Update One: The Long Slog and AMAZING AUCA
And we are off an adventure again! This time in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan!
For those who don't know, this spring, I will be studying Russian in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan at the American University of Central Asia through Colorado College's Russian language program. Unlike my time in Turkey at Ankara's Ritz-Carlton five-star experience sponsored by your Department of State (see Sam in Turkiye 2022), this time we will be living closer to reality. This time around, I am lucky enough to be with a wonderful host family (more on them to come later!).
The journey started just about as poorly as I could have possibly dreamed of. Within 30 minutes of being at our gate in Denver, on my way to Chicago, our flight was cancelled. Initially, delaying us 15 minutes after encountering a group of pigeons on the plane's decent, they said maintenance needed to ensure the safety of the plane. We waited dutifully. After 15 minutes the resigned voice of the attendant came over the intercom. The pigeons had successfully destroyed the plane's left engine (amazing what a 8 oz. bird will do to a 7,760,000 oz. plane). Our flight was cancelled, the nearest available plane had been diverted from Orlando and would arrive in four hours. That didn't help those who had a flight departing for Istanbul in 4 hours from Chicago and a subsequent flight to Bishkek shortly there after.
Long story short, we figured it out. This time, however, we were prescribed two 12 hour layovers in both Chicago and Istanbul to build our travel character and our time killing repertoire. We decided as a team of three (myself and two other guys on the program) we would have to make it there either all together or not at all.
For this next section, I've decided to include a page of my delirious and only slightly poetic scribbles on my impressions of the Istanbul airport...
The Long Slog:
Today I have sat with mothers and sons snoring on their way to hajj. Patterned wool protecting faces from the sharp morning sun. Bodies soak in its warmth. After all, it is the only medicine for jet lag. Groups pass us in the hall outside. Africans in transit, Russians in movement, even the odd Texan in a UT Longhorns quarter-zip canters by.
I've walked the terminal a few times (close to 10, 000 steps worth) without even touching the surface (by square feet that is) of the airport itself. Yet, I have seen everything. The same Duty Free, the same Rolex stands, the same perfume cabinets. Each has five attendants; each young, attractive, ready to speak their practiced English phrases to entice you into a bottle of tax-free Jameson.
This is a place of transit. Few seem to be in this airport for Turkey's sake. This seems to be the nature of crossroads and bridges. The larger the pile of bags, or in some cases the number of children, the more I picture them in the plight of the refugee, the migrant, the seeker of the little open door of opportunity. Everyone is smartly dressed, except the Americans that is. They choose to sport their UT quarter-zips and baggy trousers.
I've passed Turkmen, Kosovars, and Serbs. Each walks differently. Some swing their arms with purpose, others saunter in their Adidas slacks and slides. All carry themselves with pride, upright, shoulders high. I try to match their step, keep their pace, mirror their walk. But, I cannot. I couldn't finish my 10, 000 steps in their shoes. In the same place, seeing the same Duty Free shops for a few hours together. We are all jet-lagged, debating whether to give in to our heavy eyelids or to buy that overpriced burger upstairs. In these spaces worlds collide, yes. But culture clash it is not. We all stir together in the Istanbul airport pot.
I sit now with the Finns. Each of them content. Darn their contentedness, social safety nets and sauna stoves. In a few moments they will leave and steam off from the pot only to be replaced by a group bound for Addis Ababa. Yet, not before they leave their imprint on the seats behind.
Arrival:
We arrived in a haze only to find that two of our three suitcases had been lost by Turkish Airlines. Knowing that this was fully a possibility (nay a likelihood!), I had been refused to check my bag until Chicago where they eventually told me I would be required to check it. This, as it turned out, was the only saving grace of the journey. Having checked my bag in Chicago and not Denver, my bag would be the only that was not lost.
We arrived at the hotel in Bishkek in darkness at 3am. Our orientation would begin in the hotel basement at 10. Reluctantly, I arose in the morning to my alarm and headed down for breakfast. Grumpy and jet-lagged, I thought nothing would wake me up enough to get through 5 hours of orientation. I walked downstairs and went out on the balcony to see the first daylight of my time in Kyrgyzstan. Seemingly from divine intervention, the Tian-Shan mountains appeared from of the clouds the moment I walked on the balcony. Spectacular is the only way to describe them. They range the entire skyline. From as far as one can look west, to as far as one can look east there are only snow-capped peaks.
The Tian-Shan's among others, separate Bishkek in the north from the city of Osh and Tajikistan in the south. In terms of land coverage, Kyrgyzstan is 80% mountains. Measured in one way, Kyrgyzstan is little bigger than Massachusetts. Measured by total surface area however, one could fit all of Portugal, Switzerland, Belgium, and the Netherlands into Kyrgyzstan. Lending to its pastoral and nomadic culture and sheer size, less than 8% of Kyrgyzstan is cultivated.
The orientation in the hotel was unsurprisingly unremarkable. But at the end of the meeting, we were set to meet our "language partners". Scarred by my language partner in Turkey who was set on slowly squeezing me for every penny I was willing to spend taking him out to eat, I was wary of this aspect of the program. But to my pleasant surprise, in walked to our group six of the most accomplished and wonderful people I have had the pleasure of meeting. Each speaks at least 4 languages, are well-traveled, are driven students, and delightful to boot. My language partner was no different.
Saliya's family are Dungan. The Dungan people, also called Hui muslims, are a linguistically Turkic yet distinct ethnic group originally from what is now the Xianjiang Province in mainland China. Waves of the Dungan peoples have settled in what is now Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, and Russia. Yet, they have maintain distinct cultural practices and a distinct language in these places. While I have yet to become well acquainted and educated on their culture, on the surface their symbols seem distinctly Chinese. More to come on her later.
With over 80 distinct ethnicities, or "nations" translated from the Russian word, Kyrgyzstan is a remarkably diverse place. Within the Kyrgyz "nation", the distinctions between people are broken down even further into 42 distinct tribes. As my host family explained to me this morning, under each tribe their are even further delineations of which I cannot yet understand. Having just returned from a funeral for his nephew, my host "grandpa" (in Kyrgyz "Atasha") explained to me that per custom, every member from his distinct sub-tribe was required to come to the burial yurt and give money or food to the grieving family. I do not know how many people this ends up being, but it was clear that it was many. How they organize themselves and manage to communicate things like when to arrive at the burial yurt is beyond me (in my mind it must be a large Facebook group chat).
Family Life:
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| Baiysh (Atasha), Mavliuda (Apasha), and Aatai (grandson) |
Atasha is a former expert in radio communication towers and Apasha is still the lead gastroenterologist in Kyrgyzstan. Both are well-traveled, well-respected, and clearly brilliant people. The layers and stories of their family continue to be more and more impressive. Upon walking to my new room, I noticed a picture that immediately stood out. A grainy black and white photo, Apasha explained that this was her mother pictured with Chingiz Aitmatov. Aitmatov was a highly successful novelist and writer. He is the closest it gets to Kyrgyz royalty. As for her mother, Apasha said that she was, in fact, one of the most famous Kyrgyz Soviets. As one of the leaders of a labor union of collective farms in Kyrgyzstan, she was awarded one of the highest Soviet honors by Stalin himself. In the photo, her face says as much. She appears worn and rugged but with a distinct fire in her eyes. One can imagine her as an incredibly intense and successful leader of people. To me she appears mythological, almost saintlike. Her daughter has clearly inherited some of those characteristics. Apasha is kind and caring, but has the best possible edge to her.
Atasha is no different. While retired, he maintains a distinct brilliance that is reflected in his successful career as one of the top experts on radio-communication in the world. Both educated in Moscow at the top Soviet institutions, it is clear that I am in the midst of special people.
Aatai is quiet and reserved. He is a top student, but also a grandma's boy (in the best way of course). While his parents and two sisters are away living and working in Moscow, Aatai has remained to finish school and live with his grandparents. He is always the first to make sure their cups are filled with hot tea and their needs attended to. I am lucky to be with them.
The family is marked by both a strong sense of Kyrgyz nationalism and appreciation for their culture, but also a distinct Soviet nostalgia. The Soviet Union, on a whole, provided incredible growth for Kyrgyzstan and its people. Most importantly for Apasha and Atasha, it provided a great education system of which they both took full advantage. Their family became a successful and respected Soviet family and, as such, they have a respect and perhaps admiration for the time. While today they are a middle-class family, their family legacy, accomplishments, and connections are anything but "middle".
As muslims, their faith plays an interesting role in their lives. My bookshelf has multiple copies of the Quran, they pray before and after each meal, and they see themselves as Kyrgyz muslims. But they also resent what they see as a more conservative turn among young people. According to Atasha, more young people choose to abstain from smoking and alcohol, choose to veil and dress conservatively, and adjust their lives according to more conservative interpretations of Islam. This, they resent. To them Kyrgyz muslims do not cover themselves and call Ramadan "Orozo". In short, to them there is a Kyrgyz muslim and they see an unfortunate turn away from it.
I am sure to have a wonderful time with this family and remain incredibly well cared for. There will be more to come about them later as I learn more about them and I become integrated into their family life.
AUCA:
As I noted above, our program will be studying at the American University of Central Asia (AUCA). I had no idea what to expect from AUCA before coming, but since arriving I have been nothing but shocked. The campus is on the outskirts of the city (in the direction of the mountains) and a 30 minute trolleybus ride from the apartment. The campus, not unlike the mountains, seemed to appear from the clouds. Somewhat on a hill, the campus' central building is built to look like the mountains in the background.
Inside the building itself are all the fixings one could could expect from a top, liberal-arts university in the United States. Immediately, I felt transported from a post-Soviet country to Colorado College in a few seconds. While the building and resources are remarkable, the people have been even more extraordinary. While most are from Central Asia (Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, and Tajikistan), the student body spans the world. There are many students from Afghanistan and Iran, as well as many from across Europe and the Middle East. All of these cultures and languages combine in what is essentially an American liberal-arts college. The lingo and studies remain the same as your Middlebury or Colorado College, but the students instead of being from Connecticut and California, are from across the globe.
To me what has ended up being most fascinating, is the "Ruslish" in AUCA's hallways. As many of the students are from Central Asia and the Soviet sphere of influence, Russian has become the lingua franca at this American University. Yet, all classes and official university operations are conducted in liberal-arts English. Outside of class, students speak freely in "Ruslish". Not unlike Spanglish at Lake County High School, the linguistic patterns of a hybrid language remain the same. People freely flow between languages using the advantages of each language at opportune times to communicate with effectiveness and ease.
Every AUCA student I have met so far has been gracious, welcoming, and overwhelmingly impressive. All are multilingual and accomplished students. They seem to each have a unique edge that sets them apart from other students I have met in my life. They come across as uniquely passionate and driven. Once again, I feel fortunate to have fallen here.
Next Week:
Upcoming in next week's update is more about classes, hopefully more meetings with remarkable AUCA students, a visit to the opera, and more about Bishkek as a city. Thanks for tuning in!
With love,
Sam
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