There are recycled bottles, recycled cardboard, recycled paper. Then there are recycled shipping containers. I always am amazed at the resourcefulness of the Kyrgyz people. I am also amazed at how many shipping containers just end up here. Ones that have probably cris-crossed the ocean, or some far away country on trains or trucks, get parked right here in Karakol to be turned into a store or a hotel or an office building. They are like portable buildings: cut a hole, you have a window. Or leave it as is, and open it wide, hang clothes on the doors and on the walls and you have a store. To close the store? close the container doors. The only minus is they are not the best for big swings in the weather: on cold winter days it is like a meat locker inside. On hot days, it is so stifling you can hardly breath. Convenience rarely means comfort. Nevertheless, I will always have a warm place in my heart for the container stores that make up our bazaars. It is like going on a treasure hunt walking through the labyrinth of containers to find a new skirt, or the right light bulb or brown sugar. I usually leave with a smile on my face and my arms going numb lugging my bags back home.