Laundry Seige

We returned to Karakol after an unusual breakfast of rice wrapped in pancakes and began our attempt to extricate The Aussie's washing from the local laundry to enable us to leave. However, a tree had fallen on the laundry building and no one could get hold of the owner. This left us rather stuck. We went back to Valentin’s to mull things over.

That evening we got to know another couple staying at the Yak Hotel – who happened to be celebrating the Jewish New Year with a special meal. By bizarre coincidence it turned out that Valentin’s wife was also Jewish and so more than willing to prepare a speciality of stewed pears mixed with cream with crushed raspberries on top and pomegranate seeds. Delicious. Valentin also told us more about his life – the fact that his hobby was to dress up as Father Christmas (with photos to prove it) and of his smallholding outside the town where he keeps yaks, horses and a grumpy Shetland pony. This pony was responsible for a very unusual operation when plastic surgeons from Bishkek were flown in to operate on the lip of a yak that had been torn off by the Sheltand. He was probably rather bemused at finding himself living in the Kyrgyz mountains after an adolescence in Europe.

The next day, held hostage to the laundry, we’d decided to see the sights of Karakol; albeit somewhat minimal. We stopped first at the end of our street at the Russian Orthodox Church. This is a pretty, old building (completed in 1895) which was ransacked by the Red Army at the beginning of the 20th century. Just to rub it in they then used the church as a stable, and a dance hall, before it was turned into a school during WW2. It has now been re-consecrated and sits in the centre of the town with renewed pride glowing from its shiny onion domes.

Another attraction are the ‘gingerbread’ houses built in neat rows by the Russians. They are so called as they really do look like the sort of house in Hansel & Gretyl illustrations – all steeply pitched roof, thick wooden doors and windows that look like eyes nestled under the eves. Sadly (but not surprisingly) they are now falling into disrepair and are often found with a horse/cow/chicken pecking about outside. They are juxtaposed by crumbling soviet apartment blocks that appear on their last legs and that no one seems overly keen on doing up. Throughout the town are squares and parks being choked with weeds and long grass, but are filled with monuments and statues. Against the odds they maintain an impressive air with their avenues of trees turning gold in the autumn, and the stupendous backdrop of the mountains.

We took a detour through the back streets to visit the local mosque but got a bit lost. We were rescued by a very friendly local woman who said she was a teacher at a local school and seemed to want to become our new best friend. She escorted us to the mosque. Karakol mosque was designed by a Chinese architect in 1907 and constructed in wood without the use of a single nail by the Dungans who’d arrived as refugees in 1887. The Bolsheviks closed the mosque from 1933 until 1943, but it was then reopened and has operated as a place of worship since then. Set in its own garden the mosque has distinctive decoration, painted in vibrant red, green and yellow - and bears reliefs depicting various types of flora as well as mythical animals such as dragons and the phoenix, giving it an original character. Our new found friend then insisted on following us to the internet café and asking for The Aussie’s address so that she could send her a Christmas card – very friendly – but a bit full on.

On our last morning The Aussie did get her laundry back – and only 3 days late…. We had a great moment of Central Asian weirdness waiting outside the laundry in a garden of hollyhocks and roses, amongst the damaged trees that caused it to close. Glancing across the road we noticed a local park – proudly displaying a disused tank as its centre piece. OK. Then two workmen turned up to work on reopening the place. The owner wasn’t there so they waited around for 10 mins or so and then got a bit bored. At that point one of them calmly wandered into the middle of a bonfire of tree bits and pulled out a bottle of vodka, the other chap crouched down at the side of the road, put his arm into a drain pipe up to his shoulder and also emerged with a full bottle of vodka – they then adjourned to sit on the tank at 9am looking quite pleased with themselves! Such is the joy of living in a country where the vodka costs more than the mixers.

Eventually someone with a key did turn up (having explained our predicament to all and sundry as they passed by) and David and The Aussie were able to retrieve their clean clothes. The Aussie would have been very upset to loose her purple and silver striped knee high socks. Even the Russians look a bit speechless when she goes out wearing them with sandals; I think its just jealousy.

After all that, we set off from Karakol on the long trip along the southern shore of Lake Issyk-Kul on a 2 day trip over the mountains to Osh. The 1st leg of the journey included David the Aussie, luckily we ditched him in a small town by the lake, and a 6 hour journey with one early 90s tape constantly blaring out Ace of Base and 2 Unlimited – nice.