Teaching Shakespeare, horse treks, lost glasses and sleeping in a bush
By
Mighty me look at that. I didn’t do one post for the entire month of April! What has become of me? Where am I? What sordid exploits have I been getting up to? What fulfilment have you possibly had in your lives without my constant barrage of barely entertaining drivel? Well my little cheeky chums, I have finally gotten around to updating my adventures (or lack thereof) and April sucks as a month anyway. Read on if you dare…
Bishkek airport. I don’t think they thought this through.
The long the short and the tall of it is I reside in the same place; Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan – which I still need a spell check to write correctly. Travel wise, not much has changed – except for one outrageously fucking stupid “loophole” in this whole Chinese visa debacle. If you may remember in last month’s episode I was waiting patiently for the Chinese government to get their act together and allow people to cross land borders. Well, they’ve decided to relax this blanket ban somewhat, but only as far as making you jump through proverbial hoops in the process. I need to apply for the visa and cross the border with the same person – minimum of two people. I then need to exit the country inside one month, crossing with said person at another predetermined border. I only get 30 days max and I can’t extend. In fact, it’s not a visa at all, but a temporary electronic something or other. Some faceless moron somewhere is taking the piss.
I won’t be seeing a new flag for a while
However, there is no shortage of people queuing up to go, with regular posts/emails from folk offering their services as a travel buddy – just to get into the country. Then I guess the plan would be to have a jaunt around for a month before meeting up again to leave legally (most likely into Hong Kong) before your time is up. This would work out amicably for me, as I get 6 months visa free stay in Hong Kong (thank you commonwealth) which would grant me plenty of time to apply for my new passport. Thanks to the idiocy of customs officials stamping one stamp to a page in parts, I only have two free pages left. I need those for China alone.
So this would change my plans further still, as being in HK means I am but a hop, skip and a jump from Vietnam et al. This then would imply I would do my SE Asia leg first and wait until India cools down a bit while I spend my summer by the sea getting mangled at full moon parties and working in a hostel I would most likely wind up dead at. Notwithstanding of course surviving the mass immigration of Australians. In short, I’d be aiming to complete the hitchhike to India sometime this coming winter.
And why not, say I? It means I’m not going to be arriving in India at the height of its annual killer heat wave, there’s potential to be reunited with traveling buddies in backpacking wonderland, and I’m still on course for my goal of returning to live and work in Croatia for roughly this time next year. It’s a no brainer. So I’ve decided to stick it out here for a while and see if the Chinese government relax further and allow solo travelers in. That, and for some reason I’ve found myself teaching and directing Shakespeare at a local international school. My life as a globe-trotting drunk tourist has been temporarily suspended.
Teaching kids. A wholesome activity
Well not quite. A couple of weeks ago I found myself attempting to get home under the influence of several beverages. I was adamant that the taxi driver was in the right place, threw my money in his general direction and bundled myself out onto the roadside. T’was only when he was pulling away did I realise I had no scooby where I was, the blazing sun was well and truly up and there wasn’t a street I recognised. (In my defence, returning to the scene of the crime sometime later and as sober as a judge I still didn’t know how to get home. I feel some kind of exoneration for the fact).
So I did what anyone in my situation would do. I slept in a bush.
Now this was all very well and good. The weather was fine, the ground dry. I figured a couple of hours shut-eye in the leaves and I’d wake up with everything falling into place. Except when I woke, I had no idea where my glasses where. Now no matter how inebriated I get, I ALWAYS know where I’ve put my specs – but they were just nowhere to be found.
I must have looked a funny sight at 10 am on a Sunday morning, shirt and tie, scrabbling around in the undergrowth, peering inches from the ground. A curious man approached and asked in Russian (I think) what was wrong. I frantically mimed something to do with spectacles, the floor, and sleeping in a bush.
“Lensa?” He questions.
“DA! DA! DA! LENSA!” I exclaim with joy, not really sure if it meant glasses or not but it was a hung over educated guess. During the drama a young lady appears with a mobile and has handed it to me to converse with an English-speaking friend she has kindly phoned. Seconds later, all three of us are on our hands and knees scrabbling around in the dirt looking for my lost eyes.
Ahhhh but alas to no avail. I thank them for their time and with no ability to see even short distances, stumble off upset in a random direction, hoping for some kind of sign to light the way home. And boy did I get it. Turning the corner, there’s a new bar opening with a giant, visible-from-space logo that even the blind would be able to see.
JAMESON.
Nearly weeping tears of relief, I stagger into the cafe next door and a barista with perfect English allows me to contact Alex via facebook, who arrives moments later with a “why-am-I-not-surprised” look on her face. However the benefits of such an adventure are two-fold: I managed to get home, and I’ve got new glasses, because the ones I lost were shit.
Kyrgyz eye test. You don’t need to know the Russian alphabet, just be able to tell if a gap in a circle appears to the left, right or on the bottom. Genius
Where was I? I digress…mmmmm…oh yes. Shakespeare. Keeping me out of such trouble for much of the week has been the Shakespeare workshops I’ve been asked to run at this international school. Helped in no small part by Alex – who pretty much got me the gig in the first place as she is a school teacher there. Anyhoo I’ve found myself not only courting a potential heart attack leading 5 to 11 year olds in drama games, but also actually directing the school’s annual performance, which at my suggestion is to be a sort of Shakespeare Cabaret evening. The kids are taking to it like ducks to water, and we’re all very excited about the potential for a really entertaining and educational evening. Most of the kids at the school here are parented by an eclectic mix of nationalities, including expats and locals, who are hopefully going to be treated to astoundingly performed scenes from Midsummer Night’s Dream, Romeo and Juliet and Macbeth. I could think of worse places to be stranded, in worse company, practicing things that wouldn’t have reignited something in me I long thought dead. Perhaps teaching drama is something I will put on the back burner for when I retire my passport.
A plague on both your houses! Directing a Romeo and Juliet scene
In the interim, I’ve bruised my arse bones significantly with a two-day horse trek into the mountains near Kochkor, culminating in staying a night in a yurt, and nearly getting into a brawl with a load of drunk Kyrgyz shepherds. Picking a fight with someone carrying a shotgun isn’t the best idea, but for some reason they thought our guides had stolen one of their jackets. As I stood and watched, horse whips were raised to beat humans, and the yurt owner weighed in wielding a wooden 2 x 4. Surprising myself more than most, the scuffle didn’t dissipate until I started screaming “FUCK OFF” repeatedly into a pocked red face. Welcome to Kyrgyzstan.
Yurt life. Home for a night
Speaking of which, they say you haven’t experienced the country until you’ve tried three things. Horse riding, staying in a yurt, and drinking Kymyz (Kumis) – which is fermented mare’s milk. The latter I’ve firmly given a wide berth, until Alex convinces me to give it a go. It’s arguably the most horrendous thing to ever pass my lips, and I include a bottle of weeks out-of-date chocolate Yazoo. You can guess the rest. Sick as a dog for a week, with no amount of drugs being able to stop the deluge from both ends. Thusly I’ve experienced a number of firsts in this beautiful country, including exorcist style projectile vomiting at 4 o’clock in the morning so much so I thought my innards were going to be outards and my head would spin 360 degrees. The power of Kumis compels you!
And he’s away…!
…to bury a fabulous goal. I still got it…
And so the world turns and I’m ticking over from day-to-day, to the last syllable of recorded time. The Shakespeare performance is set down for June 10th, and while I’ve had the option to leave, I’ve decided to remain to see this through, pub quizzes, five-a-side football an’ all. Y’know – normal stuff. By which time I’m hoping China have sorted their shit out and let me in, to continue walking the earth to help people save little Timmy who fell down the well. Like David Carradine from Kung Fu. Or Jules from Pulp Fiction. Or The Littlest Hobo.
Teaching Shakespeare, horse treks, lost glasses and sleeping in a bush
Mighty me look at that. I didn’t do one post for the entire month of April! What has become of me? Where am I? What sordid exploits have I been getting up to? What fulfilment have you possibly had in your lives without my constant barrage of barely entertaining drivel? Well my little cheeky chums, I have finally gotten around to updating my adventures (or lack thereof) and April sucks as a month anyway. Read on if you dare…
Bishkek airport. I don’t think they thought this through.
The long the short and the tall of it is I reside in the same place; Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan – which I still need a spell check to write correctly. Travel wise, not much has changed – except for one outrageously fucking stupid “loophole” in this whole Chinese visa debacle. If you may remember in last month’s episode I was waiting patiently for the Chinese government to get their act together and allow people to cross land borders. Well, they’ve decided to relax this blanket ban somewhat, but only as far as making you jump through proverbial hoops in the process. I need to apply for the visa and cross the border with the same person – minimum of two people. I then need to exit the country inside one month, crossing with said person at another predetermined border. I only get 30 days max and I can’t extend. In fact, it’s not a visa at all, but a temporary electronic something or other. Some faceless moron somewhere is taking the piss.
I won’t be seeing a new flag for a while
However, there is no shortage of people queuing up to go, with regular posts/emails from folk offering their services as a travel buddy – just to get into the country. Then I guess the plan would be to have a jaunt around for a month before meeting up again to leave legally (most likely into Hong Kong) before your time is up. This would work out amicably for me, as I get 6 months visa free stay in Hong Kong (thank you commonwealth) which would grant me plenty of time to apply for my new passport. Thanks to the idiocy of customs officials stamping one stamp to a page in parts, I only have two free pages left. I need those for China alone.
So this would change my plans further still, as being in HK means I am but a hop, skip and a jump from Vietnam et al. This then would imply I would do my SE Asia leg first and wait until India cools down a bit while I spend my summer by the sea getting mangled at full moon parties and working in a hostel I would most likely wind up dead at. Notwithstanding of course surviving the mass immigration of Australians. In short, I’d be aiming to complete the hitchhike to India sometime this coming winter.
And why not, say I? It means I’m not going to be arriving in India at the height of its annual killer heat wave, there’s potential to be reunited with traveling buddies in backpacking wonderland, and I’m still on course for my goal of returning to live and work in Croatia for roughly this time next year. It’s a no brainer. So I’ve decided to stick it out here for a while and see if the Chinese government relax further and allow solo travelers in. That, and for some reason I’ve found myself teaching and directing Shakespeare at a local international school. My life as a globe-trotting drunk tourist has been temporarily suspended.
Teaching kids. A wholesome activity
Well not quite. A couple of weeks ago I found myself attempting to get home under the influence of several beverages. I was adamant that the taxi driver was in the right place, threw my money in his general direction and bundled myself out onto the roadside. T’was only when he was pulling away did I realise I had no scooby where I was, the blazing sun was well and truly up and there wasn’t a street I recognised. (In my defence, returning to the scene of the crime sometime later and as sober as a judge I still didn’t know how to get home. I feel some kind of exoneration for the fact).
So I did what anyone in my situation would do. I slept in a bush.
Now this was all very well and good. The weather was fine, the ground dry. I figured a couple of hours shut-eye in the leaves and I’d wake up with everything falling into place. Except when I woke, I had no idea where my glasses where. Now no matter how inebriated I get, I ALWAYS know where I’ve put my specs – but they were just nowhere to be found.
I must have looked a funny sight at 10 am on a Sunday morning, shirt and tie, scrabbling around in the undergrowth, peering inches from the ground. A curious man approached and asked in Russian (I think) what was wrong. I frantically mimed something to do with spectacles, the floor, and sleeping in a bush.
“Lensa?” He questions.
“DA! DA! DA! LENSA!” I exclaim with joy, not really sure if it meant glasses or not but it was a hung over educated guess. During the drama a young lady appears with a mobile and has handed it to me to converse with an English-speaking friend she has kindly phoned. Seconds later, all three of us are on our hands and knees scrabbling around in the dirt looking for my lost eyes.
Ahhhh but alas to no avail. I thank them for their time and with no ability to see even short distances, stumble off upset in a random direction, hoping for some kind of sign to light the way home. And boy did I get it. Turning the corner, there’s a new bar opening with a giant, visible-from-space logo that even the blind would be able to see.
JAMESON.
Nearly weeping tears of relief, I stagger into the cafe next door and a barista with perfect English allows me to contact Alex via facebook, who arrives moments later with a “why-am-I-not-surprised” look on her face. However the benefits of such an adventure are two-fold: I managed to get home, and I’ve got new glasses, because the ones I lost were shit.
Kyrgyz eye test. You don’t need to know the Russian alphabet, just be able to tell if a gap in a circle appears to the left, right or on the bottom. Genius
Where was I? I digress…mmmmm…oh yes. Shakespeare. Keeping me out of such trouble for much of the week has been the Shakespeare workshops I’ve been asked to run at this international school. Helped in no small part by Alex – who pretty much got me the gig in the first place as she is a school teacher there. Anyhoo I’ve found myself not only courting a potential heart attack leading 5 to 11 year olds in drama games, but also actually directing the school’s annual performance, which at my suggestion is to be a sort of Shakespeare Cabaret evening. The kids are taking to it like ducks to water, and we’re all very excited about the potential for a really entertaining and educational evening. Most of the kids at the school here are parented by an eclectic mix of nationalities, including expats and locals, who are hopefully going to be treated to astoundingly performed scenes from Midsummer Night’s Dream, Romeo and Juliet and Macbeth. I could think of worse places to be stranded, in worse company, practicing things that wouldn’t have reignited something in me I long thought dead. Perhaps teaching drama is something I will put on the back burner for when I retire my passport.
A plague on both your houses! Directing a Romeo and Juliet scene
In the interim, I’ve bruised my arse bones significantly with a two-day horse trek into the mountains near Kochkor, culminating in staying a night in a yurt, and nearly getting into a brawl with a load of drunk Kyrgyz shepherds. Picking a fight with someone carrying a shotgun isn’t the best idea, but for some reason they thought our guides had stolen one of their jackets. As I stood and watched, horse whips were raised to beat humans, and the yurt owner weighed in wielding a wooden 2 x 4. Surprising myself more than most, the scuffle didn’t dissipate until I started screaming “FUCK OFF” repeatedly into a pocked red face. Welcome to Kyrgyzstan.
Yurt life. Home for a night
Speaking of which, they say you haven’t experienced the country until you’ve tried three things. Horse riding, staying in a yurt, and drinking Kymyz (Kumis) – which is fermented mare’s milk. The latter I’ve firmly given a wide berth, until Alex convinces me to give it a go. It’s arguably the most horrendous thing to ever pass my lips, and I include a bottle of weeks out-of-date chocolate Yazoo. You can guess the rest. Sick as a dog for a week, with no amount of drugs being able to stop the deluge from both ends. Thusly I’ve experienced a number of firsts in this beautiful country, including exorcist style projectile vomiting at 4 o’clock in the morning so much so I thought my innards were going to be outards and my head would spin 360 degrees. The power of Kumis compels you!
And he’s away…!
…to bury a fabulous goal. I still got it…
And so the world turns and I’m ticking over from day-to-day, to the last syllable of recorded time. The Shakespeare performance is set down for June 10th, and while I’ve had the option to leave, I’ve decided to remain to see this through, pub quizzes, five-a-side football an’ all. Y’know – normal stuff. By which time I’m hoping China have sorted their shit out and let me in, to continue walking the earth to help people save little Timmy who fell down the well. Like David Carradine from Kung Fu. Or Jules from Pulp Fiction. Or The Littlest Hobo.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll wanna settle down.