Kyrgyzstan: day 6, the long and winding road

The goal was to get from Bishkek to Karakol, a city in eastern Kyrgyzstan, via marshrutka. 

We woke up early after a terrible night of sleep. The bed was hard, the room was hot, and… there was only one bed. We headed down for breakfast, which included a number of Kyrgyz delicacies we had not seen before. These included a latke-style potato pancake, a chicken-eggplant stir fry, and some interesting cakes. 

We checked out of the hotel and took a Yandex to an English bookstore in desperate hope of finding something to read. The шанс bookstore had good reviews on Google Maps, but when we walked up to its front door, we realized that it literally did not exist anymore.

We took one more Yandex to the Western Bus Station; chaos erupted as soon as we stepped out of the car. Marshrutkas, their drivers, and hundreds of passengers were bustling about in a small parking lot surrounded by a few stores. The Western Bus Station features no system of signs or attendants to help you navigate your way to the correct marshrutka for your destination. It’s a huge free-for-all: drivers shout the names of their routes, passengers pile in. 

The prices for marshrutkas are fixed and most drivers seems to have them written down on pieces of paper. There is no extra fee for foreigners to take marshrutkas, however you do pay +100 som for large backpacks like the ones we were toting. We quickly found a marshrutka going to Karakol, which was already filled to about 90% capacity with passengers. Marshrutkas in Kyrgyzstan operate on fixed schedules; however, they tend to leave soon after filling up. 

We talked to the driver and agreed on the cost of our fare. There was no haggling over this; his paper stated that the 6-hour journey would be 600 som per person, including our bags. This is just about the cheapest transportation possible – where do you get a 6-hour drive for about $9.00? Of note was our driver’s clothing – he was wearing a blue checkered shirt and a fishing vest. This seemed to be the unofficial uniform of marshrutka drivers because they all wore some variation of this outfit.

Once we gave him the money, the driver took our bags and stuffed them into a tiny space below the back seats of the bus. This was certainly not a trunk and seemed to be for carrying small supplies or a spare tire. With a hearty push, however, he was able to get both of our bags inside. 

With luggage in the back, the driver led us to our seats. We had no choice in the matter; there were two seats left in the bus. It was hot and steamy inside with no air conditioning or vents to be found. It felt like we were in a pressure cooker. 

The driver pushed Anil to the back corner of the bus. To his left were three screaming young children and a mother trying to calm them down; to his right was a window as hot as a frying pan; and in front, a seat that was just way too close to his knees. Isaac was placed next to a rather nervous Kyrgyz woman whose bus-relaxation protocol seemed to involve blasting death metal in her earbuds and regularly spritzing herself (and Isaac) with water from a small bottle. (Please note that no one minded us taking pictures of them – they all smiled.)

With the minibus fully (over)loaded, we zoomed off through the dusty streets of Bishkek. The start of the ride wasn’t particularly pleasant; the smell of burning plastic wafted through the bus and constant stop-starts on crumbling roads made for some serious turbulence. Mostly, the inside of the vehicle was just too hot, a broiler, and most passengers seemed to be drenched in sweat after just a few minutes. 

And then stepped in a young man who would become a good friend to us. He sensed that the bus was far too hot and opened the emergency exit hatch on the roof of the bus to let in some cool air. This was brutally effective; the hatch was at just the right angle that cool air whipped into the cabin as we drove. 

Anil gave the guy a fist-bump as a way to say “thanks,” and he introduced himself as Dastan. He and his friend Argen were sitting behind Isaac and were making the trip from Bishkek to Karakol just like us. We had a classic Google translate conversation with them and quickly became friends. (Note that we introduced ourselves as being from South Africa and Germany, because we had heard that some Kyrgyz people in the Issyk-Kul region aren’t too fond of Canadians due to the presence of a shady Canadian gold mine many years ago. We have since learned that this is nonsense and now just introduce ourselves as Canadians.)

With the cabin now air-conditioned, the marshrutka chugged along the roads of rural Kyrgyzstan. We were driving way too fast, but so was everyone else. This was confusing, because we had heard so much about the Kyrgyz emphasis on driving at or below the speed limit.

The scenery was varied and gorgeous. We saw rolling hills, verdant valleys, and epic patches of arid desert. We drove directly on the Kyrgyz-Kazakh border for almost two hours, with snow-capped mountains flanking either side. 

Halfway through our journey, we stopped at a sort of Kyrgyz EnRoute right near the Kazakh border. Although the ride up to that point had been relatively comfortable, we all spilled out of the marshrutka to get some air and desperately-needed personal space. 

The rest stop featured a gas station, a paid toilet, a small restaurant, and a convenience store. The restaurant and convenience store sold classic Kyrgyz fare. This time, we each opted for samsi, which are baked wheat pastries filled with lamb, lamb fat, onions, and cumin. They were rich and delicious and perfect fuel for the remainder of the journey. We used the paid toilet for 10 som each and soon loaded ourselves back onto the bus. Without a warning, the driver sped off. 

At this point we were comfortable in the marshrutka. The temperature was nice, the scenery was pleasant, and our seat mates were thoroughly asleep (Anil’s was a little too cozy – she was resting her head on his shoulders). Anil listened to an audiobook of Dan Brown’s Inferno on his headphones and Isaac typed up the first blog post. It was peaceful, tranquil, enjoyable – we would be in Karakol in no time. 

As we neared the famous Lake Issyk-Kul’s deep blue shores, however, something went wrong. We heard a clunk; we saw our heroic driver groan. The marshrutka slowed down, pulled over to the sandy curb, and came to an unhealthy stop. 

The driver walked out of the vehicle, said nothing, and opened up the hood. The moment he did this Isaac and Anil looked at each other and said “oh fuck.” 

We had no idea what was happening, but we knew it wasn’t good. The other passengers in the minibus were unfazed; this seemed to be normal business for them. Via Google translate, we asked one of our friends, Argen, what was going on.

Argen, what is happening? Is the car broken?”

“This is your car problem HAHA,” he said, pointing to Anil. He was making a joke about the (German) Mercedes Benz car breaking down to Anil, the German traveler

After about 10 minutes of waiting, the collective unconscious of the marshrutka passengers decided it was time for us to get off. The sun was setting and it was getting cold over Lake Issyk-Kul; again, this didn’t phase our fellow passengers. 

Our driver looked stressed out of his mind; the car was obviously irreparable and he was responsible for getting us all to our final destination. Occasionally, another marshrutka would stop near us and evaluate the situation. It seemed that they would basically just laugh at us and drive away, but we couldn’t say for sure. 

Our boys, Argen and Dastan, decided that the car was a lost cause – it was time for a field trip. We were on the shores of the legendary Issyk-Kul, after all. 

They darted off towards the lake and, to our surprise, about 15 other passengers did the same. We were hesitant to leave our bags unattended and to walk into quite literally the middle-of-nowhere Kyrgyzstan – of course, that’s precisely what we did. 

The walk to the lake was dotted with a number of small shrubs and plants I had never seen before. Of interest were dense bushes of what appeared to be bamboo shoots. We also saw the bony carcasses of a few different animals, some with the sharp teeth of predators and some with the gentle teeth of cattle. 

The lake itself was huge and reminded me of an ocean or one of the Great Lakes. The water was a light blue at the shallows and a deep turquoise farther in. The beach was rocky with smooth pebbles interlaced with fine red sand.

We thought our situation a bizarre one; we were standing on the shore of a high-altitude, warm, saline lake in the middle of Kyrgyzstan while our bus was broken down – we had nowhere to go. The situation became more bizarre when our companions, Argen and Dastan, took off their clothes and jumped into the water for a swim. The sun was setting and it was cold and windy – this didn’t stop the boys. Here were Dastan (left) and Argen (right) just before they went for a swim.

We returned to the useless marshrutka after about half an hour at the beach. It was getting really dark at this point and we were hungry, tired, and a bit scared.

Suddenly, a rescue marshrutka had arrived. The other passengers hurriedly returned from the beach and moved our luggage into the other bus. Within about 3 minutes, we were off – our heroic driver stayed behind with his bus. 

This second marshrutka was almost full before our cohort stepped inside. It was a struggle to cram everyone in, and Anil and I were stuffed into the back with our boys.

We were ecstatic to see that this marshrutka had air vents – we wouldn’t boil, this time! Of course, they didn’t work. Within minutes the minibus was hot and steamy again. Also, the smell of burning plastic seemed to be really concentrated in this second marshrutka. It was not particularly comfortable.

Then the marshrutka stopped again. We panicked – what was happening? 

My brother, it is no problem, my brother,” Argen said via Google translate. “We are pick up more persons for bus.” 

And pick up more persons we did – a full family, including about 4 little children, were somehow contorted into the bus. There was absolutely no room at this point and many people had to stand. Anil and I felt bad sitting while mothers and babies had to stand, but we couldn’t physically move to let anyone sit.

And so the journey continued. Humid, cramped, smoky, sweaty, bumpy – the road had deteriorated significantly at this point. At least we were getting closer to Karakol, we thought. 

Throughout this ride Argen kept showing Isaac Google Translate messages on his phone – he wouldn’t stop. He was just being friendly, though many of the messages made no sense. Here were some good ones:

You are my brother, yes brother good?” 

“Since brother, yes brother since good very since.”

“Hahaha Karakol brother, yes since brother yes?” 

Babies cried, we sweated bullets, and the night grew dark with thunderstorms over the horizon. The rest of the drive to Karakol went on without a hitch. 

Just kidding – the second marshrutka also broke down. Again, we heard a loud clunk, a groan from our driver, and we were pulled over to the side of the road.

A quick examination of the vehicle showed that one of the tires had completely blown out – it was flat on the ground. Our fearless driver opened up the “trunk” and immediately removed Isaac’s hiking bag. Rather than place it safely to the side, he plopped the bag directly into the middle of the road. We were flabbergasted but realized that he was using it as a sort of traffic cone.

And we needed a sort of traffic cone – this was another one-lane, two-way road that had traffic from the opposite direction constantly zooming towards us. It was genuinely terrifying – huge trucks would race by at 120+ km/h while we were standing next to our tiny bus.

Our driver, after emptying the “trunk,” pulled out an ancient jack and proceeded to jack up the car while most passengers were still inside. When the passengers saw this, many ran out of the vehicle and some small children sprinted directly into the path of oncoming traffic. 

Then a magnificent team effort just began. The male passengers, including our friends Dastan and Argen, helped out the driver with anything he needed – handing him tools, giving him a mat to lay on while working under the car, carrying the spare tire towards him. All of this was coordinated without any talking and represented a sort of Kyrgyz phenomenon that we have noticed a few times so far. Sometimes, when something must be done, Kyrgyz people seem to be able to telepathically communicate with eachother to reach that goal. This tire changing event was one example, but we’ve seen many others (e.g. when Dastan opened the emergency hatch for AC, when marshrutka passengers silently communicate to drivers where they need to be dropped off). It’s a beautiful thing to witness but it can be incredibly confusing if you aren’t part of the group. I think this is a reason many travelers find countries like Kyrgyzstan so chaotic – we just don’t understand the silent group consensus. 

Within minutes, the tire was changed. The sun had completely set – it was time to get moving again. We saw a man crossing the road on a horse while watching a video on his cell phone – it was a magically Kyrgyz sight, and we were off. 

Although thankful to be in a functional vehicle again, the final stretch to Karakol was on the bumpiest road we’ve ever felt. The smell of burning plastic reached a zenith and we were very, very unhappy after more than 8 hours of driving. We closed our eyes and waited it out.

Finally, with lightning striking scarily close by, we arrived at the Karakol bus station. We ordered a taxi to our hotel and were so thankful to be out of the marshrutka. 

After a long, unpleasant day, we were ready for some luxury. We checked into our room at the Four Seasons Karakol; it was absolutely stunning.

Again, just kidding – it was quite dirty and didn’t smell very good inside. Still, it was $20 a night for both of us (including breakfast), so at least it was very economical. Tired and extremely thirsty, with no restaurants around we decided to give the Kyrgyz Uber Eats, “Glovo,” a try. 

We ordered beshbarmak (boiled wheat noodles with boiled beef and salt), boso lagman (fried thick wheat noodles with soy sauce, beef, and red peppers), and a cucumber tomato salad. The beshbarmak was tasteless but the boso lagman was fantastic – it has become one of our favourite Kyrgyz foods. 

Lying in our tiny twin beds in our hot hostel room, we reflected on our day. It certainly wasn’t comfortable, but it was incredibly memorable and we had the best time ever. We made new friends, saw some truly remote areas, and had new stories to tell. 

If we had to rate the Marshrutka from Bishkek to Karakol, we would give it:

• 2/5 stars for the efficiency
• 1/5 stars for the comfort 
• 5/5 stars for the fun 

Thank you for reading this second installment in my Kyrgyzstan blog! Please leave a comment or question below if you have any. There will be one more blog post covering days 7-20 to conclude our trip.