What's up, Doc?

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Green and pleasant Bishkek is as pleasant a place as I could think of to start to come down with some mystery illness. The mystery, however, was solved this morning with the sudden realisation that I hadn't had a cup of coffee for three days. It's not Kyrgyz Haemorrhagic Fever, it's caffeine withdrawal.

So, a trip to the brunch clinic later, I'm feeling a little better. I'll be right as rain by tomorrow. Rain, incidentally, which hasn't fallen on me since I got here. I know that's tempting fate, but can I just say what a refreshing change that is? It's the first time I've had three dry days in a row since I left Brisbane in early March.

Food here is an interesting mix. Possibly the most atmospheric meal I've had in a while was last night, in Rabbit Cafe. You've guessed it, that was the mainstay of the menu. So, washing my bunny down was a cocktail called Bunny Mother (I passed up on the chance to drink a glass of Blue Shits), and as I ate I relaxed and took in my surroundings. Walls painted gold. A plasma sphere stuck to the lintel. Aquamarine artex ceiling. Carved wooden totem poles. Bugs bunny napkin holder. Topping it all off, of course, was the obligatory crap Russian pop music. Fortunately for me the food wasn't as tasteless as the surroundings, although I'm not sure chips and ketchup as a side dish would win them too many Michelin stars.

Just to add to my general feeling of wellbeing, I'm winning the visa war. My Kyrgyz visa issued on arrival at the airport allows me multiple entries, so I can now go to Almaty to get my Uzbek and Tajik visas, both apparently available same day (I'll believe it when I see it, frankly).

The only barrier in my path is the Kazakh embassy. As I might have feared, they're actually no quicker here than in Bangkok, but the queue is longer. Well, not exactly longer, but definitely wider and more akin to a rugby scrum, if rugby scrums were full of Kyrgyz grandmothers with unfeasibly sharp elbows.

After a mere 90 minutes of jostling I made my way into the embassy, where lots of information is helpfully posted in Russian only, and where another scrum formed in front of a tiny window helpfully mounted at waist height through which you have to peer to talk to the staff, who on this occasion took the photocopy of my passport, thrust the rest of the application back at me and told me that I should come back on Thursday after they've "done some checking", at which point I'll be able to start the application. I'll apparently have the visa next Tuesday.

So, having made my payment (of course, you don't pay at the embassy but instead at a bank 5 miles away) in advance to save lots of running round on Thursday, I'm now all ready to submit the application and then bugger off into the mountains for a spot of horseriding, yurtstay and possibly consumption of fermented horse milk while I wait for them to issue the visa.

The jury is still out speculating about just how vile Kymys will be. I wonder if it might be a little like lassi, an Indian yoghurt drink I quite like, or whether it will be one of the most heinous things ever to pass my lips. I think I know which.

Whatever - as long as I manage to avoid eating eyeballs or testicles I'll be happy.

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