Kyrgyzstan Pt.8 Bishkek Ladies

Bishkek ladies ...

Bishkek ladies, wear high-heels. Do dah, do dah.
Bishkek ladies, wear high-heels. All the do dah day ...

I do hope I'll be forgiven the following contribution to chauvinism ... But being a fairly normal red-blooded male, couldn't help but notice the women during our time in Bishkek. There seemed to be a disproportionate number of attractive and well-dressed women each time we went out walking the city streets. We'd been in town for a couple of days before discussing the point, but Bjorn and I agreed on one thing. And that was the average Bishkek female took great pride and probably not a little time and money, in order to display her wares ... While not always graced with classic features, they were nevertheless as with their Osh counterparts a pleasing mix of Eurasian and Oriental. But where they really scored, was in keeping themselves in trim. It wasn't obvious whether there was a local culture as seems to be the case in France, where many young ladies appear to take their weight-watching to obsessive levels. Or whether indeed, they were genetically gifted with good bone structure and a metabolism that resisted corpulence. But in all my time didn't see one spare-tyre poking out, trying for all it's worth to ooze it's way between waist-line and t-shirt, as it all too familiar a sight on Brit' streets.

It happened as it does, that I was out walking one day in the warmth of the autumnal Bishkek air. I don't recall where I was going at the time, but found myself following a lady (no, no, not like that!) who was marginally portly and likely heading towards middle aged. While no longer likely to turn many heads with a perfect hour-glass figure, she had nevertheless appeared to have made considerable effort in choosing a very distinctive and well-tailored trouser-suit. You know the kind of thing I'm sure ... I've heard them dubbed 'power-suits' as an attempt at neutralising some of the inherent chauvinism of the male dominated office environment. My mind wandered back to considering the average local female and what drove her, bearing in mind the equivalent male here seemed to put as much effort into his appearance as Compo' from Last of the Summer Wine. It was then that it happened ... Just as the thought went through my head, about how elegant the Bishkek women could be, she stepped to one side near to edge of the path, put one finger over her right nostril and blew hard to empty the contents onto the grass. I was dumbfounded and quickly sought a new word, as elegant no longer applied and my half-formed opinion veered off in a completely new direction. In one moment this lady had totally shattered my illusions and prevented any further thoughts of beatifying 'yer average Bishkek bird ... It was a bit like seeing a stunning blonde in the pub turning every male head in sight. Until that is, she opens her mouth to say “Aw ma Gawd!” Followed by a string of profanity enough to make Alf Garnet blush. The pub-full of males once again turn their attention back to their pints, as did my mind turn once more to the problem of Bishkek fast becoming a dead-end for this part of the journey.