I recognise that bureaucracy has its place. However, it is a sad fact of life that wherever you are in the world, civil servants and customer service rarely have a close relationship. Protocol is no doubt in place and being followed to the letter, but these rules, regulations and hoops are such a closely guarded secret that we mere mortals stand little chance of doing anything other than getting tangled in the red tape.

The British Embassies are as guilt as any others: on calling the embassy in Moscow and asking for the trade desk, I was first told there wasn’t one, and then passed from department to department while they established who might indeed be responsible for UK trade and industry. The icing on the cake was that, when I finally reached the right place and asked for contact details of shipping and freight forwarding company to deliver vehicles across Russia, I was offered the number of the local taxi firm. I’m glad to know that the economic future of our country is in safe hands. 

My personal bug-bear, however, is visas. There are plenty of countries in the world who have worked out that a visa is not necessary – simply by scanning your passport they can work out who you are, all of your personal details, where you’ve been, and how long you’ve been in their country. A significant number of other countries will allow you to purchase a visa on arrival at the airport or visa: you fill in the form, hand them a photo and some dollars, and you’re in. People can move freely, tourists are encouraged to visit, and it is straightforward to travel on business.

Why then do so many places (the UK among them) insist on such stringent and time-consuming procedures for single-entry, 30 day tourist or business visas? The information they collect is a duplicate of what is printed in my passport. I waste hours (and, more often than not, days) form filling, waiting in queues, writing emails that aren’t answered and making phone calls that lead only to answer machines. The consulates in embassies are invariably understaffed, have erratic opening hours, and are most unsympathetic when you arrive at the front of the queue ready to cry. 

Kazakhstan has by no means the worst set of embassies I’ve encountered, but they have some fairly typical rules and regs that make life difficult:

-They only open for three hours a day on four days a week (none of which are at the weekend).

-Only one over-worked lady accepts applications and issues visas.

-If you haven’t reached the front of the queue by 12 noon, you have to go home and try again another day,

-You must apply in person; postal and proxy applications are no longer acceptable. This is particularly helpful for those individuals for whom the nearest Kazakh embassy is in a neighbouring country. 

-You have to write and submit a letter inviting yourself to Kazakhstan.

-Legend has it that you can get a visa on arrival at Almaty or Astana airports. However, there is only anecdotal evidence for this: the airlines and embassy couldn’t possibly say.

-Processing an application takes at least three working days, excluding Kazakh national holidays and those of the country where the embassy is located. 

-If you are simply collecting a visa that has been issued, you are allowed to queue jump. However, there is no sign saying this and other people queuing are unlikely to tell you as it’ll make their own wait even longer. 

-The consulate is in the basement. It is dark, smelly, has no seating, and is far too small for the number of people waiting, most of whom are queuing up the stairs and out onto the street. If it rains, they get wet. 

-If you’re in Kyrgyzstan, the Kazakh embassy can’t take payment by card or cash: you have to collect a slip from the embassy, take it to the bank, deposit the money, get an official stamp, then take the slip back to the embassy. You will also have to submit your application forms a week before you submit your passport; the two can’t be submitted at the same time for reasons that are in the laps of the gods. 

Still fancy a trip? It’s certainly a trial. 

And so we find ourselves in paperwork limbo in Kyrgyzstan. We have long-term business visas here so can stay put for a while, but we can’t actually go anywhere else. We applied for press accreditation and visas for Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan at the start of September, and it is now the end of October. The Minsistry of Foreign Affairs in Tashkent has, apparently, sent response regarding our application to the embassy in London, but, as yet, no one there is able to track down the paperwork with the answer on it. The consulate is trying hard on our behalf, but even he is unable to get the answers he requires. The Turkmen embassy does not respond to phone or email. We sent someone in to ask them in person about our applications, only to be told they had never been received. Half an hour later the errant paperwork was located; it had been sent to Ashgabat for approval but nothing had been heard before or since. The embassy lacks the power to chase the powers that be back home, so one of our tasks this week will be to find someone sufficiently influential within Turkmenistan to find out what on earth is going on.

Our hard-fought-for Kazakh visas expire at the start of next week. They’ll likely lie unused as, although we could get into Kazakhstan, we couldn’t then get out the other side. You need all of your bureaucratic ducklings in a row and, unfortunately, if just one is out of place, all of the others keel over too. Tracing Tea, one might say, is suffering from bureaucratic bird flu. 

Sophie

Kyrgyzstan isn’t generally known for its cuisine – there’s a good reason you don’t find Kyrgyz restaurants packed in between Mc Donald’s and Pret a Manger. Greasy goat floating in greasy soup, with an accompaniment of greasy rice and limp, greasy salad is, sadly, a staple and if you spend more than 48 hours in Bishkek you’ll be unlikely to avoid it.
Every so often, though, the Kyrgyz come up with an unexpectedly pleasant surprise. We’ve feasted with government ministers at Dasmia, tucked into the roasted horse meat saved for honoured guests and, this week, eaten enough imported caviar to make a good-sized display in Harrods.
Kyrgyzstan is, as you’ll be aware, land-locked, but the taste for caviar started under the Soviet Union, and it’s still trucked down by the kilo from Russia and the Caucasus. Every supermarket, even those that are glorified corner shops, has a small counter of caviar next to the smoked fish section, and if you go to a Russian restaurant, it’s guaranteed to be on the menu somewhere. It’s not something I’ve bought myself (it may be readily available but it’s still not cheap), but even looking at it is something of a novelty.
On Friday evening, we were invited over for drinks and dinner by our good friend Ali. Ali has his finger on the pulse for everything good to eat and drink in Kyrgyzstan, or, for that matter, coming over the border, so we knew we were in for a treat. We arrived at his flat to find him already in the kitchen, hands poised over a medium-sized tupperware box. The box was full to the brim of fat red fish eggs. My eyes popped. The table was laid with home-made blinis (mini savoury pancakes), smetana (sour cream) and fresh herbs. The caviar came to the table piled high in something akin to a cereal bowl.
I sat down, a glass of cold white wine in hand, and was poised to tuck into the red caviar. The real treat was still to be revealed, however, as Ali came out of the kitchen with a tiny silver coloured tin of the sort you usually buy breath mints in. He removed its thick rubber seal, and twisted the lid to release the vacuum. Inside were tiny grains of grey-black caviar: salty, black gold.
The two caviars were like cheese and jam – both tasty but with very little in common. The red caviar eggs were like the bubbles in bubble tea: you could roll them across your tongue and then feel them pop juicily as you bit down onto them. They tasted like a slightly sweet sea water. The flavour of the black caviar was far more intense, like a mackerel compared to a trout. The tiniest spoonful, smeared across the sour cream and blinis, completely dominated the flavour of the mouthful and lingered long after you’d swallowed.
While we tucked into our meal, Ali told us a story. He told us how Bakiyev, the former President of Kyrgyzstan, had planned a lunch for 10 people at which he wanted to serve 100g of Beluga, the world’s finest caviar. Putting the $2000 price tag to one side for a moment, the real problem was that there was no Beluga for sale in Kyrgyzstan the week of the lunch party. The closest Beluga to be found was in Almaty in neighbouring Kazakhstan, and in order to have it in Bishkek on time, the 100g tin would have to be hand-delivered. A limo was dispatched, and the Beluga made it back to Bishkek in the nick of time. The delivery and handling charge alone was a thousand dollars.
I licked the last of the caviar from my fingers and smiled to myself. I bet I enjoyed my meal more than they did.

Sophie

After a rather longer than anticipated break, I’m finally back in Bishkek. In my 9 months absence, a huge amount has gone on (revolutions and rioting to name the most obvious) but still people go about their daily lives and, in some ways, very little has changed. The city feels a little quieter – perhaps there are fewer people on the streets – but on the whole the damage is far less than I expected.
Tuesday will bring with it parliamentary elections. Since the revolution in April an interim government has been in place, and this will be the first time the Kyrgyz people have an opportunity to validate their new lords and masters. Every lamp post and billboard seems to glow with the ice-white smile of another would-be politician, including our old friend Mamashov at the State Agency for Tourism, and the erstwhile Mayor of Bishkek. I’m unsure what the voter turn-out will be, but the candidates at least seem to be making an effort with their campaigning.
Keep your fingers crossed that the elections will pass through peacefully, and we’ll update you on the result next week.
Sophie

Our First of Many Tuk Tuk Rides

Rather than attempting to tell you about my day I shall for the most part allow photos to speak. Today we added the hot pink decals to the tuk tuk and ford. However due to repairs still being needed on the black tuk tuk, we had to push it in and out of the garage. 

Sophie is here steering the tuk tuk while Max pushes it. 

Rosie meanwhile was painting the side panels for the tuk tuk to insure we’d have a flat place to apply the decals.

Here you can see the back of the Ford once we finished applying the decal. 

To insure I was in at least one of the photos in this set, I took one of the cheesy self portrait in a mirror shots.

The problem of smoothly applying them where the curvature of the car made things difficult lead to occasional folds like these. Which we then used a razor blade to cut out and smooth the edges of. 

Here you can see the side of the car with the decal on it. 

The clouds eventually rolled in and we began to get rained on as we worked. 

My first attempt at the lettering came out rather well I think! 

Proof Bishkek has a mosquito problem – we keep the Raid easily available in the cup holder while the sodas, tea, water, and snacks remain on the seat. 

By the time we finished and pushed the tuk tuk back in the garage it was late enough I had to use the flash! Ugh. Natural light is far superior. 

Rosie shows off the hipster panel – brand new yet pre-worn-in much like modern jeans. We think it looks quite cool though it was an accidental effect made by using a paint that peeled off the metal sheet.

It’s been a long day here in Bishkek. 

I’d say I woke up early, but that would imply I went to sleep at a reasonable hour and it was the wake up time that was problematic. Instead I didn’t fall asleep till past 6:30 am due to problems with mosquitoes being too fold of me for my liking. Thus at 10 am when the crew was beginning work in the office (which is in the same flat I’m staying in) I was exhausted and spacey. 

After some work round the office we went out to the garage where the auto-rickshaw is being stored only to be told the key wasn’t there. So while Max and Sophie went to run errands Rosie and I painted stakes with numbers which we’ll later use to mark shots before a Kok Boru match (goat polo for those unfamiliar with the Kyrgyz game – I’ll admit I know only little more about it… ) Eventually the man in charge of the garage returned with the keys and we were able to open it up and I got to see our rickshaw for the first time. Radegund as it is apparently known… Norse for “chariots of fire” our producer later informed me. I’m not quite on that level of familiarity with the rickshaw to be calling it by it’s name – and Radegund doesn’t roll off the tongue that easily, so I’ll stick to rickshaw for now. 

When Sophie and Max arrived back bringing with them counter weights for the crane I got a pseudo work out aiding them in unpacking them. But following that came the real adventure: driving lessons. While I have both my car and motorcycle licenses- an auto-rickshaw is uniquely different. With three wheels the balance is quite different, and the challenge of steering to avoid potholes is a bit more complicated than when in either a car or on a bike. To begin release the hand break and press with the left hand the starter button (the intimidating lever to the left that acts as the starter in most auto-rickshaw has been replaced by a much simpler automatic starter) while you rev the engine with the throttle on the right. The clutch and gears are controlled by the left hand, but the gears are rather sticky and the clutch is a bit jumpy which combined with the engine (think lawn mower status) sound of tuktuktuktuk makes you very aware of the road as there is a cadence accompanying the journey. 

Due to the fact that I own and drive an automatic car at home and haven’t been on my motorcycle in a while (whoops for breaking my foot – that was a bad call) the clutch coordination was a little less than ideal. But the bigger worry for me was going out of the parking lot and instantly being on the streets of Bishkek. I’ve never driven in Bishkek before and I’m sure navigating would have been stressful even in my own car, but in a first time drive in an auto-rickshaw with the locals laughing, waving, taking photos and even children and dogs occasionally chasing us as I drove along…. this was definitely a new experience. Luckily for me the Kyrgyz habit of not following specific lanes and just driving where there is space makes it very easy to drive with the flow of traffic. The small size of the rickshaw combined with people being curious and slowing down around me allowed me a greater maneuverability than in a car – which proved quite advantageous. 

As an added bonus, when returning I realized – I just navigated through the center of town on main roads filled with traffic, pedestrians, minibuses and cabs in the capital of Kyrgyzstan. So while I might be a little nervous about the traffic here, that is normal. Any city would do that to a first time driver in an unfamiliar vehicle. And once we set out we’ll have open roads ahead of us without the bustle of city traffic at every corner. And once we’re in gear, puttering along at speed (no clue what speed, the speedometer is broken/unplugged) it’s actually quite fun. Maybe this is just due to the novelty value of driving a red auto-rickshaw in a foreign country where they’re unaccustomed to seeing one, and maybe this is due to the actual joy of driving it – but regardless the road ahead will continue to be foreign and the nerves will wear off – and now that I’ve actually driven it, I’m looking forward to driving this rickshaw to England with the crew.

The last few days have been a whirlwind of cultural shock (anticipated albeit, but still it stuns one) as I’ve gone from sound training in San Francisco one day to flying via LA and Moscow to arriving before sunrise in Bishkek over the course of days. Keeping track of the calendar gets complicated as days get shorter when travelling eastbound, and I arrived not knowing what day it was anymore.

Upon arriving in Bishkek I immediately noticed it was much cooler than when I was here just over a month ago. Driving into the city this was made visible as I noticed unlike last time when I saw a light dusting of snow on the mountains on the horizon over Bishkek, now those have been majestically snow capped.

My exhaustion has been palpable as a result of the poor flights. Despite my plans to sleep on the flight so I could arrive ready to explore I was surprised to see the culture of drinking shots of vodka was being readily embraced by the two men to my immediate left on the flight – and within 3 hours I’d lost track of their drinks. The only ones on the plane who could match their volume were the two screaming babies who were also in our row, and thanks to my unfortunate location between those parties, I arrived more excited to sleep than explore.

The rest of the non-Kyrgyz based crew was delayed so I had a few days in Bishkek this week to myself. While it was a welcome relief that allowed me to begin recovering from the jet lag, it also meant I was on my own for the weekend. Thanks to the language barrier my explorations were more limited than they would have been had I been in an English speaking country. Simple tasks such as exchanging money and ordering food thus become mild adventures. The hotel I was staying at was located just around the corner from the mosque, so I felt quite out of place walking around without a headscarf. However just a few blocks farther, Russian women in miniskirts and high heels proved to be a much greater visual contrast than my own attire.

It seems most of the English speakers I’ve encountered here are doing election oversight work, humanitarian work, or travelling the Silk Road. The elections flyers are everywhere but because I’m unable to read their campaign literature I can’t compare it to other campaigns I’ve observed. The other thing which I’ve found rather interesting is when watching CNN, the only English TV channel on cable here, most of the ads are advertising countries for investment/tourism or are covering environmental issues and the need to find solutions to energy and pollution problems. I’d probably watch more of their TV shows to compare the content with American models I’m more familiar with – but now that the crew has arrived we’re preparing to resume the shoot.

My job for the next day is to figure out the set up for our specific sound equipment and how that interfaces with our cameras so I can prepare a crash course for the rest of the crew. Everyone in the office is busy either working with the equipment, on the logistics preparing for shoots here in Kyrgyzstan or working to make sure our vehicles will be ready to depart. On that note I might be off to Kazakhstan to retrieve our Land Rover later this week – we shall see. I’m still adjusting to the jet lag, being with the crew, and figuring out what the road ahead holds. I assume an epic adventure, but all details beyond that are to be determined. The uncertainty is exciting and scary, much like my Aeroflot flights.

Urvi is excited to share all about her adventures with team and invites you to comment, tweet, and otherwise follow the team’s adventures here in Central Asia. Follow us in real time when we tweet at www.twitter.com/TracingTea