Kyrgyzstan and Manas: Understanding the bigger picture

The Manas airbase has been an ongoing source of controversy since it first opened in 2001. Just 650 miles from Kabul, Manas may be ideally placed for supplying troops to Afghanistan but its presence was always going to rile Russia, who still sees Kyrgyzstan and her Central Asian neighbours as part of the motherland despite nearly 20 years of nominal independence. Calls in 2006 for the base to close were scotched when the US increased the value of its lease to $63m but this still falls far short of the $200m the Kyrgyz government requested. The disparity in amounts provided former Prime Minister Igor Chudinov with a useful, if not entirely believable, justification for yet another round of pressure on Manas.

The first question we have to ask is why does Kyrgyzstan matter? It is a mountainous, land-locked country with a population of just five million and, unlike its neighbours, it has negligible mineral resources. The economy is supported by contributions from Kyrgyz working abroad and foreign aid agencies, loans from the World Bank and IMF, and the income brought in by the US and Russian airbases. One thing, however, brings Kyrgyzstan to the attention of foreign powers: its geo-political position.

Three main groups have a concern in Kyrgyzstan: the Chinese, the Russians and the US. We’ll briefly look at the nature of, and reasons for, their interest in the country.  Kyrgyzstan borders China’s Xinjiang autonomous province, a region ruled from Beijing but populated by people who include Uighurs, Kazakhs, Tajiks and Kyrgyz. Xinjiang suffers ongoing tension and occasional violent outbreaks, such as the murder of 16 Chinese police officials by separatists in August 2008. Beijing policy is to increase the number of Han Chinese in the region in the hope that it will bring greater control and, as a result, stability. Financial incentives are offered to those moving to, and opening businesses in, Xinjiang and also over the border in Kyrgyzstan. The Chinese are actively purchasing Kyrgyz territory to expand their influence and, most importantly, to acquire alpine lakes and rivers that can be diverted to supply water to desert areas in Xinjiang. The most significant impact of this acquisition for Kyrgyzstan has been that a number of the country’s recently built hydroelectric power stations are not getting the water supplies they require; Bishkek’s power supply is insufficient to provide electricity around the clock.

Direct Russian influence in Kyrgyzstan has been felt since 1876 when the country became part of the Russian Empire. The country was established as a full republic of the USSR in 1936 and only formally declared independence from Moscow in August 1991. The Russians formerly trained all of their air force pilots in Kyrgyzstan and continue to keep an airbase in Bishkek; it’s just 20 miles from Manas. Large numbers of Kyrgyz are employed in Moscow and Russian companies dominate Kyrgyz industry; the Russian-managed Komtor gold mine single-handedly contributes 10% of Kyrgyzstan’s GDP.

Whilst Eastern Europe has fallen sway to the influence of the EU, Central Asia is still a region in which Russia can have an impact. The 2009/10 package of $2 billion in loans and $150 million in aid is as important for the area as a whole as it is for Kyrgyzstan. The loans are to be repaid over a five year period at a rate of 3% above Libor which, although not unfeasible for a developed country, is nigh on impossible when we consider that Kyrgyzstan’s GDP (nominal) in 2007 was just $3.748 billion. Put simply, the Russians are offering a loan they’re confident cannot be repaid. What is more, a large portion of the loan is earmarked for the construction of dams controlling water supply to Uzbekistan. Once the Kyrgyz default on their loan, the dam will come under Russian control. This will require the Uzbeks to play ball with Russia as long as they want continued irrigation for cotton, their greatest agricultural export.

The last of the three major players in Kyrgyzstan is, of course, the US. The Manas airbase is home to 1000 military personnel and serves as the primary hub for air operations in Afghanistan. With the withdrawal of troops from Iraq, the US has a single-point of military focus: Central Asia. Success in Afghanistan, and the prestige which would come from succeeding where the British and Russians have repeatedly failed, will depend on a reliable supply route for men, munitions and other goods. Whilst relations with Iran and Pakistan are a little less than rosy, Kyrgyzstan is the most convenient and stable of the alternatives.

The US also runs a 160-man embassy in Kyrgyzstan – a huge number of representatives considering the size of the population. Across Central Asia the US is running a hearts and minds campaign to counter-balance the influence of Russia, particularly when it comes to the control of gas and oil. While Gazprom has to date directed the supplies of Central Asian gas to Europe through its Caspian pipelines, the US is now backing the EU’s proposal to build the $10.19 billion Nabucco pipeline from Azerbaijan and Turkmenistan, through Turkey and the Balkans to Central Europe. Permission to build the pipeline, not to mention the ability to secure its supply, depends upon convincing local governments to support Europe’s interests over those of Russia. This is no mean feat.

Into the Unknown: Canoeing in Kyrgyzstan

If you can’t yet identify Kyrgyzstan on a map, you’ll be forgiven. This tiny, mountainous Central Asian state, formerly part of the USSR, is home to just 5 million people and, unlike her more famous neighbors, is home to neither significant oil reserves nor large numbers of militants. However, if you take your kayaking seriously, it’s time to get better acquainted: 9500 miles of alpine rivers (classes 2-5+) and the world’s 2^nd largest mountain lake are awaiting your arrival. Best of all, until the secret gets out you’ll almost certainly have the water to your self.

There undoubtedly as many kayaking routes as there are rivers (40,000 by some accounts!) but 2 in particular spring to mind, each showing off a different aspect of this wildly beautiful country. The first is a 2-3 day, 35 mile journey along the Chom-Kemin River and begins some 8070 ft above sea level in a small gorge where a tributary known as Djindy-Su joins the main river. 93% of Kyrgyzstan is covered by mountains from the Tien Shah and Pamir ranges, and the drive up to the put-in is breath-taking. You must, however, take into account the time of year as snowfall and ice prevent canoeing in winter and glacier melt water swells the river in early summer. The best time, therefore, is to take a trip in August or September.

On joining the river, your first encounter is with a class 4 rapid where the two rivers meet. There’s nothing quite like baptism by fire. However, having braved the rapid you’ve now got a chance to catch your breath as the two miles that follow are mostly calm. While you have the opportunity, take in the sight of the pine forested slopes and the total absence of mankind; occasional sheep and goats will be your only companions.

A bridge now passes over the river, signaling it is time to prepare for the next two sets of rapids. Each short stretch is class 3-4 and they’re little over a mile apart. Visibility is fairly good, so you shouldn’t need to scout the bank in advance and the village of Buzulgansai, right next to the second set of rapids, offers a chance to get out and stretch your legs should you need it.

A little over two miles past Buzulgansai, the river enters the next gorge and one of the more challenging stretches of the river. The gorge itself is 3 miles long and the first part contains two rapids, each 1300-1500ft. The first is class 4+ and the second class 5. You will need to scout the right bank for this stretch and, once the water is calm again, prepare yourself for the 2 miles of class 4 rapids that take you all the way to the end of the gorge.

Between this gorge and the next you have 3-4 miles of flat river. The parallel road begins to climb to the right of a hill while the river snakes through to the left, entering the next gorge through little more than a crack. ½ a mile of class 5 rapid greets you on the other side and it gets noticeably harder before easing into class 4 for a further ½ mile and then flattening out as the gorge ends.

The final gorge is just under 2 miles down river. It contains one last class 4 section before the valley opens out and villages are scattered across the horizon. Most kayakers leave the river at this point as the whitewater excitement is over but if you have the time to appreciate the scenery, carry on down river to Ashu, where civilization, proper beds and a newly-built sauna await tired limbs.

For a complete contrast and rather more sedate paddling, take a trip instead to Lake Issyk-Kul, the jewel in Kyrgyzstan’s crown. The saline Issyk-Kul, second in size only to the Caspian Sea, is 430 miles in circumference and an incredible 3700 ft deep. Despite being more than 5200 ft above sea level, Issyk-Kul never freezes: it is heated from below by low-level volcanic activity. An 8-day trip will enable you to see almost all the lake has to offer – from Soviet sanatoria to wildlife and 2500 year old archaeological sites – but there are also a number of lake-side hotels offering kayaks to rent by the day.

Issyk-Kul is the one place in Kyrgyzstan that has significantly developed its Kyrgyzstan infrastructure so although you can take off on your own, it’s just as easy to rent a boat to follow your round and carry your belongings. The most popular route around the lake begins and ends on the pier at Prjevalsk bay at takes in the major coastal bays and towns as well as offering extended stretches of deep water kayaking. Although the lake itself has no white water, some 117 rivers and streams lead into the lake, providing ample opportunity for day-long excursions.

Getting to Kyrgyzstan is the first part of the challenge as there are no direct flights from the US or UK; services usually route via Moscow, Almaty (Kazakhstan) or Istanbul. A tourist visa can now be purchased on arrival, however, which is a real treat after the excessive red tape of neighboring states. Any international flight will come into Manas, the airport shared with the US army, on the outskirts of Kyrgyzstan’s capital, Bishkek, and it’s just a short drive to the city centre. If you have a command of basic Russian it will certainly help you to get around but if not, don’t fear: there are a number of English-speaking tourism agencies who can assist you with transport and basic accommodation as well as provide experienced guides. Avantour (www.avantour.com/kyrgyzstan) and Celestial Mountains (www.celestial.com.kg) are the most reliable and, although based in Bishkek, have a good network of guides, drivers and accommodation options across the country. The Canoe Kayak Federation of Kyrgyzstan (email canoe.kg@rambler.ru) can provide up to date information on organized trips, as can the team at Kayak USSR (www.kayakussr.com). The most recently updated (and comprehensive) travel guide to Kyrgyzstan, which includes sections on canoeing and rafting, is Kyrgyz Republic, published by Odyssey Illustrated Guides in July 2008. Sit down, have a read, have a look and prepare to go to the back of beyond in pursuit of the remotest, highest, visually stunning and physically challenging paddling to be found.

Watch for the Birdy

The story of Delhi’s Jain Bird Hospital begins, as all fairytales should, with a king in his palace in the East. The king, a follower of the Jain religion, is a pigeon fancier with a thousand birds, but one in particular has his heart: it is the most beautiful and most clever of all his pigeons. One day when the king is flying this favoured pigeon it is attacked by a hawk. The king is beside himself, distraught at the thought of losing his friend, and begs the hawk to take a piece of his own flesh in exchange for the life of the bird.

The story now moves inside the palace. The courtiers wait with baited breath as the king places his pigeon on one end of golden scales and then prepares to cut off his hand to balance the weight of the bird. Engrossed by the scene everyone watches on as the severed hand is laid on the scales, hoping that will be the end of the king’s ordeal, but the end is not yet in sight: the pigeon is too heavy and the scales do not balance.  

Panicked and fearing he will lose both his hand and his pigeon, the king looks around for his sword. Unease ripples through the spectators: what will happen next? Gritting his teeth the king raises his sword above his head and, with a single swipe, takes off his own leg. Bleeding profusely and suffering from excruciating pain he leans forwards and places his leg beside the hand on the scales. Still the scales do not balance. Determined, the king raises his sword again and, as the onlookers gasp in horror, plunges it into his chest, falling forward onto the scales. Finally, they balance and the bird is saved.

Fortunately for the birds of Delhi, the story does not end here, for the eagle is in fact a god in disguise. His attack on the pigeon was intended to test the king, to see how much he cared for all the living things in his kingdom, and to decide if he was fit to rule over them. The king’s willingness to sacrifice himself for the bird has exceeded even the god’s expectation and his reward is resurrection. The king is raised to life, his limbs restored, and his favourite pigeon returned to his grasp. The story provides guidance for followers of Jainism; just like the king they should care for all living things and protect in particular the birds that surround them.

The Jain Bird Hospital in Delhi’s Chandni Chowk was founded in 1956 and today has a capacity of 10,000 birds. 60-70 new patients are brought into the hospital each day by Jains and non-Jains alike and each bird is assessed by the hospital’s doctor before being given a designated cage. There are separate ‘wards’ for different types of birds and different illnesses, with separate areas for birds awaiting or recovering from surgery. The commonest patients are pigeons, doves, parrots and budgies but the hospital also cares for occasional peacocks and crows. The occasional golden eagle is even to be seen on the wards though due to their tendency to eat other patients they must be kept in solitary confinement.

Patients at the bird hospital can be loosely divided into three categories: those suffering from diseases (notably cancer, paralysis or blindness), accidents (in particular collisions with cars, ceiling fans and glass window panes) or malnutrition. Depending on their condition the birds can be given surgery, have broken wings and bones set and bandaged, or be administered antibiotics and other drugs. All of the patients are given a high-nutrient diet during their hospital stay and each Saturday birds that have sufficiently recovered are released from the hospital roof. The hospital boasts an admirable 75% recovery rate and also ensures that those birds that are not so fortunate are respectively cremated on the banks of the nearby Jamuna River.

The Jain Bird Hospital is funded entirely by private donations; it has such a dedicated following that, unlike other hospitals in India, it never goes short of money. The hospital is open to the pubic and so people do come regularly to visit ‘their bird’ once it has been admitted, contributing what they can towards its care and saying a prayer for its swift recovery in the neighbouring temple. The hospital is also open to visitors and the staff are keen to show off their work, drawing attention to interesting cases and charismatic patients alike. Their dedication, be it religiously inspired or a simple belief in the importance of helping the birds to a swift recovery, is admirable. The birds of Old Delhi are lucky birds indeed.

Bed Sharing in Song Kol

Hand on heart, I can honestly say that I have never before awoken in bed with five men. Neither had I nose-dived into a ditch so violently that the windscreen fell fully out of the car, nor filtered my morning tea through my teeth to keep the bits out. Kyrgyzstan was always going to be something out of the ordinary. 

Until forced settlement at the hands of Soviet Russia, the Kyrgyz people were nomads. In the twenty years since independence, a number of people have returned to the land, and a special few are willing to share their life with visitors. Two hours from the main road and equipped with neither running water nor electricity, the yurts (felt and animal skin tents) of the Kyrgyz nomads can hardly be described as 5* accommodation, but  a single night provides you with more insight into Kyrgyzstan’s history and culture than could be gained from a year in the capital, Bishkek. 

Yurt stays are organised by Community Based Tourism (CBT), a co-operative organisation which puts tourists in touch with local people. We booked our yurt by calling into the CBT office in Karakol and drove on with three backpackers in tow: public transport is decidedly erratic. We drove up into the mountains, heading for Lake Song Kol, where dinner, our yurt and nomadic family awaited us. The sunset dancing across the surface of the lake turned to inky darkness, and a thousand stars burst out brilliantly overhead.

Having spent ¾ of an hour driving aimlessly in the dark, completely unable to find a turn-off to our yurt, a elderly man driving a rusty Lada took pity on us and offered to show the way. Out of politeness I squashed into the passenger seat, forgetting for an instant the Kyrgyz penchants for drink driving. I wasn’t to forget for long. The Lada hurtled along like a thing possessed, bouncing across potholes, rocks and small streams and sliding sideways across slick patches of mud. In the bleary light of the headlamps barely anything was visible.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a mound of earth appeared to rear up in front of the car. The Lada hit it with a thud, the driver swore, and we plunged down the other side with a sickening crunch. Tiny shards of glass scattered across the dashboard and front seats before the entire windscreen collapsed out of its rotten frame, breaking further as it hit the bonnet. The engine spluttered, the headlamps sparked, and we were once again swallowed by the blanket of night. 

A short while later, now towing our guide and his invalid Lada behind our car, we pulled up at a semi-circle of yurts camped on the lakeside. Smoke and the smell of dinner cooking wafted from holes in the roofs across the grass, and half a dozen excited children came shrieking out to greet us. With the darkness had come an icy chill – winter was fast approaching – and so we were ushered inside almost as soon as we stepped out from the car.

A yurt is built in a circle around a fire. A wooden lattice around the walls supports a pointed roof, animal skin keeps it watertight, and thick layers of felt from the nomads’ own flocks keep winter winds at bay. We left our shoes at the door – you should always enter a Kyrgyz home barefoot – and sunk our toes into thick felt rugs and quilted blankets. At a low table in the center of the room, dinner was waiting: hot, oily soup with lamb and potato, freshly cooked unleavened bread with jam made from wild berries, and steaming green tea to wash it all down. Our hostess grinned as she served each dish, flashing her numerous gold teeth, a sign of wealth, in a wide open smile. 

When the final mouthful had been consumed, we lounged back on stacks of blankets, each one a patchwork of primary colors and geometric designs. Where the table had been, a bed was laid out with yet more stacks of rugs and quilts. It was not until the bed was nearly complete that I noticed its unusual shape: it was little over 6ft long, as one would expect, but a good 12ft in width! Realising the intended sleeping arrangements, my eyes skated around the room, taking in the horrified expressions of my fellow visitors. They were clearly not amused when I, the only girl in the room, took up my place at one end of the bed and began to hum the children’s song “There were ten in the bed and the little one said…”

A Matter of Life and Death: Observations on Varanasi

Varanasi clings to the bank of the holy Ganges, a river so wider that at this point you can barely see one bank from the other. They city’s heart beats around the whims of the river, the physical embodiment of the goddess Shakti. In the monsoon the water climbs frantically six or even eight metres above its regular height and the mud, silt and ashes it leaves behind take months to clear.

 

Whilst the mud and water may wreak havoc in the town, the river herself is seen as the ultimate purifier for the soul. Bathing here will wash away your sins and those who die or are cremated on the Ganges’ banks are guaranteed spiritual release from the endless cycle of rebirths known as reincarnation.

The sacredness of the spot makes Varanasi’s Manikarnika Ghat (river steps) India’s most sought-after cremation site. Bodies are bought from all over the country to be immersed in the river, blessed by the priests and then burnt on a sandalwood fire before having the ashes cast out onto the holy water. 

The cremation ghat itself is a strange mix of the intensely spiritual and, by western tastes at least, the slightly macabre. No attempt is made to shroud the feet sticking starkly out of the lines of small bonfires and, whilst priests recite prayers over the bodies of the deceased, stray cows and dogs graze among the ashes for whatever remains of the dead. The heat of the fires, intensified by aromatic oils and clarified butter, scorches the skin even from a distance and, whilst you can imagine the soul escaping the body along with the smoke, the ash of death in your hair, eyes and throat is a rather more chastening experience.

It is said that death is the great leveller but even here there are divisions. Only the outcastes of society may touch and move the bodies and women are entirely excluded from cremation rituals; their tears would only mar celebration of the soul’s final release. The rich will pay as much as Rs. 50,000 (£600) for a funeral pyre made entirely of sandalwood and doused in precious oils but others must make do with whatever fuel they can find. Holy men, pregnant women and children need not be burned at all; their souls are already considered pure and so the body can be simply taken out into the river, weighted down with a stone and left to make its way downstream.

A visit to Varanasi makes you think about your won perceptions of life and death, as well as the views of others. In Europe we have made death, and funeral rites in particular, private, almost sterile affairs which allow the living to retain a comfortable distance from what will ultimately confront us all. In stark contrast, standing quite literally face to face with the dead, watching them dissolve into ash before your eyes forces you to consider mortality and recognise the fragility of the human body. Once the soul has gone and the body is empty of life there is surprisingly little left of a person; the body has become simply an empty shell, ready to rejoin the earth, the ashes and the waters from which it came.

Photos C. Tracing Tea 2008

What Not to Eat

Travel brings with it many new culinary delights but, along the way, there will always be a few local ‘specialties’ guaranteed to make you sick, or wish you had been just to get the damn thing out of your system. Read on for the top (or, perhaps, bottom) ten things to avoid consuming whilst on the road.

Goat Brain

Curry disguises all manner of things, but if in India or Pakistan you’re presented with something grayish yellow that smells like bad offal and has the texture of scrambled eggs, it’s quite likely you’re being served up goat brain. No amount of chili will make it edible as the lumps stick in your throat, the smell lingers in your nose, and you’ll wake up from nightmares convinced you have scrapie.

Grasshoppers and Crickets

For reasons unknown, several countries seem to have a passion for deep-fried creepy crawlies, especially ones with wings. In the Philippines beware of the not-so-tasty fried cricket bar snacks after you’ve had a couple of beers, and in Mexico steer well clear of salted chapulines- they’re grasshoppers with the crunchy legs, wings and eyes intact.

Kumis

Oh, the joys of kumis. Close your eyes. Remember the contents of your student fridge, the smell of milk three months old. Would you take a sip? Kumis, a particular favorite of the Kyrgyz people in Central Asia, is a drink made from fermented (i.e. gone off) mares’ milk. Milk should not be fizzy. Nor should it be rancid in smell and taste. Leave horse milk to foals, and certainly don’t let it sit around in the sun.

Tripe

Tripe is a key component of dog food. It is made from the stomach lining of cows or sheep and, when removed from the animal, regularly contains vestiges of the creature’s last supper. There are an alarmingly large number of places where this yellow-white glandular tissue makes it onto the menu, despite the fact that it requires 2-3 hours of slow cooking to get it to a stage where it can be digested by a human. One has to ask, why bother?

Grubs

Grubs are larvae, and larvae turn into caterpillars, frogs, wasps and flies. If you’re really luck, your grub may even mature into a barnacle or beetle. The Maoris may try to convince you their hu-hu grubs taste like chicken and the Koreans think eating silk worm grubs is healthy but I only have one thing to say: sometimes it’s a good idea to engage your brain before opening your mouth.

Snake Blood

Think you might be lacking in sexual prowess? How about fixing the problem with a nice pint of snake blood? Purportedly harvested from the King Cobra, you can enjoy this in Thailand straight or as a mixer in a cocktail, and pay up to $200 US for the privilege. If you do manage to find someone to sleep with having drunk this down and told them about it, get out while you still can and run hard.

Baby Mouse Wine

If the name isn’t enough to put you off, one look at the bottle certainly ought to. In a liter of Chinese rice wine you’ll see four to five tiny mouse corpses, each drowned in the liquid, poised as if attempting to swim to the surface. The base alcohol is rough, tasting the way gasoline smells, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, the mice do nothing to improve it in any way, shape or form.

Surstromming / Raake Orret

The Swedes and the Norwegians live in developed countries and can certainly afford refrigerators. Quite why, then, they allow their herrings to rot before eating them is beyond me. Fish are placed in a barrel with small quantities of sugar and salt and then left in the garage for a number of months until the mixture has fermented. The barrel cannot be opened indoors, so pungent is the smell, and the juice from the fish instantly attracts flies. It is potentially poisonous if the wrong bacteria contaminates the food.

Squirrel Brain

What is it about the brains of animals that invites people to just tuck in? You cook the head with the rest of the body and then, using a small spoon, crack open the skull and scoop out the soft stuff. I’m not convinced that the calorie content of the meal outweighs the energy expended catching enough squirrels to make a squirrel brain supper.

Breast Milk

Feeling homesick? Missing Mama? Head to Changsha in Hunan Province, China and enjoy a meal cooked in, you’ve guessed it, human breast milk. The locals claim dishes prepared in this way are not only tasty but enable you to “experience maternal love” while you eat. Controversy was recently sparked in the UK press when a Covent Garden ice cream parlour started selling a flavour called Baby Gaga - breast milk ice cream. You needn't go far to find it. If you haven’t yet been weaned, world travel is probably not the thing for you. Stay safe, stay home, and stick to your own mother’s milk.

An Oriental Obsession: How the tea trade influenced European design

“That excellent, and by all physicians approved, China drink, called by the Chineans Tcha, by other nations Tay, alias Tee, is sold at the Sultaness Head Coffee-House, in Sweeting's Rents… It helpeth the headache, giddiness and heaviness thereof. It removeth the obstructions of the spleen...It prevents and cures agues, surfeits, and fevers by infusing a fit quantity of the leaf; thereby provoking a most gentle vomit and breathing of the pores, and hath been given with wonderful success….It is good for colds, dropsies, and scutvies, and expelleth infection.”                                                     
                                    Advert by Thomas Garraway in the Mercurious Politicus, 1658

When tea arrived in London in the 1650s it was heralded as a miracle cure-all, brought from exotic lands at the far ends of the earth to be the salvation of the English man. What Garraway and his contemporaries could not have anticipated was that their bitter tasting health drink would become an international phenomenon, influencing aspects of life from architecture to technology, dress-making and the decorative arts to theological debate. While a great deal of work has been done on the social impact of tea drinking and its impact on public health, very little has been done on the wider influence of the tea trade on European fashions.

Tea as a commodity is very light so additional cargoes had to be carried as ballast on the ships that brought the tea from Canton and around the Cape of Good Hope to Europe. The most obvious choice was Chinese porcelain which, in the form of tea sets and dinner services, was the perfect accompaniment to shipments of tea. Porcelain was much admired for its strength, fineness and beautiful glazes but the secret of its manufacture was closely guarded by the Chinese. From the time of Marco Polo rumours had abounded of its supposed ingredients – egg shells and bones to name but two – and the techniques required to make it, but it would not be until 1709 that Europeans mastered porcelain making for themselves. In the meantime porcelain, or ‘chinaware’ as it was more commonly called, could only be acquired from direct China.

Chinaware, as with tea, was a great hit amongst society figures in London, Paris and Amsterdam, so much so that in 1659 alone 56,7000 pieces were ordered to be shipped to Holland. European customers had certain expectations for their new Chinese goods: they should be in a supposedly Chinese style but still appealing to European tastes. Chinoiserie was born. Where Chinese factories led the way producing new designs to appeal to the European market, European sprung up in Meissen, Delft, and Stafford, painting their porcelain and similar wares with scenes of an idealised China. The blue and white Willow pattern, inspired by a non-existent Chinese prototype, became an instant hit and made its way into fashionable homes everywhere.

Chinese porcelain and pieces in a Chinese style were considered the height of sophistication and so had to be displayed for all to see. Lacquered cabinets, bamboo dressers and furniture painted with exotic scenes and oriental figures were considered the perfect way to show off chinaware and so, as with the porcelain itself, both the import of Chinese originals and the production of European imitations increased.

Drinking Chinese tea from a Chinese tea set and sat upon supposedly Chinese furniture, it is hardly a surprise that the next step was to be the Chinese room so that one might have the complete, ‘authentic’ Chinese experience. Wallpaper featuring Chinese scenes, not dissimilar to those in the willow pattern, were widely produced, oriental silks hung from the windows and covered furniture, and woodblock prints and watercolours finished off the oriental look. The most famous rooms of this kind still in existence are the Chinese House at Potsdam, and the Brighton Pavilion, the epitome of the Chinoiserie style.

Two factors led the Chinoiserie style to spread outdoors across fashionable parklands and gardens. Firstly, both the wealthy and their garden designers felt an urge to recreate at home the oriental scenes with which they had become so familiar. The pagoda in Kew Gardens is perhaps the most famous example of Chinese buildings being transposed into a very European context although, perhaps more entertaining, is the suggestions of one Sir George Sitwell  that all of the cows on his estate be stencilled with a blue Chinese pattern so that they complement his many garden works and follies. Much to the disappointment of Sir George, the animals in question refused to oblige and he was forced to abandon the scheme. Secondly, unlike coffee, tea was seen to be a drink for all the family. Neither pubs nor coffee houses were fit places for respectable women and children to assemble and so purpose-built tea gardens were built so that tea may be enjoyed in suitable, oriental-themed surroundings. The Vauxhall Tea Garden was opened to the public in the late 17^th century and was one of London’s most popular attractions for nearly 200 years. Guests paid a small entrance fee and were treated to concerts, dances and theatrical performances, as well as the perfect environment to socialise.

Whether hosting a tea party at home or visiting a city tea garden, meeting over tea was the perfect opportunity for a society woman to reveal her affluence and taste to her contemporaries. Tea gowns made of chintz – hand-painted Indian calico – were a popular choice, as were oriental-inspired outfits such as silk kimonos. The latter were inevitably accessorised with fans, gloves and chop sticks to complete the look. These eccentric outfits caught the attention of artists such as Monet, Whistler and Degas, who were inspired by the colours and textures of the clothes but also by the exoticism they represented in the East. Whistler’s 1864 painting La Princess du Pays de Porcelaine reveals how fascination with the Orient had become entrenched in Europe’s fine art as well craftsmanship and flights of fancy. 

   
 

Stinking Bishop and the Curworthy Baby

Visiting Bath should be a chance to fulfil fantasies of being Jane Austen or, perhaps, even a Roman Centurion. It isn’t. Coach-loads of tourists recall the nightmare of school trips. If you want to see the essence of the city and escape the souvenir shops and touts, run hard from the tourist hotspots and hunt down some culinary highlights instead.

Start your tour with the most English of beverages - a cup of hot tea at the English Tea House Emporium on New Bond Street. The street-level shop is stacked floor to ceiling with cadies of teas from around the world and it feels like being inside an apothecaries. A very narrow spiral staircase takes you down to vaulted cellars where knowledgeable owners will brew you up anything from an English Breakfast to a pungent smoked tea.

Hopefully refreshed, you should now head into the myriad of pedestrianised alleyways that run perpendicular to the high street. When they were first built, these back streets would have teamed with scullery maids and footmen, barrow boys and pickpockets – a far cry from the world of Bath’s gentility. Amongst the boutiques and curiosity shops, keep your eyes peeled for the Bath Sausage Shop on Green Street, a firm-favourite with television chef Delia Smith. Don’t miss unusual recipes such as duck and mango or pork, prune and cognac. Fancy a sausage pancake? This is the place to get it. 

At first glance, Oil and Vinegar on Milsom Place could easily be mistaken for a chemistry lab. Garishly coloured liquids in glass bottles and distillation jars fill the window and you purchase each liquid by volume. The back wall is stacked high with wooden barrels of oils and homemade liquors, and on each counter ledge is something new to dip and try.

When lunchtime calls, it’s time to head to the Fine Cheese Co. on Walcott Street. Regularly proclaimed in newspapers as the best cheese shop in Britain, there is something for even the most demanding of cheese aficionados. Many of the locally produced cheeses have entertaining names, from the Chaucer-inspired ‘Wife of Bath’, to the appropriately pongy ‘Stinking Bishop’ and the slightly confusing ‘Curworthy Baby’. The next-door delicatessen café serves all the cheese you could wish for, as well as homemade breads, hand-cured meats, and organic chutneys and relishes. 

You’ll probably be staggering by this point, so wander slowly downhill towards the Pultney Bridge, one of the few shop-lined bridges still existing in the UK. The towpath under the bridge takes you past brightly painted canal boats and the Victorian pleasure gardening, from where you can cut through to the back of the Roman Baths, hidden behind a Georgian façade. The Georgians flocked here to enjoy the health benefits of Bath’s natural springs. Although you too can have a glass of the famous, mineral-rich water in the Georgian Pump Rooms, try to avoid it: it tastes mostly of sulphur.

There are two reasons to visit the Pump Rooms: the first is to get an almost birds-eye view of the Roman remains without the crowd of school kids, and the second is to tuck in to a traditional afternoon tea. Tiny triangles of sandwiches, delicate pastries and miniature scones arrive on a tiered silver platter whilst a string quartet or pianist carry on in the corner.

Last stop on your gastro tour is Sub 13 at the top of town in the Edgar Buildings. Happy hour(s) run from 5-8pm and, as you descend down steps and deep into the hillside, it feels like you’re entering a medieval tavern. The ceilings and light and low, and numerous inter-linked cellars have an intimate feel. We enjoyed English Garden cocktails, the flavour of vodka, cucumber, elderflower and mint somehow perfectly suited to this most charming of English cities.

Back in the USSR: Introducing Kyrgyzstan

Kyrgyzstan is a country with a distinctly split personality. High altitude gold mines, Lexus 4x4s and brash Russian lake resorts appear to herald a Las Vegas of the steppe, but they stand side by side with nomads in yurts, un-spoilt landscapes, and the genetic descendants of Genghis Khan. This eclectic mix makes it hard to pin down a single national identity for Kyrgyzstan, but ensure it is a fascinating destination for those willing to make the trip.

We first arrived in Kyrgyzstan almost by accident, becoming stranded in the capital, Bishkek, after particularly heavy snowfall. 93% of the country is mountainous and, in places, the snow never melts. Bishkek, however, usually enjoys slightly warmer climes and its partly for that reason that the city has been able to grow from a tiny 19^th century Russian garrison town into a buzzing metropolis today. Although geographically to the north of Kyrgyzstan, Bishkek is very much the country’s heart: economically, politically and culturally, almost everything is centered around the capital.

Its in Bishkek that Kyrgyzstan’s Russian side is most clearly evident. The Bolshevik military leader, Mikhail Frunze, was born here, the capital used to be named in his honour, and a street and museum still bears his name. Statues of Marx and Lenin are noticeably more conspicuous than in other post-Soviet states, and a visit to the State Historical Museum will introduce you to a fabulous Cold War relic: a cowboy clad in stars and stripes, riding high on a Pershing missile. For those with an interest in high-culture, the National Opera House, built prior to the Russian Revolution, is housed in a charming neo-classical building and hosts regular performances of opera and ballet by local and visiting troupes.

When the weekend comes, Kyrgyzstan’s elite head out west to join Russian and Kazakh tourists in resorts on the shores of Lake Issyk Kul. This volcanically heated lake is the second largest alpine lake in the world (after Lake Titicaca), and during the long summer the beaches are packed with beautiful bodies sunning themselves: think of it as Central Asia’s Monaco. If sunbathing isn’t your thing, you can befriend an oligarch with a gin palace, climb onboard a banana boat  or even go hunting for the remains of Soviet torpedoes and ancient cities buried beneath the waves.

Kyrgyzstan’s second side is distinctly quieter: it lacks the bling and the noise but, in spite of that, it is all the more enthralling. Wide open landscapes, unclimbed peaks and pristine glaciers beckon those prepared to leave the roads and continue on foot or on horseback. You won’t find a single hotel here: your hosts are the nomads in their tents, villagers in single-storey houses, and, if you choose to camp, the hillsides themselves. This is an ancient land, traversed by pilgrims, traders and travelers for thousands of years. When you climb into the mountains, you leave the present behind you and see the legacy of those who have gone before: pagan shrines with flags and goat skulls, Buddhist rock carvings, and distant look-out posts.

To understand the traditional spirit of Kyrgyzstan, you should look no further than a horse. The Kyrgyz say that a horse is the soul of a man and that it can carry him up into the heavens. Children can ride as soon as they can walk, and adrenalin-fuelled displays of horsemanship will garner a man respect. Whether you’re a Grand National winning jockey or a complete novice, you should take to the saddle for a few days, go well beyond the beaten track, and get up close and personal with nature. The mountains loom overhead, golden eagles soar, and snow leopards, Marco Polo sheep and ibex stalk the passes. There are no creature comforts up here, so bathe in the thermal springs and sleep each night on a pile of rugs in a round felt yurt, the traditional nomadic tent. The physical exertion may tire your body, but the peacefulness  revitalizes mind and soul.

Kyrgyzstan is yet to fully open up to tourism, and this is its beauty. The terrain is pristine, the people genuinely hospitable, and you won’t compete for space with tour buses and school groups. Now is the time to go, however, as things are set to change. Relative political and economic stability is attracting attention and investment from China and Russia, not to mention western powers. Multi-million dollar plans for ski resorts, shopping malls and super casinos loom large on the horizon and, although they may fit with some aspects of Kyrgyzstan, they risk engulfing the other parts altogether. Pack up your boots and phrasebook, and get on the plane.

Photos C. Tracing Tea 2008-2010

 

The gastro guide to Kolkata

Arriving in Kolkata for the first time I was told that Bengalis care for only three things: food, educating their children, and food. To try and understand the city you must adopt the same Bengali mindset, tasting and savouring bite by bite everything that Kolkata has to offer, and prioritising gastronomy above all else.

Most of Kolkata eats on the street, so this is the perfect place to start. Mid morning in the roads around Dalhousie Square and the High Court, tiny stalls barely wider than a man begin to appear, their owners frying and roasting snacks for the endless stream of hungry office workers. Traffic grinds to a halt to accommodate the milling crowd who loiter to chat as they eat spiced chickpeas, freshly made samosas and patties, hakka noodles and infinite cups of sickly sweet chai. Kolkata once had an influential Chinese population and so far eastern treats make their appearance alongside the more traditional Indian fare. The rest of India may depend on its tiffin to get through the day, but here food from home does not even get a look in; why would it when such a varied, fresh and cheap display is on offer? You can have a little of whatever you most fancy whenever it best suits you.

Brunch merges unnoticed into lunch and then to teatime once again. The chai wallahs do a roaring trade, each boiling up his own secret combination of cardamom and cinnamon, pepper and nutmeg, saffron and aniseed with the tea, milk and sugar. The resulting brew, whichever stall it comes from, is satisfyingly thick, coating the lips, tongue and teeth with every sip. As if it weren’t sweet enough already, it is accompanied by sweets: bobbly, orange ladoos crumbling between your fingers, small, dense squares of pistachio barfi, round white rasgullas dripping with sugar syrup and, best of all, the deep fried swirls of jalebis, still warm inside their sticky, honey-like shell. 

Shortly after four the office babus begin to pour out again onto the streets, this time heading for home. However long or short the journey it must be routed via Jagu Bazaar or New Market to ensure the freshest fish and vegetables are brought home for the evening meal. The choice of ingredients will determine the recipe the wife at home must cook; she is at the tender mercy of her husband’s gastronomic whims. 

 

Chicken is a relatively recent introduction to Bengali cuisine; the centre of the meal is almost always fish not meat. Located at the point where the magnificent Ganges River leaps out into the Bay of Bengal, Kolkata’s menu is no doubt dictated by her place in the world, and the result is a delight to behold. Each ghat along the Hooghly River is crowded with small boats and nets. Fish and shell fish of every shape, colour and size gleam on the fishmongers’ tables; competition for the best of the fishermen’s catch is fierce. Prawns the size of a forearm compete for attention with live sardines, small jumping fish and marine beasts best measured in feet not inches. But the fish which rises above them all in the eyes of Bengal is the Hilsa, whose dense white meat is in such demand that local stocks cannot suffice; Bangladesh’s rivers must also contribute to satisfy Kolkata’s cravings. Fried with just a few simple spices the flavour of the fish must speak for itself, the infinite tiny bones the most minor distraction from the enjoyment of the Hilsa’s taste, smell and texture.

In the last few years, Oh! Calcutta has become the gastronomic gathering place for Kolkata locals and well-informed visitors alike. The chain has a number of outlets dotted across the city and serving a rainbow of delicacies, from succulent fish steamed in banana leaves to old-fashioned Railway Curry with its aroma of an Empire past. The restaurants’ sophisticated atmosphere contrasts with the low-profile chaos of the street stalls but the customers of both share two things in common: a love of their food and a desire to share their passion. Wherever you eat in Kolkata you can be sure of eating like a king.

Photos C. Tracing Tea 2008

   

24 Hours in Kolkata

10.00   Nothing in Kolkata happens early so start your day with the city’s bureaucrats breakfasting on their way to work. The street stalls around the High Court and Dalhousie Square have a fabulous variety of snacks – from samosas and noodles to sickly-sweet ladoos, and while you’re there you can also check out the Town Hall, an exact copy of the one in Ypres.

11.00   Take a walk around the corner to St. John’s Church (Netaji Subhas Road) – a little piece of 18^th century London in the heart of the city. The curator is understandably proud of his newly renovated church and its colonial history while the surrounding churchyard has a welcome atmosphere of surprising calm.

12.30   Down by the river grab freshly fried fish from the morning’s catch before taking a boat out on the Hooghly. Kolkata’s colonial past, its mansions and warehouses, will be laid out before you along with evidence of more modern industries. If you’re in luck you may catch a peak of the endangered Ganges River Dolphin or see the immersion of clay statues of gods and demons. 

14.30   A visit to Kolkata could not be complete without an hour or so in the Victoria Memorial, the elaborate white marble edifice that holds sway over the centre of the city. Horse-drawn carriages bedecked in silver foil and flowers transport lovers and tourists alike whilst endless picnics and games of cricket take place on the neighbouring maidan.

16.30   Mid afternoon demands tea at Flurys (Park Street), Kolkata’s most famous patisserie. The chocolate muddy fudge comes highly recommended as does the people watching either side of the sheet glass windows.

17.30   Bengalis live for their food so whet your appetite and head into Jagu Babu Bazaar to see a fascinating array of local produce, fragrant spices in every colour and the largest prawns you’ve ever encountered. The dexterity of the fishmongers is outstanding and, although you may never eat chicken again, the fresh fish displays will have your mouth watering uncontrollably.

19.00   Oh! Calcutta (Forum Mall, Elgin Road) is packed night on night with well-heeled locals and offers up some of the best Bengali food around. Don’t miss the Hilsa, the delicately flavoured white fish that is Kolkata’s undisputed favourite, or the warm, soft breads that accompany it.

21.00   End the night at one of Kolkata’s numerous clubs, drinking G&T and fantasising about bygone days of the British Empire. The Calcutta Club, Bengal Club and Tollygunge Club all have fantastic colonial-era buildings, lively and well-stocked bars and an enthusiastic clientele. Join in the party and stay on until the early hours.

Photos C. Tracing Tea 2008

 

The Price of Tea

The Darjeeling district of West Bengal clings to the southern slopes of the Himalayas, nestled between Nepal, Bangladesh and India. Best known for the 10,000 tonnes of premium grade tea it produces each year, the region is wholly dependent on the tea industry for survival. Tea production comes at a high environmental price, however, and new strategies are required to protect the hillsides, forests and fauna from destruction. Numbers of red pandas, snow leopards, Himalayan black bears, Tibetan wolves, deer, wild dogs and civet are all declining due to deforestation and the encroachment of man.

There are over 90 tea estates in Darjeeling with some 22,000 hectares of land under tea cultivation. Commercial planting began in Darjeeling in 1841 with plants introduced from China, and since then large areas of virgin rainforest have been cleared to expand the tea plantations. Tea can be grown up to 7000 ft and terracing is widely used to maximise space on the hillsides and provide tea pickers with easy access to the bushes. The removal of tree cover and preference for terraced estates would not be such a problem if it were not for the fact that Darjeeling receives an annual rainfall of 110.9 inches. Almost a third of this falls in July alone, taking with it the top soil and causing devastating land slips. Not only does this wipe out fields of tea but also homes, roads and wildlife habitats. The desire to increase cultivation is in fact threatening the very survival of the hillsides that support the tea industry. 

The only way to stem the destruction of habitats in Darjeeling is to take a wider, more ‘holistic’ view of how a tea estate should be run; financial gain cannot be the sole priority if the industry is to survive in Darjeeling long-term. Rajah Banerjee, owner of the Makaibari Tea Estate, is spearheading a new approach to tea production and has made a name for himself across the subcontinent (and further afield) as one of India’s ‘Green Heroes’. Rajah runs Makaibari in accordance with the principles of bio-dynamism, believing that healthy soil, diverse flora and fauna, a satisfied community and high-quality crop production go hand in hand.

When he took control of the estate in the 1970s the first thing that Rajah did was to stop the clearing of trees for the expansion of tea planting. Today 2/3 of the 1574 acre estate is still under virgin rainforest, which provides habitats for wildlife including endangered snow leopards, red pandas and wolves, and helps keep the hillside intact; not a single landslip is visible in Makaibari in stark contrast with neighbouring estates. The rainforest provides a diverse and regular supply of vegetable matters that can be spread as mulch between the tea plants.  The ground between the tea plants is never weeded (a practice known as perma-culture) and so they break down with the added mulch into a compost rich in minerals, it protects the soil underneath from the assault of wind and rain, and it also provides a fertile breeding ground for insects. A giant earthworm unseen for the past 120 years has made its reappearance in Makaibari’s soils, and the Tea Deva, a variant of the Preying Mantis that is camouflaged to accurately imitate a tea leaf, has evolved on the estate. 

Makaibari’s workers, all of whom are stakeholder partners in the estate, are encouraged to take individual responsibility for their environment. Instead of stripping the forests for firewood each family cares for a cow, whose manure is added to biogas converters to provide fuel for cooking and can also be spread on vegetable gardens as fertiliser. Workers are given financial incentives to bring live specimens of rare insects and invertebrates to the attention of management so that they can be examined by experts before re-release back into the estate. This has allowed study to take place of breeding habits, preferred habitats, population numbers and so on. 

Rajah and his workers encourage diversity of organisms at Makaibari by using only organic fertilisers and no pesticides. The estate was the first in Darjeeling to be certified as organic (1988) and since then many others have followed in their tracks, recognising the appeal of organic farming to consumers and also its importance for good environmental practice. The alternative fertilisers used on Makaibari are all recommended in the theories of Rudolf Steiner, an Austrian Philosopher challenged to rejuvenate Europe’s soils after the ravages of WWI. They include cow manure, a not uncommon choice for a natural fertiliser, but also more unconventional products such as ground quartz, oak bark, cow horns and stag bladders. Whatever the theoretical reasons behind their use, on the Makaibari estate this unorthodox approach is certainly paying dividends: a Makaibari white tea has held the world record price for tea sold at auction ever since 2006 and soil samples taken on the estate have shown higher nitrate levels and greater biodiversity than anywhere else in Darjeeling. 

Photos C. Tracing Tea 2008

  

Digital publishing: The deathnell for books?

Author Bijan Omrani once told me that you should buy books as if you were an immortal, and, looking around the living room (not to mention the bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen and every other room in the flat with available wall space), it certainly looks as though we've taken this advice to heart. There is a distinct pleasure to the tangibility of books, and their presence is reassuring.

Even in my book-loving world, however, the hallowed status of books is not-so-gently being challenged. The digital revolution steals onwards with stealth and speed, culminating in the last fortnight with a selection of events and comments that have made me think hard about where publishing is actually going.

• I went home to visit my parents for the weekend and, before lunch, sat out on the patio reading. My mother, a former leading literacy teacher, book club member and avid reader, was glued to her Kindle, my brother was devouring Frankenstein (Frankenstein) on his Ipad, and I was speeding through The Great Gatsby (The Great Gatsby) on a second Kindle. There was not a physical book in sight, but at least two out of the three of us were sinking our teeth into classic novels we'd have been unlikely to buy in a book shop. 
• Max, Bijan and I had a lengthy discussion about the financial advantages of digital self-publishing for authors. The returns, we decided, were significantly better than when working for a traditional print publisher and, providing the difficulties of marketing one's own products could be overcome, print books may one day be used solely for fine art works and vanity publishing. Bijan will shortly be publishing a Kindle edition of his acclaimed book Afghanistan: A Companion and Guide (Afghanistan: A Companion and Guide (Second Edition) (Odyssey Illustrated Guides)) to put this theory to the test.
• Train journeys and flights are notoriously boring and if, like me, you tend to read quite quickly, your bag quickly fills with books, leaving little room for clothes and other essentials. On my last trip I took the brave step of leaving all books behind and traveling only with my trusty Kindle. The Great Gatsby now complete, I devoured The Book Thief (The Book Thief - enthralling book), Life of Pi (Life of Pi - very overrated)and a fair hunk of Dorian Gray (The Picture of Dorian Gray - a classic but hardly fast-moving) in a single 24-hour period. And, for a change, there was still place for a jumper and toothbrush.
• At a meeting of the editorial board for the journal Asian Affairs, we talked at length about the changing forms of subscription to the journal and how to better reach our target market. It appears that the vast majority of journal subscribers now subscribe to a digital service rather than a paper copy, and that readers are keen to pay for and download a single article (having read the initial abstract) rather than a complete issue.
• As an experiment (and given that much of my writing sits on my hard-disk undistributed), I registered an Amazon e-publishing account and trawled through the pages of instructions about how to format and upload a Kindle-compatible e-book. Although one or two things still have me stumped (specifically how to put each entry of my contents page or bibliography on a new line without the software automatically deciding I want a new paragraph and consequently indenting the text), the whole process is relatively straightforward: certainly more so than the rigmarole of preparing a print text (see my previous blog on the Bradt guide to Kazakhstan!). A few hours later, with text now more or less aligned and the numerous pictures integrated, my dissertation on the development of portraiture at the Mughal court (and specifically its use as a tool to promote imperial ideology) was uploaded, approved, and for sale. It really was as easy as that and here's the link to prove it (Mughal Painting and the Development of Imperial Portraiture 1526-1707).  

It is, of course, now time for me to sum up and give an enlightened conclusion. That's not going to happen, because I think the direction that publishing is taking is actually quite clear and there is little I can say to add. We retain a sentimental attachment to our books, in part because we've grown up with them, but there are few people who can genuinely say that digital books are not a more practical option. When one day I have children, I am certain that they will grow attached not to the physical pages of a paperback but to the multitude of stories that can be shared with them at the press of a single button. My gift to them may not be books, but it will be a library nonetheless.