Goat's, drunks and local kids ...
We'd gone through a handful of villages and had numerous encounters with dogs. The day was wearing on and it would be getting dark in an hour, so we stopped in one village to stock up with provisions for an expected night of camping. In asking some locals hanging over a fence the whereabouts of a store, were pointed back along the road on the opposite side. Riding back there was nothing obvious to be seen, so circled till a guy starting waving and then gestured for us to go in between a tumbly-down stone wall. I pulled over and wandered up this path that looked more like it was a run-off from a nearby stream. I speculated whether it was run-off waste water from the houses instead ...
I went to walk further up the track, but the helpful local again called out and pointed the way to let me know I was about to pass the shop. Looking for some kind of entrance or sign to show it was something other than just another house, was confronted by nothing more than a small window, half of which was open. Looking through the gap were some small cucumbers, apples in a box and little else to be seen from where I was standing apart from the wide-eyed girl who was minding the store. Peering further in could just about make out something round and red. These were tomatoes and they were on my shopping list of items too, but try as I might the girl would not sell me any. From what I gathered, they were past their sell-by date. I didn't mind over-ripe tom's as they often made for a good sauce to accompany pasta dishes. But no ... she was persistently insistent. I wasn't going to get them and that was that!. Eventually I accepted it was going to be a a tomato-less shopping foray, then asked about vodka. To which my helper who was stood nearby suddenly took a lot more interest. His eyes lit-up and pressed closer and a smell of alcohol suddenly assailed my nostrils. It was then that I noticed he was drunk. A shout then went up as another of his comrades wobbled unsteadily down the uneven path. He was drunk too, but was in a decidedly worse state as he attempted to stumble his way closer. Once the bottle of vodka appeared through the open window and the transaction for the other items was completed, the 2nd drunkard who'd reached us by now and was wavering in front of me, started pointing to the bottle with a sly grin on his face. He went on to mumble something incoherent in either Russian or Kyrgyz', but suspected I wouldn't have understood even if he was speaking English. Evidently he wanted me to open it then and there, and presumably share it with him and his mate. He wanted to continue his party and thought that I was his host!
“Sorry boys”, I returned in my best Oz accented English. “Gotta move on and find a campsite before it starts getting dark”. This didn't satisfy the 2nd drunk who became more urgent in his demands, so I squared up to him momentarily. The first guy, took him by the shoulders and was evidently placating him, nodding for me to go. I took the hint and rejoined Bjorn who'd been looking after the bikes.
We moved off and followed the road where it led. In it's turn the road was following alongside a river. The one which was responsible for creating the valley we were in. A couple more villages came and went after which we slowed our progress and stopped for a couple of reccy's, in the hope of finding a suitable spot for the night. The first one we looked at was rather close to the river. I didn't fancy the proximity to the river as there was also some big puddles of standing water nearby that would likely be a breeding ground for mozzy's. Besides there was constant background roar from some white-water a short way downstream. So we then looked at another spot along a bit further that was tucked away behind a wall and in front of a cliff-face. A field-sized patch of regularly grazed grass made for a flat enough spot to pitch our tents that was some 20 or so metres away from the road. If not perfect, was sure good enough for a one-nighter.
Rather than risk the chance of our neighbours taking umbrage at our presence and visiting us in the middle of the night with loaded shotguns and a pack of their not too friendly hounds, it seemed a good idea to walk along and introduce ourselves. A lady appeared from the door of the house as I walked in through the gate. Imagining she already knew of our presence from some children that had dropped by shortly after we'd stopped. She seemed a little perplexed, but didn't seem to mind when I told her we were camping nearby, by saying 'palatca' (the Rusky word for tent) and pointing back to where I'd left Bjorn collecting fire-wood. Going on to mime a tent as an upside down vee and following up with my head to one side on clasped hands, as what I hoped was the international sign for sleep. I still wasn't too sure if she understood me and so pointed back along the road, saying “Tajikistan”, then the other way and said “Osh”, trying to convey the idea we'd be gone tomorrow. Eventually she managed a smile, though was as likely at my inane behaviour as any kind of understanding. But taking this as my cue waved goodbye to her and her two young children and went back to finish making camp and getting some tucker going.
The same children returned later in the evening to retrieve the goats that were grazing high up on the cliff. I'd not noticed the goats, but had heard the sound of stones falling so guessed there was something up there ... It was fascinating to watch these children scampering up what little path existed before encouraging their stock back down for the night. The goats clambered down over steepness that seemed impossible from where we were stood. One or two seemed to be surfing on the tracts of loose shale in the half-light, before hopping across onto something more solid. The mini avalanches continued after they'd gone, but could only be heard as a gentle skittering of stones. Darkness was complete as Bjorn lit the camp fire, which was as much to deter the insect-life as warmth or for cooking purposes. The early part of the night was still warm from the heat of the day, but it was cooling rapidly ...
We ate some bland rice or pasta based food. I don't remember which staple was on the menu that night, but really can't complain because what I do recall is that I cooked it myself. One thing I didn't forget is that we had some Kyrgyz' vodka to look forward to, a couple of nips of which warmed us against the cooling air. An hour or so later had pretty much finished cleaning and tidying the camp kitchen and was feeling tired enough for my mind to turn towards getting some sleep. In getting ready for bed cast around with my torch and could see some eyes reflecting the beam of light over behind Bjorn's tent. It was a pretty eerie sight and so walked across to investigate. There was something bulky in the shadows, but wasn't distinct enough to see exactly what it was. I had to get closer ... It turned out to be a donkey, which had wandered across onto our side of the road and was standing sentinel-like. It looked bored, so left him undisturbed and walked away to clean my teeth in the darkness. It was still fairly early but by now was most definitely tired enough for sleep and wearily took myself off into my tent, leaving Bjorn to watch the fire burn out ...
I was up at first-light with Bjorn getting up a little after me. He grumbled out of his sleeping bag and tent, complaining that the flames from the fire had mesmerised him into finishing off the bottle of vodka. In telling me he was a bit on the groggy side it reminded me to get the kettle went on for tea, with Bjorn opting for a caffeine filled coffee to chase away his cobwebs. A handful of the children we met the evening before came back in the morning to watch us pack up. I spent some time with them and asked them their names in turn, and after doing so found that three of their number seemed quite amenable. There was a fourth one that was a bit older who seemed just a little too interested in my knife, and cynically guessed he had designs on filching it given half a chance. When he made a stabbing movement with it towards one of the smaller kids, I lost patience with him and took it back. With the knife confiscated he soon got bored and wandered off, leaving the younger one's alone with me and Bjorn. I encouraged them to help rather than just dumbly watch and they became more and more relaxed. It seemed important to make an effort as there could be few westerners who came along this road, and those that did would simply hurtle by in rented 4 wheel-drives towards their next destination. These 3 young 'uns who stayed with it, were each rewarded with a pen and seemed happy with their gift. I do hope they saw this as payment for their help ... rather than a straight hand-out from stupid rich tourists.
The road eventually got better. These then were the good roads we'd heard about! On the map it still appeared to be the biggest part of a days ride to Osh, but with good roads, we'd be there in a couple of hours. Maybe less? Huh! 10 minutes of good stuff and it reverted to pot-holes and uneven surface again. Back down came the speed, back up went the day's travel times ...
It continued like this until just before Osh. In fact I'd say we were within something like 10 Kms of the city before the pot-holes and rough ungraded surface disappeared completely. The last 50 Kms or more, was a tease of new road and partially levelled road-works awaiting surfacing, that choked us with our own dust as well as that of the passing traffic. I was glad to ride into town when it came. After weeks out in the wilderness with little more than small towns and villages in between, it was a novelty to see lines of shops again. We passed a market and turned right into a main street. Nooooo! No way? Was that a pizza shop? Good god, we've must've arrived back in civilisation!
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