River Swim

Hampton canoe club

Kim has introduced me to swimming in the Thames, which opens up a completely new way to view the river. About ten years ago, when I started swimming in the SF Bay, the natural open-water venue in London is .. the Thames and Sonnet and I spent some time walking up and down the muddy riverbank to find an acceptable jump-in point, none found (we did explore Eel Island, famous for Rolling Stones and Jim Hendrix jam sessions but it, too, was slick and uninviting). 

Kim, however, is a veteran and there are stretches of the river which are fantastical and make me think of Huckleberry and Jim going down the Mississippi River, pulled by the water flow. We always swim West of Teddington Lock, where the river is fresh-water from a source near Oxford vs. East of the lock which is salt-water tidal (and passes through the center of London). On cleanliness, the Thames was declared a dead river in 1981. Today, there are otters and a dolphin sited only yesterday; there is talk of the ancient salmon-runs coming back.

In winter, the Thames can go as low as 1C requiring wetsuits, gloves, booties and a thermal hat ("skins", the Brits call it). We always swim in two's otherwise dangerous from cold or boats (rowers, propeller, sometimes barges). Spring and summertime the temps will reach 16-18C. Whenever it rains we have to be extra careful about the current which can run 2-3 knots and impossible to swim against. 

In short, the river has a personality that is worth getting to know.

Boston

How is Eric more stylish than me?

I am in Boston last week for some business and do two things I enjoy most : swimming with a masters team, this time at MIT (beautiful fast clean 50m x 25yd pool) and visiting Eric and Simona in Cambridge, which I do for one night allowing me and Eric to go on a ramble through Cambridge, Somerville and Boston. All around us there is development for, mostly, we conclude, commercial and university bio labs which is THE thing here right now here, resulting in all sorts of regeneration and property value jumps, God bless. One can feel it in the air along with the smell of freshly brewed luxury coffee.

Eric is busy at his non-profit software company that neither me nor Roger understand but he is the lead engineer in an organisation that started in the maths department of Arizona and now employs >70 people and backed by the Milken Family Foundation. He is making a lot of money and works from home and can do whatever he wants, which is about right for his temperament.

View of Boston from Somerville's Prospect Hill Tower

And So It Goes

From California (photo AP)

My father did his voluntary military service in the early 1960s and therefore was not a candidate to be drawn up for the Viet Nam war (he had graduated law school in 1961). Both my parents marched against the war, arriving in San Francisco after the Peace Corps, however I do not recall Viet Nam with its inglorious conclusion and the fall of Saigon in 1975. I would have been old enough -- but it was not in my field of awareness at age 8 and second grade had more important things to occupy my imagination. Like kickball. 

Of course now a professional military dissolves personal responsibility - what, me worry? - while young people today are aghast at what is happening in Gaza (though no opinion, it seems, about Ukraine or Kashgar).  I recall the middle-age father of a college girlfriend (Republican) informing me: "I' am God damn proud to see bombs dropping on Iraq and using the US military force correctly, for once." And so it goes.

A Warm and Inviting Place

Anacapri

Every now and again I enter a restaurant and know it is well past its sell-by date like this Italian restaurant that has existed off Baker Street for 31 years, run by the proprietor chef and his son. The decor is garish and there is an over riding smell os something old. Windows and air ventilation non-existent, little room between the cramped tables and a bar counter that has long seen its days. The menu unchanged for 30 years including the daily specials (undated). Yet the clientele special - average age over 80, filling the venue, and talking animatedly or reading the newspaper at lunch hour. An ITV News broadcaster walks in and takes his normal place (I assume) while another old fellow sits with his dogs in the back. I don't see anyone kissing the hand but could be.

The food ? Fabulous. The son orders for me.

 

The Future Is Upon Us. Again

Jim checks out the newest new thing

Roger's older brother Jim, otherwise a tech guy and ultra athlete when in training, checks out the Apple Vision Pro and is first to be "welcome[d] to the era of spatial computing, " as the Apple slogan informs. If anyone was going to pull us into virtual sordidness, it was going to be Apple (and maybe Jimmy) with its remarkable design (Steve Jobs: "Design is not the look or feel of a product, but rather what it does.")

Sonnet spends the weekend in Manchester with Madeleine, leaving me and Eitan and the dog to fend for ourselves. Pizza it is and non-alcoholic beer for me (I am informed that my snoring presently comprimises Sonnet's sleep during an intense work period on the Naomi Cambell exhibition so I have cut out alcohol and deserts before bed and now wear a nose strip at night to smooth out the breathing. Oh, and sleeping on my side, no moving.)

Eitan has accepted an internship with Crossroads Campaigns, a political consultancy providing "essential services" to progressive political campaigns, civic engagement enterprises and nonprofits. Eitan would like to join one of the actual campaigns, in The Year To Fight Fascism in the United States, and this could be a nice launching pad. He moves to Washington DC in a couple of weeks.

Dog Days

Who can resist this dog?

Madeleine returns to Manchester today for the final term and her dissertation which focuses on mental anxiety in UK prisons (our gal is a psychology major). It has been a difficult time with Aiden's death.

Sonnet is in the crunch for Naomi, her next exhibition, opening in June. The book, published by the V&A press with her name on it, finalised at the type-setters last week with all hands on deck for a final review including Eitan (who was sly enough to charge £15/ hour but could have had more). 

For me, it is swim, swim, swim. Up at 6am and sometimes 2x a day.

John and 180 Studios

John and me, Trafalgar Square

John joins us Friday night and we head into central on Saturday to see the "UVA : Synchronicity" exhibition at 180 Studios at 180 Strand, which are built into the defunct Anderson Consulting car garage in a brutalist and deserted cement building not far from the Courtauld Art Institute. I interviewed at Anderson in '97 which is another life ago. The exhibition is a disorienting, immersive and multi-sensory experience (as the program states) and the kind of thing one can only find in London, I think. My favourite ? "Chaos" presents a sentient-seeming light at the end of a rotating multi-beam, circling in and out, without pattern - fascinating and menacing.

John is a stylish kid in a 1950s way - it's a sharp look that he carries exceedingly well. He is a culture vulture with a mind for detail and we discuss film, theatre, art and modern writers he finds interesting. It is super insightful to dial into a 20 years old's mind. Biden? for instance (John has British and American passports). John is not a big fan as Biden promised to serve one term to set the ship right and not run for a second term. This, he feels, betrays the commitment made to his generation.

United Visual Arts, 180 Studios

Dave's family

Berkeley reunited

Dave is in town for daughter Bella's graduation ceremony from London University with a Masters degree in theatre, only the ceremony is cancelled last minute, no explanation. Who knows - following the teacher's strike across UK universities Eitan's final marks were delayed months after his graduation (top honours, with distinction).

Joining in are Dave's partner Laura and son Dexter, who has photographic memory and interested in video games and the San Francisco 49ers following after Dad's obsession. Bella has a two-year automatic post uni visa and is looking for work in the West End, supporting herself with a non-theatre job in the meantime.

Dave, for his part, is teaching jazz at a privileged school in the East Bay where not one kid has heard of Duke Ellington and the moms ensuring their children receive a bit of cultural diversity for the college application - God help the educator who grants anything less than an 'A.'    

Waterloo Bridge

I am most familiar with Waterloo Bridge, pictured, as I frequently walk across the Charing Cross pedestrian bridgeway from Waterloo Station to go to "town" (or "central", as the kids now say). Evenings are best as there is a single strip of lights that traverse the bridge adding colour and connecting North and South London.

Man, how the skyline has changed since 1997 and it continues to do so: at night, red warning lights dot the cityscape as new buildings go up and up, the St Paul's rule be damned (until maybe 2008 no building in central London could obstruct the view, or be taller than, St Paul's dome).

Rathfinny Estate

Sonnet and I spend the weekend at the Rathfinny Wine Estate in the South Downs of Sussex which offers some of the world's very best sparkling white wines due, in part, to a warming climate.  The grounds are lovely and isolated, surrounded by the vineyards, of course, which spread across a number of valleys not far from the seaside.

Action shot

Our weekend comes to an abrupt shocking end upon learning the terrible news that Madeleine's friend Aiden has passed in his sleep likely from an epileptic seizure. We are heartbroken.

Richmond Hill

Eitan and I , and a roomful of old age pensioners, have coffee at Pembroke Lodge in Richmond Park, protected by the Crown Estate and once home to Bertrand Russell. The southwest views of the Thames Valley are lovely on any day and especially when clear and cold, like today. 

While difficult to see the grade, the below photo presents a steep hill from river level to the highest point in the park where Eitan once did Sunday hill-runs when in training ("brutal", he now says). 

Thames valley to Windsor, the Chilterns and hills in the Borough of Runnymede

King Henry VII's Mound offering a protected view of St Paul's Cathedral in the City of London and 10 miles away

Rusty On

Rusty has maintained his composure in the advancing years now at 13+. A Welsh springer spaniel has a 13-15 year lifespan while our dog is as poorly trained and energetic as ever, especially when guests stop by. Still, he is irresistible to young and old alike, who stop by to scratch him behind his ears or ogle his fine coat when at the coffee bar or on a walk. The goofy big nose completes the picture. He laps up the attention while giving cheer to those who seek it.

2024 Upon Us

 

Pre-party

We head out a touch earlier than the kids for New Year's Eve and happily make it home in time to celebrate midnight from bed. Eitan and Madeleine both see the sunrise. 

And, like that, we are in 2024. Good to be alive.

This is what Jan 2 feels like

Dublin

Sonnet has never been to Dublin so we go for a long weekend. Along with the Dublin Symphony, conducted by the wonderful Marin Alsop, a re-working of the 1950s play "The Quare Fellow" at the national theatre, I swim The Forty Foot which is about 30 minutes outside of Dublin 2 (central). The spot has been around over 200 years - women allowed from 1989 after protest - satisfying the Irish love for cold-water swimming. It is located on the Dublin Bay off the Irish Sea itself from the Atlantic Ocean. 

The water temperature is 11C (about 52f), well within my comfort zone without a wetsuit, yet the air temperature is a  near freezing 1C which has me concerned about the the getting-out. I'm in for 35 minutes and, upon exiting, the after-drop a serious thing requiring quick-dress hindered by claw-hand. It takes about two hours to fully warm up.

We have the unexpected joy of connecting with Aisling and Orla at Forty Foot since Aisling jumps most days; later we are joined by David though Eitan's grade-school friend Joe is in Spain on a study-year.

Thanksgiving 2023

Sonnet and I are joined by Halley and comprise the senior adults at two tables of 11 otherwise filled be 20 year-olds. We have calculated this to be the 20th year of Thanksgiving with Halley and her girls. 

Meanwhile Madeleine departs no 45 early to return to Manchester for a club party opening at Midnight, going until 10am the following morning. My offer to pay her cash to remain the night is rejected as are my counter higher offers. 

Of the young people, Aiden has never carved a turkey while four have not tried a martini which I prepare using the recipe of my grandfather only less dry vermouth (the original 1950s drink was 50:50 vodka or gin plus dry vermouth). I explain that while simple, the martini is rarely made well and only three venues in London qualify, in my opinion : Dukes in St James's (the king), The American Bar at the Savoy (of course) and Claridges for its lovely art deco bar.  Along with the drink, the maker must have a practiced story to tell during the preparation to ease his/her guests into the evening.

Tekfur Palace and End 61

From from Tekfur Palace on the highest point of Constantinople

Saint Sauveur in Chora is closed for renovation upon our arrival so we walk 15 minutes to the Tekfur Palace, a late 13th century Byzantine castle in northwest Constantinople on the highest point of the city, therefore controlling the Golden Horn, Pera (today's Galata), and the city itself. It suffered following the taking of Istanbul by the Ottomans in 1453, after which it became housing for the Sultan's animals, a brothel and, from 1719, a pottery workshop making Iznik-styled tiles that can be seen in mosques (and museums) around the world. The kilns went silent by the 19th century and the building converted to a poorhouse for Istanbul Jews before the structure's importance rediscovered in the late 20th century.

We also stop by the Yenj Cami "new mosque" (1665) on the Golden Horn but for another time.

And so, like that, our trip comes to an end, as I sip Turkish coffee at a street-side cafe awaiting the airport transfer. 

Thank you all for sharing the last four weeks with Eitan and me. Thank you for your emails, and being with us. 

Journey's end

Küçük Ayasofya Camii 60

The flat ceiling is unique

Our guide at the archeology museum (impressively he is 91 y/o with degrees in architecture from England and law from Paris) shows us the greatest hits including marbles of Hadrian, Apollo and Alexander the great, and the first currency (gold) discovered in Lydia, Turkey. He recommends the Küçük Ayasofya Camii or the "little" Hagia Sophia which he describes as the "most beautiful mosque in the world."

Really? So we go. Firstly, the mosque's dome is flat ("easy to make a curved dome, hard to make a flat one") and, from the inside, the lines break dramatically upward, even awkwardly, towards the ceiling peak (pictured). The detailing is exquisite. It is peaceful with no tourists and feels like our own discovery.

For its history, the Greek Orthodox dedicated the church to Saints Sergius and Bacchu from when it was built in 536 AD. The structure converted to a mosque during the Ottoman Empire from 1452 and remains a place of Muslim prayer today.

There are sunlit rooms inside and Eitan reads the Koran.

"It is they who follow the guidance from their Lord, and it is they alone who are successful in attaining the object in this life and the Hereafter."
--The Koran

"As for those who are bent upon denying (the truth), they would not believe, because it is all the same to them whether you warn them or do not warn them."
--The Koran

A restful place

Hagia Sophia 59

A building for the ages

We enter Istanbul, a most extraordinary city of 16m and the seat of the Islamic Caliphate from 1517 to 1924, with its proud minarets that spike the sky, alien and frightening, in the most modern and complicated of Muslim cities where crossroads of religion, peoples and history meet on this very square.

Immediately I am struck by the noise, traffic, construction, movement, hustle and (most) women not wearing hajib in contrast to the last four weeks. It is autumnal and the tree leaves are browning.

We stay at a nice hotel, a reward for our travels, 15 minutes walk to the Hagia Sophia built in the 6th century by the Eastern Roman Empire (the Byzantine Empire was one and the same) and an Eastern Orthodox Church until the Ottoman conquest of Constantinople in 1452; it was a Catholic cathedral for a century after the Fourth Crusade of 1204.

The call to prayer from Sophia is, per Sunni, 5x a day, competing with the Blue Mosque 500m away, for beauty and song.

As Eitan and I have been in the Sofia and Blue Mosque before we choose to sit in front of each in the wonderful shade until the sun sets. We are joined by two friendly dogs.

Tourists

The White House 58

Kyrgyz parliament house

Pictured, the national parliament building (called "The White House") built initially as Bishkek's communist headquarters in the 1980s. Beautiful brutalism and what is not to love? I think of Rocky IV.

The 2005 Tulip Revolution and the 2010 Kyrgyzstan riots were here - the latter to oust President Bakiyey, whose son, Maxine, split for the UK during the upheaval, taking a whispered two billion and a place in Knightsbridge (Eitan and I debate if it is simply a crime or a cliche). 86 protesters died and Bakiyey fled to Minsk while sentenced, in abstentia, to 24 years prison time in 2013.

In front of the presidential building - pointing at it in fact - is Lenin. It surprises me that the statue not destroyed with the rest at national independence; now, unsurprisingly, it is a tourist point.

Commie background

Bishkek 57

Zhupka bread

We spend our final day in Kyrgyzstan - indeed, Central Asia - in the capital city, Bishkek (population 1m) formally named Pishpeck pre 1991, when it was mostly ethnic Russian. Today, Russian is the main language and Kyrgyz losing ground with young people in part, I think, drawn to Russian pop music. There are frequent daily flights to Moscow (as I sit in the airport, 6am). The pull of Russia is everywhere.

Run down or decrepit Soviet block towers stick out like a sore thumb with very cool Soviet symbols atop, in a city that is trying to modernise itself rapidly: cars disobeying traffic rules, 24 hour ATMs and new hotels; Coca-Cola of course. There is a KFC.

We go to the bazaar which is dense and enormous filled with copycat Nike and Polo, vibrant fruits, nuts and cheeses and all cuts of meat smelling of fresh blood to make one gag. Despite being barely passable and unmarked, the passage ways have their own sense of order. A woman on loudspeaker broadcasts who-knows-what, silenced briefly for the Muslim call to prayer. Neon advertising. Blade Runner.

Soviet tower block

Marco Polo In Short 56

In 1271 a group of Viennese merchants, including the elder Polo men, voyaged eastward. 15 years later, at a time when life expectancy was under 40, they returned, having met Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus and the Kublai Kahn, the founder of the Mongol-led Yuan Dynasty of China.

At this point in history Europe had no direct communications with the East, other than the missionaries who bumbled about trying to convert the heathens. The Mongols were a terrifying, demonic prospect, whose empire was expanding across Central Asia, China and Persia and was at Western borders by the 13th Century. The opportunistic Viennese merchants wanted to make contact and secure trade and great wealth with Islam. A second voyage set out for Constantinople and beyond, this time including the young Marco Polo, with the aim of completing a promised mission to the great Kahn bringing him oil and knowledge from the West; the journey to reach him took three years with Marco paying attention.

The Kahn, who consolidating his vast kingdom, was impressed by Marco's observations from the lands he had journeyed and asked MP to cross his Mongolian Empire and report back his findings. MP did so, using Kahn's seal to allow him him passage and protection from the conflicting Mongolian warlords. He returned 17 years later - Kahn received him as one of his own.

MP's writings were published in the 14th Century and were a sensation across Europe. A discussion continues to this day whether Marco Polo was a fictional character created by the publisher, yet the descriptive detail of the writings indicate MP was almost certainly the witness.

Elysor 55

A derelict Soviet-era factory lays dead for who knows how long and once employing how many and so many stories?

On the now paved highway - four lanes with markings! - the driver must remain alert to the odd cow that wanders on to the road and stands dumb, unyielding, though it sees us.

Master: Between father and son, there is a bridge which neither time nor death can shatter. Each stands at one end, needing to cross and meet.
Caine: But he is dead.
Master: The bridge of which I speak, Grasshopper, is your love for him.
--Kung Fund

Tian Shans 54

Tian Shan range

The mighty Tian Shans, across Issyk-Kul, whose highest peaks in the distance include Pik Pobedy at 7,439m. Climbers come here from around the world to try their chances.

Tian Shan means "mountain of Heaven" or "mountain of God."

A proper autumn has arrived at altitude which means winds, clear air and a dusting of snow on the mountain tops that surround us. In late October or November the heavy snows arrive closing the passes until springtime.

Today we drive to Bishkek, the capital city, and tomorrow it is Istanbul.

A Brief Moment Of Inevitable History 53

The Chinese are expelled from Central Asia

When the western Turks faded from Central Asia in the 7th century, a new power was waiting to fill the void - the army of Islam. Exploding out of Arabia just a few years after the Prophet Mohammed's death, the Muslim armies conquered Persia and set up a military base in Turkministan; the power struggles ebbed and flowed and eventually the Arab Muslims gained ground, taking Bukhara in 709.

China, meanwhile, had revived under the Tang Dynasty and expanded in Central Asia, murdering the khan of the Tashkent Turks - perhaps the most costly skulduggery in Chinese  history (the Silk Route had already given them a strong presence here). The enraged Turks were joined by the opportunistic Arabs and Tibetans; in 751 they forced the Chinese into the Talas Valley (present day Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan) sending what little remained of their 200,000 strong army back across the Tian Shans, marking then, and now, the outer limits of the Chinese Empire. 

And so it goes.

Babushka 52

Russian Babushka

The babushka, who serves us wonderful potato stew and speaks not one word of English, offers me and Eitan her homemade alcohol made from grape fermentation that must be like 50% alcohol - served in dainty silk coated shot glasses and tasting like dirt - I gag loudly as it burns my throat - than have another glass.

We have the luxury of electricity (from 7pm) and cable tv allowing Eitan to watch Bayern Munich defeat Manchester United (in Russian), the game starting at 1am. No question of his watching.

Two Russians arrive late and drink their own home made whisky informing it is 60% alcohol (not that were are competing, we are).

Note the Christ child hanging on the wall.

On Jihad 51

We discuss Jihad over dinner. Jyghal says that teachers in places like Syria and Iran with no authority have usurped the teachings of the Koran, which demands, most broadly, peace (the Iran Iraq war was a sanctioned two-way holy war that killed easily a million Muslims).

Who, then, can call jihad? Any imam and only in response to an attack, or threat, on the Muslim practice. The ultimate authority is the most learned 'student' of the Koran - the Ayatollah Khamenei, for instance. But the local Osh imam can do it, too.

Why would a practicing Muslim want to go to paradise (72 virgins) for Jihad if he loves his wife? "He loves his wife and Paradise is only18 years. Then what? Nothing, it is dust."

Is there 'hell' for, say, murder? "32x heat of the sun."

Yet nothing, says Jyghal, including murder, is worse than pre-marital sex which disgraces the family and the village. I wonder: Does it flip everything on its head - women are the center of Islam, reflected by the ability to cause the greatest harm, instead of subjugated in a dominant male culture? I don't know the answer.

"Stan" means 'land of" like Kazakhstan. Or Finland or England.

Espresso and Taylor Swift 50

 

Surprise - it works

We stop at a super market in Balkchy properly stocked with local fruit (pears, pomegranates, plums; no vegetables) and imported from mainly Iran (oranges and bananas, nuts) and processed foods galore including an espresso machine. Heaven. 

There is also an isle dedicated only to liquor which surprises me - it is for the tourists, of course, who are mainly Russian. There is a direct train from Bishkek that runs from Spring to September 1 for the beach holidays. 

Manchester United plays Bayern Munich at 1am and Eitan stays up to watch the match. Jyghal knows every player on the team yet has never heard of Elton John. Or Taylor Swift. For my part, I am happy to be asleep during the game, dear.

A novelty here

Janaza Prayer 49

Issky-Kul

When a Muslim dies there is no ceremony nor period of mourning, at least for the working classes. The family gathers with friends at the house to offer their support then to the cemetery where the imam says the 'janaza' prayer meaning 'someone has died' and the burial. "That's it."

We enter Balkchy city next to Issky-Kul lake, the largest in Central Asia and the seventh-deepest lake (668m) in the world, the tenth-largest lake by volume and the second-largest saline lake (0.6% vs 3.5% for seawater) after the Caspian Sea. Issyk-Kul means "warm lake" in Kyrgyz; although it is located at 1,607m and subject to sever cold during winter, it rarely freezes due to the salinity. The lake's southern shore, where we are, is dominated by the Tian Shans over which is China.

Yes, I swim here.

The One When Jyghal Works The Off Season 48

 

It snows at Kalamk pass (3,352m)

Jyghal describes his six months in the UK where he spent last winter to make money during the tourist off-season. Of six Kyrgyz men, only Jyghal spoke English. The crew arrive on a 'seasonal visa' to work in a factory in Scotland "boxing" 13 hours a day, six days a week (5am to 6pm). How much? £65 a week (he insists, but I think wrong because he also informs he brought home 10 grand though it could be for all six).

In any case, initially, for efficiency given one free day/ week, the men, led by Jyghal, hit Lidl and Asda (low-cost grocery chains) and empty the shelves of all the bread, eggs and sugar - and directly told they cannot do that. Next time, "we get smart, use two shopping carts" we laugh.

The promised accommodations turn out to be a caravan "very awful. Very cold. The winds shook our place so bad." Electricity and gas purchased on the meter - "so much" - until Jyghal takes matters into his own hands and finds a house for six, rented from a Bulgarian he finds on Facebook - "only a Bulgarian would rent a place to guys like us, otherwise impossible." The house is far from the factory and Jyghal somehow sources a 2005 Honda for £1,700, haggled down from £2,000. "Oh, man, the insurance and tax so expensive" and not anticipated in the purchase price. The car serves its purpose and then given to the Bulgarian for the final months rent ("we told him we had no money") and accepted only after Jyghal proves the MOT is good for another six months.

I nod to Eitan, don't laugh too loud: such conditions are endured by most young people - my first apartment in Manhattan on 6th Avenue not far from being a tenement house shared with three college friends with one sleeping in the closet and the commute to work on the subway a cattle-call. These stories are gold dust.

Monoo Awyy 47

Monoo Awyy, 3,335m

Eitan and I walk along a windy and dusty dirt road back to camp. It provides a chance to discuss a number of books Eitan is reading or has read as part of his English Literature degree. He has a lot going on in his head and I delight in the depth of understanding, and the links he is able to make covering - at now - Russian literature from its 'golden age' of the second half of the 19th century. 

Our trek is extended when we take a wrong fork and must eventually cross rolling grassy fields, passing untended horses, and underneath a cowboy sky.

Horse Play 46

Three-a-side

This morning the local men have a game of Bushkashi 3X3 but without the sacrificed calf; the slightly altered objective is to place a large bag into the tire. While this contest lasts maybe half-hour, it is typical for a match to go three hours.

Alatoo Pass 45

Cowboy on the range

We cross the Alatoo pass and have lunch watching the clouds drift overhead and the herds move across the grasslands, overseen by several horsemen and a complement of dogs.

The dogs are ubiquitous in the villages, often underfed or starving, sometimes old and friendly and always non-threatening and well behaved. Herding dogs are a different category. While not on par with Border Collies from a simple observation, they are indispensable for the task.

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