Kyrgyzstan Pt6. A Wanker in Osh

A Wanker in Osh ...

One day I decided to be a good-boy and walk across to the market using the subway rather than weave in front of the passing traffic to get across the road. I'd guess it was around mid-morning and the day was beginning to warm. My mind was partly taken up with it's usual combination of white-noise and people-watching as I passed many interesting looking individuals out on the streets. And again as was usual, each step closer to the market would see an increase in the numbers of people I passed. Another of the reasons that I'd taken a liking to Osh, was that for the most part I would be ignored when I was out and about during the day. While on the road and dressed in our bike gear, we'd gotten used to attracting stares, or on the odd occasions looks of something between suspicion or maybe even alarm burgeoning on fear. So it was refreshing to walk down the streets largely ignored and unaccosted. If anyone looked at me they would look away showing little surprise to continue minding their own business, and here in Osh never recollect getting any negative reactions that made me feel the slightest bit uncomfortable. We obviously weren't local, but neither were we being treated as if we were aliens with two-heads (this was yet to come in India).

I walked past a lady who was squatting in the shade with an open-suitcase selling small torches, lighters and the suchlike. Another lady was selling something equally innocuous and only glanced at me to see if I was a likely customer before attending to her wares again. Off to my right were some shops set back from the street that led to a covered market of some kind, and stretched alongside the river that cut through the city. Maybe I'd have a look in there another time, though reflected that it would probably sell the usual non-descript tat. I glanced across the parapet of the bridge as I passed to assure myself the water was still as uninviting as ever. More people became apparent as I neared the top of the pedestrian under-pass and had to weave around a couple of passers-by to make sure I was in front of the under-pass steps ready to descend. Once more the women were attracting my attention in their gaily coloured clothing and spotted one lady who was wearing a particularly bright colour-contrasted full-length dress. She appeared slim and had a turban-like wrap on her head made from the same material.

She continued on her way as I took my first steps down towards the under-pass. As I made my way down was in the middle of choosing my direction that would hopefully avoid the other people coming up and allow me an unchecked walk down the remainder of the steps into the tunnel. In doing so, had to move to one side to walk around a guy who was stood over by the hand-rail looking through the safety railings at something. Initially didn't take too much notice as part of my brain was put over to considering whether to get my camera out ready to take some photographs when I eventually reached the market, which by now was only minutes away.

I took another couple of steps down, turned my head slightly and saw something that caught my attention. The guy stood by the hand-rail and who was looking out onto the street above was doing something with his left-hand in front of him. There wasn't anything particularly different about this man that set him apart from any of the other people who were out and about, apart from the fact that he was standing on the steps, when everybody else was going either up or down. From the corner of my eye I could detect a distinct movement that was enough to attract my curiosity. What was this guy doing I wondered? In the first instance went to follow his gaze in order to find out what he was looking at, but it was just too late as in taking one more step down had dropped below street-level and so wouldn't find out what the focus of his curiosity was unless I stopped and went back up. Now, I'm mostly interested in what makes people tick, but do like to think I'm sensitive enough not step over boundaries that thrust me into being a full-on sticky-beak. Under the circumstances, to stop and turn around and go back up this chap to ask what he was looking at I'd guess would be outright bloody rude, so chose instead to continue on my way. But not without a backward glance to see his penis was thrust out from his trousers and his hand firmly grasping it in mid-wank!

My head snapped forward once more to make sure I didn't blunder into anyone coming up, and at the same time took account of the fact that nobody was taking any notice of him whatsoever. In a couple more seconds found myself at the bottom of the steps, and as I strode into the darkness of the tunnel took one more look, to see that he was not only still there but was still indeed intent on his activity of self gratification ... I thought about this afterwards and reflected that it wasn't so much his odd behaviour that startled me, but for the fact that he just continued doing what he was doing in broad-daylight for anyone to see ... and yet nobody seemed to notice. If anybody else saw what he was doing, there was no indication that they were the in the least bit interested. When I think back to that scene, it seemed to me that public masturbation was a most normal thing in that part of world.

Before closing the door on the chapter of Osh and the minus 5-starred Alysh Hotel must relate another encounter with their inept staff. It was after we'd been there for a couple of days, and had been in the habit of paying as we went. Paying for everything in cash remained a constant source of annoyance. It meant it was hard to estimate how much cash to get out each time, because there was no option to pay by credit-card to fill in any errors of miscalculation. In that regard the Alysh was little different to almost every other place we'd stayed in since leaving Europe. There was yet another difference to the European way of asking for late-payment too, in that they waited until we'd gone to bed before hammering on the door to remind us.

I'd imagine if you've been following the story so far, will recall two other Hoteliers who thought it was okay to wake me up during the night. The result of which was not a pleasant experience for the people involved on both occasions. This time however managed to keep my patience enough to get agreement that it could be sorted out first thing the next morning. And here's where it starts to go wrong ...

When the lady knocked the night previous I thought her way of reminding us we'd not paid for that night was rather abrupt, but guessed that at the time I conveyed to her the idea it wasn't appropriate for me to drop everything (if you'll excuse the pun) in the light of me standing there wearing nothing more than a pair of skivvies. The same scenario was played out in part as a repeat first thing the next morning, but after sending a 2nd lady off with a flea in her ear because I was neither showered nor dressed, imagined she would be waiting hand out when I finally got myself down into the lobby. But no, once again was to be proven way-wrong when it came to predicting hotel staff outside of the Euro-zone. Barely five minutes had passed and was about to step into the bath-room with the full intention of getting ready to go down and pay our overdue account, when another loud bang on the door announced yet another unwelcome visitor. This time it was a young man with a frown ... They'd sent in the heavies! «Money!» came the demand after which the young man simply stood and glared at me. Seeing as it was his first encounter with me, I thought it was only right to give him some chance and so explained I was about to get showered before coming down to pay. His retort was a rather blunt «Money, now!» that said he expected me to drop everything and pay him right there and then.

He'd crossed a line ... So simply told him to "Fuck Off" and shut the door in his face to see if that would deter him. But no, I'd not taken one step nearer to the bathroom when the insistent knocking told me he wasn't going away. Opening it again, I gave him a round bit of Ozlander explaining with clear reference to my limited apparel that I was not about to walk down to the lobby as I was, and if he persisted in haranguing me it would most definitely end in tears ... and my quickly deteriorating mood told me it wouldn't be me who was crying at the end of this! With that he turned his head to one side ... and spat on the floor. I was appalled! So appalled in fact that it had the effect of bringing my incipient anger to an abrupt stop and said to him. "What the bloody hell do you think you are doing? Did you just spit on the carpet? How dare you ... that's right outside of my door you uncouth man" I think he finally realised he'd crossed over a line with me and so retreated a step. I was no longer getting angry, but was most definitely upset at this uncivilised behaviour and pointed my finger at him saying ... "You ... can leave now, and I'll be down to see the manager directly" and closed the door. Not worrying whether he was going to continue battering the door, went off into the bathroom. I was determined to end this once and for all.

Whatever that young man saw or thought of my behaviour, he did indeed call a halt allowing me to get myself ready to interview the manager ... who as it turned was the woman who'd hammered on the door the previous night.

Not surprisingly she was waiting for me at the desk, with a heavy-weight frown that said "Don't mess with me!" Which interestingly, was exactly what I had in mind. Striding purposefully across the lobby made damned sure I engaged her before she could say anything. Taking care to keep a determined expression, held her stare until I was within suitable range to begin reading the riot act to her about banging on my door just to remind me we'd not paid for one night. And further explaining their stone-aged business methods of not having a facility to pay using a credit card. With suitable arrogance I actually took one of my visa cards out and pointing to it with my other hand explained that "This bit of plastic is worth something like $6000 and could therefore probably afford to pay a local demolition company to pull this bloody hotel down, just out of spite" And continued with several other equally gruff complaints. During my tongue lashing she did her level best to show she wasn't intimidated in the slightest. She struck me as a fairly hard-nosed type, so I didn't pull any punches and maintained a supremely confident front from start to finish. After some minutes a downward glance said she'd had enough. I felt inclined to carry on, seeing as I had at the upper-hand. So continued my tirade at the same time pulling out a fist-full of money ready to pay. In clear concise English (I was to think afterwards. What an arrogant Bastard I had been ... to expect her to take a bolloking, in anything but her native tongue) said "So exactly how much do I owe you for one night's stay in this ... anything but 5-star international hotel then?" Again she looked away, so I simply stood there until she decided to engage me again. I was thinking "You started this ..." Of course she understood me and after a few seconds mumbled the amount and at the same time reached for the register ready to record the payment. To continue punishing her then said "May I have a receipt please?" I didn't know whether she would understand and so was preparing to have to explain further but holding out the money with no intention of letting it go until I was sure of getting a receipt. But she then said something to the bored-looking receptionist, who rummaged about under the counter for a moment or two before bringing up a pad. So she did understand! I'd delivered the Coup de Grace and hadn't realised it ...

In suitably conciliatory mood then picked up my wallet and credit card that was resting on the top of the counter and again waved the card in front of their faces but in a much softer voice said "Why on earth don't you find some way for your guests to pay by credit card eh? If you did, it would prevent situations like this in the future ... because you will have a guarantee against non-payment and wouldn't need to upset people (like me)" But the four-glazed eyes on the other side of the desk told me I was now wasting my time. I'd won, I supposed. For whatever it was worth. And as it turned out we were able to pay late on two successive occasions after that, without having to endure any more midnight reminders.

Strangely enough, even though these two incidents took place in that tatty Hotel I still have fond memories of my stay there for some reason. Maybe it was the quaintness of the ex-soviet experience, or the simple fact we had our own apartment. Whatever it was it had a unique atmosphere the like of which Basil Fawlty could be proud of. And as a kind of thought for the future to finish on this, wouldn't be at all surprised if I returned five years or more from now to find everything is exactly the same. If so, maybe I should forget to pay just for the hell of it ...