6/27/07
I am presently in the small village of Kochkor, just west of Issyk-Kul and some 200k from Bishkek. This is my base now because tomorrow I'm going on a horse trek from a village nearby to the alpine lake of Song Köl. Song Köl is home to many a jailoo (summer pasture). Along the way I'll be sleeping in Yurts. My plan is to ride for two days and then on Saturday just enjoy the nature of the lake.
Yesterday was one of the more frustrating travel days I've had. I had a car, driver, and guide, but there were pretty much useless. My guide had no idea where anything was and they took numerous wrong turns. Plus my guide refuses to translate: so I'll want to have a conversation with someone I meet and instead of translating back and forth he'll just answer questions for me or not translate the full statement. I was thinking of continuing with them, but then I had enough.
Two days ago (on Monday) I met another group of tourists. Their guide spoke near perfect English and I was enjoying talking to them. I asked where they were from and most were from Kyrgyzstan, but one was from German. So I struck up a conversation in German. He is not just a regular German, but a RussDeutsche, or Russian German. He belongs to a group of ethnic Germans who moved here by order of Catherine the Great (herself German) and they settled throughout Central Asia, but predominantly in Kazakhstan. This guy was born in Kazakhstan, but grew up in Kyrgyzstan. These Russian Germans always dreamed of returning to Germany and they practiced what amounts to 18 th and 19th century German traditions. They wore traditional clothing, were very active in the (Protestant) Church, and basically lived as if they were living in Germany… that is until one day after the Soviet Union collapsed and they were allowed to return to their homeland. They were in for a huge shock. People were not farmers, did not dress in traditional peasant clothing, and did not speak their dialect of German. Speaking with him I asked him about this culture shock. He said that while he was living in Germany for 15 years, it has never been his home and he didn't feel like he was living there until five years ago. He said (and I'm translating here) that while Germany is his homeland, his home is in Central Asia. His soul is in Central Asia. Now he returns twice a year to Kyrgyzstan to come home. Once in the winter for skiing and once in the summer to visit the lakes. It was a real treat to meet a Russian German, there are not many left here (not that he's really here either) and from someone who has studied German language and culture it was great to connect that with my trip here.
Yesterday I had a chance to swim in Issyk-Kul. The water was very refreshing. I looked back at the shore (southern shore of the lake) when I was in the water and it was spectacular. The southern shore is desert climate and beyond the beach there were sandy foothills, which turned into green covered mountains and behind those were snow capped alpine peaks. It's amazing to have all these different biospheres so close to one another. It's like playing Settlers of Catan: mountains, red hills, pastures for sheep, wheat fields, desert, and forest all rolled up into one. For those of you who have never played Settlers, well you're just missing out on the world's greatest board game.
I spent a large part of yesterday searching for a non-existent yurt camp called Ak-Sai that supposedly keeps camels and kayaks. Sadly it was not in operation. I did, however, visit Bokonbayevo on the southern shore. It's a pretty depressing town, but I wanted to pop into this small workshop that makes belts, toy animals, carpets, slippers, etc out of felt made from sheep's wool. I got a nice pair of slippers. After visiting the work shop I called up a local eagle man. I met with his son who is also an eagle man and he agreed to take me out on a demonstration. We drove about 5k and there he released a rabbit (I'm sorry rabbit, if only I'd have known) and let his eagle hunt him down. I have most of it on video, but it's not for the faint of heart. The eagle basically eats the rabbit before killing it. Yuck. As I said, I didn't really realize what it would look like. After the hunt we returned to his house to watch a video and drink some tea. I chatted with his family and one of his sisters gave me a small shyrdak, a felt carpet, which she had made herself. It's a natural dye one as opposed to the Russian style ones that are made with artificial dyes. I in turn gave out some postcards of DC and pointed out all of the landmarks. They liked it.
When I finally arrived in Kochkor last night I went straight to the Community Based Tourism (CBT) office. CBT operates throughout Kyrgyzstan and promotes local environmentally sustainable tourism. They arranged for me to stay with a host family in the town. Kuku is the mother of the house I'm in. I also met two of her daughters and three of her grandchildren. CBT also gives them about a 40 page English/Russian/Kyrgyz cheat sheet with questions and answers for standard questions like where are you from, what do you do, how many brothers/sisters, etc. Their home was very comfortable and I really like the community aspect of it. I should have been using CBT all along instead of this other tour company with the bad guide. Anyhow, I'm using CBT again to arrange for my trip to Song Kul and looking forward to it.
Today I went to check out the livestock bazaar, but it didn't quite compare to the one in Karakol where I bought Shepl. I paid a visit to this family workshop that makes shyrdaks and they demonstrated how they make them from start to finish. First they beat the wool, then they fluff it, then they put it on the ground on other wool, which is laying on a bamboo mat. That's when the roll it up while dousing it in water, making what I call sheep sushi. They also showed the dyes they use and how they cut and make the designs and how they sew and embroider. It was interesting to see. While I was at the house there was a group of people from France. I struck up conversation with some of them and asked them about Sarkozy and the elections. One said, "how can I like him, he's friends with Bush. Then another, leaned over and whispered into my ear, "I am for Sarkozy." Perhaps not so coincidentally it was that last one who spoke flawless English. They were very shocked to see an American in Central Asia. They drove off in this giant Soviet Army vehicle that can has monster truck tires and can go through any terrain. One of the more pacifist Frenchmen turned toward me and bragged, "these tires need 6 bullets before they will deflate." Ah, the irony.
And on the topic of Europe: I'm in this internet café in the Kochkor and there are about 10 computers, all paid for by the EU (as the stickers on the computers say). And all the village kids are in here playing computer games. Money well spent.
Signing off until Sunday,
Дина
ﺪﻴﻨﺎ
הּנּיּדּ
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
N 42˚ 18.331’ E 078˚ 15.882’ Altitude 8170 ft
6/25/07
As you head east from Jeti Oguz you head further into the red canyon. There is grass that grows on top of the red stone, but it looks like peach fuzz. Our bright red Honda minivan follows the road as it winds along the river that runs through the canyon. It’s not quite a road, more like rocks (not pebbles) protruding from the earth in random fashion. The most harrowing part is that about every half kilometer you have to cross the river using a wooden bridge. That’s when I hold on and hold my breath…it’s a miracle these things work. The river has some serious rapids in it. Yesterday I dipped my toes in, I don’t think it’s for swimming. As you continue east the red stone fades away and the road opens up into these gorgeous lush and green pastures. These are jailoo or summer pastures that many Kyrgyz visit for six months a year to tend to their livestock as they live in yurts and go back to their traditions. These green pastures roll of the mountains and they are dotted with trees and wildflowers (yellow, purple, red, white…maybe even poppy).
My mission in coming out here was to ride horses. We stopped at one of the first hurts that we saw and inquired about renting their horses. I got a nice white one. I asked for its name and they looked at me funnily. I guess you don’t name things that you’re going to eat. Anyhow, horse and I (and guide) set out for the trees and wildflowers along the side of the mountain and were aiming for a set of yurts were Yeltsin used to come and ride. We didn’t quite make it that way because there was a very thick forest that we encountered along our way so we diverted for another yurt camp. I’m not sure why my guide is a guide. He has never been here and had no clue where he was going. Hence the GPS coordinates. Handy Dandy. He specializes in hunting and only wants me to go into business with him arranging for American hunters to come and hunt wild Marco Polo sheep. He does not believe that I do not hunt, nor do I really know anyone who hunts. For those of you who do, contact me, so he’ll stop bothering me.
After riding for about 3 hours (again my guide looked so uneasy on the horse, but I was fine) we came back down the mountain and had tea in the yurt of the family who rented us the horses. The couple lives there from April to September and has lots of horses and other animals. They also have their grandchildren for the summer. They were having a tea party when we arrived. The stuffed panda and two Barbie look-alikes were sipping tea from plastic cups and saucers. Glad to know such things exist across all cultures. Inside the yurt was very interesting. There are a lot of mattresses and a table. It doesn’t look like they do the cooking inside this yurt because the top was closed. On one ‘panel’ near the door there was a string and from it hung a casio watch – I guess it’s the equivalent of a kitchen clock. There were bags hanging all around mostly full of clothing and supplies. Their yurt is located next to a stream, which provides nice fresh water. My favorite item inside the yurt (after the clock) was a really nice looking samovar. It provided me my tea. I also had really good fresh bread with fresh blackberry jam.
The place where I’m staying. I haven’t quite figured out what it is yet. At first I thought it was a retirement summer community. Then I thought it was a Kibbutz of some sort. It turns out it’s some sort of resort and all the people here are on vacation. There are a lot of old men and women here. There is this one guy who has these rain boots and tucked into them are his pinstripe pants. He has a matching jacket and a traditional Kyrgyz black and white felt hat. He’s also got that Chinese medicine man goatee going on. But what makes him super interesting is that he wears the Order of Lenin pin. So using my broken* Russian I enquired what it was for. He made a rifle shooting motion and said “germans.” I think that means he’s a veteran of the Great Patriotic War (WWII). He must like this place because they have a statue of Lenin in the main square outside of the meeting hall. There are also Young Pioneers (equivalent of Cubs and Scouts) statues, but they are harder to get to since you have to walk through meter tall grass. There are some younger women here and each one of them is wearing a track suit: Puma, Adidas, Nike, and so on. And then there are tons of cute little children. There is this one little girl who I’ve become friends with. At first she would run to her mother and hide behind her, but now she wants to hold my hand. And she follows me around. Progress.
From here I'm heading into more remote parts of the lake area and into some mountains. I think it'll be at last 2-3 days until I can post again. I'll be riding camels though. Missing you all.
* I say broken, but that’s not really far since my Russian was never fixed. It’s more like gesticulation mixed with a few key words.
As you head east from Jeti Oguz you head further into the red canyon. There is grass that grows on top of the red stone, but it looks like peach fuzz. Our bright red Honda minivan follows the road as it winds along the river that runs through the canyon. It’s not quite a road, more like rocks (not pebbles) protruding from the earth in random fashion. The most harrowing part is that about every half kilometer you have to cross the river using a wooden bridge. That’s when I hold on and hold my breath…it’s a miracle these things work. The river has some serious rapids in it. Yesterday I dipped my toes in, I don’t think it’s for swimming. As you continue east the red stone fades away and the road opens up into these gorgeous lush and green pastures. These are jailoo or summer pastures that many Kyrgyz visit for six months a year to tend to their livestock as they live in yurts and go back to their traditions. These green pastures roll of the mountains and they are dotted with trees and wildflowers (yellow, purple, red, white…maybe even poppy).
My mission in coming out here was to ride horses. We stopped at one of the first hurts that we saw and inquired about renting their horses. I got a nice white one. I asked for its name and they looked at me funnily. I guess you don’t name things that you’re going to eat. Anyhow, horse and I (and guide) set out for the trees and wildflowers along the side of the mountain and were aiming for a set of yurts were Yeltsin used to come and ride. We didn’t quite make it that way because there was a very thick forest that we encountered along our way so we diverted for another yurt camp. I’m not sure why my guide is a guide. He has never been here and had no clue where he was going. Hence the GPS coordinates. Handy Dandy. He specializes in hunting and only wants me to go into business with him arranging for American hunters to come and hunt wild Marco Polo sheep. He does not believe that I do not hunt, nor do I really know anyone who hunts. For those of you who do, contact me, so he’ll stop bothering me.
After riding for about 3 hours (again my guide looked so uneasy on the horse, but I was fine) we came back down the mountain and had tea in the yurt of the family who rented us the horses. The couple lives there from April to September and has lots of horses and other animals. They also have their grandchildren for the summer. They were having a tea party when we arrived. The stuffed panda and two Barbie look-alikes were sipping tea from plastic cups and saucers. Glad to know such things exist across all cultures. Inside the yurt was very interesting. There are a lot of mattresses and a table. It doesn’t look like they do the cooking inside this yurt because the top was closed. On one ‘panel’ near the door there was a string and from it hung a casio watch – I guess it’s the equivalent of a kitchen clock. There were bags hanging all around mostly full of clothing and supplies. Their yurt is located next to a stream, which provides nice fresh water. My favorite item inside the yurt (after the clock) was a really nice looking samovar. It provided me my tea. I also had really good fresh bread with fresh blackberry jam.
The place where I’m staying. I haven’t quite figured out what it is yet. At first I thought it was a retirement summer community. Then I thought it was a Kibbutz of some sort. It turns out it’s some sort of resort and all the people here are on vacation. There are a lot of old men and women here. There is this one guy who has these rain boots and tucked into them are his pinstripe pants. He has a matching jacket and a traditional Kyrgyz black and white felt hat. He’s also got that Chinese medicine man goatee going on. But what makes him super interesting is that he wears the Order of Lenin pin. So using my broken* Russian I enquired what it was for. He made a rifle shooting motion and said “germans.” I think that means he’s a veteran of the Great Patriotic War (WWII). He must like this place because they have a statue of Lenin in the main square outside of the meeting hall. There are also Young Pioneers (equivalent of Cubs and Scouts) statues, but they are harder to get to since you have to walk through meter tall grass. There are some younger women here and each one of them is wearing a track suit: Puma, Adidas, Nike, and so on. And then there are tons of cute little children. There is this one little girl who I’ve become friends with. At first she would run to her mother and hide behind her, but now she wants to hold my hand. And she follows me around. Progress.
From here I'm heading into more remote parts of the lake area and into some mountains. I think it'll be at last 2-3 days until I can post again. I'll be riding camels though. Missing you all.
* I say broken, but that’s not really far since my Russian was never fixed. It’s more like gesticulation mixed with a few key words.
The Bleating of the Sheep
6/24/07
I left Bishkek and drove up to Lake Issyk-Köl (which means Issyk Lake, so that’s somewhat redundant on my part). The roads leave much to be desired. But the drivers are much better than in Uzbekistan. For example, in Uzbekistan there are four lane roads (two in each direction), but drivers prefer the left hand lane. Nobody drives in the right lane. Which means that when the pass a car they cross over into oncoming traffic rather than stay on their side of the road, which can make for a harrowing drive. My driver here also drives like a snail, which I suppose is better than my Uzbek driver who drove like a madman (including getting us into an accident). But still, a bit faster would be nicer. Oh, and did I mention that he is constantly looking at the scenery and cannot talk to someone without looking at them!!!
After an early start I spent Sunday morning at the live animal bazaar. It starts at 5am and goes until 10am. I caught the tail end. Lots of hay, horses, cows, and sheep. Sheep ranged anywhere from $30 to $100 and some horses fetched $1000. My guide told me that they are more expensive now, but when August and September roll around the prices drop because people need to sell their livestock to buy school supplies and clothing for the children. I met a young Russian girl who spoke some English and she suggested that I buy her cow and bring it back in my suitcase. I met a young Kyrgyz guy (prob around 18-20) who spoke near perfect English. He’s studying it and hopes to continue at the university in Bishkek and then get on an exchange program to the US where his friend is studying. It’s his dream to live in the US. It’s actually refreshing how positive everyone here is about the States, not necessarily the reaction one gets in other corners of the globe. Anyhow, I found a sheep in the bazaar that was black and white and looks strikingly like the sheep I imagine my new black and white wool hat to have come from. So I asked its owner if I could buy it and try to sell it myself and return it to him if I didn’t succeed. He agreed and there I was, the white American, saying “Koi satalat” which (I hope) translates into “sheep for sale.” I got a lot of laughs and a lot of people to come over, but none wanted to buy Shepl (that’s what I named him). So after about 10 minutes, I returned him to his original owner. And gave him a little money for what amounted to a short-term rental.
Next up on my Sunday morning excursions around the city of Karakol was a visit to the Russian Orthodox Church. It’s build out of wood and looks like an amazing log cabin with bell towers. It’s quite beautiful from the outside. There were services going on inside so I just stood at the doorway and peeked in. Everyone was standing and the hardwood floors. The women all had their heads covered with handkerchiefs and while the population was mostly older women, there were quite a few children running around and some young people as well. The priest stood toward the front in the middle and was chanting and then periodically what sounded like an all female choir would join in. Really nice chanting. There were also a few Kyrgyz in the church and one of the altar boys was Kyrgyz. At one point the priest sprayed/threw/dispersed water on to the crowd. Very interesting and I really liked the music. What was also interesting was just how Russian these Russians looked, more so than the ones in Moscow. They were blonder and whiter and sort of stereotypically Russian looking. I guess they never really intermarried with the local population. A lot of Russians have left Kyrgyzstan since independence. Not so much because of discrimination, but more so because they were the educated ones and they could get paid more in Russia. This (and that young educated English speakers are looking to leave to America) is a source of major brain drain in Kyrgyzstan and is really hurting their economic growth.
Next stop was a Dungan Mosque. Dungans are ethnically Chinese Muslims (as opposed to Uighurs who are Turkic peoples living in China and are also Muslim). They fled China in the late 19th century and live in eastern Kyrgyzstan. The mosque looked more like a Chinese pagoda and less like a mosque. Everything inside, from the wood panels painted to even the carpet design, seemed more Chinese than Muslim. The minaret too!
Issyk-Köl is really beautiful. Nestled between the mountains at just under 2000m it is the second highest lake in the world. It’s almost 200k wide and it never freezes in the winter. The north shore was home to many Russian summer resorts, most of which are now rotting. Just north of the north shore is the border with Kazakhstan (a.k.a. Boratistan) and mountains. The south shore nestles the Tien Shan mountains and is where I plan on spending more of my time. The lake was also home to Soviet military research centers. I believe (although I’m not 100% certain) that this was where they would test submarines and do navy R&D. The streets of Karakol are lined with Cossack built cottages, some of which are still in very good condition. And then there are some newer two storey houses built by the wealthy. Also in Karakol today are lots of cars loaded up with sheep and cows, presumably coming from the animal bazaar.
People here in this region of Kyrgyzstan seem to subsist on farming and for the most part this is done on a very small individual family scale. I’m thinking back to my oral exams now and how I was asked about the efficiency of small vs. big farms. The answer was that contrary to economies of scale model, smaller individual owned farms are more productive. Let’s hope that’s the case here. I have to say that all the fruit and vegetables I’ve had here and in this region have been excellent. On the sides of the street there are children selling cherries and they neatly wrap the stems around a metal hanger and lace the stems all around and its about two feet long. A lot of cherries. For some reason my driver thinks I need all of them.
I watched the sunset around Issyk-Köl. Both the water and the sky seemed to fuse together into this pale purple color. And out on the horizon there was a light blue belt. Years ago my oldest nephew would have told me that was the equator; after all, isn’t that what it looks like on a globe? I think he knows better now (hi Mo, I hope you’re enjoying reading). Then where the sun was setting there were orange, red, and yellow rays of light shining upwards from behind the mountains, really spectacular colors. And the mountains looked purple (I thought purple mountains majesty was reserved for the US, but I guess not).
I’m staying not too far away from Karakol in a valley south east of Issyk-Köl in a place called Jeti Oghuz (I have no idea how to properly spell it). Jeti Oghuz means seven bulls, and that’s because that in this red sandstone canyon there are 10 large protruding rocks (apparently there used to be seven and hence the name). The seven/ten bulls are just outside my window (and a short little hike). I’m going to climb up there probably in two days (tomorrow I’m riding horses up in the mountains). On the drive to Jeti Oghuz I passed this giant red rock split down the middle. They call it broken heart, and I guess it looks like heart torn into two pieces. This red rock is beautiful especially as the sun changes positions and it changes color. I’m going to get up early (hopefully) to watch the sun rise. Speaking of sunrise, they seriously need to consider changing time zones here. The sun comes up at 4, and by 6 it’s already in the sky and by 8 it’s overhead.
One last thing neat thing that I’ve seen up here are these petroglyphs (stone drawings). There is this field full of huge stones that are mostly formed in circles and probably formed some sort of temple or home. The drawings are mostly of gazelles and other animals. These drawings all date between 500 BCE to 100 CE and some are of better quality than others. There are also paintings on some stones and then these carved pieces of white stone that have human faces on them. All I have to say is that the people who made them using whatever crude instruments they had can certainly draw better than I can ever hope to.
I left Bishkek and drove up to Lake Issyk-Köl (which means Issyk Lake, so that’s somewhat redundant on my part). The roads leave much to be desired. But the drivers are much better than in Uzbekistan. For example, in Uzbekistan there are four lane roads (two in each direction), but drivers prefer the left hand lane. Nobody drives in the right lane. Which means that when the pass a car they cross over into oncoming traffic rather than stay on their side of the road, which can make for a harrowing drive. My driver here also drives like a snail, which I suppose is better than my Uzbek driver who drove like a madman (including getting us into an accident). But still, a bit faster would be nicer. Oh, and did I mention that he is constantly looking at the scenery and cannot talk to someone without looking at them!!!
After an early start I spent Sunday morning at the live animal bazaar. It starts at 5am and goes until 10am. I caught the tail end. Lots of hay, horses, cows, and sheep. Sheep ranged anywhere from $30 to $100 and some horses fetched $1000. My guide told me that they are more expensive now, but when August and September roll around the prices drop because people need to sell their livestock to buy school supplies and clothing for the children. I met a young Russian girl who spoke some English and she suggested that I buy her cow and bring it back in my suitcase. I met a young Kyrgyz guy (prob around 18-20) who spoke near perfect English. He’s studying it and hopes to continue at the university in Bishkek and then get on an exchange program to the US where his friend is studying. It’s his dream to live in the US. It’s actually refreshing how positive everyone here is about the States, not necessarily the reaction one gets in other corners of the globe. Anyhow, I found a sheep in the bazaar that was black and white and looks strikingly like the sheep I imagine my new black and white wool hat to have come from. So I asked its owner if I could buy it and try to sell it myself and return it to him if I didn’t succeed. He agreed and there I was, the white American, saying “Koi satalat” which (I hope) translates into “sheep for sale.” I got a lot of laughs and a lot of people to come over, but none wanted to buy Shepl (that’s what I named him). So after about 10 minutes, I returned him to his original owner. And gave him a little money for what amounted to a short-term rental.
Next up on my Sunday morning excursions around the city of Karakol was a visit to the Russian Orthodox Church. It’s build out of wood and looks like an amazing log cabin with bell towers. It’s quite beautiful from the outside. There were services going on inside so I just stood at the doorway and peeked in. Everyone was standing and the hardwood floors. The women all had their heads covered with handkerchiefs and while the population was mostly older women, there were quite a few children running around and some young people as well. The priest stood toward the front in the middle and was chanting and then periodically what sounded like an all female choir would join in. Really nice chanting. There were also a few Kyrgyz in the church and one of the altar boys was Kyrgyz. At one point the priest sprayed/threw/dispersed water on to the crowd. Very interesting and I really liked the music. What was also interesting was just how Russian these Russians looked, more so than the ones in Moscow. They were blonder and whiter and sort of stereotypically Russian looking. I guess they never really intermarried with the local population. A lot of Russians have left Kyrgyzstan since independence. Not so much because of discrimination, but more so because they were the educated ones and they could get paid more in Russia. This (and that young educated English speakers are looking to leave to America) is a source of major brain drain in Kyrgyzstan and is really hurting their economic growth.
Next stop was a Dungan Mosque. Dungans are ethnically Chinese Muslims (as opposed to Uighurs who are Turkic peoples living in China and are also Muslim). They fled China in the late 19th century and live in eastern Kyrgyzstan. The mosque looked more like a Chinese pagoda and less like a mosque. Everything inside, from the wood panels painted to even the carpet design, seemed more Chinese than Muslim. The minaret too!
Issyk-Köl is really beautiful. Nestled between the mountains at just under 2000m it is the second highest lake in the world. It’s almost 200k wide and it never freezes in the winter. The north shore was home to many Russian summer resorts, most of which are now rotting. Just north of the north shore is the border with Kazakhstan (a.k.a. Boratistan) and mountains. The south shore nestles the Tien Shan mountains and is where I plan on spending more of my time. The lake was also home to Soviet military research centers. I believe (although I’m not 100% certain) that this was where they would test submarines and do navy R&D. The streets of Karakol are lined with Cossack built cottages, some of which are still in very good condition. And then there are some newer two storey houses built by the wealthy. Also in Karakol today are lots of cars loaded up with sheep and cows, presumably coming from the animal bazaar.
People here in this region of Kyrgyzstan seem to subsist on farming and for the most part this is done on a very small individual family scale. I’m thinking back to my oral exams now and how I was asked about the efficiency of small vs. big farms. The answer was that contrary to economies of scale model, smaller individual owned farms are more productive. Let’s hope that’s the case here. I have to say that all the fruit and vegetables I’ve had here and in this region have been excellent. On the sides of the street there are children selling cherries and they neatly wrap the stems around a metal hanger and lace the stems all around and its about two feet long. A lot of cherries. For some reason my driver thinks I need all of them.
I watched the sunset around Issyk-Köl. Both the water and the sky seemed to fuse together into this pale purple color. And out on the horizon there was a light blue belt. Years ago my oldest nephew would have told me that was the equator; after all, isn’t that what it looks like on a globe? I think he knows better now (hi Mo, I hope you’re enjoying reading). Then where the sun was setting there were orange, red, and yellow rays of light shining upwards from behind the mountains, really spectacular colors. And the mountains looked purple (I thought purple mountains majesty was reserved for the US, but I guess not).
I’m staying not too far away from Karakol in a valley south east of Issyk-Köl in a place called Jeti Oghuz (I have no idea how to properly spell it). Jeti Oghuz means seven bulls, and that’s because that in this red sandstone canyon there are 10 large protruding rocks (apparently there used to be seven and hence the name). The seven/ten bulls are just outside my window (and a short little hike). I’m going to climb up there probably in two days (tomorrow I’m riding horses up in the mountains). On the drive to Jeti Oghuz I passed this giant red rock split down the middle. They call it broken heart, and I guess it looks like heart torn into two pieces. This red rock is beautiful especially as the sun changes positions and it changes color. I’m going to get up early (hopefully) to watch the sun rise. Speaking of sunrise, they seriously need to consider changing time zones here. The sun comes up at 4, and by 6 it’s already in the sky and by 8 it’s overhead.
One last thing neat thing that I’ve seen up here are these petroglyphs (stone drawings). There is this field full of huge stones that are mostly formed in circles and probably formed some sort of temple or home. The drawings are mostly of gazelles and other animals. These drawings all date between 500 BCE to 100 CE and some are of better quality than others. There are also paintings on some stones and then these carved pieces of white stone that have human faces on them. All I have to say is that the people who made them using whatever crude instruments they had can certainly draw better than I can ever hope to.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Causing & Avoiding International Incidents
6/22/07
I left my hotel early this morning to catch a 9 am flight to Bishkek (a.k.a. Frunze, a.k.a. Pishpek), the capital of Kyrgyzstan (or the Kyrgyz Republic). First off, it’s slightly ridiculous how far you have to walk (without any carts) to reach the terminal. I flashed my passport and walked into the terminal. So far so good. But then there were no Uzbek Airways (O’zbekiston Hava Yollary) counters open. I was there the two hours in advance required, but no one else was. Shortly after I noticed a blond-haired guy with a backpack. I quickly befriended Chris (from Zürich, Switzerland) as we sat atop our backpacks and waited for the counters to open. Naturally the two foreigners got there on time, but no one else had.
Somehow a line had formed while our backs were turned. So we joined the queue and began filling out our customs declaration forms. This is where things started to go awry. I was leaving Uzbekistan with more money than I entered with. This is not a good thing. I couldn’t decide whether it was better to lie and declare an equal amount or to be honest. After much debate I chose honest. Wrong answer.
I showed the customs officer my two customs declarations (the one from entering and the one from exiting) and they stopped both Chris and me (poor Chris). Why? Because my forms did not match up. They were not happy. They asked me to hand them USD 700 and then I could go through. I was not about to give any Uzbek government official 700 dollars. Then they made me count all my money in front of them. Chris at this point had been cleared to pass, but was kind enough to wait behind with me. I asked them to call the US Embassy and have them clear it up. I explained that I had more money now because of a wire transfer (true) and that I was just being honest by declaring my money (also true). They still weren’t happy. By now I had attracted another customs official (I was up to three and the airline representative). Fortunately this female customs agent seemed a bit smarter than the others. She looked at Chris’ form and realized he was leaving with less than he came with. Chris, my saviour, stepped in to ask in Russian if we could both fill out new forms. She agreed and I quickly tore up my incriminating declaration form into many tiny pieces and stuffed some in various pockets and ate a few. We both set about filling out new forms in duplicate and she insisted that I physically hand over the 700 dollars to Chris until we left the country. I obliged and Chris was kind enough to return the money once onboard the bus to the airplane. Crisis resolved. For a while I was sure I wasn’t boarding that plane and all my bags were going to be searched. In the end I wondered if I should have just lied and declared the same amount of money. I guess if that happened and they had searched me, I would have had to forfeit that money. But still, it was an unpleasant incident. I’m just happy I didn’t finance someone’s retirement slush fund.
The flight itself was good. It was interesting to see the geography and topography from 30,000 ft. From Tashkent you set out seeing vast plains and soon it turns to what look like sand-dunes; it’s the beginning of the Tienshen mountain range I presume. What was really interesting is that surrounding this hills and desert plains you can see rivers winding through valleys and forming oases. So you’ll see all yellow and brown and then a large green area with a river through it. Gives you some perspective on oases, the desert, and the general landscape of the region. I was hoping we would fly over the mountains, but upon seeing our airplane I was relieved to see that we didn’t. Actually, the airplane was just fine, but I don’t think it was built for alpine peaks.
I’m looking forward to seeing the Syr Darya River (Jaxartes), which starts in the Tien Shen mountains and winds its way down into the Fergana Valley (where I already had a glimpse) and through northernish Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan to reach the Aral Sea. It too, like the Oxus/Amu Darya, has played an important role in the development of the region. I’m sorry I didn’t fly over the Amu Darya. When Alexander the Great came this way and his army crossed the river, it was 5 miles wide. Imagine that! Now, it’s still a half mile in some places, more in others, and as I’ve already written, much less in others. The Oxus was historically the divide between the Persian and Turkic worlds. Transoxiana is used to describe the land between the rivers, which was always home to settled life and periodic nomadic invasions. North of the Jaxartes is where nomadic life thrived the longest. It is on these steppes that the Kazakh and Kyrgyz tribes wandered, although most nomadic life was destroyed by the collectivization in the 1920s and 30s. That being said, Kyrgyz nomadic life has survived the most intact out of all of Central Asia and I’m going to the mountains and summer pastures to stay in some yurts next week.
I spent my last day in Tashkent taking it easy and seeing a few things. I went to the Fine Arts Museum for a couple hours in the morning. It was far more interesting that I had anticipated. The second floor was particularly interesting because it houses all the crafts that are made in Uzbekistan. What was great for me, having just finished two weeks in the country, was to see and compare side-by-side the different textiles from different regions and across time. There were suzani embroideries, silks, carpets, skullcaps, dresses, miniature paintings, ceramics and more. Also interesting and worth mentioning is how the quality of the craftsmanship took a real dive during the Soviet era. There is a noticeable difference in colors and skill. This happened as I presume most of the handiwork was moved to mass production factories and the real skill was lost. But again, it was a real treat to see all this art work displayed across region and time. Next I met up with an ex-pat whose name I’m intentionally omitting. She wanted to show me Center Plova or Plov Center. It was insane, there were six giant woks filled with rice (and oil) and people were coming in by the dozens to get their favorite plov. Definitely the most lively market place I’d seen. Next up I went to the Amir Timur museum, which was rather uninspiring. But it did have a great quote by Islam Karimov: “If somebody wants to understand who the Uzbeks are, if somebody wants to comprehend all the power, might, justice, and unlimited abilities of the Uzbek people, their contribution to the global development, their belief in future he should recall the image of Amir Timur.” Weird.
I left my hotel early this morning to catch a 9 am flight to Bishkek (a.k.a. Frunze, a.k.a. Pishpek), the capital of Kyrgyzstan (or the Kyrgyz Republic). First off, it’s slightly ridiculous how far you have to walk (without any carts) to reach the terminal. I flashed my passport and walked into the terminal. So far so good. But then there were no Uzbek Airways (O’zbekiston Hava Yollary) counters open. I was there the two hours in advance required, but no one else was. Shortly after I noticed a blond-haired guy with a backpack. I quickly befriended Chris (from Zürich, Switzerland) as we sat atop our backpacks and waited for the counters to open. Naturally the two foreigners got there on time, but no one else had.
Somehow a line had formed while our backs were turned. So we joined the queue and began filling out our customs declaration forms. This is where things started to go awry. I was leaving Uzbekistan with more money than I entered with. This is not a good thing. I couldn’t decide whether it was better to lie and declare an equal amount or to be honest. After much debate I chose honest. Wrong answer.
I showed the customs officer my two customs declarations (the one from entering and the one from exiting) and they stopped both Chris and me (poor Chris). Why? Because my forms did not match up. They were not happy. They asked me to hand them USD 700 and then I could go through. I was not about to give any Uzbek government official 700 dollars. Then they made me count all my money in front of them. Chris at this point had been cleared to pass, but was kind enough to wait behind with me. I asked them to call the US Embassy and have them clear it up. I explained that I had more money now because of a wire transfer (true) and that I was just being honest by declaring my money (also true). They still weren’t happy. By now I had attracted another customs official (I was up to three and the airline representative). Fortunately this female customs agent seemed a bit smarter than the others. She looked at Chris’ form and realized he was leaving with less than he came with. Chris, my saviour, stepped in to ask in Russian if we could both fill out new forms. She agreed and I quickly tore up my incriminating declaration form into many tiny pieces and stuffed some in various pockets and ate a few. We both set about filling out new forms in duplicate and she insisted that I physically hand over the 700 dollars to Chris until we left the country. I obliged and Chris was kind enough to return the money once onboard the bus to the airplane. Crisis resolved. For a while I was sure I wasn’t boarding that plane and all my bags were going to be searched. In the end I wondered if I should have just lied and declared the same amount of money. I guess if that happened and they had searched me, I would have had to forfeit that money. But still, it was an unpleasant incident. I’m just happy I didn’t finance someone’s retirement slush fund.
The flight itself was good. It was interesting to see the geography and topography from 30,000 ft. From Tashkent you set out seeing vast plains and soon it turns to what look like sand-dunes; it’s the beginning of the Tienshen mountain range I presume. What was really interesting is that surrounding this hills and desert plains you can see rivers winding through valleys and forming oases. So you’ll see all yellow and brown and then a large green area with a river through it. Gives you some perspective on oases, the desert, and the general landscape of the region. I was hoping we would fly over the mountains, but upon seeing our airplane I was relieved to see that we didn’t. Actually, the airplane was just fine, but I don’t think it was built for alpine peaks.
I’m looking forward to seeing the Syr Darya River (Jaxartes), which starts in the Tien Shen mountains and winds its way down into the Fergana Valley (where I already had a glimpse) and through northernish Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan to reach the Aral Sea. It too, like the Oxus/Amu Darya, has played an important role in the development of the region. I’m sorry I didn’t fly over the Amu Darya. When Alexander the Great came this way and his army crossed the river, it was 5 miles wide. Imagine that! Now, it’s still a half mile in some places, more in others, and as I’ve already written, much less in others. The Oxus was historically the divide between the Persian and Turkic worlds. Transoxiana is used to describe the land between the rivers, which was always home to settled life and periodic nomadic invasions. North of the Jaxartes is where nomadic life thrived the longest. It is on these steppes that the Kazakh and Kyrgyz tribes wandered, although most nomadic life was destroyed by the collectivization in the 1920s and 30s. That being said, Kyrgyz nomadic life has survived the most intact out of all of Central Asia and I’m going to the mountains and summer pastures to stay in some yurts next week.
I spent my last day in Tashkent taking it easy and seeing a few things. I went to the Fine Arts Museum for a couple hours in the morning. It was far more interesting that I had anticipated. The second floor was particularly interesting because it houses all the crafts that are made in Uzbekistan. What was great for me, having just finished two weeks in the country, was to see and compare side-by-side the different textiles from different regions and across time. There were suzani embroideries, silks, carpets, skullcaps, dresses, miniature paintings, ceramics and more. Also interesting and worth mentioning is how the quality of the craftsmanship took a real dive during the Soviet era. There is a noticeable difference in colors and skill. This happened as I presume most of the handiwork was moved to mass production factories and the real skill was lost. But again, it was a real treat to see all this art work displayed across region and time. Next I met up with an ex-pat whose name I’m intentionally omitting. She wanted to show me Center Plova or Plov Center. It was insane, there were six giant woks filled with rice (and oil) and people were coming in by the dozens to get their favorite plov. Definitely the most lively market place I’d seen. Next up I went to the Amir Timur museum, which was rather uninspiring. But it did have a great quote by Islam Karimov: “If somebody wants to understand who the Uzbeks are, if somebody wants to comprehend all the power, might, justice, and unlimited abilities of the Uzbek people, their contribution to the global development, their belief in future he should recall the image of Amir Timur.” Weird.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Snob's Platinum
6/20/07
Before you think too hard about what that blog title actually means, I’ll help you out. Yesterday (Tuesday) we were driving in to town (Tashkent) from Andijon and the Fergana Valley. There are loads of billboards here and some nice big signage for some westernish stores. But there was one that caught my eye. It looked to be a men’s clothing store and there was a big sign which said “SNOB’S” and running through the middle in smaller squatter letters it said “platinum.” Do you think they know what a snob is? Or is that the look and attitude that they’re aiming for? Either way, I had a good chuckle.
We had an interesting day in Tashkent. It started out by us looking for the old city, but we didn’t have much luck. So we gave up on the old city and decided to pursue Tashkent the Weird.
First stop: We were looking for some mosque (I’m not sure why, as I’ve mentioned I have tile fatigue), but instead what we found was the official religious offices of Uzbekistan and its affiliated mosque and medrassah. Apparently it’s where the state appointed grand mufti has his office. Women aren’t allowed in one building. Westerners in another.
Second stop: Museum of the Ministry of Defense of Uzbekistan. This jewel of a museum is set in a large garden, which is adorned with statues of presumably famous Uzbek national military heroes and old artillery and tanks. Inside is even better. The ground floor is dedicated to Amir Timur and his campaigns. There are some cool spears hanging from the ceiling, including ones that have horse hairs tied to them…they are actually called Spirit Banners and hail from a Mongolian tradition. Genghis Khan by Weatherford had a good description of them, which is why I could recognize the spears as Spirit Banners rather than mere spears. Ok, second floor (or first floor depending on how you’re counting) is completely devoted to the Great Patriotic War. Medals, artillery, machine guns, bombs, and much much more all available to see (and touch). There were also great big murals of important campaigns, such as the Battle of Stalingrad. Of course English would have been helpful. The top floor is devoted to the Uzbek military of today. Partnership for Peace photos, more weaponry, and lots of awards from other militaries all adorn the cases. What was missing (and what I had read was there) was information about Frunze’s campaigns in Central Asia. Not that I would have understood the exhibits anyway, but still.
Next stop on our tour was the Railway Museum. I have many nieces and nephews who would have thought this was super cool. It is an old rail yard with dozens of Soviet trains just sitting there. Brightly colored. And just waiting for me to climb on them. So I did, because they wanted to be climbed on. Our driver thought we were crazy in our choices of where we kept on going. He called his boss when we asked him for the military museum to make sure he had understood us.
Our last stop for the day as the Chabad Lubuvitch Synagogue in Tashkent. Nothing to write about other than they thought we had come to have a meeting with the Rabbi and we had to listen to a guided tour of the museum without a translator. Or rather the docent talked and talked and the translator couldn’t translate fast enough or well enough. It was hot. 105 in Tashkent today (or so my mom tells me).
That was pretty much Tashkent for today. Oh, how could I forget?! Tonight we went to the Muqimi Musical Drama Theatre. Tickets ran at 1,500 Sum (just over a dollar) and it was well worth it. In a theatre that can hold 400 people easily there were maybe 40. There was supposed to be lots of singing and dancing. Sadly there was very little dancing, some singing, and a lot of standing and shouting at each other. The story revolved around Babur, the great great (I don’t know how many greats) grandson of Amir Timur. He was also the first Mogul emperor in India. He is venerated here, but I can’t figure out why: after all he lost in battle to the Uzbek tribes and had to flee to India. So why make him so great if he lost to your own people, the Uzbeks? It doesn’t make perfect sense, but I suppose it has something to do with Amir Timur/Tamerlane. So some highlights included: the intermission where I went and bought water and Simba, “sweetened Styrofoam” as my mother described it. It’s a snack in a bag and is basically air and sugar as its two main ingredients. Everyone was buying a bag so I did too. I had three pieces and gave the rest away. Another highlight: there is a theatre employee inside to show people seats, etc. She also would tell people they were talking too loudly. But here’s the kicker: we asked if we could take a picture during the intermissions, so for the rest of the show she would come over and tell us that this was a good scene to photograph and my mom and I had to oblige by photographing most of the second act. She would only leave once we took the picture. And then return five minutes later. After the show we had to oblige the locals once again and pose in family portraits. I’m sure it didn’t help that my mother and I were wearing matching shirts.
Going back to yesterday, Andijon was interesting. The bazaar was quite lively and we purchased some famous Fergana pink rice. I look forward to seeing what color it actually is after cooking. Supposedly it’s very good. I’ll let you know, I bought a kilo. So walking around the bazaar was going very well until we started being followed by a teenage boy who kept on asking questions, which is totally normal here, except that he wanted papers to come to America. Weird. So we left. I went to check out the square in Andijon (surreptitiously) where the riots happened. It was much larger than I had imagined. Not going to write anything more here.
I really enjoyed traveling in the Fergana Valley. There are so many interesting handicrafts that come from that region, it’s just interesting to see them all. Here I’ve been traveling the Silk Road for over the last two weeks and I finally got to see the Silk in Margilan. It tied everything together nicely. We searched for a while in the city of Chust to find the knife factory, but to no avail, it is in hiding.
I think I mentioned the reverence here for Tamerlane but the general abhorrence for Genghis Khan, even though the later is generally thought responsible for the wealth and prosperity that the Silk Road produced. Anyhow, on Sunday morning in Samarkand, we went to the Museum of Regional Studies. It had two side by side display cases. One talked about how Genghis Khan was evil and terrible and the other referred to Tamerlane as a great diplomat and statesmen. Neither statement was true, but I find it interesting how national myths are woven and identity created.
That’s all for now, I’m sure I’m forgetting things, but I’m absolutely exhausted. I’m in Tashkent for one more day and then I’m off to Kyrgyzstan for two weeks. I’ve decided to skip Boratistan for some more time in the mountains.
Dinabek
Before you think too hard about what that blog title actually means, I’ll help you out. Yesterday (Tuesday) we were driving in to town (Tashkent) from Andijon and the Fergana Valley. There are loads of billboards here and some nice big signage for some westernish stores. But there was one that caught my eye. It looked to be a men’s clothing store and there was a big sign which said “SNOB’S” and running through the middle in smaller squatter letters it said “platinum.” Do you think they know what a snob is? Or is that the look and attitude that they’re aiming for? Either way, I had a good chuckle.
We had an interesting day in Tashkent. It started out by us looking for the old city, but we didn’t have much luck. So we gave up on the old city and decided to pursue Tashkent the Weird.
First stop: We were looking for some mosque (I’m not sure why, as I’ve mentioned I have tile fatigue), but instead what we found was the official religious offices of Uzbekistan and its affiliated mosque and medrassah. Apparently it’s where the state appointed grand mufti has his office. Women aren’t allowed in one building. Westerners in another.
Second stop: Museum of the Ministry of Defense of Uzbekistan. This jewel of a museum is set in a large garden, which is adorned with statues of presumably famous Uzbek national military heroes and old artillery and tanks. Inside is even better. The ground floor is dedicated to Amir Timur and his campaigns. There are some cool spears hanging from the ceiling, including ones that have horse hairs tied to them…they are actually called Spirit Banners and hail from a Mongolian tradition. Genghis Khan by Weatherford had a good description of them, which is why I could recognize the spears as Spirit Banners rather than mere spears. Ok, second floor (or first floor depending on how you’re counting) is completely devoted to the Great Patriotic War. Medals, artillery, machine guns, bombs, and much much more all available to see (and touch). There were also great big murals of important campaigns, such as the Battle of Stalingrad. Of course English would have been helpful. The top floor is devoted to the Uzbek military of today. Partnership for Peace photos, more weaponry, and lots of awards from other militaries all adorn the cases. What was missing (and what I had read was there) was information about Frunze’s campaigns in Central Asia. Not that I would have understood the exhibits anyway, but still.
Next stop on our tour was the Railway Museum. I have many nieces and nephews who would have thought this was super cool. It is an old rail yard with dozens of Soviet trains just sitting there. Brightly colored. And just waiting for me to climb on them. So I did, because they wanted to be climbed on. Our driver thought we were crazy in our choices of where we kept on going. He called his boss when we asked him for the military museum to make sure he had understood us.
Our last stop for the day as the Chabad Lubuvitch Synagogue in Tashkent. Nothing to write about other than they thought we had come to have a meeting with the Rabbi and we had to listen to a guided tour of the museum without a translator. Or rather the docent talked and talked and the translator couldn’t translate fast enough or well enough. It was hot. 105 in Tashkent today (or so my mom tells me).
That was pretty much Tashkent for today. Oh, how could I forget?! Tonight we went to the Muqimi Musical Drama Theatre. Tickets ran at 1,500 Sum (just over a dollar) and it was well worth it. In a theatre that can hold 400 people easily there were maybe 40. There was supposed to be lots of singing and dancing. Sadly there was very little dancing, some singing, and a lot of standing and shouting at each other. The story revolved around Babur, the great great (I don’t know how many greats) grandson of Amir Timur. He was also the first Mogul emperor in India. He is venerated here, but I can’t figure out why: after all he lost in battle to the Uzbek tribes and had to flee to India. So why make him so great if he lost to your own people, the Uzbeks? It doesn’t make perfect sense, but I suppose it has something to do with Amir Timur/Tamerlane. So some highlights included: the intermission where I went and bought water and Simba, “sweetened Styrofoam” as my mother described it. It’s a snack in a bag and is basically air and sugar as its two main ingredients. Everyone was buying a bag so I did too. I had three pieces and gave the rest away. Another highlight: there is a theatre employee inside to show people seats, etc. She also would tell people they were talking too loudly. But here’s the kicker: we asked if we could take a picture during the intermissions, so for the rest of the show she would come over and tell us that this was a good scene to photograph and my mom and I had to oblige by photographing most of the second act. She would only leave once we took the picture. And then return five minutes later. After the show we had to oblige the locals once again and pose in family portraits. I’m sure it didn’t help that my mother and I were wearing matching shirts.
Going back to yesterday, Andijon was interesting. The bazaar was quite lively and we purchased some famous Fergana pink rice. I look forward to seeing what color it actually is after cooking. Supposedly it’s very good. I’ll let you know, I bought a kilo. So walking around the bazaar was going very well until we started being followed by a teenage boy who kept on asking questions, which is totally normal here, except that he wanted papers to come to America. Weird. So we left. I went to check out the square in Andijon (surreptitiously) where the riots happened. It was much larger than I had imagined. Not going to write anything more here.
I really enjoyed traveling in the Fergana Valley. There are so many interesting handicrafts that come from that region, it’s just interesting to see them all. Here I’ve been traveling the Silk Road for over the last two weeks and I finally got to see the Silk in Margilan. It tied everything together nicely. We searched for a while in the city of Chust to find the knife factory, but to no avail, it is in hiding.
I think I mentioned the reverence here for Tamerlane but the general abhorrence for Genghis Khan, even though the later is generally thought responsible for the wealth and prosperity that the Silk Road produced. Anyhow, on Sunday morning in Samarkand, we went to the Museum of Regional Studies. It had two side by side display cases. One talked about how Genghis Khan was evil and terrible and the other referred to Tamerlane as a great diplomat and statesmen. Neither statement was true, but I find it interesting how national myths are woven and identity created.
That’s all for now, I’m sure I’m forgetting things, but I’m absolutely exhausted. I’m in Tashkent for one more day and then I’m off to Kyrgyzstan for two weeks. I’ve decided to skip Boratistan for some more time in the mountains.
Dinabek
Monday, June 18, 2007
Into the Valley...I am not in Tajikistan
(06/18/07)
I had planned on writing a blog entitled "I am not in Tajikistan, but if I was..." and telling all about my travels to Penjikent, Tajikistan, including my illegal border crossing. Sadly, that did not happen.and there were no such shennanigans (really Whitney, I promise). Instead I did something that will equally delay my working for the State Department...I travelled to the Fergana Valley, from where I write this blog.
The Fergana Valley has in recent years been home to much unrest. In particular, about two years back, there was a major islamic jail break in the city of Andijon (I'm going there tomorrow) and then some riots, which were quelled by killing a few hundred people. Pretty violent and bloody. There's a book I'm trying to get my hands on and can't (not surprisingly) about the recent history here, it's called Tamerlane's Children. Back to the valley: it's the heart of Uzbekistan, which in turn is the heart of Central Asia. Roughly one third of Uzbekistan's population is in this valley and it's the most densely settled area of the country. And yes, it is home to quite a few Islamic militants. Two groups worth mentioning are the Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan (IMU) and the other one's name is way too confusing to spell (i was going to try, but now i dont want to be embarrassed if it's horribly off). Either way, the latter is a peaceful group that hopes for a peaceful overthrow of all governments...kind of a weird philosophy. There's a good book by Rasheed (WSJ writer) about Islamic militantism (is that a word) in central asia...it's a good read.
We drove into the valley this morning crossing over a nice mountain range with snow-capped peaks, quite a change in weather from what I'm used to here. Our first stop was Kokand. It used to be a big Khanate that rivaled Khiva and Bukhara, but it was founded later and was burned to the ground by the Russians. I went into the Khan's Palace and there was a nice little exhibit on the history of the region. Lots of tiles and painted ceilings. But still suffering from tile fatigue. The highlight had to be the 15 stuffed animals in the courtyard. Everything from a wild boar to a porcupine to a cat that looks like it just saw the truck barreling toward it. And some scary looking aminals.
Next up on our drive was Rishtan. It is home to ceramics making in Uzbekistan. So naturally, we stopped. We got the whole tour of this family owned and run ceramics factory. We got to see how you throw clay (pretty good stress relief) to molding it on the spinning thing. Then you fire it, fire it some more. paint it, fire it. lots of hot fire. which we didn't see. After Rishtan we drove to Margilan. This city, which is not too far away from Fergana City where I am now, is home to the Yodgorlik Silk Factory. This was amazing. We saw the whole silk making process. First they have these cocoons (which make a noise when you shake them) and each cocoon has some 1000+ meters of silk. Then we saw them soaking the cocoons where they get teh silk to unravel. Other parts of the factory had them wrapping the silk and bunching the strands together to get bundles to actually weave with. We saw people sorting out the different quality cocoons. They tie dye the silk too and we saw the men doing that. Actually there were lots of children in that room and at first I was concerned that they were child laborers. Then I realized that the adults and older teens were working and the little kids were just sitting there watching and playing. It's like bring you kid to work day every day. At least when it's summer vacation. Also, I got to see women weaving scarfs and long bolts of fabric. Oh, and I got to see women making silk carpets. They do a cm a day and it takes 2 years to complete one carpet. Anyhow, moral of the story is that the silk factory was super cool.
Driving to Fergana was somewhat interesting. Before you enter the road leading into the valley there is a major checkpoint. There are checkpoints throughout this country, but usually they just wave tourists through. Here we had to stop and give over our passports and our driver had to get out and show his proper registration. It was more like crossing a border than any internal checkpoints I've seen here or in Turkmenistan. I imagine those sorts of precautions are because of the IMU.
Oh another great fun fact of Uzbekistan and Central Asia. Did you know that both Karimov and Turkmenbashi are byproducts of the Soviet state system? Both were orphaned and raised in orphanages and rose through the party ranks to lead the country in the Soviet Union's final years. I just think it's so interesting that these two dictators, ahem-Presidents for life, have the same background. Better yet, Karimov's ethnicity is a state-held secret. It's rumored that he's part Tadjik and may not be Uzbek at all...it's got to be somewhat damaging, otherwise why would it be a state secret. Weird part of the world these Stans are.
Since I'm actually typing to one at an internet cafe i think that's all for now. I'm off to Andijan tomorrow and looking forward to seeing the bazaar life in those parts.
I had planned on writing a blog entitled "I am not in Tajikistan, but if I was..." and telling all about my travels to Penjikent, Tajikistan, including my illegal border crossing. Sadly, that did not happen.and there were no such shennanigans (really Whitney, I promise). Instead I did something that will equally delay my working for the State Department...I travelled to the Fergana Valley, from where I write this blog.
The Fergana Valley has in recent years been home to much unrest. In particular, about two years back, there was a major islamic jail break in the city of Andijon (I'm going there tomorrow) and then some riots, which were quelled by killing a few hundred people. Pretty violent and bloody. There's a book I'm trying to get my hands on and can't (not surprisingly) about the recent history here, it's called Tamerlane's Children. Back to the valley: it's the heart of Uzbekistan, which in turn is the heart of Central Asia. Roughly one third of Uzbekistan's population is in this valley and it's the most densely settled area of the country. And yes, it is home to quite a few Islamic militants. Two groups worth mentioning are the Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan (IMU) and the other one's name is way too confusing to spell (i was going to try, but now i dont want to be embarrassed if it's horribly off). Either way, the latter is a peaceful group that hopes for a peaceful overthrow of all governments...kind of a weird philosophy. There's a good book by Rasheed (WSJ writer) about Islamic militantism (is that a word) in central asia...it's a good read.
We drove into the valley this morning crossing over a nice mountain range with snow-capped peaks, quite a change in weather from what I'm used to here. Our first stop was Kokand. It used to be a big Khanate that rivaled Khiva and Bukhara, but it was founded later and was burned to the ground by the Russians. I went into the Khan's Palace and there was a nice little exhibit on the history of the region. Lots of tiles and painted ceilings. But still suffering from tile fatigue. The highlight had to be the 15 stuffed animals in the courtyard. Everything from a wild boar to a porcupine to a cat that looks like it just saw the truck barreling toward it. And some scary looking aminals.
Next up on our drive was Rishtan. It is home to ceramics making in Uzbekistan. So naturally, we stopped. We got the whole tour of this family owned and run ceramics factory. We got to see how you throw clay (pretty good stress relief) to molding it on the spinning thing. Then you fire it, fire it some more. paint it, fire it. lots of hot fire. which we didn't see. After Rishtan we drove to Margilan. This city, which is not too far away from Fergana City where I am now, is home to the Yodgorlik Silk Factory. This was amazing. We saw the whole silk making process. First they have these cocoons (which make a noise when you shake them) and each cocoon has some 1000+ meters of silk. Then we saw them soaking the cocoons where they get teh silk to unravel. Other parts of the factory had them wrapping the silk and bunching the strands together to get bundles to actually weave with. We saw people sorting out the different quality cocoons. They tie dye the silk too and we saw the men doing that. Actually there were lots of children in that room and at first I was concerned that they were child laborers. Then I realized that the adults and older teens were working and the little kids were just sitting there watching and playing. It's like bring you kid to work day every day. At least when it's summer vacation. Also, I got to see women weaving scarfs and long bolts of fabric. Oh, and I got to see women making silk carpets. They do a cm a day and it takes 2 years to complete one carpet. Anyhow, moral of the story is that the silk factory was super cool.
Driving to Fergana was somewhat interesting. Before you enter the road leading into the valley there is a major checkpoint. There are checkpoints throughout this country, but usually they just wave tourists through. Here we had to stop and give over our passports and our driver had to get out and show his proper registration. It was more like crossing a border than any internal checkpoints I've seen here or in Turkmenistan. I imagine those sorts of precautions are because of the IMU.
Oh another great fun fact of Uzbekistan and Central Asia. Did you know that both Karimov and Turkmenbashi are byproducts of the Soviet state system? Both were orphaned and raised in orphanages and rose through the party ranks to lead the country in the Soviet Union's final years. I just think it's so interesting that these two dictators, ahem-Presidents for life, have the same background. Better yet, Karimov's ethnicity is a state-held secret. It's rumored that he's part Tadjik and may not be Uzbek at all...it's got to be somewhat damaging, otherwise why would it be a state secret. Weird part of the world these Stans are.
Since I'm actually typing to one at an internet cafe i think that's all for now. I'm off to Andijan tomorrow and looking forward to seeing the bazaar life in those parts.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Samarqand: Crossroads of the World
Standing in the middle or the Registan I could not keep my mind off of two things. First, I am standing in the middle of the world, the heart of it all. Second, I am suffering from major tile fatigue. I came to Uzbekistan, to Central Asia in fact, to see Samarqand. Some of you may remember that I wanted to live here for a year and study Persian. I suppose it's a good thing I didn't because they speak with some very funny accents (imagine what they're saying about me). The city is green and lush with some nice boulevards. I told my guide, Akbar, that I thought about coming to study here. He immediately gave me his phone number for when I come back, "you will have a home stay with my family." I thanked him.
Historically speaking Samarqand has had two major golden ages. The first was as a major caravan-stop along the Silk Road. The second was as the capital of Timurlane's Empire and later of the Timurid Empire (before it moved to Herat). People here revere Timur, which is amazing, because he was probably the most blood-thirsty despot ever to grace these lands…and they've had their share of crazed blood-thirsty despots if you know what I'm saying. I'm starting to realize that this region suffers from some historical curse of crazy leaders: Genghis Khan, some sadistic Khan or Emir, Timurlane (or as they call him here Amir Timur), Tsarist Russia, Soviet Russia, or modern day Islam Karimov. Torture? It's always been used here and it's nothing new. Genghis Khan has a very bad reputation here, but Timurlane can do no wrong. In fact, Genghis Khan is responsible for opening up the Silk Road and creating the vast amounts of wealth that flowed through these bazaars and streets while Timurlane's signature was not free trade, rather he was notorious of stacking skulls in pyramids after he had slaughtered a city. Back to the leadership for a moment; I guess what I'm trying to get at is that Karimov's treatment of the citizens of Uzbekistan is nothing really new and for some reason it's tolerated. People just go on with their lives. This region has an insane history full of blood-shed and violence and I'm just starting to understand how that impacts the here and now of modern day Uzbekistan and its neighbors.
Samarqand had the good fortune to be located at the intersection of two crossroads of the Silk Road. Most famously it was at the center of the traditional east-west route (there were many east-west routes, but this was the largest, most heavily trafficked one), but it also was along a north-south route heading south to Afghanistan and into India. I believe that when I was in Turkmenistan I wrote about how beautiful the people were. Not to mention super friendly. The people here (as in Karakalpakstan) are equally friendly, but what I find interesting here is how diverse it is. In Turkmenistan everyone looked somewhat similar. Here, however, there is clearly ethnic diversity. I am also clearly incapabable of differentiating a Kazakh from an Uzbek from a Tajik from a Tatar and so on. But it's obvious again from the people that live here that this was the crossroads and the center of the world.
So what did I do in Samarqand? (btw the Q and K are interchangeable). I started out by visiting Gur Emir or the tomb of Amir Timur/Timurlane, conveniently located across the street from my hotel. The giant Mausoleum was actually built by Timurlane from his favorite grandson and he was meant to be buried in a simple crypt in Shakhrisabz that I saw on Thursday. But, on the way into battle with China Timurlane died and he was buried in Samarqand, his capital, since the pass to Shakhrisabz was snowed in. There's a great legend associated with Timurlane's grave. Legend has it that on his grave there was an inscription that said something to the effect of "whoever opens my grave will be defeated by an enemy worse/more fearsome than me." On June 21, 1941, a Soviet anthropologist moved the crypts and opened them up to see who was actually buried there. Opening the crypts confirmed that Timur was in fact lame (Timur the Lame or Tamburlane) and that Ulughbek (an Astronomer King who ruled a bit later) was beheaded). On June 22, 1941 the Nazis broke the Non-Aggression Treaty (Molotov-Ribbentrop?) with the Soviet and invaded the USSR. And slightly less eerie, after the Soviets re-entombed Tamerlane they won the battle at Stalingrad (I say less eerie, because it was like a month after). So that's the legend. Moral of the story: don't mess with the bloody conqueror
After Gur Emir we traveled outside of the city to check out Hoja Ismail. Now this is for all of you Middle East Studies people out there. Hoja Ismail is one of the holier sites in Islam as it hosts the Mausoleum of Ismael al-Bukhari who collected the Hadith about Mohammed. It had a very serene and beautiful courtyard. Inside there were also these very detailed and intricate wood carved doors with Persian inscriptions…which I read to my guide. I also had the good fortune to pose for pictures with my mother for a young lady from the Ferghana Valley.
We returned to Samarqand to visit the Ulughbek Observatory. Ulughbek was the astronomer king of the Timurid Empire. I believe he was the grandson of Timurlane. You can see the remains of what must have been the world's largest sextant and you can see how the sunlight still shines in to hit the instrument at different points throughout the day. Of course, I have no idea how to interpret any of this. There was also a good short and sweet museum on the premises containing some pictures and history of the city and region. The Observatory reminded me a bit of the instruments in Jaipur, India. The instruments in Jaipur are far more impressive (and working), but the ones here in Samarqand are older.
Next up was the Shahr-i-Zindah, one of the more impressive sights I've seen since being here. It is literally an avenue of tombs, each more ornately decorated than the next (although not all restored on the inside). To enter the avenue you have to walk through a mosque (quite tricky to do during Friday prayers as I found out) and walk up the steps. Now, if the number of steps leading up is not the same and coming down you are supposed to crawl up and down the steps forty times for the forty steps. Good thing I didn't count. What's sort of a shame in most of these places is that the most beautiful sites are often the most recently restored. The avenue must have at least a dozen beautiful edifices on each side. Here too I had to post for many pictures. Seven in total. The group who was photographing me also took me along with them from site to site to have the foreigner in their pictures.
We continued on to visit the Synagogue and the Bazaar. It was a very nice synagogue with a dome (it's called the domed synagogue by the locals) and we had a nice tour. Our tour guide seemed to be buddy buddy with the Rabbi. The Bazaar was super organized. Fruit section, vegetable section, bread section, sweets section, pasta, rice, etc. And each stall was neatly numbered, I wonder if you can rent by the day or how the lot system works. Sadly we did not find anymore of those sesame candies, but did taste a lot of fruits and sweets. Yum.
Our last stop for the day was the Registan. It is a pretty large piazza and it is surrounded on three sides by these enormous Medressahs (Ulughbek, Sher Dor (Lion), and Tilla Kari (Gold Covered)). They are all very impressive. Also completely filled with artist shops and tourist kitsch. Like in some of the other Medressahs that I've visited, you can see how students lived. Two or three to a two story room. Larger than the freshmen dorm rooms I've seen…but I guess they didn't have A/C or heating (except with a fire). The facades of these buildings are breath-taking, but I have to go back to see them again because I was suffering from major tile-fatigue. I slipped a guard 3,000 Soms and went up one of the minarets. Not so well lit I had to scamper to get to the minaret entrance proper. First I went up through a gate and then climbed up to the second floor of the Medrassah. That also gave me an opportunity to see all the non-restored parts of these buildings. Then I climbed up some crumbling stairs to reach the minaret. From there it was 56 very steep steps in not such good light. I was filthy when I reached the top. I popped the top half of my body out through the top of the minaret (there was no safety rail so that's as far as I was willing to go) and I got a breathtaking view of this legendary city. I really did feel like I was at the center of the world as I could pick out all of the famous monuments and buildings of this city. Sadly, I had to go down. This is actually where I picked up the most dirt, but I made it down without falling, so that's a plus. My legs hurt me now.
In other news, I have finally finished my doxi for my tick bite, which is good because I was as red as a tomato and breaking out all over my arms and neck. I'm much better now that I've finished the medicine and begun to take benadryl instead. To be fair, I am much groggier.
Historically speaking Samarqand has had two major golden ages. The first was as a major caravan-stop along the Silk Road. The second was as the capital of Timurlane's Empire and later of the Timurid Empire (before it moved to Herat). People here revere Timur, which is amazing, because he was probably the most blood-thirsty despot ever to grace these lands…and they've had their share of crazed blood-thirsty despots if you know what I'm saying. I'm starting to realize that this region suffers from some historical curse of crazy leaders: Genghis Khan, some sadistic Khan or Emir, Timurlane (or as they call him here Amir Timur), Tsarist Russia, Soviet Russia, or modern day Islam Karimov. Torture? It's always been used here and it's nothing new. Genghis Khan has a very bad reputation here, but Timurlane can do no wrong. In fact, Genghis Khan is responsible for opening up the Silk Road and creating the vast amounts of wealth that flowed through these bazaars and streets while Timurlane's signature was not free trade, rather he was notorious of stacking skulls in pyramids after he had slaughtered a city. Back to the leadership for a moment; I guess what I'm trying to get at is that Karimov's treatment of the citizens of Uzbekistan is nothing really new and for some reason it's tolerated. People just go on with their lives. This region has an insane history full of blood-shed and violence and I'm just starting to understand how that impacts the here and now of modern day Uzbekistan and its neighbors.
Samarqand had the good fortune to be located at the intersection of two crossroads of the Silk Road. Most famously it was at the center of the traditional east-west route (there were many east-west routes, but this was the largest, most heavily trafficked one), but it also was along a north-south route heading south to Afghanistan and into India. I believe that when I was in Turkmenistan I wrote about how beautiful the people were. Not to mention super friendly. The people here (as in Karakalpakstan) are equally friendly, but what I find interesting here is how diverse it is. In Turkmenistan everyone looked somewhat similar. Here, however, there is clearly ethnic diversity. I am also clearly incapabable of differentiating a Kazakh from an Uzbek from a Tajik from a Tatar and so on. But it's obvious again from the people that live here that this was the crossroads and the center of the world.
So what did I do in Samarqand? (btw the Q and K are interchangeable). I started out by visiting Gur Emir or the tomb of Amir Timur/Timurlane, conveniently located across the street from my hotel. The giant Mausoleum was actually built by Timurlane from his favorite grandson and he was meant to be buried in a simple crypt in Shakhrisabz that I saw on Thursday. But, on the way into battle with China Timurlane died and he was buried in Samarqand, his capital, since the pass to Shakhrisabz was snowed in. There's a great legend associated with Timurlane's grave. Legend has it that on his grave there was an inscription that said something to the effect of "whoever opens my grave will be defeated by an enemy worse/more fearsome than me." On June 21, 1941, a Soviet anthropologist moved the crypts and opened them up to see who was actually buried there. Opening the crypts confirmed that Timur was in fact lame (Timur the Lame or Tamburlane) and that Ulughbek (an Astronomer King who ruled a bit later) was beheaded). On June 22, 1941 the Nazis broke the Non-Aggression Treaty (Molotov-Ribbentrop?) with the Soviet and invaded the USSR. And slightly less eerie, after the Soviets re-entombed Tamerlane they won the battle at Stalingrad (I say less eerie, because it was like a month after). So that's the legend. Moral of the story: don't mess with the bloody conqueror
After Gur Emir we traveled outside of the city to check out Hoja Ismail. Now this is for all of you Middle East Studies people out there. Hoja Ismail is one of the holier sites in Islam as it hosts the Mausoleum of Ismael al-Bukhari who collected the Hadith about Mohammed. It had a very serene and beautiful courtyard. Inside there were also these very detailed and intricate wood carved doors with Persian inscriptions…which I read to my guide. I also had the good fortune to pose for pictures with my mother for a young lady from the Ferghana Valley.
We returned to Samarqand to visit the Ulughbek Observatory. Ulughbek was the astronomer king of the Timurid Empire. I believe he was the grandson of Timurlane. You can see the remains of what must have been the world's largest sextant and you can see how the sunlight still shines in to hit the instrument at different points throughout the day. Of course, I have no idea how to interpret any of this. There was also a good short and sweet museum on the premises containing some pictures and history of the city and region. The Observatory reminded me a bit of the instruments in Jaipur, India. The instruments in Jaipur are far more impressive (and working), but the ones here in Samarqand are older.
Next up was the Shahr-i-Zindah, one of the more impressive sights I've seen since being here. It is literally an avenue of tombs, each more ornately decorated than the next (although not all restored on the inside). To enter the avenue you have to walk through a mosque (quite tricky to do during Friday prayers as I found out) and walk up the steps. Now, if the number of steps leading up is not the same and coming down you are supposed to crawl up and down the steps forty times for the forty steps. Good thing I didn't count. What's sort of a shame in most of these places is that the most beautiful sites are often the most recently restored. The avenue must have at least a dozen beautiful edifices on each side. Here too I had to post for many pictures. Seven in total. The group who was photographing me also took me along with them from site to site to have the foreigner in their pictures.
We continued on to visit the Synagogue and the Bazaar. It was a very nice synagogue with a dome (it's called the domed synagogue by the locals) and we had a nice tour. Our tour guide seemed to be buddy buddy with the Rabbi. The Bazaar was super organized. Fruit section, vegetable section, bread section, sweets section, pasta, rice, etc. And each stall was neatly numbered, I wonder if you can rent by the day or how the lot system works. Sadly we did not find anymore of those sesame candies, but did taste a lot of fruits and sweets. Yum.
Our last stop for the day was the Registan. It is a pretty large piazza and it is surrounded on three sides by these enormous Medressahs (Ulughbek, Sher Dor (Lion), and Tilla Kari (Gold Covered)). They are all very impressive. Also completely filled with artist shops and tourist kitsch. Like in some of the other Medressahs that I've visited, you can see how students lived. Two or three to a two story room. Larger than the freshmen dorm rooms I've seen…but I guess they didn't have A/C or heating (except with a fire). The facades of these buildings are breath-taking, but I have to go back to see them again because I was suffering from major tile-fatigue. I slipped a guard 3,000 Soms and went up one of the minarets. Not so well lit I had to scamper to get to the minaret entrance proper. First I went up through a gate and then climbed up to the second floor of the Medrassah. That also gave me an opportunity to see all the non-restored parts of these buildings. Then I climbed up some crumbling stairs to reach the minaret. From there it was 56 very steep steps in not such good light. I was filthy when I reached the top. I popped the top half of my body out through the top of the minaret (there was no safety rail so that's as far as I was willing to go) and I got a breathtaking view of this legendary city. I really did feel like I was at the center of the world as I could pick out all of the famous monuments and buildings of this city. Sadly, I had to go down. This is actually where I picked up the most dirt, but I made it down without falling, so that's a plus. My legs hurt me now.
In other news, I have finally finished my doxi for my tick bite, which is good because I was as red as a tomato and breaking out all over my arms and neck. I'm much better now that I've finished the medicine and begun to take benadryl instead. To be fair, I am much groggier.
Friday, June 15, 2007
All Hail Islam Karimov!
6/14/07
That's what it felt like this morning when we were waiting for our driver to show up to take us from Bukhara to Shakhrisabz and then onto Samarkand. But our driver was a good half hour late. Unusual for him. (He tends to show up when we have told him not to). So, he comes in at around 930 and says that he had to walk 15 minutes to get there, because all the roads in and out of Bukhara and all the roads in the center of Bukhara are closed. Why? Karimov is coming to town! Near me? Maybe. Now? No. But for the entire day his unannounced visit will shut down most commerce and tourism. Buses of tourists are stuck outside of the city and we are stuck inside. I brainstormed a bit and thought, ok, we can walk to the car and leave the baggage and the driver can come back and get it tomorrow. But that wouldn't work, because he can't move his car. Finally we decided to tell my driver to go and see if some greenbacks could solve the problem over at the police station.
In the meantime my mother and I set out to walk around the old Jewish Quarter. There is a second synagogue that we wanted to pop in to. This one has old Bukharan traditions and the building itself is very old. We had a bit of trouble finding it when a boy asked us if we were looking for the Sinagoga. Da. He showed us the way. There is no way we could ever have found this ourselves with our guide books. He then asked for my Oakleys. Nyet. Baseball cap? Nyet. He really really wanted my oakleys. He even waited outside until we were done to ask again.
The door to the Synagogue was locked so the boy knocked on the door across the street. As I soon learned, this was the Rabbi's house. He gave us a quick tour of the place and explained a bit of the history and how old it was (300 years). All this I must add was in Persian. Then we got to meet his 9 year old daughter (granddaughter?-I didn't want to ask). The rabbi had these amazing eyebrows – they were crazy!
We then wandered back through the city to the Lyabi-Hauz (that main piazza pool thing) near our B&B Sasha & Sons. I went by to the hotel where they told me that our driver was busy with the Chief of Police and things were looking good. About 45 minutes later her showed up at the door with the car. We loaded are stuff and set off. But not so easily. We had to take these back alleyways to get to a main road and then take some country roads to avoid all the checkpoints and roadblocks set up in Karimov's honor. I mean if Karimov is coming to town, can't I at least get to meet him?
Now I'm in the car, probably about an hour outside of Shakhrisabz. The driver takes great delight in pointing to every field we pass and saying "cotton." It's part of his 100 word English vocabulary. There's also very little growing here that is not cotton. It's getting a bit repetitive. Although I must say that this seems to be the first time in Uzbekistan (or Turkmenistan for that matter) that I'm not in a desert. It seems to be more plains here. Did you know that Uzbek university students have to come and pick cotton during their summers? It's like a form of national service. Perhaps it's a social equalizer too.
We had a pit stop a short while ago and I bought an ice cream. Now why you might ask am I telling you this. Because it was the worst ice cream ever. I couldn't finish it and I had to throw it out. First time in my life.
Ok, just leaving Shakhrisabz now. It's 6:20pm. I just had the most annoying and idiotic tour guide of my life. I'll give you a few examples. "This mosque built in 1435, that's why it's known as Friday Mosque." We were in one mausoleum and she kept on repeating the same two sentences in different sentence order all the while translating the Arabic names into English. For example: This is grave of abu Jamiya. Abu Jamiya was buried here. Here is Abu Jamiya. His name in English is Abu Jamiya. It is called the grave of Abu Jamiya because Abu Jamiya is buried here. And that my friends, is how I just wasted the last 90 minutes of my life. For those Schorrs out there reading this…this was a Ranger Pam moment and it is clear that the two of them graduated from Tour Guide School together. One of the funnier things is that she kept on forgetting our names, and yet, insisted on calling us by name. So every 2-3 minutes she would ask, what are your names? We would tell her and then she would say: "So yes my dears, Julia and Dinuchka." Figure I had to have heard that 30+ times on that tour. So grating. If you can't tell. And then there was the echoing. Every mosque or mausoleum we entered of course had a natural echo. So at the very last one, after we've been noticing this for the rest of the time she says: "Listen to the echo. ALLAHU AKBAR" so loud and yes, lo and behold, there was an echo. Shocking.
En route to Samarkand now. We get to go through a mountain pass. I'm excited because I think I'm moving on from the desert portion of my trip to the mountain part.
That's what it felt like this morning when we were waiting for our driver to show up to take us from Bukhara to Shakhrisabz and then onto Samarkand. But our driver was a good half hour late. Unusual for him. (He tends to show up when we have told him not to). So, he comes in at around 930 and says that he had to walk 15 minutes to get there, because all the roads in and out of Bukhara and all the roads in the center of Bukhara are closed. Why? Karimov is coming to town! Near me? Maybe. Now? No. But for the entire day his unannounced visit will shut down most commerce and tourism. Buses of tourists are stuck outside of the city and we are stuck inside. I brainstormed a bit and thought, ok, we can walk to the car and leave the baggage and the driver can come back and get it tomorrow. But that wouldn't work, because he can't move his car. Finally we decided to tell my driver to go and see if some greenbacks could solve the problem over at the police station.
In the meantime my mother and I set out to walk around the old Jewish Quarter. There is a second synagogue that we wanted to pop in to. This one has old Bukharan traditions and the building itself is very old. We had a bit of trouble finding it when a boy asked us if we were looking for the Sinagoga. Da. He showed us the way. There is no way we could ever have found this ourselves with our guide books. He then asked for my Oakleys. Nyet. Baseball cap? Nyet. He really really wanted my oakleys. He even waited outside until we were done to ask again.
The door to the Synagogue was locked so the boy knocked on the door across the street. As I soon learned, this was the Rabbi's house. He gave us a quick tour of the place and explained a bit of the history and how old it was (300 years). All this I must add was in Persian. Then we got to meet his 9 year old daughter (granddaughter?-I didn't want to ask). The rabbi had these amazing eyebrows – they were crazy!
We then wandered back through the city to the Lyabi-Hauz (that main piazza pool thing) near our B&B Sasha & Sons. I went by to the hotel where they told me that our driver was busy with the Chief of Police and things were looking good. About 45 minutes later her showed up at the door with the car. We loaded are stuff and set off. But not so easily. We had to take these back alleyways to get to a main road and then take some country roads to avoid all the checkpoints and roadblocks set up in Karimov's honor. I mean if Karimov is coming to town, can't I at least get to meet him?
Now I'm in the car, probably about an hour outside of Shakhrisabz. The driver takes great delight in pointing to every field we pass and saying "cotton." It's part of his 100 word English vocabulary. There's also very little growing here that is not cotton. It's getting a bit repetitive. Although I must say that this seems to be the first time in Uzbekistan (or Turkmenistan for that matter) that I'm not in a desert. It seems to be more plains here. Did you know that Uzbek university students have to come and pick cotton during their summers? It's like a form of national service. Perhaps it's a social equalizer too.
We had a pit stop a short while ago and I bought an ice cream. Now why you might ask am I telling you this. Because it was the worst ice cream ever. I couldn't finish it and I had to throw it out. First time in my life.
Ok, just leaving Shakhrisabz now. It's 6:20pm. I just had the most annoying and idiotic tour guide of my life. I'll give you a few examples. "This mosque built in 1435, that's why it's known as Friday Mosque." We were in one mausoleum and she kept on repeating the same two sentences in different sentence order all the while translating the Arabic names into English. For example: This is grave of abu Jamiya. Abu Jamiya was buried here. Here is Abu Jamiya. His name in English is Abu Jamiya. It is called the grave of Abu Jamiya because Abu Jamiya is buried here. And that my friends, is how I just wasted the last 90 minutes of my life. For those Schorrs out there reading this…this was a Ranger Pam moment and it is clear that the two of them graduated from Tour Guide School together. One of the funnier things is that she kept on forgetting our names, and yet, insisted on calling us by name. So every 2-3 minutes she would ask, what are your names? We would tell her and then she would say: "So yes my dears, Julia and Dinuchka." Figure I had to have heard that 30+ times on that tour. So grating. If you can't tell. And then there was the echoing. Every mosque or mausoleum we entered of course had a natural echo. So at the very last one, after we've been noticing this for the rest of the time she says: "Listen to the echo. ALLAHU AKBAR" so loud and yes, lo and behold, there was an echo. Shocking.
En route to Samarkand now. We get to go through a mountain pass. I'm excited because I think I'm moving on from the desert portion of my trip to the mountain part.
Bukhara
(6/13)
Today I spent a second day touring around Bukhara. More and more the city reminds me of Safed. I'm not sure if it's the old and new on top of each other. Perhaps it the number of artists who sit around a draw the beautiful semi-ruins of the city or the craftsmen that sit and produce amazing goods ( Bukhara bests Safed on this one). Maybe it's the colors. And then of course, maybe it's the striking similarity between one of the main centers (historic and modern) of Sufism and one of the main centers (again historic and modern) for studying the Zohar. Both cities have this mystical feeling to them and a living history.
The day started off with a visit to the bank. My traveller's checks are worthless (thank you Citibank), but my mother figured she could change some of hers. The process took a while, but was certainly not the funniest part of the experience. That would belong to the sole ATM located inside the bank. Automated Telling Machine (Teller?). Either way, at the National Bank of Uzbekistan the ATM is in fact, not at all automated. There is a bank attendant there who puts your card in, asks you for your pin, asks how much money you'd like. Then she gives it to you along with your receipt. I'm not quite sure what the point of having a manned machine is. I guess full employment?!
In general I find Central Asia to be way behind the times in terms of money. I suppose a large part of this is due to the Soviet system. But there is no electronic money here. Not one ATM on the street (and apparently not one real ATM either). Not a single place accepts credit cards. This is a 100% cash economy. I hear Tashkent has a few places that accept credit cards.
Here's another great money item. The exchange rate is 1255 Som (pronounced soom) to the dollar. The largest note in circulation is…1000 Som. So roughly an 80cent note. Which of course would be fine if things here cost 100, 200, 500 Som. But they don't. And you end up carrying wads of this money around. And counting it out usually in 500 notes. Another point on the exchange rate. And this is for all you monetary theorists out there. The difference between the buying and selling rates is 2 Som. 1255 vs. 1257. 2 Som is what? A fraction of a penny? Why even bother.
I did do other things today besides think about currency issues. After the bank we went to visit a Sufi shrine built to a scholar, Nachshbandi. It's located a few km outside of the city. It had a very cool old tree that has grown more out than up. People circle the tree as they do graves or buildings that are holy. Only this time people would go under. It looked like an Uzbek limbo. Sometimes they would crawl along too. I think this tree gives barren women children. I have some pictures of the limbo.
Next up on our day was visit to the Emir's Summer Palace outside of Bukhara. This was really interesting, because the buildings are very European looking from the outside, but inside still look Asian. The grounds also have peacocks, which I enjoyed. They protect you from the evil eye. Did you know that the evil eye is the official reason given for the sacking of Bukhara at one point? Superstitious place. Right, so the palace. There is again, amazing design detail. Inside one building they had this white hall; very aptly named. But there was some great lattice work and all this was built by the Russians for their new vassal, the Emir.
These last emirs of Bukhara were some of the most savage rulers ever. They killed close friends and family members just to see what would happen. For instance, one would ponder, "can an ax really cleave someone in half?" And then, as if they were great scientists, they would carry out this experiment on their closest advisor. I suppose it's no wonder why they succumbed to Tsarist rule in the 19 th century.
The Summer Palace grounds also had two other interesting buildings. The one located in the guest house was devoted to the dress at the time of the last Emirs. The other was devoted to this intricate embroidery they do here, suzani. There were some beautiful suzani in the museum and some less beautiful ones for sale. Apparently the building where the suzani are located was possibly a harem (although that is disputable).
Next up I saw a necropolis. It was very hot and I don't remember much. There was a nice minaret, that's about all. After this we headed back into Bukhara proper to visit the Ark, or Fortress and Winter Palace. It was here that Stoddard (perhaps Conolly, I'm tried and getting my story confused) rode into town on his horse (only something the Emir can do) and then didn't bring any gifts for the Emir. His last mistake was to turn his back toward the Emir. For this, he landed up in the bug pit and eventually was executed in the Registan just outside of the fortress walls…on top of which btw the Emir has a throne where he could watch these executions first hand. After all, what is the point of being a blood-thirsty regent if you cannot watch you subjects die?
Large parts of both the Summer and Winter Palaces were destroyed by the revolution here in 1920 and in fighting with the Red Army, which is unfortunate because I think that these palaces would accurately display the wealth amassed by these Silk Road cities and Khanetes.
The last stop on our tour was Chor Minor (Four Minarets). They are not quite minarets, but more domed towers. The Chor Minor used to be an entrance to a mosque, which was subsequently destroyed. I imagine that the Chor Minor are prettier now than they were because they would have been partially obscured by the mosque itself.
All in all it was a pretty full day of touring. We also did a bit of suzani shopping and found some nice jackets with pomegranates. I also went back to the spice shop to buy some spiced tea. The owner has a Chaikhane (I think I wrote about this already) nearby that has the spiced tea. I went inside and instead opted for cardamom coffee. Bad Choice. BUT, this was still super productive, because they give you candies with your coffee or tea and they were delicious. You know those sesame candies. Long and rectangular shaped with really sweet sesames? These were of the homemade variety with toasted almonds, sesame and fruit presumably made in blocks and then chopped up into cubes. Delicious! I bought some. But I somehow doubt that they will make it back to the US with me.
Today I spent a second day touring around Bukhara. More and more the city reminds me of Safed. I'm not sure if it's the old and new on top of each other. Perhaps it the number of artists who sit around a draw the beautiful semi-ruins of the city or the craftsmen that sit and produce amazing goods ( Bukhara bests Safed on this one). Maybe it's the colors. And then of course, maybe it's the striking similarity between one of the main centers (historic and modern) of Sufism and one of the main centers (again historic and modern) for studying the Zohar. Both cities have this mystical feeling to them and a living history.
The day started off with a visit to the bank. My traveller's checks are worthless (thank you Citibank), but my mother figured she could change some of hers. The process took a while, but was certainly not the funniest part of the experience. That would belong to the sole ATM located inside the bank. Automated Telling Machine (Teller?). Either way, at the National Bank of Uzbekistan the ATM is in fact, not at all automated. There is a bank attendant there who puts your card in, asks you for your pin, asks how much money you'd like. Then she gives it to you along with your receipt. I'm not quite sure what the point of having a manned machine is. I guess full employment?!
In general I find Central Asia to be way behind the times in terms of money. I suppose a large part of this is due to the Soviet system. But there is no electronic money here. Not one ATM on the street (and apparently not one real ATM either). Not a single place accepts credit cards. This is a 100% cash economy. I hear Tashkent has a few places that accept credit cards.
Here's another great money item. The exchange rate is 1255 Som (pronounced soom) to the dollar. The largest note in circulation is…1000 Som. So roughly an 80cent note. Which of course would be fine if things here cost 100, 200, 500 Som. But they don't. And you end up carrying wads of this money around. And counting it out usually in 500 notes. Another point on the exchange rate. And this is for all you monetary theorists out there. The difference between the buying and selling rates is 2 Som. 1255 vs. 1257. 2 Som is what? A fraction of a penny? Why even bother.
I did do other things today besides think about currency issues. After the bank we went to visit a Sufi shrine built to a scholar, Nachshbandi. It's located a few km outside of the city. It had a very cool old tree that has grown more out than up. People circle the tree as they do graves or buildings that are holy. Only this time people would go under. It looked like an Uzbek limbo. Sometimes they would crawl along too. I think this tree gives barren women children. I have some pictures of the limbo.
Next up on our day was visit to the Emir's Summer Palace outside of Bukhara. This was really interesting, because the buildings are very European looking from the outside, but inside still look Asian. The grounds also have peacocks, which I enjoyed. They protect you from the evil eye. Did you know that the evil eye is the official reason given for the sacking of Bukhara at one point? Superstitious place. Right, so the palace. There is again, amazing design detail. Inside one building they had this white hall; very aptly named. But there was some great lattice work and all this was built by the Russians for their new vassal, the Emir.
These last emirs of Bukhara were some of the most savage rulers ever. They killed close friends and family members just to see what would happen. For instance, one would ponder, "can an ax really cleave someone in half?" And then, as if they were great scientists, they would carry out this experiment on their closest advisor. I suppose it's no wonder why they succumbed to Tsarist rule in the 19 th century.
The Summer Palace grounds also had two other interesting buildings. The one located in the guest house was devoted to the dress at the time of the last Emirs. The other was devoted to this intricate embroidery they do here, suzani. There were some beautiful suzani in the museum and some less beautiful ones for sale. Apparently the building where the suzani are located was possibly a harem (although that is disputable).
Next up I saw a necropolis. It was very hot and I don't remember much. There was a nice minaret, that's about all. After this we headed back into Bukhara proper to visit the Ark, or Fortress and Winter Palace. It was here that Stoddard (perhaps Conolly, I'm tried and getting my story confused) rode into town on his horse (only something the Emir can do) and then didn't bring any gifts for the Emir. His last mistake was to turn his back toward the Emir. For this, he landed up in the bug pit and eventually was executed in the Registan just outside of the fortress walls…on top of which btw the Emir has a throne where he could watch these executions first hand. After all, what is the point of being a blood-thirsty regent if you cannot watch you subjects die?
Large parts of both the Summer and Winter Palaces were destroyed by the revolution here in 1920 and in fighting with the Red Army, which is unfortunate because I think that these palaces would accurately display the wealth amassed by these Silk Road cities and Khanetes.
The last stop on our tour was Chor Minor (Four Minarets). They are not quite minarets, but more domed towers. The Chor Minor used to be an entrance to a mosque, which was subsequently destroyed. I imagine that the Chor Minor are prettier now than they were because they would have been partially obscured by the mosque itself.
All in all it was a pretty full day of touring. We also did a bit of suzani shopping and found some nice jackets with pomegranates. I also went back to the spice shop to buy some spiced tea. The owner has a Chaikhane (I think I wrote about this already) nearby that has the spiced tea. I went inside and instead opted for cardamom coffee. Bad Choice. BUT, this was still super productive, because they give you candies with your coffee or tea and they were delicious. You know those sesame candies. Long and rectangular shaped with really sweet sesames? These were of the homemade variety with toasted almonds, sesame and fruit presumably made in blocks and then chopped up into cubes. Delicious! I bought some. But I somehow doubt that they will make it back to the US with me.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Bukhara-i-Sharif (Bukhara the Noble)
(6/12)
Bukhara is the first city that I've seen in over a week. Nukus was a frontier ghost town and Khiva was a museum city, but Bukhara actually has people. And loads of tourists by comparison.
The internet here is slower than molasses. Or a snail. Or a tortoise (one that does not beat any hare). It's ironic that I'm finally in a city and everything moves so slowly. I'm also on a quest to find a working USB port so I can update my blog. So far, no dice. Although I suppose if you are reading this you: a) don't need glasses and b) this problem has been resolved.
Thank you to all who sent me birthday wishes, tried to call, or better yet, sent me something on facebook. To the latter group: I will have to wait until I leave this censorship big brother country and get to Kazakhstan to read anything on facebook. Here's a contest: you send me a website suggestion and I'll tell you whether or not it is blocked. What are they afraid of? A facebook group that says "Karimov tortures Muslims?" Or "Karimov is corrupt and Starmanbashi loves him." Someone should start one of those if they don't exist. I just can't fathom how facebook is a threat to national security. I can understand blogspot I guess, but not all these other sites.
Here's something interesting that I noticed related to my rant above. In Turkmenistan very few people were willing to discuss politics or Turkmenbashi (some were not even willing to utter the name). Yet, the internet was free. I'm sure they read my emails (or had the ability to), but I didn't encounter a single blocked site. Here, everyone will tell you what's wrong with the government or how much they dislike Karimov or how things were better under the Russians, but you can't surf the net freely and you don't have public free speech or press. I find it interesting how different countries and regimes control information.
So Bukhara. The city had a couple of golden ages, but all were a long time ago. I guess the city really flourished when it was a major stop along the Silk Road. But most of the architecture from that time is gone thanks to Jenghiz Khan. He did, however, leave the Tower of Death (doesn't that sound like a good monster truck name?). It's a 47m tall minaret which functioned essentially as a lighthouse for
approaching caravans. And thanks to some very sadistic Khans/Emirs, it also functioned as a method of execution.
Bukhara also has its claim to fame in the Great Game. With both Russia and Great Britain vying for supremacy in the region, the various Khans of Kokhand, Khiva, and Bukhara fought each other and thus didn't always realize what was going on around them. Although they weren't particularly fond of either the Brits or the Russians.
One Brit, Stoddart, rode through Bukhara on his horse – apparently something only the Khan does – and he was thrown into the Bug Pit. I got to see the Bug Pit today. It doesn't have scorpions and snakes anymore, because as my guide pointed out we don't feed them anymore. Anyhow, soon enough another Brit joined him in the Bug Pit. His name was Connolly, but the Khan thought his name was Khan Ali. I just think that's funny.
Reminiscent of its trading days, Bukhara has loads of Caravanserei, which were trading depots and hotels for merchants. Today, most of these Caravanserei have been converted into craft shops. Some are better than others. I think I might go and but a sword from one. But how does one tell a good sword from a bad one? In addition to these Caravanserei there are also these covered markets or Bazaars. One of them had a great spice shop where the owner also owns a ChaiKhana (Tea House) that has spiced tea. I didn't get to have any today, but I'm sure I'll be going back to try some tomorrow. Whitney, if you're reading this, I got you something cool to help you design apple pie. It's what they use here for designing bread.
Another cool thing I did today (on my 4 hour walking tour) was visit the 10th century mausoleum built for Ismail Samani, the founder of the Samanid Dynasty. First off, it has very intricate brick work, which is something rather unusual. Second, the base is square the top is round. To do this, above the square room are 8 arches and above that are 16 smaller arch-like structures and then the dome sits atop of that. It's the beginning of calculus (so says my mother). But speaking of math, how could I have forgotten to write this about Khiva. One famous Khivan was a mathematician and philosopher and scientist names Al Khorezem (as in the region where Khiva is found and the Kingdom which was there). Say it quickly and it sounds like Algorithm. Yes, they are named after him. He also invented the quadratic formula*. Khiva has a great big statue of him and school children around the world curse him.
Another great thing today was our guide. She was very knowledgeable and that was great, but not the thing I'm thinking of. She kept on saying how religion was discouraged and not banned. I must have heard this 4-5 times during our tour. Ok, to some extent that's true. Then she showed us where there were three hidden mosques. Hmm, if it was discouraged, then this doesn't add up. Something's awry. Perhaps forcible discouraged?
Money. Money is such a problem here. Changing it that is. I knew this in advance and thus got no bills larger than $50 and every bill I got from the bank was in mint condition and post 1996. My mother has been having the toughest time changing money. One of her bills had a pen mark. No good. Another was in mint condition, but it was an old $20. No good. My AMEX travelers checks that are issued by Citibank. No Good. Changing my mother's travelers checks? No money. Not during these hours. Come back again. Today we went to change money. My mom changed a 50. Then I went to change a 10. Just one second after her. "Sorry, we're out of money." Really? My mom cleaned you out? We ran into Jerry, the Canadian and he tried to change money 2 minutes later. They still had no money. So I guess they weren't lying. There is just a severe money shortage here. And of course there are no ATMs. Tomorrow I'm hoping to resolve these issues. Visa: it's not everywhere you want to be.
To further my Bukharan culture I opted for another night activity. Last night it was the dance and fashion show. Tonight it was a puppet show about traditional Uzbek/Bukharan weddings. It went something like this:
Bride's Father: I'd like to marry my daughter to your son
Groom's Father: Ok, that'd be fine, but here's a list of things that need to be in the dowry. (Including, but not limited to, 100 gold coins and 40 camels)
BF: That's a lot. It's hard work raising a daughter
GF: It's hard work raising a son
Audience gets shown gifts that are included in dowry: jewelry, clothing, etc Friends of bride are super psyched about their friend. They try on all her clothing. Bride is upset. Friends dress up bride. She looks nice. They dance some. They practice bowing. She'll need to bow a lot to her husband. He is the master. Then the wedding happens. Groom pushes Bride to show his ownership and control. They all live
happily ever after. The End.
The funny thing is, it was part puppet show, part acting. The scene with the friends and the bride was acting. And all this at the National Uzbek Puppet Theater. If only you could have been there. We watched on the mini stage as there were only four in the audience (us and an Aussie couple). It was very interesting. They sang and danced and puppeteered. Then afterwards they made us dance. I did learn one really cool dance move involving pinky fingers. I will pull out this move when the time is right. Be patient.
* Mrs. Raucher should give me an A in Math History
Bukhara is the first city that I've seen in over a week. Nukus was a frontier ghost town and Khiva was a museum city, but Bukhara actually has people. And loads of tourists by comparison.
The internet here is slower than molasses. Or a snail. Or a tortoise (one that does not beat any hare). It's ironic that I'm finally in a city and everything moves so slowly. I'm also on a quest to find a working USB port so I can update my blog. So far, no dice. Although I suppose if you are reading this you: a) don't need glasses and b) this problem has been resolved.
Thank you to all who sent me birthday wishes, tried to call, or better yet, sent me something on facebook. To the latter group: I will have to wait until I leave this censorship big brother country and get to Kazakhstan to read anything on facebook. Here's a contest: you send me a website suggestion and I'll tell you whether or not it is blocked. What are they afraid of? A facebook group that says "Karimov tortures Muslims?" Or "Karimov is corrupt and Starmanbashi loves him." Someone should start one of those if they don't exist. I just can't fathom how facebook is a threat to national security. I can understand blogspot I guess, but not all these other sites.
Here's something interesting that I noticed related to my rant above. In Turkmenistan very few people were willing to discuss politics or Turkmenbashi (some were not even willing to utter the name). Yet, the internet was free. I'm sure they read my emails (or had the ability to), but I didn't encounter a single blocked site. Here, everyone will tell you what's wrong with the government or how much they dislike Karimov or how things were better under the Russians, but you can't surf the net freely and you don't have public free speech or press. I find it interesting how different countries and regimes control information.
So Bukhara. The city had a couple of golden ages, but all were a long time ago. I guess the city really flourished when it was a major stop along the Silk Road. But most of the architecture from that time is gone thanks to Jenghiz Khan. He did, however, leave the Tower of Death (doesn't that sound like a good monster truck name?). It's a 47m tall minaret which functioned essentially as a lighthouse for
approaching caravans. And thanks to some very sadistic Khans/Emirs, it also functioned as a method of execution.
Bukhara also has its claim to fame in the Great Game. With both Russia and Great Britain vying for supremacy in the region, the various Khans of Kokhand, Khiva, and Bukhara fought each other and thus didn't always realize what was going on around them. Although they weren't particularly fond of either the Brits or the Russians.
One Brit, Stoddart, rode through Bukhara on his horse – apparently something only the Khan does – and he was thrown into the Bug Pit. I got to see the Bug Pit today. It doesn't have scorpions and snakes anymore, because as my guide pointed out we don't feed them anymore. Anyhow, soon enough another Brit joined him in the Bug Pit. His name was Connolly, but the Khan thought his name was Khan Ali. I just think that's funny.
Reminiscent of its trading days, Bukhara has loads of Caravanserei, which were trading depots and hotels for merchants. Today, most of these Caravanserei have been converted into craft shops. Some are better than others. I think I might go and but a sword from one. But how does one tell a good sword from a bad one? In addition to these Caravanserei there are also these covered markets or Bazaars. One of them had a great spice shop where the owner also owns a ChaiKhana (Tea House) that has spiced tea. I didn't get to have any today, but I'm sure I'll be going back to try some tomorrow. Whitney, if you're reading this, I got you something cool to help you design apple pie. It's what they use here for designing bread.
Another cool thing I did today (on my 4 hour walking tour) was visit the 10th century mausoleum built for Ismail Samani, the founder of the Samanid Dynasty. First off, it has very intricate brick work, which is something rather unusual. Second, the base is square the top is round. To do this, above the square room are 8 arches and above that are 16 smaller arch-like structures and then the dome sits atop of that. It's the beginning of calculus (so says my mother). But speaking of math, how could I have forgotten to write this about Khiva. One famous Khivan was a mathematician and philosopher and scientist names Al Khorezem (as in the region where Khiva is found and the Kingdom which was there). Say it quickly and it sounds like Algorithm. Yes, they are named after him. He also invented the quadratic formula*. Khiva has a great big statue of him and school children around the world curse him.
Another great thing today was our guide. She was very knowledgeable and that was great, but not the thing I'm thinking of. She kept on saying how religion was discouraged and not banned. I must have heard this 4-5 times during our tour. Ok, to some extent that's true. Then she showed us where there were three hidden mosques. Hmm, if it was discouraged, then this doesn't add up. Something's awry. Perhaps forcible discouraged?
Money. Money is such a problem here. Changing it that is. I knew this in advance and thus got no bills larger than $50 and every bill I got from the bank was in mint condition and post 1996. My mother has been having the toughest time changing money. One of her bills had a pen mark. No good. Another was in mint condition, but it was an old $20. No good. My AMEX travelers checks that are issued by Citibank. No Good. Changing my mother's travelers checks? No money. Not during these hours. Come back again. Today we went to change money. My mom changed a 50. Then I went to change a 10. Just one second after her. "Sorry, we're out of money." Really? My mom cleaned you out? We ran into Jerry, the Canadian and he tried to change money 2 minutes later. They still had no money. So I guess they weren't lying. There is just a severe money shortage here. And of course there are no ATMs. Tomorrow I'm hoping to resolve these issues. Visa: it's not everywhere you want to be.
To further my Bukharan culture I opted for another night activity. Last night it was the dance and fashion show. Tonight it was a puppet show about traditional Uzbek/Bukharan weddings. It went something like this:
Bride's Father: I'd like to marry my daughter to your son
Groom's Father: Ok, that'd be fine, but here's a list of things that need to be in the dowry. (Including, but not limited to, 100 gold coins and 40 camels)
BF: That's a lot. It's hard work raising a daughter
GF: It's hard work raising a son
Audience gets shown gifts that are included in dowry: jewelry, clothing, etc Friends of bride are super psyched about their friend. They try on all her clothing. Bride is upset. Friends dress up bride. She looks nice. They dance some. They practice bowing. She'll need to bow a lot to her husband. He is the master. Then the wedding happens. Groom pushes Bride to show his ownership and control. They all live
happily ever after. The End.
The funny thing is, it was part puppet show, part acting. The scene with the friends and the bride was acting. And all this at the National Uzbek Puppet Theater. If only you could have been there. We watched on the mini stage as there were only four in the audience (us and an Aussie couple). It was very interesting. They sang and danced and puppeteered. Then afterwards they made us dance. I did learn one really cool dance move involving pinky fingers. I will pull out this move when the time is right. Be patient.
* Mrs. Raucher should give me an A in Math History
Khiva to Bukhara: The Road Less Traveled
(6/11)
Khiva is absolutely stunning at sunset. The sun hits off of the different buildings, mosques, medressehs, and minarets (M3) to form a dazzling array of colors. Now I know what it must have been like to see that Mausoleum in Merv with the turquoise dome that traders could see from a day out as it shimmered in the sun. And when the heat of the day leaves and the cool breeze comes it's just blissful here.
I enjoy sitting in the shade enjoying a pot of tea at a Chaikhana (tea house). Because Khiva is mostly intact I have spent little time thinking of what it must have looked like. But I realized that despite it's completeness I need to use my imagination. Khiva today, at least the walled city, is very much aimed at tourists. Of the 50,000 residents of Khiva only 4,000 live within the walls. Khiva of yesterday was a bustling oasis town, a main stop along grueling caravan trade routes. But what Khiva is most well known for was its activity in the slave trade. I read somewhere that the etymology of slave comes from Slav, the people most likely to be seen for sale outside of Khiva's eastern gates; not the cherries and dates for sale
today. The streets must have been filled with camels and merchants. There were even Jewishes. In fact, the older Khorezem language was written with Hebrew script. No doubt attributed to the Jewish scribes(who most likely knew each other through Jewish means∆▼*). Oh yes, and one of the Khan's favorite methods of torture and execution was impaling. That way it took a good two days to die. Others included being thrown off of a tower, being buried alive upside down, being sewn up inside a sack with wild animals, and the civilized method of stoning (I can only think of Monty Python). So I guess my point is: even though Khiva's walls and M3 are intact and fully there for any visitor to see, there is still much that needs to be imagined to envision the times of the Silk Road.
It took six hours to drive from Khiva to Bukhara. Just think, camels used to go 40k/day and I was going 100k/hr. Although at points the roads began reminding me of those in Turkmenistan. My mother and I have been having some trouble with our travel agency: our driver doesn't speak any English, they keep on giving us guides on day #2 in a city rather than when we first arrive, and they booked us in what Lonely Planet calls "popular with the backpacking crowd." We moved to a different B&B.
After settling into Sasha & Sons B&B we took a stroll around the town. An aside: the B&B used to be the private home of a Jewish merchant and is in the Jewish Quarter. Why is it that Jewish Quarters are tres hip these days? Marais and Lower East Side come to mind. Right, we were strolling. We happened upon the Synagogue, which is still functioning, and went inside for a look around. I spoke with the caretaker in Persian. Wow, all those months at the Farsi Farm paid off for something. He told me about the history and I was able to relay this to my mother and ask questions. Who knew I could speak Persian? Not me.
My mother and I then wandered on a few more streets and set out to find me some birthday ice cream. We found a teahouse instead that was located along side a Huaz (or pool), which functions as the center of town. In fact, it was just like sitting in an Italian piazza. Instead of churches there are mosques and medressehs. And instead of cappuccino there is green tea. And in this case, instead of an actual
piazza, there's a pool. This one had ducks, which in my book one-ups cobblestones. Then we got up to see if a puppet show was starting nearby. It was not. It will show tomorrow night and we will go. The puppet costumes looked great and it got rave reviews (I know that sounds very odd). So I wandered a bit more and found an ice cream cart where I bought Super Choc, a chocolate covered chocolate ice cream bar. It was no Baskin Robbins Mint Chocolate Chip, but it'll have to do.
After ice cream my mother and I walked across the "piazza" once more to see what was advertised as a fashion show. It was a mixture of a fashion show – some modern and some traditional dresses – with traditional dancing and music. All in all the show probably lasted about an hour. It was great and some of the costumes and fashion show items were nice. I'll go check out the stores tomorrow. We had more green tea and I had an Uzbek beer; nothing to write home about…and yet here I am writing home about it.
After the show we returned to our B&B for a birthday feast: tuna, cucumbers, tomatoes, fresh bread, hummus, and a birthday candle. There are two small groups that seem to be traveling along the same route and more or less at the same pace as us. One group is Jerry and Miles, I've already mentioned them. The other I met in Khiva. Lauren and Paul are from San Fran and started out in Pakistan then flew to Kyrgyzstan and are now traveling the Silk Road before they head out to Turkmenistan. So we've been trading tips (and books) back and forth. They have a tour guide that is with them and she was telling this story about how she was in Queens, NY and visited some of the Bukharian restaurants (which are owned by Jews) and how she was in their homes (again, Jewish Bukharians). Anyhow, she was insulted that they wouldn't serve her meat dumplings with yogurt and how they could offend a guest like that. Paul and Lauren thought this was hilarious as why would these Jews break kosher laws for a guest. We concluded that this is the culture gap. As Americans we tend to be
accommodating and adapt to our situations. For instance, you would never travel to Iran and expect someone to serve you pork or wine. But the culture here is that you do everything and anything for your guests. And so there arises a cultural misunderstanding. Their guide also seemed horrified that someone would be paid $5 as an immigrant just because that's a lot of money "back home." Again, we noted that
it had little to do with economic relativity and much more to do with the minimum wage laws. Alas. Try explaining that.
So far so good. I look forward to exploring Bukhara and further updating you. Thanks for reading. And btw – I love comments.d
* I hope somebody got these jokes…just ask if you need clarification.
Khiva is absolutely stunning at sunset. The sun hits off of the different buildings, mosques, medressehs, and minarets (M3) to form a dazzling array of colors. Now I know what it must have been like to see that Mausoleum in Merv with the turquoise dome that traders could see from a day out as it shimmered in the sun. And when the heat of the day leaves and the cool breeze comes it's just blissful here.
I enjoy sitting in the shade enjoying a pot of tea at a Chaikhana (tea house). Because Khiva is mostly intact I have spent little time thinking of what it must have looked like. But I realized that despite it's completeness I need to use my imagination. Khiva today, at least the walled city, is very much aimed at tourists. Of the 50,000 residents of Khiva only 4,000 live within the walls. Khiva of yesterday was a bustling oasis town, a main stop along grueling caravan trade routes. But what Khiva is most well known for was its activity in the slave trade. I read somewhere that the etymology of slave comes from Slav, the people most likely to be seen for sale outside of Khiva's eastern gates; not the cherries and dates for sale
today. The streets must have been filled with camels and merchants. There were even Jewishes. In fact, the older Khorezem language was written with Hebrew script. No doubt attributed to the Jewish scribes(who most likely knew each other through Jewish means∆▼*). Oh yes, and one of the Khan's favorite methods of torture and execution was impaling. That way it took a good two days to die. Others included being thrown off of a tower, being buried alive upside down, being sewn up inside a sack with wild animals, and the civilized method of stoning (I can only think of Monty Python). So I guess my point is: even though Khiva's walls and M3 are intact and fully there for any visitor to see, there is still much that needs to be imagined to envision the times of the Silk Road.
It took six hours to drive from Khiva to Bukhara. Just think, camels used to go 40k/day and I was going 100k/hr. Although at points the roads began reminding me of those in Turkmenistan. My mother and I have been having some trouble with our travel agency: our driver doesn't speak any English, they keep on giving us guides on day #2 in a city rather than when we first arrive, and they booked us in what Lonely Planet calls "popular with the backpacking crowd." We moved to a different B&B.
After settling into Sasha & Sons B&B we took a stroll around the town. An aside: the B&B used to be the private home of a Jewish merchant and is in the Jewish Quarter. Why is it that Jewish Quarters are tres hip these days? Marais and Lower East Side come to mind. Right, we were strolling. We happened upon the Synagogue, which is still functioning, and went inside for a look around. I spoke with the caretaker in Persian. Wow, all those months at the Farsi Farm paid off for something. He told me about the history and I was able to relay this to my mother and ask questions. Who knew I could speak Persian? Not me.
My mother and I then wandered on a few more streets and set out to find me some birthday ice cream. We found a teahouse instead that was located along side a Huaz (or pool), which functions as the center of town. In fact, it was just like sitting in an Italian piazza. Instead of churches there are mosques and medressehs. And instead of cappuccino there is green tea. And in this case, instead of an actual
piazza, there's a pool. This one had ducks, which in my book one-ups cobblestones. Then we got up to see if a puppet show was starting nearby. It was not. It will show tomorrow night and we will go. The puppet costumes looked great and it got rave reviews (I know that sounds very odd). So I wandered a bit more and found an ice cream cart where I bought Super Choc, a chocolate covered chocolate ice cream bar. It was no Baskin Robbins Mint Chocolate Chip, but it'll have to do.
After ice cream my mother and I walked across the "piazza" once more to see what was advertised as a fashion show. It was a mixture of a fashion show – some modern and some traditional dresses – with traditional dancing and music. All in all the show probably lasted about an hour. It was great and some of the costumes and fashion show items were nice. I'll go check out the stores tomorrow. We had more green tea and I had an Uzbek beer; nothing to write home about…and yet here I am writing home about it.
After the show we returned to our B&B for a birthday feast: tuna, cucumbers, tomatoes, fresh bread, hummus, and a birthday candle. There are two small groups that seem to be traveling along the same route and more or less at the same pace as us. One group is Jerry and Miles, I've already mentioned them. The other I met in Khiva. Lauren and Paul are from San Fran and started out in Pakistan then flew to Kyrgyzstan and are now traveling the Silk Road before they head out to Turkmenistan. So we've been trading tips (and books) back and forth. They have a tour guide that is with them and she was telling this story about how she was in Queens, NY and visited some of the Bukharian restaurants (which are owned by Jews) and how she was in their homes (again, Jewish Bukharians). Anyhow, she was insulted that they wouldn't serve her meat dumplings with yogurt and how they could offend a guest like that. Paul and Lauren thought this was hilarious as why would these Jews break kosher laws for a guest. We concluded that this is the culture gap. As Americans we tend to be
accommodating and adapt to our situations. For instance, you would never travel to Iran and expect someone to serve you pork or wine. But the culture here is that you do everything and anything for your guests. And so there arises a cultural misunderstanding. Their guide also seemed horrified that someone would be paid $5 as an immigrant just because that's a lot of money "back home." Again, we noted that
it had little to do with economic relativity and much more to do with the minimum wage laws. Alas. Try explaining that.
So far so good. I look forward to exploring Bukhara and further updating you. Thanks for reading. And btw – I love comments.d
* I hope somebody got these jokes…just ask if you need clarification.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Dispatches from the Silk Road: Khiva
I am so vogue. The Sunday I left for Moscow (27th May) the New York Times Travel Section published their "36 Hours" spread on… Moscow. I went to the Aral Sea Basin on June 8th. BBC World has been running an hour long show on…the ecological crises stemming from the Aral Sea's disappearance. And now? Today, June 10th, the New York Times Travel Section has published an article on the Silk Road. I would just like to mention that for the first time in my life I'm ahead of the trend. Trendy. This will likely be the first and last time I can say that about myself.
I'm still recovering from my nasty run-in with some mosquitoes in Nukus. Good thing this isn't shorts country. Coincidentally, when I was in the malarial area near Merv, Turkmenistan, I didn't get bitten by one mosquito. Not so in Nukus. I counted 28 on one leg. Fewer on my other. My right leg is apparently tastier. Yum.
I am the tourist attraction here in Khiva. Yesterday (Saturday) my mother and I were walking through the Bazaar scoping out all the fruits, veggies, clothing, toys, etc when we paused to sit down on a ledge. Four teenage girls came up and one asked if she could take a picture with us. With Us? How weird. Ok. So she sat between my mother and I and her friends snapped a photo. We thought we were done, but each of the other three took their turns sitting between the Americans. How exotic. This actually happened again today. We were standing outside of the Khan of Khiva's prison when a couple came up to us and asked if we would pose with the husband. They were from Termez, near the border with Afghanistan. Naturally, we obliged. I wonder if we'd be as exciting if we were Slavic. I guess they don't get too many tourists in these parts. Definitely not too many Americans. I've only met one since leaving Moscow. Maybe more will come now that it's hip and in vogue thanks to the NYT.
Khiva (pronounced Hiva in Uzbek) is a magnificent city. For starters, it's completely intact. A museum city if you will. There city walls still stand. The city was a major destination on the Great Silk Road, but didn't fare too well under Genghis Khan. Very little remains from pre-Mongolian invasion times. Khiva served as a capital of the Khorezem Kingdom. At one time that empire stretched down to Afghanistan and west toward Iran. The city's importance dwindled when the Silk Road(s) saw their amount of trade decrease because of newly opened up sea routes. The monuments within modern day Khiva largely date to the 19th century. The tile work is exquisite. There are two palaces within the walls, each with magnificent designs. The Khans here also had winter and summer palaces, in the summer they held court outside and in the winter they held court inside of a Yurt. Apparently, in summer, it hits 45 degrees Celsius here in the shade. The winters are -36 below. Yikes!
The domes of most of the buildings here are covered with turquoise or jade stones. It's amazing when the sun shines on them. There is this one tower in town that looks like a gas works or a very colorful mini nuclear power plant. I can just see Homer working inside. Some say that this was supposed to be the tallest tower in the world but when one Khan died the other one didn't want it finished. Another claims that the Khan of Bukhara ordered the death of the builder because this tower could be used to spy on the Khante a good 400k away. Another explanation for this peculiar unfinished tower is that it actually is finished and is a Parsi (Zoroastrian) Tower of Silence. This city and region were once strongholds of Zoroastrianism. In fact, some claim that Zoroastrianism started in Khorezem and then moved to Persia. I can only imagine what my Persian teacher would say, probably something along the lines of "no, the Persians invented the Khorezem Kingdom." If it is in fact a Tower of Silence it makes a bit more sense since from on top it looks finished and it does resemble one of these towers. But the colors! I can't get over it and I can't wait to post pictures. Although who knows, snapfish is probably blocked in this country too.
The tallest tower in town is amazing. Every few meters the tile work on the outside changes pattern and design and colors. The top is sort of crowned. You can go up the 100 steps for a great view of the town. I think I'm going to do that later this afternoon, when it's cooled off a bit. Now I'm seeking refuge indoors.
This morning on my walking tour of the city I got to see some medrassehs. They are no longer used as schools and mosques, but are presently workshops. Some for wood. Others for carpets and silks. They do some amazing handiwork here. And it's wild to see what they use for dyes. Who would think pomegranate rinds could dye wool yellow? I though red and I was wrong. I also got to see two wedding parties on my walk through town. They were going to visit the various shrines of Sufi saints throughout the city. It's amazing how much religion here is influenced by Sufism, Zoroastrianism, and Shamanism. It's nice to see that here they are reclaiming their Sufi roots and are not turning to Wahhabism. Of course, they could be and I would have no idea. There's my disclaimer. I just haven't seen a single veil.
What strikes me as a bit odd is the nostalgia for the Soviet Union. On one hand everyone is in agreement that the climate here is changing for the worse with more frequent droughts, sandstorms, hotter summers, and colder winters and that this affects daily life. But on the other hand, in the Soviet Union, Uzbekistan was the third largest republic and people had money to travel within the USSR. Today, at least from what I can tell, it is relatively impoverished here. And people do talk fondly about the days when they could travel. There is also quite a bit of negative feelings toward Islam Karimov, the President. I obviously won't mention names here. But suffice it to say the people here in the Khorezem region have nothing kind to say of the man and they believe that he and his daughters are out to steal their money.
Outside my window there are lots of children playing in the municipal "pool." It's not quite as nice as the municipal pool that we had at the Farsi Farm. In fact, I wouldn't go in there at all. Yesterday there were a few boys sitting on the ledge with fishing rods and I asked them if there were fish inside. One proudly showed me a jar with a small goldfish. I presume he caught it. The kids here are adorable. And many look like my nephew Eitan.
Traveling to crazy places gives you perspective on craziness. Some would say I'm crazy for going to Central Asia and traveling through the Stans. (Some would say I'm crazy for other reasons). But this afternoon I climbed to the top of the fort along the city walls of Khiva up a couple of flight to see an amazing view of the city. You can see all the monuments at one time. There was a woman there so I asked her to take my photo. We started chatting. She's from Holland. She's been on the road for 9 months now. Just her and her husband…and they bicycles. They started in China, went through South East Asia and now are here in Central Asia, where they have biked along the Silk Road. Then they plan on flying to Lhasa, biking through Tibet, Nepal, India, Pakistan, Iran, Turkey and all the way home. Total travel time: 2 years. They quit their jobs, sold their house, and sold their car before doing this. Now that's what I call crazy (and yet…wouldn't that be fun?).
I am happy to say that I can now forget the following Turkmen phrases that I memorized:
1) Täze shprits ullansanïzlang
2) Mende öz shpritsim bar and
3) Men gan goybermani islämok
Which mean: Please use a new syringe, I have my own syringe, and I don't want a blood transfusion. Respectively.
Next up, memorizing those in Uzbek.
I'm still recovering from my nasty run-in with some mosquitoes in Nukus. Good thing this isn't shorts country. Coincidentally, when I was in the malarial area near Merv, Turkmenistan, I didn't get bitten by one mosquito. Not so in Nukus. I counted 28 on one leg. Fewer on my other. My right leg is apparently tastier. Yum.
I am the tourist attraction here in Khiva. Yesterday (Saturday) my mother and I were walking through the Bazaar scoping out all the fruits, veggies, clothing, toys, etc when we paused to sit down on a ledge. Four teenage girls came up and one asked if she could take a picture with us. With Us? How weird. Ok. So she sat between my mother and I and her friends snapped a photo. We thought we were done, but each of the other three took their turns sitting between the Americans. How exotic. This actually happened again today. We were standing outside of the Khan of Khiva's prison when a couple came up to us and asked if we would pose with the husband. They were from Termez, near the border with Afghanistan. Naturally, we obliged. I wonder if we'd be as exciting if we were Slavic. I guess they don't get too many tourists in these parts. Definitely not too many Americans. I've only met one since leaving Moscow. Maybe more will come now that it's hip and in vogue thanks to the NYT.
Khiva (pronounced Hiva in Uzbek) is a magnificent city. For starters, it's completely intact. A museum city if you will. There city walls still stand. The city was a major destination on the Great Silk Road, but didn't fare too well under Genghis Khan. Very little remains from pre-Mongolian invasion times. Khiva served as a capital of the Khorezem Kingdom. At one time that empire stretched down to Afghanistan and west toward Iran. The city's importance dwindled when the Silk Road(s) saw their amount of trade decrease because of newly opened up sea routes. The monuments within modern day Khiva largely date to the 19th century. The tile work is exquisite. There are two palaces within the walls, each with magnificent designs. The Khans here also had winter and summer palaces, in the summer they held court outside and in the winter they held court inside of a Yurt. Apparently, in summer, it hits 45 degrees Celsius here in the shade. The winters are -36 below. Yikes!
The domes of most of the buildings here are covered with turquoise or jade stones. It's amazing when the sun shines on them. There is this one tower in town that looks like a gas works or a very colorful mini nuclear power plant. I can just see Homer working inside. Some say that this was supposed to be the tallest tower in the world but when one Khan died the other one didn't want it finished. Another claims that the Khan of Bukhara ordered the death of the builder because this tower could be used to spy on the Khante a good 400k away. Another explanation for this peculiar unfinished tower is that it actually is finished and is a Parsi (Zoroastrian) Tower of Silence. This city and region were once strongholds of Zoroastrianism. In fact, some claim that Zoroastrianism started in Khorezem and then moved to Persia. I can only imagine what my Persian teacher would say, probably something along the lines of "no, the Persians invented the Khorezem Kingdom." If it is in fact a Tower of Silence it makes a bit more sense since from on top it looks finished and it does resemble one of these towers. But the colors! I can't get over it and I can't wait to post pictures. Although who knows, snapfish is probably blocked in this country too.
The tallest tower in town is amazing. Every few meters the tile work on the outside changes pattern and design and colors. The top is sort of crowned. You can go up the 100 steps for a great view of the town. I think I'm going to do that later this afternoon, when it's cooled off a bit. Now I'm seeking refuge indoors.
This morning on my walking tour of the city I got to see some medrassehs. They are no longer used as schools and mosques, but are presently workshops. Some for wood. Others for carpets and silks. They do some amazing handiwork here. And it's wild to see what they use for dyes. Who would think pomegranate rinds could dye wool yellow? I though red and I was wrong. I also got to see two wedding parties on my walk through town. They were going to visit the various shrines of Sufi saints throughout the city. It's amazing how much religion here is influenced by Sufism, Zoroastrianism, and Shamanism. It's nice to see that here they are reclaiming their Sufi roots and are not turning to Wahhabism. Of course, they could be and I would have no idea. There's my disclaimer. I just haven't seen a single veil.
What strikes me as a bit odd is the nostalgia for the Soviet Union. On one hand everyone is in agreement that the climate here is changing for the worse with more frequent droughts, sandstorms, hotter summers, and colder winters and that this affects daily life. But on the other hand, in the Soviet Union, Uzbekistan was the third largest republic and people had money to travel within the USSR. Today, at least from what I can tell, it is relatively impoverished here. And people do talk fondly about the days when they could travel. There is also quite a bit of negative feelings toward Islam Karimov, the President. I obviously won't mention names here. But suffice it to say the people here in the Khorezem region have nothing kind to say of the man and they believe that he and his daughters are out to steal their money.
Outside my window there are lots of children playing in the municipal "pool." It's not quite as nice as the municipal pool that we had at the Farsi Farm. In fact, I wouldn't go in there at all. Yesterday there were a few boys sitting on the ledge with fishing rods and I asked them if there were fish inside. One proudly showed me a jar with a small goldfish. I presume he caught it. The kids here are adorable. And many look like my nephew Eitan.
Traveling to crazy places gives you perspective on craziness. Some would say I'm crazy for going to Central Asia and traveling through the Stans. (Some would say I'm crazy for other reasons). But this afternoon I climbed to the top of the fort along the city walls of Khiva up a couple of flight to see an amazing view of the city. You can see all the monuments at one time. There was a woman there so I asked her to take my photo. We started chatting. She's from Holland. She's been on the road for 9 months now. Just her and her husband…and they bicycles. They started in China, went through South East Asia and now are here in Central Asia, where they have biked along the Silk Road. Then they plan on flying to Lhasa, biking through Tibet, Nepal, India, Pakistan, Iran, Turkey and all the way home. Total travel time: 2 years. They quit their jobs, sold their house, and sold their car before doing this. Now that's what I call crazy (and yet…wouldn't that be fun?).
I am happy to say that I can now forget the following Turkmen phrases that I memorized:
1) Täze shprits ullansanïzlang
2) Mende öz shpritsim bar and
3) Men gan goybermani islämok
Which mean: Please use a new syringe, I have my own syringe, and I don't want a blood transfusion. Respectively.
Next up, memorizing those in Uzbek.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Nukus, Moynaq, and the incredibly shrinking Aral Sea
Nukus. It is like a boomtown, frontier town, and ghost town in one. There is admittedly little to do in Nukus itself. The state museum boasts the last Caspian Tiger. You can see it stuffed. There is, however, a world class art museum, the Savitsky Museum. The director, Igor Savitsky, collected all banned Russian art work and accumulated over 90,000 pieces. While the art has survived, many/most of the artists themselves languished in the gulags or adhered to strict Soviet regulations about how their art should look and what it should represent. Savitsky was able to get away with this because Nukus was – as it is now – a backwater. Far from Moscow, little attention was paid to this region and to what the museum director was doing. The museum was pretty interesting and contained an ethnographic section, Khorzem history section, Karakalpakistan artwork, and Soviet dissident art.
The people in Karakalpakistan are wonderful. Everyone I pass eagerly says "hello." The children are beautiful and happy…especially considering their living and health conditions.
I arrived in Nukus on Wednesday night after crossing from Turkmenistan. I quickly met two travelers at my B&B. Jerry is an older semi-retiree from Canada who seems to have traveled everywhere in the world and has the wildest stories I've ever heard. Miles is a Brit a bit older than myself who works in London. We enjoyed some beer and tea on Wednesday night. On Thursday I spent part of my day at the Savitsky and part of it finding an internet café while wandering through Nukus. I also tried (unsuccessfully) to change travelers checks. It was in that first internet café, Fortuna, that I realized blogspot is blocked here in Uzbekistan. So are many other sites: BBC, Facebook, LiveJournal, and oh so many more. This is I'm sure part of Islam Karimov's policies of keeping islamists in check. Not sure how many have blogs. In any case, many thanks to Anna Melman for posting my last two posts. So posts will be slower coming as they'll have to go via email to someone who can actually put them up on strategery101.
Thursday evening my mother arrived after her very long trip to Uzbekistan. I went with our driver to meet her at the airport. That night the four of us (me, my mother, Jerry, and Miles) all enjoyed beer and tea at our B&B in the beautiful courtyard with the horse wagon with a big sign stapled to it denoting that it is from the "19 th century." Yes, it might be, but the staples look 21st century.
Friday, my mother and I set off for Moynaq, a city which was once surrounded on three sides by the Aral Sea. Today it is over 200k from the shores of the Aral. All this has happened within the last 3 decades or so. The Aral Sea is (was?) the 4 th largest inland body of water, but it has been shrinking rapidly due to cotton cultivation, general irrigation, and damming/redirecting river flows. The result has been much hotter summers and much colder winters, the utter destruction of the one thriving fishing industry, and increased salinity of the ground (which in turn means more water is required for irrigation and the crops are of poorer quality…which of course leads to further salinity), to name just a few problems.
So as we drove to Moynaq I noticed that the road was a good couple of meters above the surrounding area and I realized that this must have been part of the peninsula and the Sea must have extended alongside. Moynaq itself is a very depressing town. The Moynaq sign is adorned with fish, but there are no fish. For heaven's sake, there is no sea! I went a bit off road to take a look at what Moynaq is famous for today…beached rusting fishing boats. Amazing, there are just boats stranded everywhere (although I only saw about 6 or 7). The earth is visibly caked with salt and it feels weird to walk on it. The cows look sick. The people look sick. In our lifetime we will have witnessed the Aral Sea shrinking into oblivion at the expense of the people who live here and the climate. And what's crazy about it is that the shrinking sea is a totally man made problem. Of course the people here are also sick because of the chem & bio weapons that were developed in this region. The Soviets developed super duper anthrax germs in this factory, which I'm sure hasn't helped the situation here any.
So today the Aral Sea is a quarter of the size it was and it's all because of Cotton. Cotton started to be planted by the Tsarist Russia and the policy continued under Soviet rule as cotton production grew exponentially. Worse yet, the Uzbeks (other Central Asians too) were forced to sell their cotton at well below market prices to Moscow and were never given the tools to develop manufacturing so that they could process this cotton themselves. The post-independence these policies continued. But the environmental disasters started to add up in the late 80s and this legacy was left for the newly independent countries to deal with. What they have done is continued to crop cotton – only now it consumes more water (it's a thirsty crop to begin with) and the land is drying up. There are frequent droughts and sandstorms that farmers must now compete with. It was weird, driving past the endless landscape of cotton fields there are only little children and women harvesting the crop. Where are all the men? I really feel for the Uzbeks. What are they supposed to do? Stop growing the one thing that they can export (aside from gas/oil which causes its own problems)? Starve their people? Or continue disastrous policies. It's a problem with no good solution.
Here's a good Soviet joke:
What would happen if the Soviet Army took over the Sahara Desert? For fifty years, nothing. Then it would run out of sand.
That basically explains the environmental disasters throughout this region.
I'm in Khiva now and my next post will be on this amazingly beautiful city.
The people in Karakalpakistan are wonderful. Everyone I pass eagerly says "hello." The children are beautiful and happy…especially considering their living and health conditions.
I arrived in Nukus on Wednesday night after crossing from Turkmenistan. I quickly met two travelers at my B&B. Jerry is an older semi-retiree from Canada who seems to have traveled everywhere in the world and has the wildest stories I've ever heard. Miles is a Brit a bit older than myself who works in London. We enjoyed some beer and tea on Wednesday night. On Thursday I spent part of my day at the Savitsky and part of it finding an internet café while wandering through Nukus. I also tried (unsuccessfully) to change travelers checks. It was in that first internet café, Fortuna, that I realized blogspot is blocked here in Uzbekistan. So are many other sites: BBC, Facebook, LiveJournal, and oh so many more. This is I'm sure part of Islam Karimov's policies of keeping islamists in check. Not sure how many have blogs. In any case, many thanks to Anna Melman for posting my last two posts. So posts will be slower coming as they'll have to go via email to someone who can actually put them up on strategery101.
Thursday evening my mother arrived after her very long trip to Uzbekistan. I went with our driver to meet her at the airport. That night the four of us (me, my mother, Jerry, and Miles) all enjoyed beer and tea at our B&B in the beautiful courtyard with the horse wagon with a big sign stapled to it denoting that it is from the "19 th century." Yes, it might be, but the staples look 21st century.
Friday, my mother and I set off for Moynaq, a city which was once surrounded on three sides by the Aral Sea. Today it is over 200k from the shores of the Aral. All this has happened within the last 3 decades or so. The Aral Sea is (was?) the 4 th largest inland body of water, but it has been shrinking rapidly due to cotton cultivation, general irrigation, and damming/redirecting river flows. The result has been much hotter summers and much colder winters, the utter destruction of the one thriving fishing industry, and increased salinity of the ground (which in turn means more water is required for irrigation and the crops are of poorer quality…which of course leads to further salinity), to name just a few problems.
So as we drove to Moynaq I noticed that the road was a good couple of meters above the surrounding area and I realized that this must have been part of the peninsula and the Sea must have extended alongside. Moynaq itself is a very depressing town. The Moynaq sign is adorned with fish, but there are no fish. For heaven's sake, there is no sea! I went a bit off road to take a look at what Moynaq is famous for today…beached rusting fishing boats. Amazing, there are just boats stranded everywhere (although I only saw about 6 or 7). The earth is visibly caked with salt and it feels weird to walk on it. The cows look sick. The people look sick. In our lifetime we will have witnessed the Aral Sea shrinking into oblivion at the expense of the people who live here and the climate. And what's crazy about it is that the shrinking sea is a totally man made problem. Of course the people here are also sick because of the chem & bio weapons that were developed in this region. The Soviets developed super duper anthrax germs in this factory, which I'm sure hasn't helped the situation here any.
So today the Aral Sea is a quarter of the size it was and it's all because of Cotton. Cotton started to be planted by the Tsarist Russia and the policy continued under Soviet rule as cotton production grew exponentially. Worse yet, the Uzbeks (other Central Asians too) were forced to sell their cotton at well below market prices to Moscow and were never given the tools to develop manufacturing so that they could process this cotton themselves. The post-independence these policies continued. But the environmental disasters started to add up in the late 80s and this legacy was left for the newly independent countries to deal with. What they have done is continued to crop cotton – only now it consumes more water (it's a thirsty crop to begin with) and the land is drying up. There are frequent droughts and sandstorms that farmers must now compete with. It was weird, driving past the endless landscape of cotton fields there are only little children and women harvesting the crop. Where are all the men? I really feel for the Uzbeks. What are they supposed to do? Stop growing the one thing that they can export (aside from gas/oil which causes its own problems)? Starve their people? Or continue disastrous policies. It's a problem with no good solution.
Here's a good Soviet joke:
What would happen if the Soviet Army took over the Sahara Desert? For fifty years, nothing. Then it would run out of sand.
That basically explains the environmental disasters throughout this region.
I'm in Khiva now and my next post will be on this amazingly beautiful city.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Crossing the Oxus (Amu Darya ) River
I thought crossing from Turkmenistan to Uzbekistan overland deserved a posting of its very own.
After showing my passport to several uniformed people, my passport was finally stamped. I thought phew, I'm done here (at the border) and I can cross into Uzbekistan. Um, no. I then had to show my stamped passport to a few more individuals and then I got to go into the customs "house." After filling out a form I did not even remotely understand, I had to declare what I had. Wait, I'm confused, I'm leaving, what in the world am I declaring? I declared my camera (sony), phones (american and gsm), clothes, music player (apple). They wanted brand names for everything. Really, I'm still confused. Wouldn't you have asked for this information on the way in? My guide wrote me out the answer to each question in Turkmen. It read something like this. "My name is Dina S. I'm American. I have no carpets, no drugs, no firearms, no illegal goods. I am a tourist." This helped.
So I opened up each bag I had. And one by one they looked through them. They were puzzled by my chargers. I showed them my two phones and my camera "very nice." I offered them cigarettes from America (bought expressly for this purpose), and they declined. But what took the cake is when the opened up my daypack and found Rukhnama. All the sudden their attitude changed and they became so helpful (not that they were bad before, just annoying). "You've read Rukhnama, yes?" I replied, "yes, I've started to." Of course I then went on to extol the virtues of both Turkmenbashi and his seminal work. They quizzed me a bit and smiled. I think I made their day. And they made my day, because they stopped thoroughly searching my bags. How many Americans cross this border? And how many of them carry an English copy of Rukhnama? With many new friends made I moved on to the next building where I was to get another stamp and have yet another conversation about Rukhnama. After telling every guard that I enjoyed the book, the country, and Turkmenbashi (that could probably be a new slogan, I should copyright it), I finally gathered all my bags and walked to the no-man's land between the two countries. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had three phones.
How come no-man's land is always so long? Couldn't cartographers have used thinner pencils? I guess in this case one has to wonder why there are borders at all. The Central Asian Republics can thank Stalin for their boundaries, some of which make no sense (namely, how Uzbekistan ended up with the Tajik heartland of Samarkand and Bukhara). As I lugged my stuff across the road I was just hoping that the Uzbek side wouldn't be closed. The first stop on the Uzbek side had two guards, one older and one younger. The younger guard started asking me lots of questions and I answered. I got a stamp and was told to move on to customs. So far so good.
I walked into the customs house and the new guard didn't seem so friendly. He basically barked at me to sit down. I opened up my bags and gave him a pack of Camels. He helped me as I started filling out a customs form (now this made sense) again showing him my two phones (the satellite remained hidden), camera, computer, etc. Everything went smoothly. Then in return for the Camels he wrote down the exchange rate and told me how to get to Nukus and not get ripped off by the cab drivers. Did I mention how he didn't search my bags and thus didn't find the sat phone?. Note to self, cigarettes don't hold much sway in Turkmenistan but are gold in Uzbekistan. A constructivist approach to borders: If you create them, differences will appear.
I thanked the border guard and moved on to find a taxi. Taxis in this part of the world are very small wooden-floored diesel-smelling Soviet-made cars. No markings necessary. My driver was nice enough but didn't know his way around so we made a few stops to get directions to where I was going. The whole time I was on the lookout for the Amu Darya river. I wasn't sure which side of the border the river fell so I kept on asking my guide in Turkmenistan "is that the Amu Darya?" They were all irrigation canals. All flowing with water. Every river I saw I asked my taxi driver "Amu Darya?" "Nyet." They too were irrigation canals. Then up ahead I saw a big bridge. My driver pointed and said " Amu Darya!" I could see the wide banks of this famous river but as I got closer I noticed that there was barely any water in the river! All the water is flowing in these irrigation canals and none in the river, no wonder there's a huge ecological crisis in this region!
My first impression of Uzbekistan is that it's more populated than Turkmenistan. The border region is empty on one side and filled on the other side. Turkmenistan in general is probably the least population-dense place I've ever been to. It's a huge country with probably 4.5 to 5 million people living there (although their census data says 6 it's widely considered to be an overestimation). I am now in Nukus, the regional capital of Karakalpakistan, home to ethnic Karakalpaks, Uzbeks, and Kazakhs. It's also home to the Aral Sea. The shrinking Aral Sea. Thanks to water diversion. The Karakalpaks were traditionally a nomadic fishing people who thrived off of the Amu Darya and Aral. But thanks to forced collectivization and water resource depletion (not to mention that this region was also home to chemical weapons development during the Soviet times), this is the sickest region of Uzbekistan and its economy is falling apart.
After showing my passport to several uniformed people, my passport was finally stamped. I thought phew, I'm done here (at the border) and I can cross into Uzbekistan. Um, no. I then had to show my stamped passport to a few more individuals and then I got to go into the customs "house." After filling out a form I did not even remotely understand, I had to declare what I had. Wait, I'm confused, I'm leaving, what in the world am I declaring? I declared my camera (sony), phones (american and gsm), clothes, music player (apple). They wanted brand names for everything. Really, I'm still confused. Wouldn't you have asked for this information on the way in? My guide wrote me out the answer to each question in Turkmen. It read something like this. "My name is Dina S. I'm American. I have no carpets, no drugs, no firearms, no illegal goods. I am a tourist." This helped.
So I opened up each bag I had. And one by one they looked through them. They were puzzled by my chargers. I showed them my two phones and my camera "very nice." I offered them cigarettes from America (bought expressly for this purpose), and they declined. But what took the cake is when the opened up my daypack and found Rukhnama. All the sudden their attitude changed and they became so helpful (not that they were bad before, just annoying). "You've read Rukhnama, yes?" I replied, "yes, I've started to." Of course I then went on to extol the virtues of both Turkmenbashi and his seminal work. They quizzed me a bit and smiled. I think I made their day. And they made my day, because they stopped thoroughly searching my bags. How many Americans cross this border? And how many of them carry an English copy of Rukhnama? With many new friends made I moved on to the next building where I was to get another stamp and have yet another conversation about Rukhnama. After telling every guard that I enjoyed the book, the country, and Turkmenbashi (that could probably be a new slogan, I should copyright it), I finally gathered all my bags and walked to the no-man's land between the two countries. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had three phones.
How come no-man's land is always so long? Couldn't cartographers have used thinner pencils? I guess in this case one has to wonder why there are borders at all. The Central Asian Republics can thank Stalin for their boundaries, some of which make no sense (namely, how Uzbekistan ended up with the Tajik heartland of Samarkand and Bukhara). As I lugged my stuff across the road I was just hoping that the Uzbek side wouldn't be closed. The first stop on the Uzbek side had two guards, one older and one younger. The younger guard started asking me lots of questions and I answered. I got a stamp and was told to move on to customs. So far so good.
I walked into the customs house and the new guard didn't seem so friendly. He basically barked at me to sit down. I opened up my bags and gave him a pack of Camels. He helped me as I started filling out a customs form (now this made sense) again showing him my two phones (the satellite remained hidden), camera, computer, etc. Everything went smoothly. Then in return for the Camels he wrote down the exchange rate and told me how to get to Nukus and not get ripped off by the cab drivers. Did I mention how he didn't search my bags and thus didn't find the sat phone?. Note to self, cigarettes don't hold much sway in Turkmenistan but are gold in Uzbekistan. A constructivist approach to borders: If you create them, differences will appear.
I thanked the border guard and moved on to find a taxi. Taxis in this part of the world are very small wooden-floored diesel-smelling Soviet-made cars. No markings necessary. My driver was nice enough but didn't know his way around so we made a few stops to get directions to where I was going. The whole time I was on the lookout for the Amu Darya river. I wasn't sure which side of the border the river fell so I kept on asking my guide in Turkmenistan "is that the Amu Darya?" They were all irrigation canals. All flowing with water. Every river I saw I asked my taxi driver "Amu Darya?" "Nyet." They too were irrigation canals. Then up ahead I saw a big bridge. My driver pointed and said " Amu Darya!" I could see the wide banks of this famous river but as I got closer I noticed that there was barely any water in the river! All the water is flowing in these irrigation canals and none in the river, no wonder there's a huge ecological crisis in this region!
My first impression of Uzbekistan is that it's more populated than Turkmenistan. The border region is empty on one side and filled on the other side. Turkmenistan in general is probably the least population-dense place I've ever been to. It's a huge country with probably 4.5 to 5 million people living there (although their census data says 6 it's widely considered to be an overestimation). I am now in Nukus, the regional capital of Karakalpakistan, home to ethnic Karakalpaks, Uzbeks, and Kazakhs. It's also home to the Aral Sea. The shrinking Aral Sea. Thanks to water diversion. The Karakalpaks were traditionally a nomadic fishing people who thrived off of the Amu Darya and Aral. But thanks to forced collectivization and water resource depletion (not to mention that this region was also home to chemical weapons development during the Soviet times), this is the sickest region of Uzbekistan and its economy is falling apart.
Golden Age (Altyn Asyr) Finished, Soviet Era Started
Those poetic words were spoken (pa russki) by my driver on our way north. At about the halfway mark between Ashgabat and the border with Uzbekistan, just barely inside the Daşgouz province, the roads went from paved asphalt to gravel marked by potholes. Or maybe it was mostly potholes with some road in between. I'm actually writing for that same road, 4.5 hours after we left our campsite this morning. And it's been an exciting drive. For starters, we realized at the first (not so serious checkpoint) that my passport was still in the hotel reception, which I left 24 hours ago. Why the hotel didn't give me back my passport remains a mystery (I thought they gave it to my guide). I returned my key, got my bill, but not my passport. So naturally panic struck us all because we were entering a border zone (still a good 2 hours away) and such documents were required and checkpoints still exist in these regions. I have never been so happy to have a satellite phone (thanks Jason) as I am now. We quickly called the hotel and confirmed that it was still at the reception and then called the travel agency to have them fly it up north. Amazingly, my passport will make it Daşgouz city before me. And I left yesterday. It's only a 50 minute flight. Makes me think I should have returned to Ashgabat after visiting the desert via the nice road and flown up north. But then I wouldn't have experienced all the wonders of the Kara Kum desert.
I've been thinking about the deteriorating roads the further you get from Ashgabat. My driver's comment was spot-on. The Altyn Asyr only extends as far as ministers' cars drive, and evidently not here. And here's a shout-out to my Failed States Peeps: diminishing sovereignity. Did I misspell that correctly? This region is the poorest of the five states here and their prime income is smuggling state-subsidized products over the Oxus and into Uzbekistan. It stands to be reasonable profitable. We filled up this Toyota SUV with just over 113L for 45,284 Manats or a rate of 1.6 cents/Liter. Pretty cheap. Take that Sovereignity.
When we were approaching the second checkpoint my driver and guide were seriously considering hiding me beneath all our camping gear in the back of the SUV. I was all for the plan, but when they realized that I have a driver's license (ahem, national identity card to the border guards) we realized that I should be ok at least until the 3 rd checkpoint and the border. I'll let you know if that plan materializes. I think it could be fun. (N.B. It was fine; we got past all checkpoints with out smuggling Dinabashi through).
So what have I been up to besides leaving my passport behind? I spent yesterday morning (Tuesday) roaming around the southern suburb of Ashgabat, Berzengi. There is a giant golden statue of your friend and mine, Saparmurat Niyazov aka Turkmenbashi. It's in Independence Park, which also has a pretty large monument and about 20 statues of Turkmen national heroes. Some of them were pretty scary. Kind of reminded me of what I image the white witch's palace to have looked like in Narnia. Only these dudes looked seriously scary. They do not look like fauns.
Then yesterday afternoon I left with guide and driver to head into the Kara Kum (Black Sands) desert, which forms the heart of Turkmenistan. Our first stop was Erbent, a semi-nomadic village comprised of some yurts (but pretty permanent ones) and some concrete structures. Why semi-nomadic? Remember how I wrote earlier about the fierce Turcomen warriors? They were nomads. In Central Asia there has always been tension between the oasis villagers/city dwellers and the nomadic warrior tribes. Inevitably the warriors conquer the villages and oasis towns because the inhabitants have forgotten how to fight. These warriors become sedentary and in turn are conquered. And so the cycle continues. So why is this important? Well the Soviet destroyed a good deal of the traditional nomadic life and what was not destroyed by them has been uprooted by Niyazov. As part of his nation building efforts he is trying to recreate the Turkmen national myth as one of urbanized city dwellers. This is not entirely false, after all I have visited ancient cities like Merv and I'm heading to Konye Urgench, but that has traditionally been the minority. The tribes were much better known for kidnapping slavs than city-dwelling. Anyhow, it seems that in the 21st century the age-old conflict between nomadic and sedentary lifestyles still goes on. Some things in Central Asia don't change. So this type of semi-nomadic life is all that's left. And it was pretty dreary. I visited a yurt in Erbent and met an entire extended family, which was a nice part to the visit. They offered me camel's milk. I declined.
After Erbent, we continued on to look at three giant gas craters. These are massive (40m wide?) craters some formed naturally, others by geological experts or gas companies. The first we visited had water at the bottom, but the water was bubbling from the gas coming up from the ground. The second crater was a mud crater; it looked like a giant mud bath with enormous bubbles. The third crater, know as the burning gas crater in Darvaza, was a burning gas crater. It was the largest…and certainly the hottest. It burns 24 hours a day and there are lots of mini fires up and down the crater walls with two giant fires in the middle. I took lots of pictures. And while it looked cool in the day, I camped there overnight and it was awesome. The following morning (i.e. this morning as I write) it was super cold and windy and I was woken up by the rain! How crazy! Oddly enough, it rained all day Wednesday in the desert, maybe the mud is why they call it the black desert, because the sand looked goldish before the rain.
(ok, I'm writing this part on Thursday): Yesterday, as I mentioned above, we drove 6 awful hours to reach Konye Urgench (old Urgench), which was a settlement along the Amu Darya (Oxus) when the river poured into the Caspian Sea (today it "flows" to the Aral Sea). There were some magnificent mausoleums and a great tower, but instead of giving it the proper attention it deserved, we left quickly to pick up my passport.
There are few things I forgot to note about Turkmenistan in some of my other posts. Ashgabat (and the other places I saw) were all pristine. The people are always immaculately dressed. After purchasing Rukhnama, Turkmenbashi's book, I realize that a lot of the things I see are because of Turkmenbashi and this book. It tells you how to live and the people follow. Also, because many of you have asked, Turkmenbashi actually died a few months back, but his spirit lives on in the country. I never saw a picture of his successor or heard his name mentioned. The country is still very much focused on Niyazov…as are the billboards, statues, slogans.
Other important things: My Turkmenbashi "gold" pocket watch keeps time well.
And for a new section of the blog: "What thing Dina brought that wasn't really necessary this week."
1) Toilet Seat Covers. Rule #1 of the stans: If there's a toilet, it's clean. If there's no toilet, then seat covers are purposeless.
I also finished "Setting the East Ablaze: Lenin's Dream for an Empire in Central Asia " by Peter Hopkirk about Central Asia post Bolshevik Revolution. It was good, but not as good as the Great Game. I'm now in the middle of "Chasing the Sea" by Tom Bissel. It's about the shrinking Aral Sea and a general travelogue of his time in Uzbekistan.
I'm sure that I'm forgetting things I intended to write, but I'll post them later if that's the case.
I've been thinking about the deteriorating roads the further you get from Ashgabat. My driver's comment was spot-on. The Altyn Asyr only extends as far as ministers' cars drive, and evidently not here. And here's a shout-out to my Failed States Peeps: diminishing sovereignity. Did I misspell that correctly? This region is the poorest of the five states here and their prime income is smuggling state-subsidized products over the Oxus and into Uzbekistan. It stands to be reasonable profitable. We filled up this Toyota SUV with just over 113L for 45,284 Manats or a rate of 1.6 cents/Liter. Pretty cheap. Take that Sovereignity.
When we were approaching the second checkpoint my driver and guide were seriously considering hiding me beneath all our camping gear in the back of the SUV. I was all for the plan, but when they realized that I have a driver's license (ahem, national identity card to the border guards) we realized that I should be ok at least until the 3 rd checkpoint and the border. I'll let you know if that plan materializes. I think it could be fun. (N.B. It was fine; we got past all checkpoints with out smuggling Dinabashi through).
So what have I been up to besides leaving my passport behind? I spent yesterday morning (Tuesday) roaming around the southern suburb of Ashgabat, Berzengi. There is a giant golden statue of your friend and mine, Saparmurat Niyazov aka Turkmenbashi. It's in Independence Park, which also has a pretty large monument and about 20 statues of Turkmen national heroes. Some of them were pretty scary. Kind of reminded me of what I image the white witch's palace to have looked like in Narnia. Only these dudes looked seriously scary. They do not look like fauns.
Then yesterday afternoon I left with guide and driver to head into the Kara Kum (Black Sands) desert, which forms the heart of Turkmenistan. Our first stop was Erbent, a semi-nomadic village comprised of some yurts (but pretty permanent ones) and some concrete structures. Why semi-nomadic? Remember how I wrote earlier about the fierce Turcomen warriors? They were nomads. In Central Asia there has always been tension between the oasis villagers/city dwellers and the nomadic warrior tribes. Inevitably the warriors conquer the villages and oasis towns because the inhabitants have forgotten how to fight. These warriors become sedentary and in turn are conquered. And so the cycle continues. So why is this important? Well the Soviet destroyed a good deal of the traditional nomadic life and what was not destroyed by them has been uprooted by Niyazov. As part of his nation building efforts he is trying to recreate the Turkmen national myth as one of urbanized city dwellers. This is not entirely false, after all I have visited ancient cities like Merv and I'm heading to Konye Urgench, but that has traditionally been the minority. The tribes were much better known for kidnapping slavs than city-dwelling. Anyhow, it seems that in the 21st century the age-old conflict between nomadic and sedentary lifestyles still goes on. Some things in Central Asia don't change. So this type of semi-nomadic life is all that's left. And it was pretty dreary. I visited a yurt in Erbent and met an entire extended family, which was a nice part to the visit. They offered me camel's milk. I declined.
After Erbent, we continued on to look at three giant gas craters. These are massive (40m wide?) craters some formed naturally, others by geological experts or gas companies. The first we visited had water at the bottom, but the water was bubbling from the gas coming up from the ground. The second crater was a mud crater; it looked like a giant mud bath with enormous bubbles. The third crater, know as the burning gas crater in Darvaza, was a burning gas crater. It was the largest…and certainly the hottest. It burns 24 hours a day and there are lots of mini fires up and down the crater walls with two giant fires in the middle. I took lots of pictures. And while it looked cool in the day, I camped there overnight and it was awesome. The following morning (i.e. this morning as I write) it was super cold and windy and I was woken up by the rain! How crazy! Oddly enough, it rained all day Wednesday in the desert, maybe the mud is why they call it the black desert, because the sand looked goldish before the rain.
(ok, I'm writing this part on Thursday): Yesterday, as I mentioned above, we drove 6 awful hours to reach Konye Urgench (old Urgench), which was a settlement along the Amu Darya (Oxus) when the river poured into the Caspian Sea (today it "flows" to the Aral Sea). There were some magnificent mausoleums and a great tower, but instead of giving it the proper attention it deserved, we left quickly to pick up my passport.
There are few things I forgot to note about Turkmenistan in some of my other posts. Ashgabat (and the other places I saw) were all pristine. The people are always immaculately dressed. After purchasing Rukhnama, Turkmenbashi's book, I realize that a lot of the things I see are because of Turkmenbashi and this book. It tells you how to live and the people follow. Also, because many of you have asked, Turkmenbashi actually died a few months back, but his spirit lives on in the country. I never saw a picture of his successor or heard his name mentioned. The country is still very much focused on Niyazov…as are the billboards, statues, slogans.
Other important things: My Turkmenbashi "gold" pocket watch keeps time well.
And for a new section of the blog: "What thing Dina brought that wasn't really necessary this week."
1) Toilet Seat Covers. Rule #1 of the stans: If there's a toilet, it's clean. If there's no toilet, then seat covers are purposeless.
I also finished "Setting the East Ablaze: Lenin's Dream for an Empire in Central Asia " by Peter Hopkirk about Central Asia post Bolshevik Revolution. It was good, but not as good as the Great Game. I'm now in the middle of "Chasing the Sea" by Tom Bissel. It's about the shrinking Aral Sea and a general travelogue of his time in Uzbekistan.
I'm sure that I'm forgetting things I intended to write, but I'll post them later if that's the case.
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