Wanderlust Heaven!

My final hours in Osh the Great were fairly calm. I exchanged some US$ for Uzbeki sum, one of the world’s most ridiculous currencies. The largest bill is worth about US$0.70, so if you hand over a Ben Franklin you get a stack of bills held together by an elastic. Imagined walking around with my pockets bulging in Tashkent, and vowed to figure out a way to look inconspicuous. One pro: no issues with making change from large bills…

I caught up on emails, and installed some Windows Vista updates, which seem to be coming a little too frequently for me. And as I’ve written before, I’m never quite sure what all these updates actually do – some are security fixes, others who knows. The only benefit is that sometimes I see a huge chunk of my hard drive freed up – are some of these updates cleaning up and rationalizing Vista’s use of my hard drive?

Had my final meal in Kyrgyzstan at the ‘Rich Men Café’ on the outskirts of town. This is the sort of place that the world needs more of – attractive waitresses, good sound system, and top-notch food and drink. I had a plate of eggs with red caviar (black was out of stock), delicious and for under US$2. Beers were cold and cheap. Had some perch, then some chicken with garlic and cheese sauce – terrific. And late at night, after downing some vodka, one couple got up and slowed danced…kitschy but I loved it. I felt like asking my waitress for a dance but this was the Fergana Valley and I might have been shot for my impertinence…

So Osh the Great was a decent enough place for a couple nights. Some aspects were pretty weak, if a bit cute – dial-up Internet (remember your old U.S. Robotics 56k modem?), lack of water/brownish water, power cuts when it rained, difficulty in making international phone calls (they use IP/Internet phone mostly here, even in the central telephone office – doesn’t always work that well). So that’s my excuse for not phoning home…

All that said, as you may recall I was here in large part to cross the nearby frontier, at the town of Dostuk, and enter Uzbekistan. Now I was ready to make that move, long-awaited and not without tribulation.

Before going to bed that night, I managed to catch Obama’s Germany speech on CNNi. Felt like watching history being made, and it provided quite a contrast to the current political realities (imagine Bush giving a speech in Europe – hah). To me, Obama helped make himself appear more statesmanlike and presidential…but I also feared how it would play at home to the hillbillies who would be easily persuaded that Obama was an internationalist and not someone in tune with ordinary Americans.

Got up early on Friday and got ready to head to the border. I was slightly anxious about this border crossing, as you can probably detect from my writing. I was concerned because:
-the Uzbeki government doesn’t like the U.S. government – we denounced the Uzbeki government’s Andijon brutality in 2005 and they kicked us out of the country (we had an airbase and some NGOs)
-it was a Friday, and if I couldn’t get across, I’d have to wait till Monday – at least I was fairly certain it wasn’t a holiday of any sort
-I had neglected to create my usual bogus air ticket ‘proving’ future departure from Uzbekistan, so if the border guards asked me for this, I’d be lacking. I did look up flight information to Kiev and scrawl the info on a piece of paper, just to have something to show
-getting from the border to Tashkent might not be that straightforward

Why was I so keen to go to Uzbekistan, anyway? When I was a kid I read a lot about the ancient Silk Road and the cities along the way – cities like Kashgar, Samarkand, and Bukara – and about the exploits of Tamerlane, whose capital was Samarkand. When the FSU imploded in 1991, Uzbekistan got the lion’s share of these historical treasures and I’d always wanted to see ‘em. And when I was working at Monitor, I had a colleague named Anna who was a Jew from Tashkent – she told me some colorful stories of the place. But she also cautioned me about/against visiting – I thought about going there around 2000, but she told me I would ‘definitely get robbed.’ That didn’t sound like fun, and I was also short on time, so I put it off. Now things had changed, and I’d not heard any issues about violence, etc. – at least nothing like I’d heard from bloggers about Bishkek!

Took a cab to the border, about 10 km from Osh. Just before the border, I exchanged my remaining Kyrgyz som for Uzbeki sum – and got a fat pile of notes. A fellow hanging around offered me a (shared) taxi ride all the way to Tashkent. Sounded too good to be true…and I don’t take first offers anyway. I said no thanks and took care of the money exchange. He kept hanging around…I pondered my options, which were to get in a shared taxi or marshrutka on the Uzbeki side, ride to infamous Andijon, and then change to another taxi or marshrutka to Tashkent. Likely total cost: about US$15-20. Like torture factor, given the heat, security, etc.: 8 on a 1-10 scale.

I hung around too, waiting for the border to open at 9 a.m. I felt about as well-prepared as I did when I crossed over from Laos into Vietnam – unsure of the administrative procedures, need for bribes, transport on the other side, etc. I wasn’t super-anxious, as this was a major border, unlike Nam Xeo in Laos/Vietnam, but it promised to be a long day.

I watched the taxi guy load someone’s suitcase into the trunk of his taxi. Perhaps this guy was for real. He asked me again if I wanted to go with him…I asked the price…he said 25,000 Uzbeki sum, which was a bit under US$20. I asked him a few more questions, I asked the randoms hanging around if he was a good guy, they said yes, so I gave in. I felt like I’d done enough thinking and due diligence, and if this guy could reduce the hassles of getting to Tashkent (at such a good price) I had no good reason, other than my usual suspicion, to say no.

The guy was Uzbek, and named Jasu. Reminded me of crazy taxi driver Wasu in Goa…I hoped Jasu wasn’t quite as insane or it would be a long drive. He found more passengers – two Russians and a Chinese Uighur from Xinjiang named something like Heyerla who was living in Tashkent. Good mix of peoples…5 total in the car now, which was the limit. I told Jasu I wanted the front seat, and got it – so no replay of the Bishkek-Osh shared taxi hell that I’d experienced a few days earlier. US$20 to go all the way to Tashkent, sitting in comfort – it really did seem too good to be true. Do you readers sense any foreshadowing here?

I put my pack in the trunk, and at 9 a.m. got in the line at the frontier. A guard outside the building checked my passport, and was surprised to see someone from ‘C-sha,’ ‘U.S.A.’ in Russian. One thing I like around here: everyone shakes your hand and says ‘Salam,’ guards and cops included. A bit of intro and pleasantry before getting down to biznis – I’ve always got time for that. Went inside and there things got hairy.

Meanwhile, Jasu and his car were also crossing, and out of view. I was a bit concerned about him taking off with my stuff – hence I’d recorded his license plate info on my Treo, just in case. I jockeyed for position in a crowd of about 30 locals who clearly were more skilled at this than I was. Where was the concierge???

I finally got to the front rank in the line – the queue was crazy and there was no clear front-runner. I handed over my fat blue passport…the guard eventually deigned to take it…he spent what seemed like eternity reviewing it. Then he got up and left the office, and was replaced by another fellow. My passport was shunted aside on the desk. I sweated.

Jasu showed up and took stock. He proved very helpful – he got the new official to pick up my passport and carry on…a notebook was produced and my data recorded therein – I think it was a special notebook for American troublemakers, none of the locals got in that book. Next thing I knew Jasu had my stamped passport and I had to move to the Customs area, where Jasu got me the required two forms, in English, which I filled out and got stamped. Then we were through, and Jasu directed me to his waiting car a ways off, while he helped the Chinese guy get through.

The process took a good hour, and if I didn’t have Jasu (who the guards obviously knew and trusted) I might still be there. I was thankful I had signed up with him on the other side of the border.

We started up and drove. Five or six hours to Tashkent, not too bad. Went through endless cotton fields – Uzbekistan is the #2 producer in the world, helped in large part by the water from the Aral Sea, which is now a shadow of its former self. Faces looked very different – Uzbekis are Turkic people, and they have different eyes, faces, and body types than the Kyrgyz. It was hot now – this country is flat, unlike Kyrgyzstan, and the sun bakes it in summer.

I soon found Uzbekistan to be a green country in more ways than one. The country’s police and security forces are everywhere – this is a police state. The cops wear a dark green uniform, hence the ‘green country.’ We were stopped at every checkpoint and motioned to the side of the road, Jasu had to take and show our passports and his docs. We always got through, but it was weird and aggravating – even after clearing the border, I felt like I was constantly getting vetted inside the country. I’ve never had that feeling before, not in Burma or in Russia.

The towns we drove through (including Andijon) were colorful – huge watermelons for sale everywhere, men in kafta (skullcaps). Jasu was playing local music on the radio – chanting and humming. We periodically had to stop and show our documents, but otherwise made good time. Jasu drove like a maniac, but there wasn’t that much traffic and I was cool with things. At one point we stopped and Jasu put on his kafta and went into a small mosque to pray. I just took a leak and got some water.

In the Uzbek language, Uzbekistan is written like this: O’zbekiston. Looks a bit Irish. The Uzbekis are slowly shifting from Cyrillic to Latin, so you see signs in both alphabets here.

We got into Tashkent around 4 p.m., with a one hour time diff (earlier). Jasu was turning around that same night and driving back to Osh. Fun. We dropped off Heyerla and then headed for my hotel. It quickly became clear that Jasu didn’t know where it was – I had a map and showed him. But that didn’t help much – we had to stop and check the map numerous times and I started getting pissed off. Finally, at my urging, we asked a traffic cop (who probably would have fined Jasu if I wasn’t in the car) and we got pointed in the right direction. So often it’s like this – a relatively smooth journey, but at the end an exclamation point of exasperation. Is this what telecoms people mean when they say ‘the last mile?’

Checked into the Hotel Orzu, which a Spaniard in Bishkek had recommended to me. Comfortable room, with aircon, shower and TV. Unpacked and switched on the TV – Lord of the Rings (Part 1 – The Fellowship of the Ring) was playing. In Russian, but I know the book and movie so well I could have provided the dialogue. I’m not a TV freak, but I sat there and watched for the last hour. I wanted to check out Tashkent and do a few things, but Tolkien trumps all…

Tashkent seemed a pleasant city upon walking around for a couple hours. Wide boulevards, not crowded, clean enough. Then again, I’ve spent a lot of time in India so perhaps nearly anything appears clean and peaceful to me. The city is ancient, and was a major stop on the Silk Road. But a huge earthquake leveled the city in 1966, and the rebuilding effort was a major effort, and propaganda initiative, for the USSR. There’s still a bit of old city to the northeast, around Chorsu Bazaar, but much of the city is new and modern.

I got a local SIM card, and didn’t even need to provide my passport. Made photocopies of my guidebook map (it was across two pages in the book so tearing out the pages would have been messy) and my passport/visa – now the underlying nature of Tashkent, anticipated by me, became more clear. The passport copy got stuck in the photocopy machine, so it took two tries and I had to insist on being given the first, bad copy – I dislike the idea of my passport information sitting in the trashcan. Then the power went out, and/or the machine blew – and I had to hunt down another place to do the map copy.

Sent some texts to overseas friends. Harsh rang me up from Bangalore – he’s in the midst of a major life change, his wife is pregnant, they’re moving to Boston, and he’s likely to change jobs. Wow. Ken gave me a call too – he was meeting with the head strategist for Russian mobile giant MTS – I had asked Ken what he thought about investing in MTS, as it seems poised for serious growth in the CIS (Commonwealth of Independent States).

Went for a beer at Ye Olde Chelsea Arms, a pleasant woody place. They quote prices in Euros so that got a bit ridiculous. Later that night I went out to the Broadway area, and hit some bars there – FM Bar and another (Akhmatman?). Pretty good fun. Eventually checked out the other well-known venues in town – Sky Bar, SMI, and Diplomat-S. The latter was rocking – quiet outside, but inside the dance floor was mobbed. I chatted with a guy from Cameroon who told me not to piss off the security in the bar, as they wouldn’t hesitate to break heads. Good advice. Between these bars I generally used ‘local taxis,’ i.e. regular cars that stop for you when you have your hand out…then you negotiate a price. Decent system, although I still prefer regular taxis with meters, which you just don’t find in these countries.

Next day I did some sight-seeing. Took the Tashkent Metro to Chorsu Bazaar, to the north of the city. The metro is not to the scale of Moscow, for instance, but is useful and clean. Very sleepy – more than enough personnel in there, so you get personal service. I had attendants coming up to me and asking me if I needed help – you won’t get that in many places!

Found the Chorsu Bazaar stop easily enough and got off. And quickly found myself in the midst of perhaps the most extensive and coolest bazaar I’ve ever seen. I’ve yet to visit Damascus and other Middle Eastern hotspots so will reserve judgement till then, but will say that Chorsu was well worth the visit. Sure, there are the usual crappy clothing booths and knickknack kiosks, but the fresh fruit and food aisles were unbelievable, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such good-looking fruit anywhere, in such amounts. It was like looking at a monster still life picture from one of the Old Masters. And while wandering around the place, I thought about my diet, which I think is generally a bit light in the fruit department. I get enough vegetables, but for whatever reason I tend towards meat, dairy and breads, must be in the DNA, my father is like that as well. One issue with fruit is cleanliness – you need to be careful with nearly everything except bananas and mangos. So that’s my excuse, take it or leave it.

I decided on the spot to make a life-change and embrace fresh fruit. I bought a couple peaches and washed them off with my bottled water. They were delicious. Bought a handful of pickles, also excellent. Got some pears, some grapes – finished those off too. Probably hadn’t eaten so much it since sitting shiva for my mother, so many people brought fruit baskets that I ate fruit nonstop for days – and had diarrhea as a result. I wondered if history would repeat itself…but I couldn’t stop eating this incredible fruit, with the juices covering my face and hands it was an almost auto-erotic experience…9 1/2 Weeks in Tashkent???

Chorsu, besides its offerings, was also well-organized and seemingly pretty clean, and great for people-watching. An Uzbek version of Boston’s Fanueil Hall?

One issue I have with many bazaars is that they’re chaotic, and often filthy – wandering around gets old after a few minutes. But here I spent at least three hours, and wasn’t annoyed or put off at all. Maybe I need to revisit my mindset regarding these markets…

As I wrote earlier in this post, Uzbekistan is a flat, fertile place, unlike Kyrgyzstan, and the locals aren’t nomads, they grow things. And Chorsu is where a lot of it ends up, evidently. Really very impressive.

After filling my belly, and walking right by the kebab vendors (my usual stop in most markets), I found a place to get a haircut. This might be another adventure in living. The guy didn’t speak English but I managed to tell him my origins and that I came from New York, which seemed to impress him. Not many Americans in Uzbekistan – that won’t be news to you. So the barber went right to work on me, and gave me his ‘A-game’ – he cut every stray hair on my head and neck and gave me the best haircut I’ve had outside Japan. I tipped him well (but not too well – I don’t want to upset the nature of things).

Left the bazaar, finally, and headed to the History Museum. Got in…and immediately felt momentous churnings in my lower intestines. Wonderful. Asked about the toilet, was directed there – no paper, and I hadn’t brought any. Wonderful. The revenge of the fruit was showing up more quickly than I had imagined possible. I didn’t feel like I was ready for the emergency hand-water procedure, so decided to put off toilet use until absolutely necessary. Which was soon enough – I was on the 2nd floor of the museum, reading about national hero Amir Timur (Tamerlane to you and I) when a moment of truth arrived. I managed to get out of the museum in record time – the matrons were surprised that I blew off the 3rd floor, where the teachings of the deeply esteemed First President of Uzbekistan Islam Karimov are enshrined – but I indicated gastric distress and they understood.

I didn’t get out of Hotel Orzu for hours. I wasn’t gravely ill, I just had a disagreement with the bazaar fruit and was paying the price. Wasn’t sure if I hadn’t adequately washed the fruit – that might have been the issue. Or it might have been a different hygienic issue, or even just my body protesting at the introduction of so much fruit, a relatively unknown category. In any event, this reinforced my general aversion to eating fresh fruit, unfortunately. Cooked vegetables and a few select fruits are evidently the way I need to go…

Felt better that afternoon and went out exploring. I took a couple Immodium to help prevent further surprises.

My guidebook calls Tashkent ‘gritty’ but I disagree, at least with regard to the city proper. I’m sure the outskirts are like that in Russia, endless apartment blocks and desertia. But the city center is livable and not bad-looking, and it’s groomed a hell of a lot more than, say, Bishkek is. It is hot as hell this time of year, but that helps keep the weaker tourists away and that’s a reasonable cost-benefit for me.

Had a late lunch at a Korean place. Lots of Koreans living here, for some reason. Had a great dish of bibimbap…and wondered why I had so rarely been eating Korean food. Probably because Korean restaurants aren’t great for solo travelers, they’re often set up with the barbecue cooker at the table and eating Korean is a fairly social event. But bibimbap doesn’t require such elaborate measures and I should really be checking out Korean joints more often…

Went back to the hotel, still feeling a bit weak. Over the ensuing few days I’d have to pay attention to my GI tract, but eventually recovered. Learned a couple lessons from the experience, namely that my system isn’t bulletproof despite all the travels, and to avoid (or at the very least extensively wash) fresh fruits.

It was now Saturday night. Went back to the Chelsea pub, it was pretty dead so just had a couple pricey Carlsbergs there, shared weird photos on cameraphones with the bartenders (I had a stoned Mona Lisa, a bartender had a video showing a black guy stretching his mouth like a comicbook scene) and got some laughs, and moved on.

Exchanged texts with Radik in Bishkek, he was going to the disco with his sister and a couple foreigners. He wrote that I was popular and greatly missed at Radison in Bishkek – that warmed my curmudgeonly old heart.

Walked to disco Club 25, which was supposedly one of the best in town. Bought a ticket (10,000 sum – not that cheap) and peeked inside. It was only 10 p.m., still pretty dead. Walked across the street to a cellar place called Bierhaus, which I’d walked by earlier. This place proved a little gem – I got a seat at the bar and was served by a cute waitress who spoke some English and recommended the unfiltered beer and some cheese and chicken snacks, and had no attitude, unlike the haughty Club 25.

Spent a couple hours there – the waitress was good fun, and the beer production manager showed up and sat next to me. He spoke little English, so the waitress translated – he turned out to be a Tartar, the first one I’ve met. He had just been in Turkmenistan, where he said (I am skeptical, mind you) that you can buy 40 liters of petrol for US$1. True or not, his beer was terrific – I had 5 before stumbling back to Club 25. Promised myself I’d show up again at Bierhaus – they also have wifi, a good drawing point for me.

Went in. Fairly crowded now, loud music and extensive strobes. Went to the bar to get a drink – stood there for a while. Was starting to wonder if I’m getting too old for bigbox discos – like Chris Rock says, you don’t want to be the old guy in the club. I didn’t seem to be much older than other people, so wasn’t self-conscious – it was more a matter of having fun or not. Waiting for drinks: not fun.

While waiting I made eye contact with a woman lucky enough to have a seat there at the bar. I asked her what she was drinking. She said ‘Orgasm.’ I said that I’ve had those before, or something similarly clever. She said ‘I like the name’ and smiled. Suddenly waiting for a drink didn’t seem so bad.

Eventually got served – got a vodka tonic. Went over by the dance floor and attempted to blend in. The music was actually very good and soon I felt in the mood. This was fun. Every now and then I glanced over to the woman at the bar, who seemed popular – surrounded by 3-4 local men. I thought about asking her to dance, but didn’t want to get mixed up in anything – there’s apparently a mafia/jeunesse doree presence here and they can badly screw up your holiday.

After a while the woman came over to the dance floor, and stood next to me. We chatted for a while, I was about to ask her to dance but she beat me to it. Didn’t bother me one bit. And pretty soon we were very into the beat – in a Greco-Roman clinch and doing a bit of grinding to the latest Russian pop hits. This was unexpected…and fun. If the mafia were going to get me tonight, I was going out in style…

After a half hour of so her friend came over – she wanted to go. But I got Katrina’s phone number, and promised to ring her the next day. I quite liked her – at least from a lens of drunken mayhem – and wanted to see more.

Slept well that night. The next morning, I asked to change rooms – I was in a room with twin beds, and wanted a king – both for comfort and in case I got lucky. Tempting the fates? Perhaps…

Went to the vokzal (train station), where I bought a ticket to Samarkand. The station is newish and beautiful – and nearly empty, unlike those in India, China, Russia, etc. Had to register with OVIR (Office of Visas and Passports) to be able to buy a ticket there. Whatever, it didn’t bother me. I sat in the OVIR office while a green man took out a notebook, opened to a fresh page, took out a ruler and pen, and ruled lines on the page. It was like being in 3rd grade again. Finally he finished and let me go. I got the ticket – for US$9 – and left.

In the metro, I was stopped by a greenie. The guidebook warns that this is inevitable if you use the metro, so have your papers in order. I did – and handed them over. The guy was so amused by my passport and its contents that I nearly missed the train – these cops/agents are like little boys, but with guns. Anyway, despite their omnipresence they’re far less intimidating than in Russia.

Uzbekistan is the ‘stan country’ that has probably been the most nationalistic – replacing scripts, kicking Russians out, and changing names of streets etc. No Lenin statues here, no Sovietskaya streets. There are still plenty of Russians here – perhaps 10% of the population – probably those with real skills, long family backgrounds, etc. And Uzbekistan has, like nearly all countries, invented and embellished its ‘heros’ – Tamerlane is an obvious one, he was a major world figure and conqueror, sure, but I’m not too sure he’s in a league with Chinggis Khan and Alexander. Anyway, he’s the man here in Uzbekistan so you better not forget it.

Went to Mustaqillik Maydoni, the newish center of town where there’s a brand new Senate building where the usual rubber-stamping takes place, and various buildings and monuments. The WW2 monument, the Crying Mother, commemorates the 400,000 Uzbeks who died in that war. All the names are listed on moving plaques and it’s quite something.

Had lunch at the brilliant Tre Bochki, Three Barrels, which sits along a canal and has a German beer recipe from 1514, supposedly unchanged. I had a couple half-liter unfiltered beers, and three plates of various snacks – delicious, and total damage US$10. I think a place like this would be huge in the States, the snacks alone (herring on bread, pickle & cheese plate, beet salad) are so much better and less arterty-clogging than the potato skins/nachos/fried mozzarella stick crap you find in the homeland…

Some advice from this fine establishment:

Like I’ve mentioned, I saw cops everywhere. Slightly annoying/heavy presence. Once I had to stop myself from toying with one of them – I wanted to gawk at him, then run away as fast as I could and see what happened. That would have been gravely unwise, and I didn’t follow through – but in a parallel universe I did and I’m still in prison there. It is true that I have an authority problem – as an adult (now, finally), I detest being told what to do by others, and dislike being monitored by stupid, insolent public employees. So there.

Went back to Bierhaus, where I got onto their wireless network and did a few computer thingies. Had a couple more beers there – rendering myself unable to go and do the Tashkent Hash House Harriers event later that day. Anyway, it sounded relatively lame for a Hash – mostly walkers, mostly families, and the cost only 1,000 sum – for sodas and transport. Very unHashlike. I stayed away – probably a good idea considering the 37 degree heat.

Had dinner at Turkish joint Efendi that night – excellent kebab plates, for a song. Listened to a few new podcasts while waiting for my food. Called Katrina and made a date for the next night, my last in Tashkent before heading to Samarkand. Then went back to the hotel and crashed.

Next day, took care of a few errands. Wanted to book a flight to Ukraine after my time in Uzbekistan, so went to the Uzbekistan Airways (massive) local office. Not the most efficient place, despite its seemingly modern look and feel. Had to shift lines a couple times before getting to an English-speaking agent. At one point there was a guy in front of me with an Israeli passport – probably an Uzbeki Jew who got out years ago. Made a booking to fly to Kiev on August 18, a couple days earlier than I wanted (my visa here expires August 20), but there aren’t Tashkent-Kiev flights daily so the 18th was close enough. I wanted to pay with credit card – but only had my Visa in hand, and they just take Mastercard. Had to return to my hotel, then back again with that card – noticed that one customer, a cute woman, had been dealing with an agent for at least an hour now. Ugh.

Paying was torture, I had to see two different agents, then the credit card machine was down. Finally a technician got it running, and I was finished. Total time there – nearly two hours. Oh well.

BTW, my local SIM card lets me surf the web, and it’s nearly free. I had to figure out how to configure it, but it wasn’t hard. Very useful when I just want to see if a reply has come through. Didn’t expect this feature in Uzbekistan.

Had a superb lunch at Bistro, an Italian place with a rocking Roquefort salad and nice mushroom pasta. Tashkent was surprising me in more ways than one…

Went to Amir Timur square, where there’s a huge statue of the man:

Someone removed Timur’s ‘long staff’, but left the cannonballs intact:

Don’t worry, I didn’t figure this out on my own, it’s a local joke…

Went into Mir shopping mall nearby, found a store that had pretty good singlets and bought a couple, mine were either lost or falling apart. In this heat you need some light shirts, the only issue is that it’s a Muslim country so outside Tashkent and/or when visiting religious monuments you should really wear something with sleeves. Still, singlets are great when you’re carrying your pack and moving around.

Took a cab to Khast Imam, the nation’s religious authority center. A few madrasahs and admin buildings there, the real draw is what’s purportedly the world’s oldest existing Koran, dating from 20 years after Mohammed’s death. Wow. The book itself is huge, it must weight 100 pounds, and is written on lambskin (no condom jokes, now). Impressive. Not many tourists there, just me and a Muslim family in traditional dress.

The complex:

On the topic of dress – it’s quite endearing here. Many women wear simply but elegant sundresses, and even the more conservative traditional robe-like dresses are cool. Some head-scarves but not too many. The men dress mostly like Westerners, so it’s the women who really stand out (like always).

Spent a couple hours chilling at Hotel Orzu. Watched LOTR Part 2 (The Two Towers). It occurred to me that Dick Cheney is actually Grima Wormtongue…

Met Katrina that night at a Syrian restaurant. Ate a lot, more than I usually do during a date – the food was terrific, and authentic. Katrina works for the US Embassy here as a translator and a psychologist of sorts – I suspect some embellishment but whatever, she seems accomplished and switched-on. Most nights she teaches tae bo to rich local women. And she’s a single mom with a young daughter, she got divorced a few years ago. We had a good chat and had some laughs. And that’s all I’m saying right now…

Caught the train to Samarkand next morning – was deathly tired. In my compartment were some local women, a Tartar fellow who spoke excellent English (his university major), and a Korean lass. There was a group of 24 Koreans on a package trip, I had to laugh as the ‘captain’ collected all their passports and tickets and dealt with the (flabbergasted) train ticket collector. East Asians really love to travel in these groups – I find them hilarious, but occasionally annoying as they overwhelm most systems they encounter.

The Tartar fellow, Yavdat, was super-friendly, and told me a story about the grave of Tamerlane, in Samarkand. On June 21, 1941, a Soviet scientist/archeologist opened the tomb – and verified that Tamerlane was tall, lame, etc. He also saw an inscription warning that whoever opened the tomb would be defeated by an enemy more powerful than me (Tamerlane). The very next day, the Nazis invaded. Quite a story – didn’t quite pan out, but close enough, huh?

The train ride was four hours – during much of it, we watched a Russian comedy show in which an Uzbek dwarf, a famous comedian in this part of the world, did a Napoleon routine, for one. Very funny, even though I couldn’t understand most of the dialogue. Made fun of the French, Napoleon’s size, etc. The Russians really do know how to take the piss with other peoples – they have a deep sense of humor and despite language barriers you really see this.

Got into Samarkand – the hotel had sent a driver. Checked into my place, a little B&B/hotel called Antica, very nice. Had a ‘welcome tea,’ along with 2 German lasses named Ina and Christina – I momentarily fantasized a ménage a trois in which I mixed up their names and they didn’t even mind. Walked over to Tamerlane’s grave, right near my hotel – how cool is that, I’m sleeping 50 meters from Tamerlane’s grave. A few shots of that tomb:

Walked around town – bought some Russian-made Immodium at an apteka (pharmacy). Owner/pharmacist was curious about me – not many Americans here, remember? He asked my name, I told him – he replied ‘Michael Jackson?’ I said ‘Nyet – Michael Jordan!’ He seemed to like that. I walked on.

Went to renowned local restaurant Karambek, where I had a beer and a couple superb shashliks. There’s a counter where the raw meat on skewers sits, you just point and they take care of the grilling. I probably had too much – the converse of my Chorsu fruit blowout. The walk back to Antica was long, but great for digesting the pound of meat I’d just inhaled. Bought a Coke at a little shop – the guy there asked me where I was from. Turns out he has a bro in NYC. Common story here – people are curious and friendly, like America/Americans, and often know someone there. From Samarkand to NYC – small world, baby.
Changed US$ to sum at Hotel President. The counter guy quoted me a bad rate, 1250 sum per dollar, I asked if I could do any better, and he said there was a national bank counter just outside the hotel. Went there, the rate was 1325 and that was more like it. Later I found a small shop where the owner flashed a thick wad of Franklins at me and quoted a rate of 1380 – better and better. But that’s black market and you gotta count every single bill – I might try this guy later on.

In all, a great and memorable day of travel – woke up with company, easy train ride in which I made some acquaintances and had some laughs, checked into a cool guesthouse, met some attractive European women, saw a historical sight (Tamerlane’s tomb), ate and drank merrily. My only errands were changing $ and getting some water and toilet paper – not complicated. Pleasure/errand ratio was very high…

Took a nap that afternoon. Had made very tentative plans to go out for drinks with the German girls that night. Got up and practiced yoga for an hour, first time in a couple weeks. Got rid of the soreness in my feet and legs. Went out to the courtyard, hung out for a bit – no sign of the Germans. Was hungry, and thirsty, so went out to check things out around town. Walked by the famed Registan, Samarkand’s calling card. It wasn’t lit brilliantly at night, but the deep colors of the domes could still be seen. Lots of people hanging around, relaxing after the hot day. Impressive setting and sight – I’d be back next morning for a thorough look and tour around. I was glad to be in Uzbekistan, and in Samarkand, a place I’ve wanted to visit for such a long time.

Went to look for a place to eat and drink – I’ll pick up this thread next entry, right now I’ve been at this for 3 hours and I’m getting blog fatigue. You probably are too. I’m now back on my usual posting sked, which is a relief to me – but at the same time, these places I’m visiting are so odd and endearing that my posts are long as hell. Time for a beer. Over and out.

Tags: Travel

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