Disappearing Acts…
Traveling from Bukhara to Khiva required going through the Kyzylkum Desert – surely the world’s most vowel-challenged desert. At times the desert looked likely to defeat the road…and I saw three or four wild camels wandering in the distance, reminded me of Australia and of India (Jaisalmer). I was in a shared taxi with a disturbingly distracted young driver – driving itself wasn’t enough of a challenge, so he was constantly fiddling with the music, or lighting a cigarette, or adjusting his pants. And he wasn’t driving slowly, mind you – I think a couple times we were 100% airborne. I’ve read that traveling in this sort of transport in the developing world is high-risk behavior, and I finally understood what that meant.
But there was some light-heartedness along the way as well. As we pulled into yet another militsiya (police) checkpoint, I said something about Uzbekistan having too many of these, and the driver laughed and stepped on the gas – this checkpoint, at least, was deserted. After that we pulled imaginary guns on each other whenever we came upon another checkpoint.
We stopped for lunch at a modest roadside joint. The usual fare – laghman (noodle soup), beer, and bread. The bread in this part of Uzbekistan – the Khorezm region – is very flat and pretty solid. I had trouble chewing it and mimed shooting a gun at it, and having the bullet bounce back and kill me. That did it – a fellow passenger, a local woman, went back to the taxi and brought back several ‘loaves’ (more like Frisbees) of bread from other parts of the country – soft, bowlike bread from Samarkand and a fairly innocuous version from Bukhara. Much better. She shared these and I thanked her. Clearly the Ubzekis are masters when it comes to bread…
We went over the Oxus River (known here as Amu Darya) a couple times – surprisingly low, I’ve seen photos of a much larger river and this seemed like a creek. Later on we went over it again, this time it was a bit more impressive but still low. The ‘bridge’ over this section was perhaps the poorest excuse for a river-span I’ve ever seen – even worse than the shit pontoon just outside Varanasi. At first I thought we were driving onto a barge that would take us across the Oxus – then I realized it was stationary. It still seemed like they had simply grounded several ships and welded them together – the bridge was that pathetic. It took 15 minutes to drive over it – the various sections aren’t well-fitted and the driver had to take it very slowly. As we were crawling along, the heat invaded the car and we were all pretty fried when we reached the other side.
One of the passengers had given the driver a few curd-balls. These sat on the dashboard. During one of our faster stretches I imagined the physical properties of one of these balls in action – if we were to crash, or even stop short, it would be like a huge bullet. I put the balls in the glovebox and smiled at the driver. He probably thought I was a nancy-boy.
We got to Urgench after about 5 hours. Here I learned an annoying thing – I had paid for a trip all the way to Khiva, and knew we had to pass through Urgench first, no problem. But now I had to switch vehicles, and I realized I shouldn’t have agreed back in Bukhara for a fare to Khiva – only to Urgench. If I paid for the two legs separately, I could have saved a few bucks. Not so much, I just felt like a fool for agreeing initially to the fare – I had thought it would be straight to my hotel, but this wasn’t even close. After that I decided to put aside perceived ease of transport and bargain hard for each segment. A good if belated learning…
Khiva is an ancient city – although it seems much of it was restored in the past 20 years. It was part of the independent (at times) Khorezm khanate, and a slaving center for many years. Less famous than its sister Silk Road cities Samarkand and Bukhara, it’s in many ways a place that’s more like what tourists really seek – the city walls are still there, and the tourist sights are nearly all within the old walled city. It feels old, and fairly authentic, as well as small in size – unlike Bukhara and Samarkand, both of which are sizeable cities. It’s probably restored too well – some things look brand-new…whereas Jaisalmer, in India, felt a lot less gussied-up. This was my last stop on the Silk Road…after this I’d continue heading west, but for different purposes. More on that in a bit.
I got out of cab #2 and walked into the old city, through the West Gate. A fellow passenger pointed me toward my guesthouse, and in a second had found the son of the owner to walk me there. Got there in a few minutes – nice place, US$15 a night with aircon, private bathroom, and breakfast. Bingo. I later found that the mattress wasn’t great and I didn’t sleep all that well, which shows that you get what you pay for. Still…
I walked around a bit – it was brutally hot. Retreated to the guesthouse, Meros, to relax till the sun went down. Around 8 p.m. I went to look for something to eat, had heard about a place outside the walls called Parvoz, overlooking a hauz (pool). Found it, sat down, and got the waitress over. The food options were very weak – it seemed they had nothing left – so I just ordered a Sarbast beer, which I’ve come to really enjoy, crisp and clean taste. She brought that over – poured it into a frosty mug, not usual Uzbek practice – and I swear it was just about the coldest beer I’ve ever had. That is saying something, so let’s allow that claim to sink in. The beer literally turned to slush as she poured it…I swallowed a gulp and it was like being shot full of human growth hormone.
I ordered a second one, just to try to recapture that feeling. And it worked pretty well. Then I was starving, and managed to convince them to cook up some plov (Uzbek rice pilaf with fatty lamb bits – yum!?) and bring over some tomato salad and bread (not the bulletproof type). Managed to make a decent meal of it all.
Slept alright that night, despite the lumpy mattress. Had breakfast at the guesthouse the next morning – the usual fare, too much bread and not enough fruit. Bukhara and Samarkand had been better about offering a healthy breakfast, they’ve apparently had help from overseas consultants and know what to serve Westerners – Khiva is more low-key and modest and they haven’t bothered. But…Meros Guesthouse did have one gem at breakfast, I believe they were tomato pieces rolled inside a slice of cucumber, the entire thing pickled or marinated. Declicious, really – just a single bite of heaven. Perhaps the natural counterpoint to breizol? Anyway, enough foodporn…
As I did in Bukhara, I found and hired a local guide in Khiva. Her name was Marsha, she was half-Uzbek (father) and half-Russian (mother). Very good, much like my guide in Bukhara. Twenty bucks got me a half-day tour and lots of stories and jokes, including:
-According to legend Khiva was founded by Noah’s son, Shem. He struck his staff on the ground here and a well sprung up – the local word for well was corrupted into ‘Khiva.’ Yeah, right.
-A few years ago the city removed ancient cobblestones near the West Gate and replaced them with flat tiles/bricks. Marsha felt that this lessened the authenticity and old feel of the place. The authorities explained that they made the change to reduce the chance of women in high heels falling – never mind that few locals wear heels, and a quick glance at any foreign tour group reveals the same. The real reason? The President’s daughter or son-in-law owns the company that makes the new stones…
-One of the reasons Russia came into Central Asia was to secure cotton supply. Russia used to get its cotton from the American South, but during our Civil War the ports were blockaded by the North, and Russia was caught out. It invaded Central Asia, and eventually built up the Uzbek sector such that it’s now #2 globally in cotton exports. Interesting.
-‘Minaret’ comes from a word meaning ‘light.’ Originally minarets were simply lighthouses meant to guide in travelers along the Silk Road, in from the desert. Eventually muslims realized that they’d be great places from which to call for prayers, and that’s what they’re used for today. ‘Menorah,’ the Jewish candleset used during Hanukkah, comes from the same word. Very interesting.
-Joke: an Uzbek traffic cop dies and goes to his maker. As he’s getting processed, he’s asked if he wants to go to heaven or to hell. He thinks, then says, ‘can I just stay here at the crossroads?’ Uzbek cops, like many of their brethren, make a lot from collecting ‘fines’…
-A virgin bride under 20 years old in Khiva commands a dowry of between US$500-1,000. I’ve got that on me…
-One of the mosques/tombs here has a lamp which is called Ala-auddin’s Lamp, and may be the source of the Aladdin’s Lamp stories. Of course, other places in the Muslim world have a similar lamp, so who knows…
-They had no paper here back in the day, so made their money out of silk. When it got dirty, they’d wash it. A few specimens are on display in a museum here. Talk about money-laundering…bada bing!
Lots of good stuff from Marsha – I’ve become a fan of hiring a local guide and paying the money so that I learn something about these places, beyond what the guidebook tells me.
Was thinking of writing a few pieces for a newish print magazine called Everywhere. I’d read about it in Time or Newsweek, it operates largely online but publishes a monthly travel magazine. Contributors send their stuff in and get paid for published pieces. I’d put this off for a few months, meaning to get to it sometime…then I got an email saying that the business performance wasn’t cutting it and that they were shutting down. I suppose procrastination has its benefits…and now I can run around the world without having even that small ‘obligation’ hanging over me. Of course, there goes a potential paying gig, but that’s OK with me.
Got a couple emails from fraternity brother/loyal reader Ari, who runs his own excellent blogsite which I’ve plugged a couple times here. Intrigued by my lush descriptions of breizol in Karakol, Ari Googled ‘breizol’ and my blog entry was at the top of only three sites that came back. Now, this entry will make it four, and I’ll bet this will come in #2…
Ari also remarked on the warmth of strangers in the FSU. I’d written about rarely being alone, or left alone, in public places, and Ari wrote that this is quite different from the Western experience, where we’re all ‘individuals’ and a solo diner/drinker is best left alone. Ari’s very right there – how often have I ever gone up to a stranger (male, at least) in a bar or club and introduced myself? It would be weird and potentially a bit dangerous in places to do that…but here it’s standard practice. I do like that, a lot.
Did some more sight-seeing around Khiva – it’s a small place, but there’s a lot packed in the old city, Ichon-Qala, hence the utility of hiring a guide. More than a couple mosques/madrassahs and my head spins. A few shots of Khiva:
You can walk on a section of the city wall and I did that – the city feels tiny from that perspective.
Got the guesthouse to book me into a hotel in my next destination, the city of Nukus in the west. Got my second choice hotel, the first was either fully booked or too disorganized to promise a vacant room. More on that in a bit.
Finished ‘The Master and Margarita’ by Mikhail Bulgakov. An odd book, about the devil and his cohorts popping up in 1930s Moscow. Entertaining, and even acclaimed, but I read it over the course of a few weeks and found it OK, not stunning. I’m probably jaded and have unrealistic expectations after my raft of great novels from Rushdie and David Mitchell a few months ago…anyway, now, for the first time in memory, I’m without a book to read, just a few Lonely Planet guidebooks (which are decent reads, for a short while), and will need to pick something up in Tashkent or Kiev soon.
Went back to Parvoz, for the cold beer. Which was again cold, but not slush quality – still, refreshing. Often in the FSU they don’t crank up the fridge sufficiently (or the design won’t allow it – very possible), so you get beers and soft drinks which miss the spot. Parvoz was one of the few places, outside the capital at least, which understands the needs of beer drinkers. Bless them.
On beer – a topic I can’t get enough of – I’ve seen Miller Genuine Draft in the most remote places here. Weird – sort of like seeing entire shops and houses painted in ‘Lay’s Potato Chip’ yellow in India…which you see a lot of. Distribution is the answer, people – now we just need to determine the question.
There was a wedding party going on at the place next door – the music was too loud, the dancing too energetic, in short they were having too much fun. Looked like a great time – I thought about crashing but decided to just sit still and remotely participate. The women out here are attractive and it looked like the bride in this wedding was a real winner. Bravo.
Not much to do at night in Khiva, so finally broke out my laptop and started watching some of the DVDs I’d bought months ago in the RP. Brother-in-law Dave has plugged ‘Rome’ the TV series to me, I have the first two seasons and started watching the first. As good as advertised – really brings the squalor and drama of ancient Rome to life. But now, as with ‘24’ back in Manila a year and a half ago, I’m hooked and will be glued to my laptop till I work through the two DVDs. I also bought ‘Heros’ and have the first two seasons of that show – at least if I find myself in any other backwaters I’ll have a distraction. It’s funny, I go months without watching anything, then hit a streak where I’m addicted.
Got 1,390 Uzbek sum per dollar in Khiva – the best rate yet. I’d always found that capital/large cities give you the best rates, but not in Uzbekistan – Tashkent only offered around 1,325, whereas Samarkand and Khiva were much better. Not sure why – might be that dollars are relatively rare and more in demand in the hinterland? Might be worth a study, that – could highlight some arbitrage opps for me. Ari – can you look into this? You’re a finance whiz…
Managed to find a channel at the guethouse that showed the Olympics Opening Ceremony. The channel, of course, was a Turkemnistan channel, called ‘Yaslyk.’ So I was without verbal accompaniment, but no matter – the ceremony itself was stunning and did not require oral explanatory spew. China threw out the kitchen sink – techno paper scrolls, a little girl at a piano (a la Sydney in 2000), you name it – China really knows how to put on a show. Over the top, but cool.
Reminded me of the 2000 Games, when colleagues John and George and I sat in the Crowne Casino in Melbourne after a client pitch and watched the opening. Being in Oz was certainly special back then – I don’t remember many specifics of the Opening Ceremony, but the feeling was electric, even in Melbourne, Sydney’s often-bitter rival. I do recall watching the delegation from the ‘People’s Republic of Chad’ come out – not particularly impressive, and John and I laughed at the claim that Chad was a ‘People’s Republic.’ As I’ve written many times before (sorry to self-reference, and not in a novel sense either) any country whose name has words like ‘Democratic,’ ‘People’s,’ and/or ‘Republic’ is precisely none of those. Ergo, Chad, a military dictatorship. Now, here in Khiva, I again saw the Chad team come out – sans flags, straggling along, and I immediately knew which nation would not be challenging China and the USA for the top medal honors…
The cavalcade of nations went on. India had a large team – unruly, but diverse and lovable. Sonia Gandhi waved at them from the stands. Guam came out – tell me the obese guy carrying the flag is just there to carry the flag. Their Spam diet doesn’t seem to have paid off. The Philippines came out later, boxer Manny Pacquaio carried their flag. For Germany, basketballer Dirk Nowitzki. And, of course, Yao Ming for the PRC (‘People’s Republic…hmmm).
The entire show was a bit over 4 hours – often interminable (Malta’s delegation – yeah baby!) but that’s the norm nowadays, and I suppose that many sporting events run that long. Anyway, I do hope China pulls it off without major hitches – the world needs an increasingly normal China, not an angry, wounded beast.
Wandered around the city after that – Khiva is in many ways at its best in the moonlight, it’s a haunting, timeless place. Watched more Rome and went to bed.
Awoke and started packing for my trip west to Nukus. There was no electricity, and no water – torture. Went down and had breakfast, including some luscious tomato/cuke rolls. Gotta figure out how they make those. I don’t have a name to Google, so must resort to experimentation – when I finally have my own kitchen. For now, I’m a simple foodporn voyeur.
Chatted with a Japanese woman who’s spending a year here, in the Japanese version of the Peace Corps. Gave my Bulgakov book to the owner’s son, he was pretty helpful while I was in Khiva. He walked me over to the taxi stand and got me in a cab to Urgench, the local provincial seat, from where I’d transfer to a shared taxi to Nukus. Bye-bye Khiva, you were a fine stop on my own Silk Road.
I was heading to far-west Nukus for a couple reasons: first, to see the devastation wrought by the disappearance of much of the Aral Sea, which is to the north (ever more north) of Nukus; second, to see a random art museum featuring works by renegade artists during the Soviet days. More on both of those in a bit.
Had to go back over the heinous Oxus bridge to get to Urgench. The Oxus really is depressingly weak right now – I hope when it rains it rises significantly. The Oxus flows from the Aral, I think, so that explains the frailty of it now…the butterfly effect is real and if you look hard you see it in action everywhere.
Switched cabs in Urgench. We were waiting for one more person…I didn’t have the front seat, so was at risk of overcrowding – finally paid for 2 rear seats (only $5 apiece, for a 4-hour ride, not bad at all) and off we went. I stretched out and relaxed, and took in the view, which was mostly of desert and wasteland.
Nukus is the capital of an entity known as the ‘Republic of Karakalpakstan.’ Had never heard of it – and still can hardly pronounce it. But, wouldn’t you know, there are half a million Karakalpaks and they are a damn proud people – ethnically distinct from Uzbeks, a bit more East Asian in appearance. They either had their own kingdom, or were part of other nearby kingdoms, in days of yore, and were thrown into Uzbekistan (well, the Uzbek SSR) by the Soviets, if I have my history right. Of course, Karakalpakstan claims to be ‘autonomous’ but we all know what that means – you either have control of one or two budget line-items (perhaps sanitation and grounds-keeping) and nothing more, or you’re simply starved of funds altogether and left to rot. I think Karakalpakstan is actually an ‘and’. Just my kind of place.
I stayed in Jipek Joli guesthouse, the name apparently means ‘Silk Road.’ Cute. The clerk immediately asked me intrusive questions about myself – including whether I was married and had kids. Just for a change of pace, I said yes to both. Mistake. For the next two days he pestered me about hiring him as an au pair for ‘my kids.’ His English was OK, and he speaks German…I told him I’d ask ‘my wife,’ in Tokyo, and let him know. That’s what you get for lying…
Had lunch at one of the very few decent places in Nukus, the ‘Sheraton Café.’ Another shocking example of IP theft. Even the logo is reminiscent of the hotel chain. Whatever. They have pretty decent food and I have to eat. Had a ‘chicken brizzola’ which sounded like ‘breizol’ so I ordered it. So-so – and not breizol-like in any way, just a fillet of chicken. Central Asian chicken isn’t that great, not sure why. No hormones? Bad breeding? Too much dark meat? The taste just isn’t there and I need to sidestep chicken for the near future – too bad, because it’s my favorite meat.
Walked to the nearby aviakassa (air ticket office) and bought a seat to Tashkent for a few days later. I didn’t want to travel for 22 hours by car or bus or train – not when a flight only costs US$70. A local guy was in line in the office, his name was Damir and he was processing some paperwork for an American oil worker in Nukus – a guy from Louisiana. Damir helped me communicate my needs to the agent and then he was kind enough to drive me to an Internet café so I could do my thing there. Nice guy.
Bonus: I was able to fob off a semi-old US$50 bill on the agent. Small biz owners never accept bills from the 1990s, but government entities and the like are less ‘careful.’ The agent isn’t pocketing this bill, and Uzbekistan Airways very likely has the wherewithal to trade old US dollars for new ones, so I doubt anyone’s out here. I still have about $200 worth of old $20 bills and am wondering how to get rid of those in the near-term. They’re still good at home, of course, but I hate having useless stuff with me.
Watched CNN International and saw that George and Russia were fighting. Apparently things got going during the start of the Olympics. There’s the spirit, boys. Next up: surprise bombings during Christmas. I emailed friend Sarmat in Moscow, as he’s from Ossetia. I’ve written that Ossetians are discriminated against by Russians…Sarmat and his brother said that they were the ‘niggers’ of the FSU. Which didn’t seem possible to me – they don’t look particularly exotic, perhaps a bit different from the Aryan Russian ideal but then again most of us would fall in that broad category. Anyway, Sarmat replied shortly and said that he and his brother were flying straightaway from Moscow to South Ossetia. They’re on the Russian side – they may not love Russia and how it treats them, but they still work in Moscow, and prefer the Russians to the Georgians. Interesting for me to get their perspective – I’ve always sided with Georgia, which had icon Eduard Shevardnadze as its second President (admittedly, he wasn’t much of a Pres., and lost South Ossetia and Abkhazia) and which professes democratic principles and pro-Western policies. And certainly the press hasn’t been kind to the prospect of autonomy for the breakaway areas – The Economist has published a few snide columns to that effect. But many/most people in Ossetia and Abkhazia seem to prefer to be independent or part of Russia than to be part of Georgia, so my knee-jerk tendency to side with Georgia is perhaps data-free. Still, I dislike the notion of having every little town become an independent country – that does not breed stability. Look at the craziness surrounding Kosovo these days – perhaps Russia’s aggressive response to Georgia in part sprang from that wound.
So I’ve come to see that the Ossetians (and Abkhazians) have a point. And I hope that Sarmat and his brother get back to Moscow unharmed – the South Ossetian capital took a real beating, between the Georgians and the Russians. Looked on TV like the capital was in ruins.
The Russians are major league bullies, for sure. And I do think they’ve overplayed their hand in responding so forcefully…their other neighbors took note and I saw a press conference wherein the heads of Ukraine, Lithuania, and Latvia joined Georgian Pres. Saakashvili to show solidarity. Not smart to surround yourself with unfriendly neighbors. Perhaps Russia has all the cards right now, but oil prices will fluctuate (they already are) and Russia needs friends too – and they shouldn’t count on China too far.
I do wonder why the fuck the Georgians got this fight started in the first place. The Pres. ran on a platform to get back the breakaways, alright, but did he think Putin/Medvedev wouldn’t respond?? Really stupid…Georgia’s army is 30,000, Russia’s is 650,000, not to mention the disparity in materiel. And now the USA looks especially foolish and helpless – Georgia is our boy in that part of the world, but I don’t think we’ll risk WW3 to save it. At least we don’t seem to have encouraged Georgia here – I heard that Condi told Georgia not to provoke Russia, but they didn’t listen to her. As for our response, it was tepid, necessarily…of course, we can’t say much now that we’ve invaded sovereign Iraq and changed that regime. A US spokesman (State Dept. or Admin., I forget which) chastised Russia for breaking the rules of the 21st century and trying to destabilize a ‘European country.’ Nice parsing. If we didn’t muck around in Iraq, our words might have a bit of force – but how can we scold Moscow when we’ve crossed thousands of miles and oceans to overthrow the government of a far-off Asian country? And Russia does have the seemingly reasonable response here of simply responding to a Georgian provocation and protecting its citizens. Georgia really is stupid – it clearly didn’t think this through, and it, and the West, are now paying the price. How annoying.
Have been taking lots of naps here in Uzbekistan – it’s very hot, and I’m very lazy. I might be sleeping too much, and I can’t bank it, apparently, but I’ll take it when I can get it.
Nukus is a desolate place. It gets a bit of dosh from Tashkent to keep up appearances, but it’s a remote, modest little city and there’s not much to do. I was good about exercising in Nukus – ran around the Savitsky Art Museum, near my guesthouse, and on the long, nearly empty streets.
One problem – in summer they have a water shortage. So they actually cut off water to the rooms in the guesthouse until you request it, then they turn on some sort of pump. Weird, and bothersome, but I guess necessary. Oh well.
Went back to the Sheraton Café that night, it was Saturday night and I wanted to scare up some random fun. The place was full, I sat at a little table on the side and watched a horde of local women dance. Ate some mushrooms and bread, had some Sarbasts, and chilled. Eventually I went up to the beer and ordered a cocktail. That got things going, as I had to explain how I wanted it, and did that mostly in English and with hand gestures. A guy at the bar, quite Asian in appearance, introduced himself in English. Turns out he’s ethnic Korean, I guess his people were exiled to this part of Uzbek by Stalin during WW2 – to prevent the Koreans from spying for the Japanese, as I’ve written before. Of course, the two people despite each other, but Stalin didn’t bother with niceities like that.
This fellow was very friendly – considers himself a Karakalpak through and through. He introduced me to his friend Alisher, also friendly. Obviously, vodka shots then flowed. I broke my vow and accepted one…then a few more…next thing I knew, I was in the bathroom feeling awful. I got through it and reemerged to join the boys. I told them I was in town largely to go see the Aral Sea – they gave me some tips, mostly around not spending too much money. Alisher told me he’d never met a solo American before, everyone who comes through Nukus (for the same purposes as I have) comes in a tour group and they meet zero locals beyond the hospitality folks. A sad tale, I’ve heard it many times before. People, strap on some balls and go local.
Don’t recall much after that – eventually, Alisher bundled me in his car and brought me back to the hotel. I still felt like crap, the vodka sat in my gut like poison so I put my finger down my throat and that did the trick. But way too much of this in the past few months – perhaps more vomiting than I’ve experienced in my entire life beforehand. I hate to say hi to the offer of drinks, that can close the door to new friendships and experiences, but I might have to come up with some excuses from now on. I really don’t like vodka, and it obviously doesn’t like me much either…
Got up, felt like crap, but I was at least ambulatory. Got the water turned on, showered, and walked over to the Savitsky Museum for a look. This place was started by Igor Savitsky, a Russian artist who spent time in this area decades ago and fell in love with it. At some point he realized that the remoteness of Nukus offered the chance to squirrel away works not acceptable to the Soviet standard – and he collected tens of thousands of pieces created by gulag prisoners and out-of-favor artists. An incredible effort – many of these pieces would have been destroyed if they had stayed in the public eye, in Russia…Savitsky is a real hero for what he did. This museum was written up in many publications, which they have on hand – The New York Times, The Christian Science Monitor, Newsweek – so it’s not really a secret anymore, just semi-obscure. A year or so ago they moved to a new building, with donated funds – before, they were in an old building which had no climate features. The workers brought in trays of cold water each morning to provide some hydration, but otherwise things were exposed to the elements. The new building has plenty of huge aircon machines and is modern – and really impressive.
Took a few photos – they cost a buck or so apiece, so was sparing. Here’s the museum, and Savitsky’s image:
Here’s a painting by a gulag prisoner who died from malnutrition. It’s called Pelmeni (Dumplings), look how lovingly he paints real food. Heart-breaking…
A few others:
Lots of beautiful and provocative art here. Well worth a visit. Al Gore came in 1990, when he was researching the Aral Sea tragedy – yet more evidence that Al Gore is way ahead of his time…
Even before I walked around the museum, I spoke with a worker – the museum can help arrange Aral guides, so I asked him to look into that. He then said that there was an Uzbekistan Television camera crew right there, and they wanted to interview a foreigner, i.e. me. I said sure, and we went outside, where I spoke for a few minutes, ad lib, about why I was in Nukus, where I came from, etc. The museum fellow then translated, and told me I’d be on the tube Monday night. Made a note to try to watch the news that night if I was near a TV. My second such interview, the first was back in Varanasi…never managed to watch the news there, not sure if I was on or not.
In the museum there were works by I. Slonim (obviously a distant cousin of mine) and M. Sokolov (obviously the namesake of my old college friend Matt Sakolove).
At the museum entrance there’s a sign with rules & regs, #6 was ‘Not sober persons shall not enter.’ Only in the FSU, baby…
The staff was very proud of their new museum building and its contents. Apparently the museum owns 90,000 works, only a fraction of which can be shown at any time. They have an ‘extension’ floor over in the History Museum, which I visited later on.
I liked both the purpose and contents of Savitsky. To me, many/most museums around the world are pretty arrogant – collections of looted antiquities and treasures purchased from governments/people much less affluent than the purchasers. At least they show the works to the public, and I’m sure the administrators care deeply about the art and their mission, but otherwise I find the general experience somewhat off-putting. For example, the Kremlin and the Hermitage have awesome treasures and display them to perfection…but I came away a bit exhausted by the experience and my overarching feeling was that Russia had lots of presents and grabbed a lot of art and was now showing it off to everyone. Savitsky had none of that vibe – Savistky has a collection of ‘gulag art’ that was saved from the totalitarians and against all odds protected for the benefit of mankind. Perhaps corny, but I like it.
Had lunch at a café at the bazaar. Was the only foreigner there – I really stood out. One worker (bread-maker) came over and sat down with me – I guess her shift was over. She spoke some English and wanted to practice – or perhaps was smitten by my looks. Probably not. Eventually another one came and sat with us. Now I really stood out, and was getting self-conscious. I don’t know the Karakalpak mentality, but I’m guessing they don’t love foreigners stealing a bunch of their women. Not that I was doing anyway, I was eating soup and bread and answering their questions. Still, the stranger is always to blame…
The bread-maker eventually insisted that I wander the bazaar with her, she’d show me around. That proved to be pure torture – I’d seen plenty of bazaars, and didn’t require the play-by-play of women’s dresses, carrot salad, and red onions. Plus, her voice became grating and it became clear that I was actually guiding her through the English language. Fun for a few minutes, then old…
Ran into 3 Poles who were in the Khiva guesthouse with me a couple days previously. Turns out they were heading to the Aral Sea too – and had booked with Bes Qala Nukus, a tour operator that does that run. I’d been in touch with the fellow there, who told me he was fully booked, so I’d resigned myself to finding another way. Now I learned from the Poles that they were leaving the next day, for a camping trip to the Aral…I wondered if the car would hold one more. I made a note to contact Bes Qala later that day.
Went back to the guesthouse after politely scraping off the bread-maker. Checked emails – nothing from Bes Qala, or from another Pole who was also looking into an Aral trip. As I sat there typing, a middle-aged British woman entered the guesthouse and asked the clerk (the prospective au pair) about Aral trips – said she wanted to do a daytrip and hire a taxi to share. That sounded interesting – I chimed in and said I’d be interested in doing that. We made a plan to get back in touch that night – the woman, Kate, wanted to see if she could find anyone else to further share the costs. I was still interested in the 2-day camping trip – the daytrip with Kate would just be to Moynaq, the former harbor/port which is now 150km from the actual (new) shoreline. I thought about the two options…the camping trip would bring me to the actual sea, and would be much more of an adventure, but would not be that cheap and would require me to trust the guesthouse with safe storage of my stuff for a couple days – probably OK, but not a given. The daytrip would only be to the former shoreline, but would be cheap, quick, and would expose to the most obvious devastation of the Aral tragedy.
Tried to find the Bes Qala agency office – no luck. Many street names have changed around here and no one knew the street location. Finally rang the fellow, Tazabay – he told me that he’d see the Poles in a couple hours, ask them if they wanted another person along, and stop by my guesthouse with the answer. If I took this route, I’d be screwing Kate…but I hadn’t sealed the deal with her and she’d have to be an adult about it.
Went back to the guesthouse – one of the staff was roasting a goat’s head on the floor of the café – quite a sight, here it is:
Besides dealing with the Aral trip, I also had to think about accommodations in Nukus, my guesthouse looked to be fully booked in another day or so. Another hotel, Hotel Nukus, couldn’t tell me if they’d have a room for me when Jipek Joli was full – so I was a bit caught out. And I needed to get some Uzbek sum, it was Sunday and that was proving difficult. A very busy day of planning – it’s no wonder that I have little time for writing and other optional activities, travel planning can consume your entire day.
While I was napping both Kate and Tazabay came by. I went downstairs and saw Kate’s note to the effect that we should meet at 8 a.m. the next day for the taxi trip. Also, Tazabay had told the staff that the Poles would accept one more person, i.e. me. I had to make a decision, and chose the daytrip – cheaper, easier, and fewer risks. I’d see less, but that was OK, I’d see enough. Called Tazabay and opted out. Needed a drink after all that, so went to the Sheraton, my Nukus home away from home.
Alisher was at the bar, eating and chatting with the bartender. I apologized for my drunken behavior the previous night – he didn’t seem to mind, but he also seemed a bit cold and I wondered why. Oh well, I hadn’t made a best friend, so it goes. I had dinner and a couple beers, then went back to Jipek Joli and watched some Rome before crashing. I had to get up early for the ride to the former Aral coastline in Moynaq.
Had a lot to do before this all-day trip – turn on water, shower, shit (very important – Moynaq sounded like the edge of the world, not just the former edge of the Aral), have a quick breakfast, walk to the Hotel Nukus to meet Kate, try to change money. The Hotel Nukus eventually found someone who could get me Uzbek sum, at an OK rate – I did it. Meanwhile, Kate was harried – there was no water in the entire hotel, so she had found two buckets and gone to a nearby well for shower water. I told her to relax, no real hurry, I was still dealing with the money situation anyway. She told me she was low on sum too – I had worried that I’d be torturing her if I was unable to come up with sum, but it turned out that she was in the same boat. I worry too much, don’t I? I’m becoming a real Jewish grandmother…
We finally got our act together, found the taxi Kate had hired, and got going. We saw the 3 Poles in the hotel lobby before heading off – wished each other a good trip.
It was a 2.5 hour drive to Moynaq…Kate was talkative and we had a wide-ranging chat. She’s a fairly hardcore budget traveler – usually stays in dorms, doesn’t eat much, rarely flies, etc. She teaches history in a UK high school – Russian history is part of her curriculum, and she’d been to Russia three times…but I spoke more Russian than she did. I guess Americans aren’t the only ones who don’t bother learning other useful tongues…
Kate told me that I’m an ‘odd American’ because I don’t have an upswing incantation at the end of my sentences. Apparently Aussies always have that upswing, and Americans do too – for whatever reason, probably my long overseas exposure, I don’t. We also talked about our various language peeves – I hate the Valley Girl brand of speech where every third word is ‘like’…Kate went on about the foul mouths of British women (I second that).
Moynaq, as expected, had been devastated by the loss of its raison d’etre, the Aral Sea. The town, probably never much to look at even in its heyday, was dusty, bleak, and eerily quiet. A sign welcomed us, but was an early indication of the brutal irony of the town:
Town hall had another:
Finally, we reached the former shoreline, which is now a cliff leading not to water, but to sand. Where the Aral once was is now a desert that resembles, but is perhaps even more desolate, than the Gobi. A row of beached ships lies a stone’s throw away from the cliffside – they’re lined up so well that I suspected they were arranged for tourists. No matter – the point was made. Take a look:
I walked perhaps a kilometer out into the ‘desert,’ and saw a few more ships. The ground went from sandy to crusty, the areas farther from the shoreline went dry more recently (although it has been a long while) and are thus a bit less sandy/dry. The wind blew stronger out here, I got hit with some sandy gusts. Moynaq must have some awful sandstorms. Salty deposits, and maybe fertilizer runoff, are in certain patches. And you can see where four wheel drives (the Poles are in one of these) head off towards the new coastline, 150 or so km off. Kate and I wouldn’t be going up there, but what we saw in Moynaq told us enough. The place is a tomb, and it was created by man.
But never fear – the Russians have come up with a scheme to bring back the water. Step 1? See for yourself:
I had to wonder whether this is the planet’s revenge for man’s meddling – are we simply a stain or virus which the Earth is trying to expel? I go back and forth between thinking that man has the ability to destroy the Earth, and thinking that despite anything we could possibly do (nuclear warfare, etc.), the planet will survive and eventually we’ll be gone, despite all of our accumulated knowledge and capabilities. Whatever the case, the misuse and disappearance of 50% of the Aral Sea and its consequences are virtually a criminal act, or at least criminally negligent…and after seeing it, I thought less of mankind and its glorious achievements.
Rode back to Nukus, Kate chatting all the way. Got back, head still spinning from what I’d seen and learned. It was only about 3 p.m., had some time, so went to the History Museum – they have some fauna and flora exhibits, and supposedly the very last Caspian Tiger, killed in the 1970s, stuffed in a corner. Fairly interesting. Upstairs is the Savitsky Museum’s extension, a large floor’s worth of paintings and other works. This building is old-style and without much in the way of aircon – I saw a tray in one room with water in it, meant to provide some relief for the paintings. The former Savitsky building must have been much like this – truly shocking, considering the merits and value of many of these pieces of art. I gave some $ for a donation as I departed, but I think one of the big Western, or Russian museums really needs to pony up here.
Went back to Jipek Joli. They had a cancellation so I could stay another night – coolio. Watched the news at 7 p.m. that night, but my interview wasn’t on – not sure what they did with that. Oh well.
Did a few errands, then over to the Sheraton for dinner. No Alisher tonight…did see the Korean guy for a minute. The staff at Sheraton knew me pretty well by now, they brought over a Sarbast without my asking. Excellent. Quiet night, no women dancing…just as well, I was in a contemplative mood from the daytrip. Ordered some food – the waitresses here always ask me if I want ‘adin’ (1) of a dish. Odd…I mean, I’m not going to order two of the same dish, am I? Perhaps it’s just a form of smalltalk…
Did I mention that the Karakalpak women are lovely? I swear the talent here, and in Uzbekistan in general, is exceptional – I don’t want to overstate matters and fall victim to the recency effect, but Uzbeki women (including local Russians, those of mixed parentage, and Karakalpaks) are top 5 in the world. So there. I didn’t say getting to know them is easy, but they don’t appear unusually prudish or conservative, it just takes some dedication and time. Two things which I often lack…
Great night out – cool and clear. Walked back to the guesthouse. Walked by the Savitsky, was heartened to see a guard posted there. Of course, he was stepping out for a smoke, but at least they have the budget and wherewithal to hire a guard for the place.
Kate had told me that her daypack was stolen in a dorm room in Beijing – more evidence that dorms suck and should be a last resort. Her camera was in there, with all her photos from a trip to Mongolia. I offered to copy my Mongolia pics for her, she had a spare memory card, and she was grateful. I wonder if, in her shoes, I’d want the same…photos just aren’t the same if they’re not intimately familiar to you. There are exceptions – for instance, old friend Don sent me this one, in response to my question about whether there are any cities that rival Bishkek in terms of having tall mountains so close to the city. This is a professional photographer’s shot of Seattle, with all the photographic bells and whistles:
Pretty impressive…I’ll take a photo like that for my collection any day.
Watched more Rome, finished Season 1. Now onto Season 2. Caesar is dead and Rome is in flux…tempus fugit.
Nukus is an Internet wasteland, there’s really just one café and it’s full of game-playing little brats. The guesthouse has access, but the keyboard had some problem and now it was gone for repair…or not. Ugh. Had to wait a half-hour while some little kid finished his Doom-type game at the web café. And then the connection was awful, sending a simple email took 5 minutes. Left much to do for my return to Tashkent, where the infrastructure is much better (but not great).
Took a ride on the ferris wheel behind Savitsky, there’s a modest little kiddie park and I haven’t been on a ferris wheel in memory. It was alright – very slow, but you do get fairly high up and I took a few decent photos which I won’t bother to post here.
Went back to the guesthouse. Feet hurt, so didn’t go running, did some yoga instead. That felt terrific, my legs and back were tight and the yoga loosened them right up. Had dinner at the guesthouse, just some pelmeni (dumplings), then walked around. It was my final night in Nukus, the next morning I’d fly to Tashkent. Found a decent bar called Neo, had a couple beers there. Walked back towards Jipek Joli, decided to make a final appearance at Sheraton. Walked in – and was greeted by the amazing sight of a gang of local women and girls dancing. It was a ‘women’s party’ for a girl getting married soon. I sat at the beer and feasted my eyes, along with the bartender/DJ, whose job I started wanting badly. The girls were dressed to kill, on this Tuesday night – even when walking around town, the locals tend to dress well. Karakalpak women are taller than other Uzbeks, and rarely wear jeans or pants – almost always dresses or skirts. Very girly – but I like it. And they seem to love to dance – I really might have to come back here one day. Nukus itself isn’t much, but the locals are…
One old guy came in, had a quick shot of vodka, paid and left, all in under 2 minutes. Wow. He looked Russian, so I wasn’t that surprised…I was actually impressed.
The party started breaking up – I struck up a conversation with a woman who spoke English, turns out she had been an exchange student in Nebraska – at least one of us has been there. A couple other girls spoke some English too – Nukus was full of surprises. Maybe I should become an art historian and work for peanuts at the Savitsky??
Went to the airport in the morning – newish facility, not bad at all. Checked the registration card that the guesthouse had given me, you should keep these papers in case they want to check them on your way out of the country. The guesthouse only had me there for 2 nights, not 4, so I edited the end date. Looked OK, hopefully they won’t be checked, but it should hold up if so.
Checked in and borded the Antonov-24. I think this was the first time I’ve carried my large bag to the plane itself, and handed it to a guy inside the cargo area. Hey, it was easy and I was 100% sure the bag was on the plane! The plane probably had 30 seats, if that, not the smallest I’ve flown on but it was a basic model – no bells/whistles.
There were a couple German guys on the flight, they were also marveling at the ‘carry your own fucking bag’ system. Seemed like amiable guys.
Read up on Ukraine during the flight, I’ll head to Kiev on August 18th and need to get up to speed on that country. Another stop in my grand FSU tour.
Exchanged my broken cheapie Japanese handfan for the airplane’s safety card – which is nicely laminated and which should serve me well as a manual fan in the hottest of places. I’ve had the little Japanese number for nearly 3 years now and will miss it, but it’s gotten warped and the handle is busted, and it isn’t that user-friendly anymore. Gotta get back to Japan to get another couple of these…
My Russian nickname is Misha. In Ubzek it’s Musa. Just thought you should know.
Read that the coach of the Russian men’s hoops team is a Jewish guy from Framingham, Mass. (my hometown) named David Blatt. Random.
Got to Tashkent. The airport is not large, and is incredibly close to town – probably 3 km at most. You land, carry your own bag, and in 10 minutes you’re in the city. I love that.
Checked back into Hotel Orzu – same staff, friendly faces. Went to Bierhaus to have a drink and access wifi. But after 5 minutes the connection failed…ugh. Spent the next couple hours hunting down a place with working wireless, apparently the problem was system-wide. Finally learned that Caravan, a touristy restobar, had a network and went there for a bite. Spent a couple hours there, clearing my emails (lots of attachments), updating virus definitions, downloading podcasts, and calling my father on Skype. Computers really are yin and yang – they are incredibly useful, but take up too much time. I can’t imagine how my life would be if I hadn’t taken that high school typing class – I can crank out about 65 words a minute.
I realized the other day that I really miss riding motorbikes, it’s been a long time since I had one at hand. Yet another reason to return to Southeast Asia before too long…
Noticed that PriceWaterHouseCoopers has an office right near my hotel. So does McCann-Erickson Advertising. Tashkent…more to it than meets the eye.
Went for lunch yesterday to the Central Asian Plov Centre. Plov is the Uzbek national dish, it’s a rice pilaf concoction with bit of fatty lamb mixed in. Yum yum. I had a bit of trouble finding the place, I was walking around with my guidebook, and I noticed a couple waitresses giggling and looking at me. Apparently they’ve seen no end of foreigners doing precisely that…
Anyway, the food was pretty good, way too filling. Didn’t feel like doing much else that afternoon…but had some emails and bookings to arrange, so went to the Grand Mir to surf their network, they have one too. Spent two hours in there…two hours seems to be the magic number of hours when I have a full slate of computer stuff to do.
Went out last night – found a decent Korean joint and had another bibimbap feast. Then decided to hit FM Bar, a gentlemen’s club which is fairly raucous. Walked in, and a guy at the bar waved to me. Turned out to be one of the Germans on my Nukus-Tashkent flight – random. I invited him to my table, his name’s Thomas and he’s been based here for 10 years. Quite a stint – all the people in the bar knew him and pretty soon our table was full. I stayed way too long, drank way too much beer, and slipped more than a few 1,000 sum notes in dancers’ g-strings. Gotta love these (moderate) Muslim countries.
My head still hurts, I’ve written enough for this week, and have caught up this blog with current events. Feels like real-time – feels like teen spirit. Over and out.
Tags: Travel
mbsloney
Wow!!. Made mention in the blog. Thanks