We had felt very relaxed in the Chichkan Valley motel as we had in Talas, but another few days had passed and we knew that we needed to get on and drive. Our reluctance was heightened this time, as we ascertained that we would soon be passing through Kyrgyzstan’s turbulent south. Earlier this year, just after convincing some family and friends that Kyrgyzstan was a safe place to visit, a string of events unfolded which made it to international news. Firstly, the president was ousted in a bloody coup, which sparked further rioting and violence. Secondly, in mid-June, pre-existing ethnic tensions in the south flared up, which led to violent clashes between ethnic Uzbeks and Kyrgyzs in the city of Osh. The situation did not sound greatly dissimilar to the ethnic cleansing of Tutsi’s which occurred in Rwanda in 1994, albeit on a much smaller scale.
To cut a long story short, from the research we did, it seemed that the violence was fuelled by a mob of rampaging Kyrgyz who torched Uzbek homes and businesses in the cities east, looting, raping and murdering the Uzbek people and forcing them to flee to refugee camps in neighbouring Uzbekistan. Although the violence had since subsided, Uzbek refugees had begun to return back home and the situation was supposedly under control, we were still concerned about travelling in the ethnically diverse south. This was not helped by locals who would make a gun gesture with their hand (with unnerving ka-pow sound effect), whenever we told them we were travelling to Osh. However, yet again we had no choice but to travel there. The down side of Kyrgyzstan’s mountainous topography was that there was only one main thoroughfare from North to South and this route via Osh was the road we would need to travel on to get to the Chinese border post at Irkeshtam. Moreover, Osh was our last and best choice for accommodation and supplies before travelling towards the remoter border post and we would need to stay there at least one night for Colin to complete his routine.
The drive down south was just as beautiful, but much drier. The craggy mountains were now a gorgeous ochre colour and we hugged the electric blue Toktogul lake and dam for the majority of the day. However, as we descended south, the altitude dropped dramatically and that familiar stifling heat, which had gripped us in Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan returned to pack a punch. This was nothing unusual, but it was made worse for poor Col, whose closest electric window suddenly failed to open. What’s more our makeshift air-conditioner i.e. prized desk fan - which sat proudly on the dash to blast Col - was also kaput. The electrics had probably fried in one of the other sweltering Stan’s. This meant that Col had to endure another difficult day’s drive on windy roads, with lorries up his ass and without any window breeze nor fan. We had to stop frequently for Cokes/Fantas – our staple drinks in the Stans and for Col to open the door and cool down a bit, but being the trooper as always, Col persevered and without any complaint drove us all the way down to the old coal mining town of Tashkomur.
Tashkomur reminded me of one of those old towns from western movies, where you would half expect a hay ball to roll past, or a pistol’s at dawn showdown to take place before you. Although it still had character, everything seemed to be second hand and a bit dilapidated. The local hotel by the train tracks was not spared and appeared to have been abandoned for some time, with its overgrown lawn, broken sign and smashed windows. For a small fee, we ended up camping in their backyard alongside a mass of swarming flies, as the hotel was apparently closed for renovations, but I wondered if that was the real reason. The young boy who worked there almost seemed startled to see us and informed us that although business was good last year, we were the first tourists to have visited in 2010. Since it was the end of August, this illustrated to me, the impact that Kyrgyzstan’s problems may have had on tourism. Suddenly I felt very happy to be camping there, even if it seemed like a bit of a dead end one horse town, because it reminded me of how tourism could suffer because of one nasty incident and affect destinations unnecessarily linked to the problems. That said, we were now in Kyryzstan’s Uzbek territory and as we fell asleep to the sound of drunken Uzbek’s outside singing and cheering as part of their own Independence day celebrations, I wondered if similar clashes might happen here one day.
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