How not to travel to Bishkek.

This is a travel log and advisory as how not to travel to Bishkek.

Wednesday I finished all my duties and responsibilities with the town folk of Bukhara and it was time to start preparing to leave Uzbekistan for neighboring Kyrgyzstan. Here are my choices: by land, by rail, by air. The first option is either through the Fergana Valley, or paralleling the rail tracks, which I'll explain later. The Fergana Valley is nice and peaceful and a number of travelers have used this route. One reason why it's so peaceful is that the surrounding mountains which stradle international borders are peppered with landmines. This is unsettleing, but the route does skirt around the problem areas; however, if any problems occur, all borders are instantly closed, ironically to prevent terrorists from leaving. The IMU tends to fight its battles elsewhere. Anyway, if anything happens, and if anything happens it will happen next week, then I don't want to be stuck at a closed border with dangerous fellows eager to cross. I've explained this numerous times to numerous folks and yet I've been unable to persuade people to choose a different route. When I ask why they usually grumble about the other choices. For instance, the rail choice seems pleasant at first. However, if your guidebook was printed in Malaysia, then an update was added saying that the 72 hour rule is void and in order to take the rail I need a Kazak Visa. That's something about this place, roads and rail were designed by Soviet engineers with little thought as to what might happen if the USSR collapsed, an unthinkable thought. For instance, there are three main rail routes from one city to the next, all in Uzbekistan. Two of them require foreign Visas because the train has to leave the country to get to the next town. I've already experienced a very paranoid set of border outposts 200 meters apart where the road dashes in and out of Turkmenistan. Now this would normally not be an issue except Kazakstan has decided to spite the travelers that prefer Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan by making the Transit Visa ridiculous expensive and timely in favor for the full Visa, which requires an also expensive invitation and also several days so they really have no idea what they are doing. That leaves air, which is a bit expensive. Unlike my fellow travelers, I chose air.

Wednesday, after my duties, I went to the airport for a plane ticket. They didn't take credit cards and refered me to a travel agent in town that did. The Uzbekistan government, which always favors crack downs over personal liberty has made travel difficult for whoever is in charge of money, but I'll save those details for a moment. So I headed back into town and failed to find the travel agent. I wandered into an office and the staff kindly called the agent who told me to come tomorrow morning, and after asking where she was located she repeated the same vague directions I was unable to follow in the first place.

I got sick, but just a 12 hour deal. The travel agent had somehow called the family I was staying with, so instead of a healthy rest I was woken up with urgency and informed I had to go to the travel agent. I was given decent directions although I still would not have found the place if the agent was not waiting outside. We walked in, she took one look at my 4 year old credit card and sent me packing - ticketless. The next several hours was a circus. The people I was staying with were not at all pleased and took matters into their own hands. I won't go into the details, but I got to see first hand how folks here can make things so much more complicated than necessary. Eventually I got everything settled except a date. There is another problem; I don't have a Kyrgyz Visa. I asked a couple of Peace Corps folks and they said the Embassy in Tashkent takes 24 hours. The Lonely Planet guidebook says it is possible to get the Visa in the Bishkek airport. A few internet pages confirmed that and none refuted it. Unfortunately, the Kyrgyz Embassy homepage says I need a letter of invitation and I cannot get it when I arrive. I would believe them except everyone I speak to went to Kyrgyzstan because they didn't need a letter. In conclusion I have no idea what the rules are.

I have to backtrack a bit to explain my choice of dates to fly. Two incidents are pertinent. First, Tashkent's hotels are extremely overpriced. They boldly flaunt the Uzbek citizen price and the other price. Three dollars for locals, twenty for not. Fortunately I found a fellow travel to split a better valued double. My initial plan was to go immediately to Kyrgyzstan, but I wanted nothing to do with Tashkent and didn't want to spend another overpriced night so I decided to take a bus to the extreme west of Uzbekistan, as far as I could get from this place. I asked the front desk for bus information and they referred me to the 'manager' who was up on the sixth floor, looking like the floor ladies that hand out keys and boil water for tea. She had two things to offer. First she offered a string of completely unintelligable details of traveling west and numerous scribbles. She wrote in cyrillic cursive using pencil on recycled graph paper. To be fair, she really didn't have her mind on the advice but rather on her second offer, ten dollars for a room with Alexandria, the young Russian lingering about, fixing her hair. The manager, who apparently managed more than just the hotel, said, 'I think she likes you,' but from the woman's complete lack of acknowledgement that I was in the room spoke differently. I was further convinced that I needed to leave, but not until tomorrow morning.

I mentioned the money problem. Uzbekistan has frozen currency, so the banking system is horrible and travel requires a mix of dollars, local sum, and as I would soon find out Deutschmarks. Dollars are a pain because you usually have to have exact change. Sum is a pain because the largest bill is worth half a dollar, and in order to get large amounts, I have to use the bank whose rates are about 60% of the black market rate. Deutschmarks are useless except at the poor bank rate, but they are about as safe as travelers cheques since most people don't even know what they are, and if they do they don't care. On the contrary, dollars are in high demand, especially by police officers who enjoy flouting their billy clubs and hand guns to steal money from foreigners, yours truly included. They were very polite about it as I was leaving Tashkent, but no matter how big their smiles are, taking $30 from me really sours my view of Tashkent.

To recap, I need to pick a date to fly that minimizes my stay in Tashkent. Next Wednesday would be perfect, giving me time to get my Visa in Tashkent, except that would mean Thursday I would have to spend the day registering with the Bishkek authorities (a useless remnant of Soviet days), and friday is Independence day. I mentioned about things happening, and that's the day. Tuesday would allow me to try and woo the Embassy into rushing my Visa, but Tuesday was booked. As it turns out so was Wednesday. I had no choice but to buy a ticket for Monday. One more problem, the flight is in the morning and I still have to change the date of my flight to Delhi.

I ignored my Delhi ticket and finished my trip through Uzbekistan, arriving in Tashkent on Sunday and taking a taxi directly to the airlines office. I read somewhere it was open daily, but I couldn't imagine any airlines office open on a Sunday. Some other travelers heard of my direction and said it's closed. They were positive it was closed. Luckily it was open. After I changed my ticket, allowing me enough time to make the trip to Kyrgyzstan worth it, I headed for a slightly better hotel. The money problem bit me again. I had planned very carefully to have as few dollars as possible upon arriving in Tashkent. I had $40 for the Visa, $10 for the departure tax which may or may not be applied, and $30 for the hotel, and also a pocket full of Sum. The hotel was $33. I couldn't bargain my way down to $30 and I couldn't make up the difference in Sum (this is always a problem, I never now who is going to want dollars or Sum). I remembered seeing about half a dozen VISA logos and found one sitting above the receptionists head. I said great, I'd like to pay with credit card. He said, 'not today.' Understanding my situation he still gave me the room and said we will discuss the issue later. It's illegal to buy foreign currency, which means I have to go to the black market. For those unfamiliar with the black market, as I was about a month ago, you are probably picturing swarthy poker faced accountants surrounded by large menacing men in very expensive suits. Whatever your picture is, it's probably intimidating; however, now that I know the ropes, any bellhop at a four-star hotel will eagerly process my transaction in the broom closet. At this point in time I started doubting my future. Back at the hotel I got out my customs declaration for tomorrow and noticed a problem. I had originally written DM100 and then scribbled over DM600. When I did it, I thought I'd give the customs agent the scribbled over copy and keep the copy that just said DM600. Unfortunately my plan failed. I vaguely remember receiving the bad copy but I don't remember what went through my mind. As most everything, I chose to ignore this.

Monday morning at 7:00 I left, not because I had to catch a flight, but because the government had bought the hotel for the festival and these were the conditions I agreed to with the receptionist, who legally was not supposed to rent out the room anyway. I arrived at the airport and was forced to wait outside on a bench because I was too early. The airlines said to show up at 9:00 so at that time I tried again. The officer scrolled down a list of Russian-English phrases and pointed again to 'I'm sorry but you arrived too early.' Finally at 10:30 they let me in, but two hours until my flight I was still not allowed to check in. Eventually they let me go through customs. Fortunately no problems with my scribbled over copy. Even if I was smuggling Deutschmarks no one would care. After customs I checked in. They wanted to take my bags but I refused. With a little handwaving showing how small my luggage was they said OK. The problem came at immigration. They asked for my Kyrgyz Visa. I said I didn't have one. They asked for a letter of invitation. I said I didn't have one. I then explained my plan to get one at the airport. The immigration officer grumbled for a while, eventually going to his manager. Five minutes later he stamped my boarding pass and sent me to passport control for another stamp. Finally I reached the security check point. A couple of nasty officers looked me over, went through my bags, looked me over, and finally walked away - their version of OK. Before I could rezip my bags and head to the gate the officer directed me to turn around and head back the way I came. I looked back and saw the immigration officer. I remember he was smiling, but that doesn't matter. I walked back out of the security checkpoint and he said he was sorry and he couldn't let me fly. He explained he called the embassy. I inquired further and found he called the US Embassy. I asked why he didn't call the more relevant Kyrgyz Embassy but he was already set in his ways. The whole process unrolled, back through passport control, past immigration, grabbed my ticket at check-in, past customs, and the officer revalidated my passport, welcoming me to Uzbekistan.

I can't describe how I felt. In fact I didn't ask myself how I felt. I immediately went to the ticket office to get another flight. They told me I had to pay $25 because I missed the flight. The irony didn't even bring a smile to my face. I had no money, no Visa, no flight out, no hope. I bit my tongue about simply flying to Delhi tonight and went outside. I passed the taxi drivers who were easy to say no too since I had no dollars to spare and sat on the curb near the unmarked bus stop. I remember looking around. There was some phrase stuck on repeat in my head. I was unable to function. Then I heard my name. I hesitated a bit before turning, finding nothing except the immigration officer at the other end of the parking lot. I couldn't believe he remembered my name, nor that he pronounced it so well, nor that he was outside coming to get me. I walked back with the energy of someone getting on the plane even though I was only told the manager could help. Inside, before customs the manager came out to meet me. Here was our conversation:

'The US Embassy finally called back and gave you permission to go.' (they had lied about talking to them, but I didn't care) 'Are you sure you can get your Visa at the airport.'

'Yes'

That last question was devastating. After all this I was fully convinced that getting the Visa at the airport was impossible. I didn't think and just said yes. After a pause I added some details of how I didn't actually make the call to the airport that I had told them about, but someone else did. I explained it by my lack of Russian. The important part was that my 'Yes' was convincing enough that I repeated the entire process and this time made it to the gate.

I had no faith that this was the end of the story. Every official that glanced my way and every announcement over the loud speaker made me sweat a bit more. Even on the plane I was convinced that we weren't taking off because they were coming to get me. I didn't stop worrying until we took off, and then I started worrying about what is going to happen when we land. Somehow I still managed to enjoy the short fly. We had a quick bite and I watched the mountains start to sprout up from the flat desert I was leaving. One hour later I was worrying again. I got off the plane expecting to be taken down by a swat team. Instead I saw the mountains. It's about as close as anyone can get to having the Himalayas in their backyard. The mountains are a wall climbing over two layers of clouds. They were my birthright and I embodied their confidence heading to passport control. I chose an out of the way officer and handed over my passport without a word. He said something about a Visa. I said 'I need a Visa'. He said something about a letter, or at least drew one in the air. I just smiled. Amazingly I was asked to wait and heard the word consul.

I watched all the good boys and girls walk through without a hitch and I just waited. When everyone was gone the passport officers all stepped out of their booths and lit up like the last ten minutes had been a full shift. It's funny to see everyone's worst enemy hanging out smoking a cigarette. Another guy, also on break joined them and they fiddled around with his broken walkie-talkie. Eventually some guy with a briefcase showed up and stepped into the booth. I gave him the money, he gave me the Visa, an officer put down his cigarette to add the stamp and I was in Bishkek. I really was in Bishkek. The guy with the broken walkie-talkie was customs and he didn't bother getting up to go to the customs booth so there was nothing left.

Other than joy, relief, excitement, euphoria, I felt that I managed to use up all my favors for the year in one fell swoop, but hopefully it will make a good story.