Jumping out of a plane - Something I could get used to

My Saturday experience was jumping out of a plane, but not just any, an old soviet military plane.

I woke up on Saturday morning slightly tired, but in good spirits. I brushed my teeth, splashed some water on my face, and headed to Vefa Center, one of the big malls in town, not far from my apartment. A large part of our jumping group was meeting up there. I don’t think our entrances could have been better if we’d planned them. A few of us got on the marshrootka (mini-bus) at Vefa and started riding to our destination, the end of the line. Every few stops several people would get off and one of our crew would hop on. Eventually there were seven of us on the marshrootka and no one else besides the driver.

When we arrived we met up with the coordinator for the parachutists and hopped into another car. We drove onto the Kyrgyz military base where the planes took off from and were deposited in front of a building with two parachutes on either side of the door. We filled out the “If you die, it’s not our fault” paperwork and a small Russian man had everyone, about 20 people, form a line. He went over how to properly land when you hit the ground. The most important thing he stressed was keeping your feet and knees together. He made it very clear that bones would be broken if this rule was not held to.



Eventually they lined us up in order by height and started strapping parachutes on us. They were military standard issue static line parachutes. It was a lot different and a lot less comfortable than the tandem free-fall I did earlier this year.

After we were all strapped in he yelled the Russian equivalent of “Right Face” and all of us turned right and started moving forward towards the incredibly old soviet planes that were waiting for us. Someone made the observation “At least if the plane goes down, we can jump out!”



When it was finally time to go I was second. The instructor shouted to the guy in front of me to stand up and get ready. Then he screamed “POSHYOL” and my friend looked almost as if he wanted to say “you mean me?” Then the instructor shouted, in a thick Russian accent “GO!” and my buddy dove out the door without hesitating.

Immediately after that I was told to stand ready. When I heard him shout “POSHYOL” I bolted out the door. There was only a short lurch and then I felt the static line tug my ‘chute. Later, on the ground, most of us realized we had forgotten to count to five as we had been told. The ride down was beautiful and calm. The landing was a lot softer than I had expected as well.



Now, all I need is two more static jumps before I can go take the class on how to jump alone without a static line.




Pictures courtesy of Dennis Keen and Aaro Ylitalo.

Jet Skiing and Snow

I was struck with a slight pang of loss as I started classes recently. The beginning of classes signifies that the summer is completely over and fall is beginning to creep in. The leaves on the trees are starting to change and some are even beginning to pile up on the corners of the grey soviet style apartment buildings. There is a strange contrast between the yellow-orange colors of this season and the concrete architecture they surround. With that pang, I also felt an increase of excitement. With the start of classes I realize that my Russian acquisition will be accelerating ten-fold.

The past two weeks have been action packed to say the least. I have decided to move out of the school provided apartments into a new house. Four of us from the school have decided to move in together. Not only will we save money, but we will also get away from the bubble of the school. The apartment we found, after several days of searching, is incredible. It has four bedrooms, an incredibly large living room, and a modern kitchen with a fully operational microwave (that means something here). We have also decided that we are only going to speak Russian in the house.(unless necessary i.e. “Hey, I think someone is trying to break in,” or “Sup Bro?”)

To celebrate the end of summer, six of us took a trip to Lake Issyk Kul. The lake has an incredibly surreal feel to it. On either shore there are incredibly tall snow-capped mountains. When you look across the lake you see what looks like clouds on top of a dark patch of land. What you are actually seeing is the snow on the heads of the giant peaks.

After observing the peaks you look back to your own altitude and remember that you are getting sunburned on a warm sandy beach with people splashing and jet skis zooming around. I had never ridden a jet ski before so I rented one for a grand total of five minutes and went full speed out into the middle of the wide open lake. It was certainly tempting to drive towards the other shore (Likely 40-plus kilometers away). Later, all of us got onto a banana boat which was being towed by a crazy driver who believed that it was his job to try and constantly throw us off.

The weekend was great and the weather was perfect. On the morning of our departure thick clouds rolled in and cold rain started to sprinkle down. The misty mountains fell in and out of view behind low grey clouds (as did the road a few times) as we rolled back to Bishkek.

Kyrgyz Independence Day and Fierce Horsemen

This past Tuesday was a very special day for Kyrgyzstan as it celebrated 19 years of independence. In honor of that, festivities were held in Bishkek.

That morning I woke up, as usual, with a dry throat and clogged nose. With the weather in Bishkek having been incredibly hot and dry for the past few weeks, dust has become the main export of my sinuses. Although it’s not particularly pleasant, I’m just glad that I have avoided getting seriously sick thus far.


My friends were mounted up and ready to go see the national sport of Kyrgyzstan, Ulak. In a nutshell, Ulak is a game where two teams mounted on horses attempt to lift the limp corpse of a sheep off the ground and throw it into a hole to score a point. While I can see how horrifying this might be to some people, particularly westerners, I have to note that it is incredibly interesting and fun to watch.

In American Football there are many rules which can confuse newcomers to the sport. Basketball, although seemingly much simpler, can just as easily confuse the novice onlooker. Ulak, on the other hand, is simple and intense. Riders are charging each other at full speed on horses, hitting one another with whips, and swooping below the stamping feet of their horses to grab the sheep. Basically, what I’m getting at is: What’s not to like?


Due to getting slightly lost and ending up on the racetrack where the game is played, a policeman on a horse escorted us to the stands where we paid our entrance fee. By the time we sat down the game had been going on for quite a while and the stands were packed. We ended up sitting in the middle of the stands where there were some extra seats for our group. Behind us was one of the most energetic and focused crowds I have ever seen in my life. The stands would erupt in a powerful roar whenever a rider would break free, sprinting with whip in mouth and sheep in hand, towards the pit to attempt to score a point for his team.

It wasn’t long before our group was screaming just as loud as the people behind us.







Pictures courtesy of Max Walker from Bishkekblog.com

The Adventures of John and Vasili Part 2

John and I explored Arslanbob for the rest of the day. We climbed all around the area looking for what the people in the town called “The Panorama.” The Panorama is an area that allows for a view of all the mountains and the surrounding valley. When we finally reached it, we sat for over an hour looking out over the village. While we surveyed the valley a local horseman came along and offered to let us ride his horse. As I haven’t ridden a horse since I was 7 years old, I was slightly uncomfortable, but I hopped on anyway. Eventually john came over and tried it out as well. In Arslanbob we also found the largest fruit roll-ups EVER.



The next day we woke up early, said goodbye to our host and took a taxi to Jalalabad. When I spoke to my mother on the phone after our arrival, she shouted into the phone “YOU’RE IN AFGHANISTAN!?” Thus, it is important to note that there is more than one Jalalabad. Our driver from Arslanbob dropped us off into the care of another driver in the city who took us to a fairly nice hotel which cost 300 Som a night, which is about 6 dollars. We liked the new driver so we offered to pay him 500 Som to be our tour guide for the day. He agreed, and after we dropped off our bags we got back into the taxi and started our tour.

At first he drove us by what he claimed to be the house in which the former president Bakiyev was hiding after the revolution. Then he took us to a restaurant he claimed had the best shashlik in town. Shashlik is an incredibly flavorful form of shish kabob. The restaurant ended up having fairly decent Shashlik and the owner’s son had studied English in New York City. This was nice because we were all able to engage in the conversation.

After lunch our driver took us up a mountain to a resort where there was a “magic” spring which would supposedly make us feel great if we drank from it. The water ended up tasting like a warm salt and iron mixture, a lot like blood. It could have been something else but I’m pretty sure I developed a slight stomach ache after drinking the “magic” water. Next he drove us to the highest spot on the mountain and we looked down onto the large valley through chain link fence as the sun set.

We had set aside a week to travel so we again had to move on. The next morning we called our driver and he took us to the Avtovokzal where we picked up a bus to Osh. As we got closer to the city we noticed more and more burned down stores and homes. Nonetheless, it was still quite surprising when we were suddenly in the heart of Osh where so recently there had been so much unrest. We were also surprised by how many people were on the streets, the city was bustling.


Our first goal was, as always, to procure a hotel for the night. The first one we stopped in was fairly large, and seemed to be fairly western. We didn’t know how western it was until the woman at the front desk asked us for our passports. John handed his to the woman and she said “Americans, 50 dollars a night.” Most likely, the cause of the high price was probably all of the reporters that had recently been there throwing money around while their offices were picking up the tab. John took his passport back and we laughed at the prospect of paying that much. I told the woman that we were students, not reporters and we walked out.

We asked around and as it turned out that not 200 meters away from that hotel was an incredibly nice bed and breakfast style place with rooms to rent. We went down a back alley and knocked on the door. A woman came out and offered to show us inside. The door opened up into an incredibly beautiful courtyard with a garden and a small modern banya adjacent to the main building. The price was 350 Soms a night, so we quickly agreed. The woman then asked us if we wanted to use the banya and when. We said 8 o’clock that evening would be great. We threw our stuff down and started walking the town.


I wanted to grab some extra so I stopped at a cash machine. My card didn’t work at several. I made a note to call my bank the next day.

We hopped in a taxi and asked to go to Mount Suleiman. There have been settlements in Osh for thousands of years and there is lore that Soloman himself formed the city. We asked the driver to wait for us while we walked up the mountain. We took a path which led to the tallest point. Eventually we were left with about 15 meters of cliff face to the top. The sun was setting in the background as I attempted to scale the wall. I almost made it, but I will have to wait until I am there again to make it to the top.

When we climbed down our taxi driver had left. People said that he had gotten tired of waiting. We bought some ice cream and walked to the road where we caught a taxi back to where we were staying. We enjoyed the banya and some tea and then passed out.


The next day we went to an internet café where I called my bank on Skype. Apparently they had not just put a hold on my card, they had actually killed it. They told me the number had been “compromised.” I told them that I was in Kyrgyzstan and I could not get money out and they responded that I had not given them a “Travel Notice.” Even though I had given them notice that I would be out of the States, I asked what it would take to get money out. The fraud operator told me that he could open it if I was in front of an ATM. I said that this was not really possible since I was in front of a computer without an ATM anywhere near. Finally I asked if he could give me 15 minutes. He said that was “pushing it,” but that he could. He said that as soon as we hung up he would activate it. I said “thank you,” and he said “good luck.” I hung up, paid my bill at the internet café and ran out into the street. I started asking people “Izvinitie pozhalusta, vi znaete gde bankomat?” Most people looked at me confused. Someone gave me directions a block away. I checked and it was offline. Many of the “Bankomats” in the city were offline since the riots. Finally about 4 blocks away from the internet café, with only a few minutes to spare, I was able to find one that worked. I got the money that I needed and came back to the café to tell John who was still confused as to why I ran out of the café.


Afterwards John and I found a woman selling Kyrgyz chewing tobacco. We decided that eight Soms was worth spending to try something new. The tobacco is formed into small little pellets that do not look pleasant. They taste even worse. We only put four or five little pellets in between our lips and gums. It only took five minutes before we were ready to skip down the street with an incredibly strong nicotine buzz. We felt great. We eventually got back to where we were staying, paid our bill and went to the avtovokzal. We would not feel that happy until 16 hours later when our taxi driver dropped us off in Bishkek.

The driver crammed too many people into his minivan and too much stuff. It was hard to breath, let alone move our legs. Luckily we stopped every couple of hours because we had three flat tires. I have to say though, that even though the trip was incredibly uncomfortable the mountains we drove through were incredibly beautiful. At night the moon silhouetted everything and in the morning light the peaks were an incredibly new and beautiful experience.