How can a blog with this name not write about Bishkek’s Vanilla Sky? You have never seen one, a vanilla sky? Me neither, before I came here. But I am not surprised. It’s not what meteorologists study. It’s not what people sing about. Come on, Kate Bush: how about “The Big Vanilla Sky”? Rethink, ELO: “Mr. Blue Vanilla Sky”? Moby, what do you do when “The Vanilla Sky is Broken”? And, Nick Drake, ever imagined a “Northern Vanilla Sky” could make you feel magic crazy? No, Bishkek’s Vanilla Sky is not about the shades of blue and the shapes of clouds. Or about the stuff that people sing about. Though maybe it should be. This particular Sky is about my favorite salad in town (what I call “no frills salad”: no creamy dressing, no croutons; just sesame oil and chives and onions. And thin slices of horseradish. Basta).
And, it’s about very good cappuccino:
And about wonderful people who work there. Who don’t make you feel ridiculous when you point to photos showing dishes (the menu is in Russian, with lots of visuals) as a way of ordering food. And who don’t make you feel silly when you practice, speaking under your breath, barely audible, your newly learned yet still imperfectly pronounced Russian words. (Yes, one tends to speak more softly in a new language.)
My kind of sky.
My kind of red, white, and blue. In Bishkek.