The Ball 2002

The Manchester Club, Bishkek

We arrived back in Bishkek from Issy-Kul intent on seeing the Champion’s League semi-final between Manchester United and Bayern Leverkusen. We had no idea where to go, until we enquired in a bar known to be an ex-pat hangout in the centre of the city where people would watch football. We were rewarded with a chorus of uncomprehending looks, until we uttered the magic word “Manchester”, whereupon we were directed to the most unlikely of places to find in Central Asia – the Manchester Club.

The staff at the Manchester Club, Bishkek

Phil was first into the bar, while I took some shots of the building and the friendly bouncers, so when I eventually went inside, I found him engaged in an animated conversation with the staff. Victoria (centre of picture) seemed to be the ringleader, and was being gently teased by Phil about the appropriateness of her name. Strangely, she’d not been informed before of her namesake’s existence…

Or not so strangely, as it turned out – since it appeared that Phil was actually trying to persuade them to show the game… I was flabberghasted – how could the Manchester Club, complete with video projector and four TVs scattered around the bar NOT be showing the game? It seemed like a betrayal of their identity. After much cajoling, including showing them the Ball and our trusty Russian explanation, we did indeed persuade them to show the game, especially for us.

Theme beer

Content that we had found the perfect place to watch the game, we settled in with the few customers who had turned up, and watched the Real Madrid v. Barcelona game as an aperitif. Real looked in great form. They’re going to be hard to beat.

Ten minutes before kick-off, Phil realised that we had no Kyrgyz money left, and dashed out of the bar to go and change some dollars. I, meanwhile, became the recipient of the distinctly disheartening news that the management had changed their minds about the game, and were going home after all. I was scandalised all over again… though they very kindly paid for our beers and offered to drive us to another bar where (they promised us) the game would be screened. There was nothing to do but agree to go along with the plan.

Phil reappeared to learn that his search for Sum, though successful, had been pointless, and we duly followed Alexei, the manager, to a waiting minibus. He drove us round the corner to a place he called the Soca Club, but which turned out to be the Soho Pub. Easy mistake. But still, it was showing the game, and there around a table, already cheering, was the rest of the clientele of the Manchester Club, who gestured to us to join them.

Our Kyrgyz hosts

Man U lived up to their reputation, and played a game designed to induce near-fatal levels of stress in their audience – whether Kyrgyz or English – very nearly snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, and transferring yet another key England player to the injury list. “Eta catastroph!” as our Kyrgyz friends helpfully informed us, before revealing that they were in fact the Kyrgyz Customs Force.

“No problem with your stamp at the border” they smiled sympathetically, while paying for our entire night’s consumption of alcohol and food. Which was just as well, since it was they who had insisted we down vodka after vodka during the game. I pondered the significance of the “hospital” part of the word “hospitality” as we made our way home.

The Manchester Club’s flyer promises more than it delivers

This entry was posted on Saturday, April 27th, 2002 at 6:12 pm and is filed under Kyrgyzstan. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.