Tashkent
Even getting to Tashkent was interesting. Because of its military history, Samara had its airport located over an hour outside of town. It is an uneventful drive. At the airport, security was serious business, as today was also the day that the flight for Dushanbe left.
It took several hours of waiting before we got going. The flight itself was dull for a couple of hours. Fearing that they did not intend to feed me, I wolfed down my chips. No sooner had I satiated my hunger than the procession of food came out. It kept coming in waves for an hour. The main course, then cheese, apples, yoghurt, tea, more tea. It was insane. I rolled off the plane in Tashkent.
I think they knew what they were doing though. I needed all that food as I spent two hours trying to get through passport control. The bags are inspected twice, with massive waits both times. Uzbeks don’t do the whole queuing up thing, well some of them don’t, and that created confusion. In the stifling heat of the unairconditioned building, fistfights nearly erupted on numerous occasions. Some of those guys would have had their chops busted by yours truly had I been less concerned with offending the local officials.
I got out and immediately the taxi touts were over me like white on rice. They wanted ten bucks to take me to my hotel. The hotel’s website said five was the going rate. Truthfully, you can cross town for two, but coming from the airport, having just landed in a new country, I was not inclined to be too fussy. It took some skill to get five.
Tashkent day one
The hotel, of course, was five minutes away. Getting a visa for Uzbekistan is a pain in the ass, and I ended up eschewing the North American agencies responsible for assistance as they would only help me if I bought an overpriced tour package from them. I instead went with Dolores Tour, which is affiliated with the Grand Orzu Hotel. I had to book three days at this three-star facility, but it was worth it. I checked in to what would ultimately be the most luxurious place I stayed at in the entire six months.
I put my bag on the floor, changed, and headed downstairs to the poolside bar. A movie was showing so it wasn’t a place for casual relaxing, but I paused long enough to stare at the stars – my first Asian sky. I grabbed an Uzbek beer and went back to my room, soon to conk out.
Morning came and I got downstairs while it was still cool to partake of a poolside buffet breakfast. A mixture of Uzbek and Western food was on offer. I went local with tea, dried apricots, walnuts, and my favourite – kaimak. This is a sweet, fresh cream/yoghurt sort of product that tastes excellent.
I headed out into what was already hot sun for a quick spell at the Internet café. After struggling to find good, cheap connections in provincial Russia, I was quite happy with the quality and price in Tashkent. My first order of business was a visit to the Kyrgyz embassy to secure a visa. This was a trial and a half. I neglected the appropriate forms (I had no way of getting them) and passport photos. The embassy closed down at noon and I arrived at twenty minutes to.
It required a series of mass sprints to put everything together and it was twenty past twelve when I returned. But they were cool about it and let me in. I forget something else, and again went scrambling and again they let me in, as they were still processing the last visas. Wonderful hospitality, which I have to say was unexpected at an embassy.
Continued…
This business taken care of, I had the weekend to enjoy Tashkent before spending my Monday working on a Kazakh visa. I started beerhunting and found success right away in the form of Gambrinus, a wonderful lager that proved, in unfiltered form, to be the best of Central Asia’s microbrews.
That evening I tripped over another brewery while out wandering. I also discovered that the Grand Orzu is right around the corner from the Israeli embassy, the scene of a terrorist bombing last spring.
No worries, the next morning I was at the Chorsu Bazaar, scene of a bombing of its own. The Uzbeks are not particularly hardcore about their Islam, at least in the Tashkent, Samarqand and Bukhara areas. They don’t like terrorism, because it puts a black mark on their country. For the most part, they have an eye towards ties with Turkey and the west. They have a great need for western investment to diversify their economy from the crippling effects of cotton dependency.
The Chorsu backs onto the old town. The immediate old town is a claustrophobic tangle of adobe courtyard houses with narrow laneways. There are no good maps on the area that I could find and not knowing the small size of the tangle, only the large size of the old town overall, I dared not venture too far for fear of never finding my way out. It took only seconds for some curious locals to wonder about who I was and what I was doing here. The Russians that live in Tashkent never come here, and most tourists apparently don’t either.
After twenty minutes chatting and poking my head down alleys, I decided if I was going to get out of there successfully I’d need to head back to the bazaar. The bazaar overall is massive, with no end of food in sight. Eating is conducted mainly at a handful of chaykanas.
The Chaykhana Experience
With the previous days’ dealings with the visa, I’d neglected to have a proper lunch, but had found some greasy plov. I make better plov myself at home, so I decided that would be my last. At night, my beerhunting had brought me back after dusk. I hadn’t realized that the chaykanas closed at dusk, so I ended up with an overpriced pizza by the Internet café instead of local food.
So on my second full day, I finally had the opportunity for my first even Central Asian chaykana experience. I doubt I’ll ever forget it. First I went to the counter to get a pot of tea. This cost twenty cents, about double what most places charge but at the time it seems like a good deal. I was after all just coming from Russia where prices are often Western and totally out of whack with quality. I headed for a table. All were busy, but I sat down at an empty corner. No worries here, everyone shares tables.
Then I got up for some laghman. This is a noodle soup with bits of mutton, onion and herbs. It is not always so fancy as it was at the Chorsu, as not every chaykana has a full compliment of ingredients at its disposal. Back to my table I went and my tablemates gave me some nan, the round bread that was apparently the forerunner to Indian naan. It’s thicker and tougher, so not as good in my books, but when it’s still warm it’s not bad. Through my travels in Uzbekistan I learned why my tablemates gave me some bread. Not only was it generosity, but Uzbeks cannot fathom the idea of eating without it.
For lunch the same day I finally was able to visit the chaykana across the road from the hotel. Amazingly, foreigners rarely eat here. There is an art gallery/café on the corner and it is always filled with white people, but not the humble Uzbek restaurants on the same street. Pathetic. I had shashlyk – the ubiquitous skewers of mutton, served with vinegary onions, nan, and today fresh melons. They were actually chopping one open for customers at another table, but brought some over for me, too. It was outstanding melon – juicy and sweet. I swear, by the time August rolls around, half of Uzbekistan’s water supply is locked in melons.
Sadly, I had to leave the Grand Hotel Orzu the next day and find digs more in line with my budget. I ended up at the Hotel Tara, a Russian-run establishment in a tenement on the edge of the town. The staff are friendly, but the conditions dilapidated, and both times I visited I got sick.
I had to stay in Tashkent to get my visa for Kazakhstan, and ordeal which involved a lot of waiting and not much else. It was done in a day, however, so I can’t complain. Then it was off to Samarqand.
Tags: Tashkent, Travel, Uzbekistan
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