Even though she only stayed a few days we all fell in love with her! So we had a goobye breakfast in a town (actually, the place where haluk is from, but we forget the name) near the Bosphorous before she had to go to the airport.

The rest of the weekend passed so quickly that it is difficult to even recount exactly what we did. On Saturday we had a super fun night out on the town with Bengu, Banu, Banu's boyfriend, and their cousin. Taksim, right in the center of the European part of Istanbul, is a fabulous place to go at night. It definitely is somewhat reminiscent of other European cities in that it is a pedestrian only zone- although there is a tram that occassionally runs down the middle of the street (there's no barrier so one must clear out when the tram comes, so as not to get run over!).

Turn off the main street in Taksim and you enter into the side roads where cafes and merchant's shops line the streets. The bright lights spilling from cheerful shops beckon people inside. Music tinkles down from rooftop terraces, as people below amble by, arm in arm. Heavier base and reggae sounds filter up from night clubs, turning unto a street packed with tables where people are served Turkish coffee, Tea, drinks and food all night, one is enlivened by the atmosphere. At 2 Am all the little fruit stands are still beckoning you and one has to stop and taste the mussles filled with rice, currants and cumin. They are fabulous and even Cat (who normally hates mussels) ate several.
Cat and Bengu were still ready to jive in Rydms, but alas a couple of rather intoxicated guys who wouldn't stop petting a pour sleeping cat persauded Bengu's cousin that it was time to go. We left and headed for a parking garage, buying some burned CDs on the way. They have absolutely everything and then went home.
The next day, Sunday, we slept late, packed christmas gifts (yes, we are way ahead of schedule and already bought all of Istanbul) and tried to rewater proof our rain jackets. Realizing that it was going to take quite a long time for some of our clothes to air dry and not wanting to leave Bengu and Banu (Bengu's sister) we decided to stay another night. Travel adminstrative tasks required us to go to the train station and attempt to reserve our seats for our 10 hour train ride to Cappadoccia. We found out that the train is much, much cheaper than the bus. We had previously planned to stop and see Berkay in Anapazeri and couldn't resist going to an off-the-beaten track location and so we bought a ticket there. We then headed for the internet cafe and had a marathon session until we noticed it was dark and we better leave. We were in the middle of Kadicoy, a bussling center and were told it was not very safe at night. Incidently, Cat had run into Haluk on-line and he came down and met us in Kadicoy and we went to eat Turkish Pizza. A flat bread with tomatoes, meat and some other veggies (no cheese).
Well, we are out of time. sad, sad.
we'll write again soon, before we get too behind.
OH, just to let you know we are in Goerme, Cappadoccia (Central Anatolia). Sorry, all of our Turkish friends for now spelling them right.
Updates soon, we promise.

Cat (aka. Goerge from now on) and Cara (now Michelle or as she will be called Mish)
Don't ask. you'll be told soon.

written by Goerge and Mish

We have a whole week of adventures in Istanbul to get caught up on. Thanks to you who have been waiting patiently to find out what the heck has been going on in the lives of Cara and Catherine this last week. And again, we intended to write a huge update on everything but time is getting short and we have to meet our friend Haluk soon. But we will give it a try. So, to pick up where we left off...

There we were, Monday morning, having been dumped on the side of the road in a place called "Harem." Luckily, friendly people abound in Turkey and a girl who spoke impeccable English helped arrange a taxi to take us to Bengu's address. We arrive at 8am, almost simultaneous with Bengu's sister Banu's arrival home from work, and we all proceeded to sleep the day away... a much needed rest. That night we finally met Bengu. She is Chizuru's good friend who studied at Kansai Gaidai in Osaka for a year. We had all heard a ton about eachother via Chizuru, and it was so good to finally meet! Bengu is a wonderful, and very hospitable girl (as is her sister Banu!) and they were so nice to offer us a place to stay in Istanbul. We loved it so much that we kept staying longer and longer! Hence the reason we have now been in Istanbul a week and will only finally reluctantly tear ourselves away tomorrow.

Bengu brought her good friend Berkay home with her and then cooked us a wonderful dinner on our first night in Istanbul. Unfortunately, Bengu had to take a business trip to Ankara the next day and worried she wouldn't be back until very late. So Berkay agreed to take us under his wing for the day. We're not sure that he knew what he was getting himself into! We had a rather complicated agenda as we had to run around finding visas and such (we succeeded in getting a transit visa through Georgia and supposedly we can easily obtain a visa to Azerbaijan in Tbilisi. Let's keep our fingers crossed!). We also have to insert here that we have affectionately nicknamed Berkay "Burt" after one of our favorite Sesame Street characters. Cat, too, has morphed into "George" (short for "Curious George" because of her never-ending curiosity. You may see the name "George" used in the blog in later entries and this is a warning that it will be in reference to her).

So Tuesday was a day full of errands. Berkay was kind enough to help us sort out the visa issues, and he took us to his university and to Taksim, the central part of Istanbul. He even put up with all of George's questions with a smile on his face! Our visit was well-timed because Berkay's Japanese friend Miho flew in for a visit that night. She is a flight attendant in Japan and had a short 3 day trip to Istanbul. What a lovely girl she is! We had so much fun touring around Istanbul and sharing our experience in this wonderful country with her. So, while Berkay was off fetching her from the airport on Tuesday night we crashed at his place and met his roommate, Haluk, who in the typical Turkish fashion, also proved to be a great host. He treated us to American pizza and we enjoyed many hours of conversation, centering a lot on politics of course. We tend to get into a lot of fascinating political conversations while travelling.

Wednesday was our first big day for sightseeing in Istanbul. We were joined by another Turkish friend of Miho's, Asuman. We saw the amazing Blue Mosque, and the Grand Bazaar, and enjoyed tasting Turkish ice cream, cherry juice, and an excellent lunch of kefte, bean salad, and semolina dessert. Have we mentioned how fabulous the food is here? Probably, as we love it so much! We've become particularly attached to the cherry juice and cherry jam. That night we met up with Bengu and Banu, as well as some other friends, and they took us to a restaurant serving traditional Turkish food. Yes, we are pretty much eating food non-stop here, thus destroying any and all efforts to eat healthy, exercise, get in shape.... we had been pretty good about that in Greece, but now all our efforts have been pretty much erased. Oh well, we're living in the moment and enjoying it!

Ok, we are late meeting Haluk so must jet. But there will be more to come....

written by Cara

“Turkish Delights”

We haven’t written in quite awhile, so it is time for a serious update. We left you in Selcuk, and it’s now been over a week since we were in that lovely town. We went to a spectacular Saturday market overflowing with colorfully displayed produce (Turkey has some of the best organic fruits and vegetables that we have ever seen and/or tasted. The vibrant greens, reds, oranges, yellows, and purples are almost a sensory overload as one meanders through the plethora of family-run, makeshift stalls), and beautifully handcrafted doilies and tablecloths. It transported us back to what must have been the America of the 1800s, when families put love and time into artesanry and enjoyed passing their craft to younger generations. One of our favorite stalls was the one selling nearly every type of nut that one can imagine. We, of course, sampled them all before deciding how to invest our measly $4. Amazing that the Turks are so generous, even to poor students who they must know do not present a profit. We actually managed to make the nuts last about 3 days. However, times have changed, and we have been living high on the hog since we reached Instanbul (no more rationing and starvation quotas for us! Well, at least until we leave Istanbul…)

Our next destination was Bergama (formerly the ancient city of Pergamon). We descended from the bus, and while Cara was preoccupied with finding our gargantuan pile of luggage (it had somehow grown exponentially overnight, much to Cara’s chagrin- the oft-used phrase became “THIS IS GOING TO END AS SOON AS WE REACH ISTANBUL”), Cat, who is always amiable with the locals, had connected with the proprietor of the Athena Pension. In fact, we had been informed that the Athena was the best option for accommodations prior to arriving in Bergama, but all the same, it is quite astounding that pension and hostel owners seem to pop out of the woodwork everywhere we go. So Cara, not realizing that this man was from the Athena, instead, thinking that he was some guy off the street trying to sell us a room in a sketchy hotel, acted the part of the ice bitch and almost scared the guy off forever. In fact, we were a bit sketched out when he took off with our bags on his motorbike… but alas, all was well. He came back and helped us walk the 900 meters, which seemed like two miles, with our heavy packs to the Athena Pension, “it’s not the best, but it’s trying to be.” We struck quite a bargain, for a mere $4 apiece we got to sleep under the stars on the terrace, listening to wild Sufi music in celebration of Independence late into the night/morning. We also ended up eating an enormous traditional Turkish breakfast the following morning for a scant 75 cents each (all we had to do was hold out until all the other tourists left, as well as agree to listen to the proprietor’s lesbian fantasies in order for the regular price of $4 to be reduced to this spectacular deal- although whether or not it was really worth it was debatable since we were slightly traumatized following the breakfast conversation). Anyway, breakfast included: Turkish omelette, two kinds of bread, two kinds of cheese, cherry and strawberry jam, olives, fruit, and sweets. We have absolutely fallen in love with the jam here- the cherry jam is particularly divine.

Our main purpose of visiting Bergama was to see the historical site where the former city of Pergamon sits on a hill overlooking the modern city. Being the cheapos that we are (and as we are sensitive to local customs as well), the proprietor who we still have no idea what his name was, showed us the proper way to explore the ruins by climbing through a hole in the periphery fence and scrambling up the hill, thus avoiding the extortionate entrance fees. It was another HOT day in Turkey, and after visiting the ruins for a couple of hours (the best part was the amazing ampitheatre which looked out over the amazing vista below) we were parched with thirst and slid back down the side of the hill in search of more water. Luckily, the infamous proprietor was out when we returned, and we were able to leave without enduring a last conversation about his sexual longings.

Our mission was to make it to Troy that afternoon. We hopped onto a midibus headed for Ayvalik, a coastal town reknowned for its olive oil and beauty, and switched to another midibus, and another, each time paying another $5, another $10, etc. Soon the afternoon had waned into evening. We seemed to be moving at a snail-like pace towards Troy, all the while being charged as if we were flying first class on some luxury jetliner. Worrying that our bank accounts would soon be empty, but us no closer to Troy (with no place to stay except perhaps pitching a tent under the safeguard of the Trojan Horse), we opted to take a direct bus to Canakkale, on the Sea of Marmara, (both of us being overwhelmed with bouts of nausea and heatstroke on this bus ride- we found out the hard way that air conditioning does not mean the same thing in Turkey as it does in the US) instead. We called Bengu, Chizuru’s friend in Istanbul, now a good friend of our’s as well, to tell her we were descending on her a day earlier than planned. We thought we would “shop around” for the best price for this last leg of our bus trip to Istanbul, seeing as we had already spent at least $50 more than our daily budget (we had thought each leg would be about $2. Yes, we were slightly delusional). So we took turns casually wandering around the bus station asking prices of tickets to Istanbul and looking affronted at the prices quoted. We were convinced that we had become embroiled in a scheme to rip off the ignorant American tourists and were determined not to be taken advantage of this time. But we found out that our suspicions were grossly unfounded, as people in Turkey really are quite honest and helpful, the price really was that ridiculously high. We haggled and succeeded in obtaining a student discount which no more glorious than a 75 cent reduction. We purchased the cheapest tickets, of course, and were ushered on to a special shuttle to the port. We passed our time reading Harry Potter # 2 and drinking “special” cherry juice on the docks. Harry Potter sucked us in and we almost missed our bus (it’s become an addictive past-time to read it to eachother- though we do miss Colleen’s interpretive reading).

We finally arrived in Istanbul at dawn, the city-scapes seemed to blend with our dreams, as we drifted in and out of consciousness. We were abruptly awakened by the bus driver and deposited on the curbside, too late realizing that this was not Kadikoy, our end destination.

Right now we are writing to you all despite protestations from our friends in Istanbul. We have just finished a fabulous meal- we managed to miraculously concoct an Ameri-style lasagna without any of the common ingredients, a kind-of thank you to our wonderful hosts. We’re being rude, so we’ll finish our update before we leave on Sunday and now turn this journal over to our new-found friends (though we feel we have known eachother for ages) to write a word or two.

***

Hi, I am Miho Konishi from Japan. I met them 2 days ago but I feel I have been with them for long years as they told you. We have really nice and wonderful time in Istanbul!!!!!! We enjoyed going shopping (we are very good at gettting discount price) , eating Turkish food , going for sightseeing and so on!!! Anyhow they are really nice and I like them a lot. I wish I had more time to spend with them. Unfortunately I have to say good bye to them tomorrow (I will go back to Japan tomorrow) but I am sure we can see with each other in a few years and spend good time together!!!!!! Maybe in the States, Japan, or other foreign countries?!?!!!
But definetely we will!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh, I already miss them:)

***

Haluk from Turkey. These girls forced me to write something about myself but it is not so easy. I have just washed all the dishes of the dinner and I am so sleepy, so tired and soooooo………….

***

chiz…that was the only thing binding us before u ended up in my apartment….now I can understand why she was talking about u guys 24 hrs a day-I should also confess that sometimes I was getting bored and jealous:). But pls pls believe me: I m normally a more lively and smiling girl but working life made me an old and tired lady. BUT BUT BUT the best thing is that we have a weekend to spend TOGETHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Bengu

***

berkay, or burt or budu, whatever…
it is 3 am and this girls still wait for me to write something for them…oh, I just realised that they are already laying in their beds...well, they should actually, because we have lots of to do tomorrow- like every day! This morning for example, we woke up at 7 am, what a holiday!! And do you want to know how my day was: running after 4 girls shopping in bazaars (well, here I should mention that I am a boy), making all the sellers mad, bargaining in each store etc. ehm, cara just made the mistake saying that I can write as much as I can!! But don’t worry, I will not, I want to get some sleep before another hard day, let me just describe those 4 girls:
Asuman: I am cold, let’s go home and do some meditation!
Miho: hurry up, I want to see all the sightseeing spots! I want to see the palace…

A dialog to describe Cara:
Seller: 350 million Turkish Lira
Cara: No
Seller: What would you give?
Cara: 250
Seller: Oh, no, that’s impossible! But 300 for you
Cara: 250
Seller: 280
Cara: 250
Seller: 270
Cara: 250
Seller: 260
Cara: 250
Seller: Oh please!
Cara: Ok, 252
And they bought 2 leather jackets for less than 200 USD!

A dialog for Catherine:
Catherine: What is this?
Berkay: This is …
Catherine: And this?
Berkay: This is …
Catherine: Why?
Berkay: ??? I don’t know!!
Catherine : Who is this?
Berkay: Ehm, I think he is …
Catherine: Why?
Berkay: Rrrrrrrrgh!!!
Catherine: What is this about? Why? How? Who? How? Where?
Berkay: When are you going to Kyrgyzstan?

It was nice to meet you girls, I am really going to miss you…I hope you are going to like it in my hometown this weekend, I am sure you will love the meatballs though :)

Chizuru, the VERY beautiful japanese girl, I am missing you too…When are you coming?

Ok, I wish these two crazy girls lots of fun in georgia, azerbaijan and kyrgyzstan and whereever else…

Berkay

So we're in Istanbul right now staying with Chizuru's friend Bengu, who is absolutely wonderful (as is her sister Banu). We arrived on the overnight bus from Canakkale Monday and basically passed out on their couch in the livingroom for the rest of the day, before Bengu came home from work that night and cooked us a fabulous chicken and pasta dinner. How's that for good hospitatlity? More proof that our time in Turkey has been full of friendly and helpful people. Although, like any country in the world, we are observing that the friendliness is not quite as pervasive in the big city as elsewhere.

Well, we're off to do a bunch of errands. Visas and such. Oh, the fun of doing travel errands.

written by Cara