Some people think that I am a ‘great traveller’, but this is really not the case: I have barely set foot in a dozen different countries, once you take out the ones where I just changed flights or sat in a plane on the tarmac. But I have lived abroad more than most people I have met: somewhere between three and four years, once you tot it all up (much closer to three, if we’re honest). And one of the questions which comes up most often when this topic arises is ‘Why on earth did you go to Kyrgyzstan?’
Perhaps I should elaborate a bit on that. Whoever I’m talking to will wrinkle their brow as if they have encountered something deeply mystifying, perhaps even not susceptible to reason (they will probably not look at me and just stare off into space, as if seeking cosmic wisdom). And then they will say, in a tone of voice that suggests that this is a question without an acceptable answer, ‘Why on earth did you go to Kyrgyzstan?’
The glib answer I sometimes give is that I enjoy playing Scrabble and how could I pass up the chance of seeing a country worth 30 points even without multipliers? The more measured answer is that – well, maybe it’s the fault of the Eurovision Song Contest. Permit me to explain.
In the first half of 2008 I was living in the city of Bari, in south-east Italy, and to be honest while the job was pleasant it had not turned out quite as planned and (contrary to the hopes of my employers) I was planning on moving on. Part of my weekly routine there was to stumble the mile or two to the nearest internet cafe every Saturday morning and catch up on the previous week’s episode of a popular BBC TV fantasy programme (yes, it may only have been ten years ago, but it feels like another world, doesn’t it). Except that this particular week, or to be exact the previous particular week, Eurovision had occurred, messing with the usual schedule, and my normal Saturday morning entertainment had not been available to upload to YouTube or whatever. This left a gap in the schedule and so it seemed like a good time to contemplate the next job, following the stint at a summer school in Oxford which I’d already lined up.
At this point I was still relatively fresh from fifteen very happy months in Chiba, just east of Tokyo, and was coming to the end of a six month stint in Italy. Whatever else you care to say about Japan and Italy, these are not nations with an image or branding problem – everyone knows sushi and pizza, Japanese movies and Italian opera. When you go to one of these places you know what to expect; you may indeed have very specific goals and expectations. And I fancied something a bit different, a leap off the edge of the map, as it were.
So, as was my SOP at the time, I went to a leading recruitment site for my industry and checked out the current options, discarding the ones which excluded someone at my level of experience and qualification, with a particular view to those which were slightly off the beaten track. And I ended up with five countries on my list. Now, time has passed and I have basically forgotten precisely what one of them was, but let’s skip over that and make something up. On the list were:
Mexico (17 points without multipliers) – Staff needed at the University of Oaxaca (15 points). Pros: get to be called ‘Professor’ at work. Cons: the university was apparently six hours from anywhere, and I would need to find my own accommodation, in Spanish. My interest quickly cooled, which was just as well as I seem to recall Bird Flu turning up in Oaxaca about the time I would have arrived there.
Sri Lanka (12 points) – Small private outfit on the south coast; not far from Arthur C Clarke’s first house, as it eventually turned out. This progressed quite a long way until, I later learned, a computer failure left them unable to contact me for quite a long while (this was the level of competency I would later come to associate with this company, but that, as they say, is another story), by which time I was otherwise engaged.
Indonesia (10 points) – these guys never got back to me about my application and I’ve forgotten all the details.
Thailand (12 points) – likewise, they never got back to me.
And, of course, there was Kyrgyzstan (30 points, as discussed). It’s easy to get misty-eyed about these things, but right from the start there was something rather enticing about the prospect of spending ten months in a country I couldn’t even find on the map. At the time it had been in existence as an independent nation for rather less than twenty years and was therefore somewhat younger than some of the atlases I checked for it. The money was not exactly going to change my life, but then in many ways the main reward you get for living in a place like Kyrgyzstan is the chance to live in a place Kyrgyzstan; I suppose you’d call it experiential compensation. The benefits offered by the job looked quite attractive too.
So, to cut a long story short, away I flew to a country which really occupies a blank spot in most people’s mental map of the world. It was, to put it mildly, a bit of an experience to live and work there for ten months. My memories of the first four months I was there are mostly genuinely happy, or at least in retrospect quite entertaining. Some moments were exasperating, others slightly hair-raising, but I made some good friends and came away feeling like I’d made a difference for the better.
The latter six months were – more complicated. I was a long way from home, and had been for over two years by this point, and ended up making some very questionable personal choices. All this inevitably colours my recollection of the end of my time in Kyrgyzstan, and – to be perfectly honest – kept me from seeing much of the countryside in the spring and early summer. I was stuck in the city being strangled by my own politeness and reluctance to cause offence (what can I say, it’s a British thing).
And so, ever since I came back in the summer of 2009 (with some strange combination of stress and food-poisoning that left me horribly prone to migraines and presenting symptoms that led one doctor to suspect I had contracted malaria), my memories of Kyrgyzstan have been very fond, but also inescapably tinged with regret. I felt like I had missed the chance to see so much of what makes this country special, simply because my own personal issues got out of control. Yet, at the same time, I never seriously thought I would see the place again.
And then my company announced they were setting up a branch in Bishkek, capital of Kyrgyzstan, and were looking for someone to oversee the launch and the first month or two. The ideal candidate would ideally have: a) a certain level of qualification and experience, b) a good track-record with the company and knowledge of its principles and ethos, and c) significant experience of working in Kyrgyzstan.
Together those things made up a Venn diagram in which I was pretty much the sole occupant of the central region. Sometimes it just feels like the universe is calling you by name, and it would churlish to ignore the call. Twenty-four hours later I had accepted the job.
I am looking forward to seeing the place again – especially Bishkek, that crumbling, weirdly-proportioned sprawl in the lap of the mountains – much more than I would have expected. Hopefully this time will be different. If in other way, my life will certainly change in one respect: in future, I expect that people will now be asking me, ‘Why on earth did you go back to Kyrgyzstan?’ And the answer is that in a strange way, it really would have felt weird not to.