"While Laura was still several steps behind me, a man with short graying hair pushed through the crowd and walked right up to me. He looked me in the eye, held up his phone, and asked, 'Is this your wife?' I looked at the picture on his screen. Sure enough. It was Laura with one of the dogs. That's when I put on my angry face."
On the Road in the Land of Mountains and Minibuses
Once upon a time, during a trip in the country of mountains and minibuses....
Sheep for Surgery
When Ulan's nine-year-old sister needed her appendix out, you'd be surprised what his parents were required to do to ensure a successful surgery.
A Central Asian Birthday
We're all looking for something. We found it in a mud-brick house in the slums of a Central Asian capital.
Dreaded Crossings, Part 1
I stood behind my American friend at the Kyrgyz-Kazakh border. It was raining from a cement colored sky, and so everyone was pulled in tight underneath the blue corrugated plastic roofing overhead. The crowd funneled into four main lines, marked by green signs printed in Russian and Kyrgyz: two for Kyrgyz Citizens, one for Kazakh … Continue reading Dreaded Crossings, Part 1
Their Cold Hands
If meteorologists ever conducted a study on the climate surrounding the enormous bazaar near our house, I wouldn't be surprised if they found that it adversely affects surrounding weather conditions. During the winter, somehow as soon as you step foot inside, the temperature drops by at least double digits. Must have something to do with … Continue reading Their Cold Hands
A Kyrgyz Wedding
We got to the place at a reasonable time, which is to say, over two hours late. The wedding celebration was being held at a restaurant that caters specifically to such events. A picture of the bride and groom perhaps ten feet tall and twelve feet across greeted us as we ascended the steps and … Continue reading A Kyrgyz Wedding
The Old Car at the Bazaar
I parked the car at the construction bazaar near our house. I clutched my phone where I had made my list. I was focused. I was unstoppable. My black coat was zipped and my signature checkered hat was pulled low. I was prepared to argue in the local language over prices if I had to. … Continue reading The Old Car at the Bazaar