A Steppe in the Wrong Direction

***I apologize in advance for the lack of pictures for this section… I’ll try harder with word pictures for you…***

Heads hung low, we crawled into bed, even more exhausted, now from cross-country marathon road tripping, a wonderful, yet very emotional graduation ceremony, and now impending doom with a broken down car.

Our oldest two kids needed to be at the airport the next night for a 3 AM flight, and to come up with a reliable taxi on such short notice was asking for the impossible; but we have a God who loves to deliver just that. So first thing in the morning, while Mike set to work on finding out what was wrong, I started making phone calls to various friends who live in the Big City. It came down to 3 options: 1 was busy and couldn’t, another didn’t want to try to find a new house in the dark and wouldn’t, and the last said it was too short of notice and shouldn’t – but would. So, we had a ride lined up; one miracle delivered.


After spending the entire morning getting more greasy than the local food around here, Mike determined that an engine bearing had broken, causing the pulley to slip out of place which made the engine fan and A/C belt a whole 2 inches out of place. Now we knew why the A/C had stopped working, and why the engine made a banshee scream the next time it was started. It was more than he could fix on his own. The “evacuator”, which is what a tow truck is called here, came around 4:00 and towed it to a shop that had been recommended. They promised that it would be ready by late afternoon the next day. Now we’d just have to wait.



That night, I went in with the kids to the airport. Security wasn’t going to let me through, but I whined a little, and told them that they were traveling alone, and that I had bought the tickets with MY credit card, blah, blah, blah. I’m sure the fact that I spoke Blankistani helped more than a little. Easy-peasy check-in, bags within weight limits, a quick hug and kiss, and a few more tears, I left with a lump in my throat. Another good-bye; a whole summer without those smiling faces. For those who’ve already done the “send off to college thing”, I now “get it”. For those of you who haven’t yet, brace yourselves.



Next day, I could sense that our host was needing his space. They have been through some VERY stressful, potentially life-changing carp the last few weeks (the wife hit a pedestrian and was losing her license, and the their 3 year old developed a swollen knee that is most likely turning out to be juvenile arthritis) and to have us around, overstaying our intended hostelling, was wearing on his nerves. He was VERY gracious, but you know when you get that vibe of “I’m done”. We started the decision making process of, “Do we go to the warzone, or do we hang out at a craptastic place around here”? As you all know, days before we left our city, basically a war (much more on this later) broke out in Kyrgyzstan. Mike thought things needed time to settle down before we waltzed on in and made ourselves comfy on the beaches of Lake Issyk-Kyl. Turns out, that wasn’t’ necessary, and in hindsight we should have gone on down. But my motto: Better to be safe, than sorry.



True to their word, the car was ready by 3:00 or so, and after shelling out $300 for them to fix whatever they needed to fix, we hastily packed up and got the heck outta Dodge. A quick stop at a market, we loaded up on all kinds of emergency foods. You never know when you’ll have to provide your own victuals.

A decent place was recommended to us, so we headed there. We were told it’d be about $50 a night for all of us. So we show up, and it’s gorgeous! We loved it! Problem was it was $50 for ONE room. On the WEEKEND. We needed 2, and it was NOT a weekend. We could not justify $150 for a night. However the restaurant was lovely, so we stayed for dinner while we formulated Plan B.




The only place to go was up--- up the mountain some more. To a place we’d been to before. Which was marginal at best. By now it was dark, and the guard came out and told us it’s a no-go. There were camps all week for youth, and they were not accepting other guests. Hmmmm… okay, up further. Next stop the (translated) “Apple Mountain” Sanatoria.

How do I describe a “sanatoria”? In Soviet times the “Sanatoria” were places that overworked commoners went to recover after the Soviet regime pushed them too hard with 12 hour, 6 day weeks. They would basically burn their workers out to the point of illness, then sent them to these places for barbaric treatments that included shock therapy, Russian massage, banya (google that one), and a regimen that swerved not ONE minute off schedule. They were given porridge in the morning, soup, bread and cabbage salad in the afternoon, and a lighter meal in the evening. At precisely 10:00 they consumed a glass of buttermilk with 2 cookies and sent to bed. Period. The doctors recorded your temperature at various times throughout the day, took the water temperature of the pool you dipped in during your sauna time, and gave massive amounts of injections in your hind end- so much so, that most (that we have talked to) could not walk out of the place when done.




Now, most of these facilities have now been privatized and are turning into quite nice places for citizens to come and rest the real way. They are quite often in the mountains, and many come to ski, hike take saunas, sleep, play ping-pong, etc… But some have terrible managers, and have not been upgraded ONE LITTLE BIT. The Apple Mountain is one of those….