Song Kul

This past weekend the Student Life Team and new math faculty went on an expedition to Song Kul, the second largest lake in Kyrgyzstan. Song Kul is a rugged three-hour journey from Naryn. The lake is situated in a high alpine basin (over 3000 meters in elevation). What is most striking is the extraordinary expansive sky that one views while gazing across the lake into the mountainous horizon.

We spent our three hours there enjoying the lake, riding horses, witnessing modern nomadic culture, experiencing life in a yurt village, and enjoying a wonderful meal prepared by a Kyrgyz family. And it was especially fun to spend some time with colleagues now departed to new assignments and with those soon leaving--all of whom I treasure greatly.

The extraordinary sky at Song Kul

Ready for our home meal prepared by a Kyrgyz family

Song Kul

Traditional yurts

The Road to Song Kul:  a rough gravel road with endless switchbacks

Members of the new Khorog Student Life Team skipping stones

One of the yurt villages at Song Kul

The two young boys whose lakeside business was selling horseback rides to us.

On Fire at the Barber Shop

Today I came down from my vacation refuge in the mountains, for one more day of respite before I head back to work in Naryn. Because I had forgotten to pack my beard trimmer almost three weeks ago when I left my home, I was looking even more unkempt than I usually do, so one of the first things on my to-do list was to visit Mr. Nice, my Bishkek barber shop.

Of course, I was assigned the one barber who couldn't speak English, so I communicated as best I could by using Google Translate on my phone to get my wishes known: medium cut, not too short, parted on the left, trim the beard, not too short either, shave the hair in my ears, shave my neck.
 

Forty minutes into my haircut, eyes closed as I always have them when getting my hair trimmed, mind drifting toward pleasant thoughts of sublime moments, I suddenly felt a blast of scorching heat in my ear. In a flash, my eyes opened as wide a saucers to witness my barber waving a stick of burning flame inside my left ear.

When someone sets your ear on fire unexpectedly, there's not much to do, except hope the damage isn't permanent. One thing I did do, was notice that the aroma of burning ear hair is not a scent that inspires gladness or nostalgia for anything at all. Although the surprise had diminished by the time my barber set my right ear ablaze, a small sense of horror remained, the kind of fear possibly experienced by early Neanderthal tenders of fire, when they realized they had something slightly frightening at their disposal.

It turns out that my barber was not a sadistic sort, but instead was engaging in a practice that began in Turkey hundreds of years ago called singeing. Turkish barbers, for various antiquated reasons, used fire to cut people's hair. And over time, the practice remained in place for removing hair from sensitive places like ears that can bleed like geysers when accidentally cut.

After I left Mr. Nice, still smelling a bit charred and smoky, I considered the peculiarities of men and their hair. Whatever enterprising chemist figures out the chemical process that suddenly causes hair to grow in men's ears and applies it to growing it on their heads--that chemist will win a Nobel Prize and earn billions. And me--I have another story of an unnerving visit to the barber to add to my collection.

My barber at Mr. Nice demonstrating the art of singeing after my visit.

 

The view from my "yurt" at Supara Chunkurchak

The Breakfast of Manas

Here at Supara Chunkurchak, breakfast is served at 9:30, which seemed a little bit late to me, but hey, l am usually a pretty flexible person. I was a little bit worried when I arrived at the dining room at the appointed time to find it completely empty and abandoned.

Finally, though, a man wearing a Kalpak served me, bringing me a plate fruit and a cup of tea. A little sparse, I thought to myself, but I am always happy in the land of endless meat, to ...receive a bounty of fresh fruit. Then he brought me another plate of food. Then another. Then five more. And then more. And three other beverages.

Did someone mistakenly tell the kitchen that I was about to embark on a 50 kilometer hike and that I required 10000 calories to start my day? Did they see my last name was Krauss and think I was from Germany and would insist upon this gigantic meal? Was it the Yale cap I was wearing? Maybe the wait staff had knowledge of the high standards Yale alums expect from a meal and served me this feast, not realizing the hat was only a gift and I'm not from Yale?

Then I realized what had happened. In this Kyrgyz-themed restaurant I was simply receiving a historical re-enactment of the massive breakfasts the great mythical figure Manas would receive before he would go about the strenuous business of uniting the 40 Kyrgyz tribes. Glad I got that figured out.

By the way, the picture in the post is my Breakfast of Manas AFTER I had finished eating it.

 

Under a Canopy of Stars

I am now staying in a cabin high in the mountains above Bishkek in the last phase of my vacation. Though it is nice, I didn't come here for the brisk, refreshing mountain air. While it is a wonderful feature, the solitude of a private cabin in a near-empty resort isn't the reason either. The chances to go horseback riding or careen about on an all-terrain vehicle are actually disincentives for me. And I certainly didn't come here for the endless supply of mare's milk I've been offered.

Last night, lying in a field of wildflowers, atop a hill, above the resort village is when I remembered the reason I was drawn here. Something in my soul was craving the exhilaration that comes from lying under a canopy of stars. Encountering the vast, night sky fills me with a sense of wonderment, combined with awe and humility, that I seldom experience in my daily routine. Perhaps for those of us not attuned to rote religious practice, it serves as a form of the spiritual.

As I relaxed in quiet bliss, I suddenly heard a trample of forceful footsteps rapidly approaching. It would be my fate, I thought to myself, to have my star gazing interspersed with a robbery. I turned to face my attackers only to find a striking white horse moving toward me, curious to see what strange creature was lying in the meadow in the dark of the night. Ah Kyrgyzstan. It is livestock, not robbers, with whom one must share the night sky. After the horse deemed me harmless as well, then we both quietly continued our business under the glittering and expansive Kyrgyz heavens.

Schedules

Here's the suggested daily program at the place in the mountains where I am staying. Have been here less than a day and I have already fallen hopelessly behind schedule with my Mare's Milk Intake.

The pleasure of unexpected meetings and understanding my calling

Again, in the World's Smallest Big City I run into people I know. This time I didn't run into one person, but I came across about ten at one time, as I was wandering back to my hotel room. This time it was almost the entire group of UCA Camp Counselors I happened upon after I finished my dinner. They had just completed camp yesterday and had arrived today in Bishkek after a job well done.

I have been enjoying my vacation and have relished time alone, expansive moments of silence, and being the master of my time. There were days when I was staying on Lake Issyk-kul when I didn't utter more than 15 words between the time I got up in the morning and when I returned to bed at night. And that's a very happy fact I'm reciting.

Yet, after meeting the counselors this evening and hanging out with some of them in Bishkek Park for awhile, I also experienced the same level of joy that I had received from my recent days of silence. And I felt a pang of regret that I had not had the chance to work with this fine group because, though I am an introvert at heart, I also feel a strong pull to the work I have engaged in much of my life--the difficult, but intensely rewarding, job of helping young adults learn and grow. And perhaps the part of the job I enjoy the most is collaborating and teaming up with other like-minded people to get this work done, in a spirit of mirth and light-heartedness, whenever one can manage such things. What a paradoxical person I am living simultaneously on such opposite poles.

After our hanging out was completed and they headed toward their dinners, I returned to my silent hotel room, where I will savor that quiet while also considering the joys of interacting with those who make up my life's calling.