Mansur
I’m lost in the alleys of Bukhara when Mansur finds me. He’s a big guy of 45 and he smiles as he approaches with his huge hand outstretched. He gives me a hearty “salaam alaykhum (peace be with you)” and I respond in kind. We’re right outside his house and before I know it he’s swept me inside and sits me down in his spacious living room as his dog Rex barks his protest.
Mansur doesn’t speak much English but as I’ve said before Uzbeks are great communicators. His daughters are buzzing around bringing us bread, yogurt, beers and of course chu-chu vodka. Within a few minutes Mansur has changed into his beach pants and T-shirt and is ready to enjoy his day off from driving trucks with this unlikely comrade.
After a few drinks and food I settle into my recliner and have no problem spending the day here with this friendly guy. He’s the father of five daughters and they treat him like a king on his day off, occasionally dipping into the stack of money on top of the TV to make beer runs for us and ice cream runs for themselves.
“Do you like music Daniel?” He’s excited to know I do and he snaps at the youngest girl to get the DVD ready. Mansur’s taste in music dates back to his military days from 1980-84, a time he’s scrapbooked well. I flip through his photoalbum where a young handsome Mansur is front a center posing next to tanks, transport trucks, and various landmarks around Minsk where he was stationed. I come to one photo of an amphibious tank with a huge air intake snorkle making its way across a river.
“Daniel,” he looks at me seriously and holds his finger to his lips. “Shhh, George Bush don’t say, okay?” He smiles and starts laughing. The secret’s safe with me and we shake on it.
While I’m checking out the book the TV’s blaring music videos, the worst music videos, from the 80s. First there’s Modern Talking with their shoulder swinging piano guitar and feathered hair power turns to the camera. Memories of babysitters and transformers come flooding back and it becomes clear to me that I’m having the most surreal day imaginable in the middle of Uzbekistan. Mansur’s youngest daughter is more of the Modern Talking fan and soon he seems just as sick of the blond guy’s goofy grin as me.
“Arabesque! Where’s Arabesque!” He starts shouting for one of the girls to come change the video and when these three disco divas appear on screen singing their “hello Mr. Monkey” magic you can see Mansur’s heart melt away.”Ahh, Daniel” he says still fixed on the screen. “Ta-lent. This is ta-LENT!” Through a series of vivid hand gestures he starts telling me exactly what he’d like to do to all three of them. Just like the girls back in Belarus.
After a couple more beers and vodka shots the volume on Arabesque gets cranked and we dance, shake hands, dance some more, then settle back into our recliners for the main event.It turns out that back in Minsk and upon his return back to Tashkent, Mansur was an amatuer boxer, and what Uzbek boxer’s DVD collection is complete without the Best fights of Mike Tyson 1986-1990? So we watch the champ actually fight since any any best of collection includes the handful of fights that outlast the first round, finally leading up to the Buster Douglas fight that I haven’t seen since I was ten.
Usually in situations like this I find it hard to pry myself away from hospitality like this but Mansur knows he lives in sightseer central and lets me off easy with my 50th handshake and a bear hug. I think this guy just wanted a homey to drink beer and watch TV with on his day off and I just happened to be the lucky customer strolling by.
Tags: Eurasia: Marco Polo-in' it, Uzbekistan
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