Walking around Bishkek today nothing really came to mind. It just was. Another place in the world operating on its normal pace. Different people on the posters. Different politicians being sold to the people. Different language being spoken. Different food on the plates. Different currency in my pocket - but the daily rhythm was so evident it felt nothing but normal. The way it feels to walk through a neighborhood you know, to swing by your favorite coffee shop - that sort of nonchalance I feel when I'm going through a place I know and it seems everyone else is too. I didn't personally feel like that- the language barrier makes it a little hard for me to -but it was the vibe I was getting from everyone else. I might be the odd tourist interrupting the status quo by taking photos of the markets and being the unusual foreigner in their midst - but something about the daily routine was palpable.
Too often when traveling it seems the foreigners don't actually see the place they're meant to be seeing. We see sights, monuments, the predictable photo ops and so forth, but we don't see the place for what it is to those who live in it. I don't think I've seen that side of Bishkek yet. I doubt I will given that at some point I'm going to have to dash out to Kazakhstan to pick up a car for work - and these things take time to see. But at least I am aware I'm not seeing it all?
It took me a long time to find my niche in Santa Barbara. It took me a while to feel the comfortable familiarity and feel like I could give a recommendation as to where to eat or what to see. And I feel like even then whether there or at home in the Bay Area - I feel like I can't give those recommendations. I know where I like to hang out, where I like to go, but it strikes me as odd to think of traveling and finding the right places to see to make a place reveal itself when I don't even know if I know those places at home.
I wonder if someone else was standing in my sandals they'd feel the same. Or how very different they'd see the same sights. I was reading my coworker's blog and it struck me how poetic her reflections were - and seeing the same sights I saw no poetry. There's no hint of nostalgia for me in the scents of the streets. This place reminds me of India - without the Indians, without the crowds, without the scent of sandal wood and the noise of people. It feels quiet. It's not some place lost in the past though - there's still net cafes and children growing up, couples getting married in Victory Square, life being lived. But it still feels like life on the edge. Somewhere in the vast part of the planet without the superpower mentality, where the recycling bug hasn't hit, where the trash is still burnt, where the people are hospitable and the pace of life is less frantic.
It's also a place where it seems saunas are expected to have prostitutes, corruption is normal within politics, the kids play with mock AK-47s in addition to their stuffed toys, and the Americans and Russians have their military bases and their power can be felt in ways big and small. The super market had boxing gloves with the stars and stripes on them in the toy section. The good quality goods are from Turkey and the poor quality is brought from China. And I'm an oddball American in the midst of it.
Perhaps it is good that my reflections tend to be more regurgitation in visual form - photos rather than words. For regardless of the number of posts I seem to have churned out I feel like I haven't had any meaningful reflection nor have I had a genuine enough opening into the Kyrgyz lifestyle enough to be making those reflections/judgements/etc... I've just been in the midst of them as they live their lives and wondering what I'm doing with mine.
No comments:
Post a Comment