Getting Shod Requires Patience in Bishkek

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I do most of my Bishkek shopping in open-air bazaars -- hectares of stalls and carts, each overflowing with a near-complete overlap of goods, thereby requiring that customers walk for hours before finding what they want. The search quickly becomes a quest, an experience in and of itself.

I needed some new winter hiking boots last week, so was happy to take the half-hour ride north of town to the complex of narrow aisles, rickety wooden tables, and metal shipping containers that make up Dordoi Bazaar.

Twenty-thousand vendors work at the market, which is open from about 5 a.m. till dark. There is an internal logic to the layout, with a special area for jeans, another section marked "Shoe World," Turkish goods here, European styles elsewhere, and Chinese items all over the place.

A Bishkek police post marks the entrance to the bazaar, which functions as if it were its own city. In addition to the professional cops, a security guard militia roams the grounds with automatic weapons.

Walking through the market, one frequently bumps into ladies selling hot tea, coffee, and pastries. Hefty, sweat-covered male runners charge through the same aisles behind cumbersome metal carts, clearing the road with cries of "Doroga! Doroga!" An American buddy of mine who has lived in Kyrgyzstan for a few years told me that he loves to go to the bazaar, where he can "get his push on." I think of this every time I turn around to see a well-padded babushka thrusting her hand into the small of my back.

In Shoe World, there were containers and containers of black leather Chinese shoes, with their pungent aroma of acetone-laced polish and dye. I found running shoes, sandals, molded-rubber loafers, mesh Pumas and knee-high stilettos. But no hiking boots.

I saw an old Russian man selling boxing gloves and table-tennis paddles in addition to wrestling shoes and an array of sneakers, and remembered a friend who worked in microfinance telling me that the more successful Dordoi hawkers could make $10,000 per month -- a very respectable fortune in this impoverished country.

But nobody had cornered the hiking boot market yet, it seemed. But wait! Next to a drowsy young guy, near the back of an empty stall, I found a sweet pair of black Adidas boots. They were slightly misshapen, and the yellow laces were absurdly long, but the tag said Gore-tex, and the fur-like lining inside didn't flake out when I tugged at it. For 1,500 som ($37), I was sold, and wore my prize back through the slushy ice pathways out to the main road.

Ethan Wilensky-Lanford is a freelance journalist in Central Asia.