On Mornings 44

Somewhere in the Alatoos

Mornings are admittedly hard after sleeping 8hrs like the dead. Eitan stays up reading while I simply crash on the always hard beds - sometimes too hot for a blanket, maybe too cold without thermal underwear. However it may be, the alarm goes off for a pre-arranged breakfast and we stair at each other stunned - facing dressing, organising our backpacks and uncomfortable toiletries eg often navigating squat toilets. The reward is coffee - always Nescafe (I avoid the milk which could be horse) - and then a sense of well being here with my son who is now a man of 22 years, planning his independence, and dependable in almost all ways.

A man runs across a crazy Osh street, like Frogger, jumping from lily pad to lily pad on a dangerous stream. He is carrying a man-sized punching bag on his shoulder.