Talking About A Revolution...

I have been reading some of the old emails I used to send out to update people about my life on the road.  Now that I've started keeping a blog account (and, frankly, I have no idea why I didn't do so when I first left the UK!?) I thought it would be kind of interesting to put my thoughts and adventures from days gone by on here.

The first thing that struck me was just how wrong I can be when it comes to making political predictions.  Another reason why I try not to dabble in politics and leave well alone!  Back in October 2008, I wrote about my time living in Kyrgyzstan:

"The big news of the moment is that it looks like the Kyrgyz people have become so apathetic towards politics that any chance of a revolution has been and gone.  After the last revolution in 2005, people have realised that it doesn't matter who's in charge - all politicians are only out for themselves.  In the meantime, the ineptitude at the top has resulted in power shortages for the last 6 weeks and will continue all through winter.  For some reason, the government sold off the electricity supply to neighbouring Uzbekistan and have left themselves short.  It means that for up to 10 hours every day we will have no power and we've already been forced to teach by candlelight on numerous occasions!!"

Well, as you may have noticed on the news recently, Kyrgyzstan did, in fact, have its second revolution and this one was far bloodier than the Tulip one that had preceded it.  With 84 killed (keep in mind that with a national population of just over 4 million, this is not a small number) and the uncountable cost of looting, arson and vandalism that has left the capital city, Bishkek, looking like the war-zone it was for that brief week.  The apathy that many had felt was pretty strong during my time there, but towards the end of my stay talk of protests was not uncommon.  While the 'middle-class' had seemingly given up, the poor underclass had decided enough was enough.  President Bakiev (himself, ironically, installed to head office because of the last uprising) found himself the target of an angry mob baying for a change.  Years of nepotism, skimming state funds and general incompetence had finally taken its toll on their collective patience.

 The Eternal Flame

The big undertaking for this former Soviet republic is to rebuild and finally emerge as the democratic nation it had hoped to become 5 years ago.  This is not an easy task, though, as the country has the unenviable position of being caught in the middle of Russia and the USA, as well as having no real exports of which to speak.  Eco-tourism is booming, but will people fork out for the adventure?  I've learnt my lesson and I'm going to stay well away from making predictions...

Doctors Without Borders

I'm currently sitting here with a mouth full of pain and discomfort and a tub of ice-cream at the ready.  The two are related, though perhaps not in the way you'd expect.  You see, I'm gorging on chocolate and caramel ice-cream, at the behest of my dentist, in order to consume something while I recover from a wisdom tooth extraction.

One of my biggest concerns when I left England a million years ago was the health care I would be receiving from then on.  I don't have travel insurance and hadn't really planned on getting any.  Probably a very foolish thing and something I might try to rectify soon.  Anyway, on the flight over to China back in 2006 amongst all the excitement and anxiety, the small thought about my up-coming medical crossed my mind.

To get a work visa in China, employees have to go through a full medical check up also comprising an HIV test.  With my then-girlfriend, I was accompanied by a member of staff from the school and taken to the local hospital.  Although my colleague spoke some English, I was a little concerned about things getting lost in translation.  In this case, I needn't have worried because I understood quite clearly what one of the female doctors was trying to tell me; her hands running over my hairy legs and chest while taking my E.C.G. and grinning like the cat that got the canary!  This 'ordeal' was nothing, however, in comparison to another teacher with whom I worked.  This female teacher, K, when going for her check up, was told that for the full-body X-ray she had to remove her coat, her sweater and t-shirt.  Then she was told her bra interfered with the machine and she needed to remove it.  Reluctantly she did so, only to be informed that she couldn't cover herself with her hands, but had to stand with her arms by her side.  Up in the gallery, a bunch of medical students looked on with beaming smiles!!

Thankfully, my only real medical problem in my first year in Tianjin was 'merely' a spot of Bronchitis.  The air-pollution in that particular city pretty bad and it wasn't uncommon to sneeze or cough and find your tissue full of black gunk.  Being told the news about my infliction by a doctor blowing his cigarette smoke in my face was only one of the things that bemused me during my visit to the hospital that day.

Eventually, my Chinese got to the level where I could go to the dentist and get some treatment.  Alas, my Turkish has never really taken off, and I was grateful to find an English-speaking dentist in Istanbul.  I had been having problems with my wisdom tooth off an on for a while and recently it has started causing a problem for its neighbour.  When I went back to the clinic a week after making the appointment, I was pleasantly surprised to find a very attractive doctor waiting to carry out the surgery.  A little tip for anyone out there looking to get their wisdom teeth yanked out; find a sexy dentist wearing Fuck Me Boots, short-shorts and a low-cut top!  You won't care half as much about the pain and discomfort...

The last time I had a woman in the medical profession up close and personal was in Kyrgyzstan.  I had recently taken over a room from another teacher who had left a few weeks previously.  At that time I was spending time with a girl, H, who would occasionally spend the night with me (yes, she was a real person and not a spot of artistic license!!).  After our first night in the new place, I woke up to find myself itching like crazy.  A few hours later, I asked a friend to check out my back and he broke the news that I had a nasty rash all over.  The previous tenant had had a bit of a reputation for bringing home 'working' girls and my mind raced with possible ailments.  I had never had to call a girl before and enquire as to whether spending a night with me had given her a rash.  I hope to never make that phone call again!! :-)

Fortunately, it turned out that it was nothing more serious that an outbreak of bed-bugs.  My treatment consisted of going to the nearest pharmacy and getting the super-cute girl working there to give me a shot of something or other on the arse.  Three times over three days.  It was not how I had imagined being treated by an attractive 'nurse' would play out.

So, as I eat up my ice-cream and wait for my mouth to heal, I can reflect on the luck I have had so far with my life abroad.  No serious health problems, but plenty of memories and reminders to not take anything for granted.

Visa Run

Many ex-pats living in Istanbul can relate this story or a version like it.  Although living and working in this very modern and European city with reputable jobs in teaching, journalism and law, most foreigners find they do so illegally.  When I first arrived in Turkey, I was told that I would be provided with a Residency and Work Permit.  However, almost 10 months on and I'm still here on a tourist visa and it's not going to change.  The cost and hassle to apply for the required documents is just too high for most Turkish companies to bother going through with it - much easier to send the employees dashing for the border every 3 months to get a new stamp in the passport.  It has become such common practice, that the border guards usually treat it as a game whenever they check through and see pages and pages of exit/entry stamps!  Still, these runs don't always go smoothly and a more dedicated border guard (or one having a bad day!) might just make an issue out of it.

The last couple of times I had made a trip of it, first in Bulgaria and then in Berlin to bring in the new year. This time, however, I couldn't be arsed and just wanted to get it over and done with.  So yesterday I jumped on the 7am service bus from Taksim (the 'centre' of the city) to the Otogar on the outskirts.  From there I got on the bus bound for Sofia in Bulgaria.  The idea has been to get off at the first town over the border and flag down another bus going in the opposite direction to take me back so that the whole process could be done in a day.  Usually, I would have been wary of doing it this way because the date of exit and entry would match and that may have been a little too obvious.  Luckily, I had just renewed my passport so when I re-entered my passport would be empty without any trace whatsoever previous visa stickers.

At the Otogar, I heard two guys conversing in a hybrid of Turkish and Russian.  Initially, I had assumed that it was a Turk and a Bulgarian guy trying to converse.  That was until I looked around and saw a distinctly looking Central Asian man (complete with a full set of gold teeth!).  Tentatively, in Russian, I asked the guy where he was from and was delighted when he replied. "Kyrgyzstan."  He seemed really surprised that not only had I heard of his homeland, but that I had lived there and liked it, which in the main I had.  Fortunately, he also spoke some English due to his job.  He was a horse acrobat for the Kyrgyz Circus and had done a lot of touring around the world as a result.  He was on his way to Sofia to meet up with his fellow artists for a show there.  So in a mixture of Russian and English (with the occasional Kyrgyz word thrown in) we chatted sporadically on our way to the border.

It was on the way to the border that I had a change of mind.  I hadn't really thought out my plan and as a result I hadn't changed over any money into Bulgarian Levs or Euros.  I had $20, but that was for my new visa.  How was I going to pay for another bus ticket and lunch should I have found myself waiting on that side for longer than expected.  Even worse, how was I going to pay for accommodation should I have got stuck there overnight!  I asked the bus attendant, a Bulgarian who understood my broken Russian enough, if he could help me at the passport control.  He said it wouldn't be a problem.

At the booth, I handed over my passport and let the Bulgarian speak to the officer.  The officer shrugged his shoulders as if to ask what the big deal was and pointed at the duty-free shop.  I was told to go through to the other side and jump on the first bus which would be along very soon.  The rest would take care of itself, which it did.

I couldn't help but think back to my encounter with the passport control officers in Uzbekistan who had made a simple flight to Turkey into something much more sinister.  After going through the hand luggage checks and having been frisked thoroughly in a little office by a heavy-handed official, I then proceeded to the booth to hand over my passport to get stamped out.  There, the guy told me that I had a problem with my documents.  He rubbed his fingers together and asked for dengi (money).  I told him straight away that I didn't speak Russian and played dumb.  After trying to tell me that I didn't have the correct visa and getting nowhere, he then tried various different approaches including claims that my passport was a forgery and that I wasn't the person in the photo.  Finally, after being escorted to another little room with an armed cop for a short time and insisting that I didn't understand anything they were saying, I was allowed through without having to cough up a bribe.

My journey back to Istanbul proved to be less hassle free as I was stuck next to a Bulgarian-Turk who knew some English.  At first he was jovial and polite, but as the duty-free whiskey took effect he descended into rant after rant about the Germans, the Jews and the French.  He liked the English, though, and I did learn a few things from him, nevertheless.

At the front of the bus I had noticed a group of girls (Bulgarians I had presumed, correctly it turned out) all looking very young and anxious.  The Bulgarian-Turk informed me that they were poor girls with no prospects in Bulgaria and were heading to Turkey to try their hands at prostitution.  The cost of one hours' 'service' would be more than a weeks' wage in their home towns.  Every day, at least one girl on every bus was making this trip - not just from Bulgaria, but from Romania, Russia, the Ukraine and other former Communist countries that had fallen on hard times.  Indeed, to prove his point, he tapped another young girl sitting in front of us on the shoulder.  When she turned around I could see that she was a very attractive, but very young Bulgarian girl.  He asked her how old she was and she answered that she was sixteen.  I didn't follow the rest of the conversation because it was conducted in rapid, hushed Bulgarian of which I only understood some Russian words, but none to string a sentence together.  After a couple of minutes, he sat back and confided in me that he had a 'date' lined up when he got back home.  I can only hope for the girl's sake that he had sobered up a little by the time he took her home...