When I first visited Central Asia in 2013, one of the first things I noticed was the emphasis placed in Tajikistan on defining what it means to be a citizen of Tajikistan and a practitioner of Tajik culture. In Kyrgyzstan, I’ve come upon a similar phenomenon, and upon further reading, have also seen aspects of it in other countries in the region. It’s been so interesting for me to explore because it has unexpectedly cast a new lens on how I see my own identity as an American. Continue reading “Development Of A Kyrgyzstani Identity”→
Beyond things like unique politics and the -stan suffix, Central Asia is known for its headgear, and probably in no place is this more visible and famous than in Kyrgyzstan. I think it’s safe to say that just about every culture has a traditional headgear of some sort, whether it’s a hairstyle, hat, helmet, scarf, or some combination thereof, but here takes it to a whole new level.
In America, we’ve got the baseball hat (although a slouchy beanie might be taking over in a lot of urban settings). In France it’s the beret (even if I’ve seen more berets living in Kyrgyzstan than I ever saw living in France). But in Kyrgyzstan, there’s a whole selection of headgear for men and women that forms an external representation of several aspects of one’s identity. Here’s an (almost) exhaustive guide to headgear that you’ll probably encounter here in Kyrgyzstan. Continue reading “Hang On To Your Hats: An Exhaustive Guide to Central Asian Headgear”→
I’ve talked way too much on this blog about how much I prefer taking marshrutkas and buses to riding in taxis. But, sometimes, you can’t get away from the fact that taxis are the only way that you’re going to get from point A to point B. Confounding all of this is the fact that just about every city in the former USSR has a different approach to taxis. Here’s a rough guide on navigating the major taxi systems of Kyrgyzstan (plus Almaty and Dushanbe). Continue reading “The Secret To Kyrgyz Taxi Fares”→
Osh is unique in many ways, but perhaps one of its most unique aspects is the sheer number of languages that are spoken in its streets. Perhaps only in New York City, New Delhi, Kabul, or Paris are so many languages spoken by so many, but Osh is unique in that so many residents understand every single one of these languages.
Part of this seems to come from Osh’s 3000 year history at the crossroads of trade and empire. Osh’s current demographics reflect some of this history; 48% of its population is Uzbek, 43% Kyrgyz, 3% Russian, 1% Tatar, 1% Tajik, and 4% comes from other linguistic groups, such as Dungans, Karakalpaks, Kazakhs, Uighurs, etc.
Original map from the University of Toronto, with the ethnic group distribution of Central Asia, http://individual.utoronto.ca/s_bahry/Literacy_in_Tajikistan_files/image004.jpg
There are historically two major linguistic groups interacting in Central Asia: the Persian langauges (Farsi, Dari, and Tajik), and the Turkic languages (Kyrgyz, Kazakh, Uzbek, Uiyghur, Turkmen, Azeri, Turkish, Tatar, Karakalpak, and a whole bunch of others). Continue reading “On The Mixing Of Languages In Osh”→
This week, I published a piece as a guest blogger on the importance of international education on the blog of my friend and former teacher, Vicki Weeks. Some readers who know me recall that in 2006, I had the chance to travel to rural China with my school’s Global Service Learning program, and I would never have had the chance to go if it weren’t for Vicki. Vicki was the director of that program, and she now helps schools across the United States build their international programs to help students experience life in different settings from where they grew up. Here’s the first two paragraphs, and you can read the rest over at Global Weeks.
I wasn’t particularly curious about the world growing up. Originally from small-town Alaska, I ate nothing but grilled cheese sandwiches and Hot Pockets, and my biggest life aspiration was probably to move to Seattle when I got older. That all changed when my family moved to a small town in France when I was 9 years old.
Enrolled in an international school, there were as many nations represented in my classes as there were students. Each person I met came to the school with a different culture, a different language, and a different story. This incredible diversity was all celebrated with an annual festival called the Kermesse, where students from each country would prepare food and art presentations. Through them, I unwittingly began my quest to better understand the world. Continue reading…
The other day, I was on my way to an evening at Public Pub, which is this lovely Irish pub (of which there are, unbelievably, two in downtown Dushanbe) where we like to have a beer every so often. As usual, I stood on the side of Rudaki, waiting patiently for a car (or even better, a Lada) drive up with a nice big laminated “3” in the front window. In minutes I was speeding down the road in my own private Mercedes (for the grand cost of 3 Somonis, or about 60 US cents), when we were flagged down again. I watched incredulously as three other men my age climbed in and sat on the bench next to me, two more crammed into the front seat, and three others climbed in on top of us, to put a total of what must have been 9 or 10 people in a relatively small sedan.
