Kicking it with the Kyrgyz
July 4th 2008 The old man with the wooden leg grinned across the low table at me, a mouthful of gold teeth gleaming in the candle-light. Raising his shot glass high, he waited for the rest of the table to fall silent, then looked me right in the eye and barked something in Kyrgyz, eliciting growls of assent from the men around me. I didn't recognise the word, but his sentiment was clear enough; it didn't matter
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