Kochkor to Bishkek (don't read the last bit if you don't want to read about that stuff that often happens to travellers when they are travelling [and sorry mum, I know you don't like it when I mention this sort of stuff]).

Not long after dawn outside the homestay in Kochkor. The local roosters actually thought that dawn was at 5.30 am. They were probably right. I knew they thought this because I slept in the truck again last night.

















 Breakfast. Oh my god it was marvellous. As much tea as you could drink and bread and cheese and pancakes and raspberry jam and preserved apricots. I ate until I felt a little bit unwell, which was funny, because later in the day I felt seriously unwell.

 The chairs in the dining room had log cabin cushions.

 And here we have the felt 'museum' in Kochkor. Everything was for sale (except for the buttons). Notice the wedding dress.

 Some tough decisions being made.

 

 I took some photos and got the hell out of dodge. We will be going back there next Sunday, I will get a little felt doll Christmas ornament then. That is all. I can't carry the rest. I will not look at the antique saddle and bridle set for $1500.

 The town where we stopped to get supplies for lunch. Everything felt so strangely western. I am learning the alphabet and starting to pattern match names to places where you can get food.

 I started feeling a bit peculiar at this stage. I took a picture of the bear because I felt sure he was looking at me. Everyone disapproves of him not having a name. Al suggested Bertie, but Bruce is winning from sheer repetition by one of the Johns.

 There are many random statues. Some of the most random (like half a person pulling a cart) we have already passed and I wasn't quick enough to get a photo.

 I can't remember if this shot was before or after we stopped for lunch. I started feeling seriously odd and made the other people on cook group do all the preparation for lunch while I lay on the truck.

The last few hours into Bishkek are a blurry, sweaty, uncomfortable haze of sphincter control and nausea. We arrived at the hotel and that was it. It was all The Day My Bum Went Psycho. The Johns and Al looked after me though, so there were no embarrassing public incidents.

When I went through my first aid kit, trying to work out which antibiotics I should take, I found a helpful note from my fabulous travel doctor. "Giardia generally causes excess wind which is offensive, burping often with the taste of bad egg". There had been no offensive wind, but I had been burping bad eggs since just before we drove off the road to set up for lunch. So I have downed a course of Tinidazole and now have my fingers crossed that I will be well enough to swim in the hotel pool tomorrow. Or that I'll ever feel like eating again.