Aerofloat
Smuggled out of a Heathrow besieged by caterers, over apocalyptic cloud cover, on an aeroflot flight to Bishkek via Mosocow has been the method of my return. Coupled with a Kyrgyz turbo-prop south to Osh, this trip has swallowed up the best part of 30 hours.
Leaving the sit-on-a-newspaper, paint-peeling-candidate-city, duty-free-liquor-swimming-pool of the Moscow airport and blitz of thunder storms over Russia far behind and this morning's distraction of Turkish taxi drivers with Gamlet and Othella while waiting for the ditch-waylayed Mike and Lowri an airport halucanation ("Desdamona, i'findi"), we are now nicely ensconsed in a homestay complete with velvet seating, chandileer and... a piano!
Osh, we have found, is easy to get lost in; the maps minimalist, people keen to help but often not of any. We have already had to scurt the juice stall of a man who untied his apron to lead us up the wrong street. His batton taken up by an older man who, on discovering our nationality, heckled us with "Margaret Thatcher". We chuckled thinking this town may be a bit slow on the pick up, but were soon corrected when he then hailed "Cook" and mimed a sleeping pose.
I look forward to supper eating at what looks like a coffee table placed on a large double bed, some sleep, another day getting less lost in Osh, and the bus south to Sary Tash; the border crossing hub of southern Kyrgyzstan.
From there it is the tricky hop to Tajikistan and up into the Pamir mountain range, a yurt trek from Murghab before reaching a place named Korog and more internet eager circuitry in about ten days time.
Das Vedanya!
Leaving the sit-on-a-newspaper, paint-peeling-candidate-city, duty-free-liquor-swimming-pool of the Moscow airport and blitz of thunder storms over Russia far behind and this morning's distraction of Turkish taxi drivers with Gamlet and Othella while waiting for the ditch-waylayed Mike and Lowri an airport halucanation ("Desdamona, i'findi"), we are now nicely ensconsed in a homestay complete with velvet seating, chandileer and... a piano!
Osh, we have found, is easy to get lost in; the maps minimalist, people keen to help but often not of any. We have already had to scurt the juice stall of a man who untied his apron to lead us up the wrong street. His batton taken up by an older man who, on discovering our nationality, heckled us with "Margaret Thatcher". We chuckled thinking this town may be a bit slow on the pick up, but were soon corrected when he then hailed "Cook" and mimed a sleeping pose.
I look forward to supper eating at what looks like a coffee table placed on a large double bed, some sleep, another day getting less lost in Osh, and the bus south to Sary Tash; the border crossing hub of southern Kyrgyzstan.
From there it is the tricky hop to Tajikistan and up into the Pamir mountain range, a yurt trek from Murghab before reaching a place named Korog and more internet eager circuitry in about ten days time.
Das Vedanya!
posted by Pete @ 12:21 pm
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