The story of my shyrdak

Last weekend, some of us on the staff and faculty took an excursion and got on the road that leads to China. About 45 minutes south of Naryn, after you go over a small mountain pass, you arrive in the town of At-bashy, which is the Kyrgyz word for "horse head." In the center of town you will encounter one of the most striking sculptures of a horse's head that one would ever hope to find.

Sculpture in the At-bashy main square

We did not come to this town nestled in a picturesque valley to gaze at the heads of horses, either sculpted or in the flesh. Our trip was organized so that we could visit a family who makes shyrdaks, or Kyrgyz felt carpets. It takes the wool of five sheep to hand craft the average shyrdak, which is also dyed by hand.  This labor-intensive and painstaking craft has been a part of Kyrgyz culture for centuries and remains an integral part of Kyrgyz life and a source of commerce.

Where the shyrdak makers live in At-bashy

In the living room, where the shyrdaks are displayed; the woman makes shyrdaks with her son and daughter-in-law and also served as the town's French teacher when not making carpets

I had joined the trip to At-bashy because I needed to get away from campus, where I am sometimes stranded for days at a time, and because I wanted to see another small corner of Kyrgyzstan. I didn't really need a carpet because I had purchased a couple for my apartment from a shop in Bishkek. I was a bit surprised when we stopped in front of a house in a residential district as somehow I had the impression we were going to visit a commercial establishment.

We passed the chicken coop and the wood pile before entering the house--this was certainly not a place created specifically to cater to tourists. Once inside we were taken to the living room which resembled a fantasy from the dreams of Aladdin. Shyrdaks of all shapes, sizes, and hues were spread across the room for our inspection. There are few people who deserve our respect more than those who take knowledge from prior generations to craft something with their hands possessing both great beauty and utility. Perhaps the masterpieces I have viewed in museums like the Louvre have infinitely more value, and maybe my small bias toward the applied arts is showing, but to stand in the living room of a family beaming with pride while they display the products of their hands and hearts is no less inspiring to me than gazing upon the enigma that is the Mona Lisa's smile.

After looking through all the shyrdaks, a few of us purchased one or two. Then the family took us into their kitchen. Evidently it is a tradition of the Kyrgyz shyrdak maker to finish the transaction by setting their table for their customers and serving homemade breads and jams along with steaming cups of tea. As I sat and relished the tart goodness of the raspberry jam spread across my slice of bread, I contemplated the act of hospitality I was receiving. At that moment, I realized that my new shyrdak will always carry with it, in whatever place I call home, the same warmth that radiates from the hearts of a family in At-bashy.

Preparing tea and food for us

Shyrdaks often have a pattern that represents a traditional motif: mine is that of deer antlers