Day Three:
This was a very interesting day, as my guide would put it. I woke up, and went downstairs for more of that bland breakfast. By now the cook down there knew who I was, and had grown to find me as some sort of curiosity. He still stated that the sausage was sausage, when I knew he was a good-for-nothing liar who simply cut up hot dogs after boiling them.
Kevin arrived wearing the exact same outfit he had been wearing since I first saw him. Same green shirt, same tie, same grey suit, all of it was the same. Before we headed off to see a hydro electric plant, he needed to see some of his relatives.
His driver brought us into the old part of the city, the part that had existed before the Soviets arrived and would continue to exist after the Soviet-buildings collapsed. Some may be inclined to call the neighborhood a slum, but that would be incorrect. Parts of it lacked indoor plumbing, but not all. Obviously his family there seemed to be doing well enough, it was a large sprawling ranch-like (using the word "ranch" very loosely) house, that housed his mother, his sister, and his sister's children. His mother was not that old, not when compared to your average Grandmother (mine's 100). She brought out some almond pastes (which were tasty) and I got to meet one of his nephews. Apparently this nephew had been learning English. I sat on the couch listening to his nephew's homework. His nephew read off a story about going to a camp over the summer, to a Pioneer Camp. Most of Tajikistan was obsessed with American culture, particularly the West. They weren't as concerned with New York, where I was from. Had I been from California or Nevada, they might have been more interested.
Outside the house was a small cottage with a mattress inside. According to Kevin, this was their "summer house" where they would sleep outside in the summer, when it got too hot indoors. Walking through the neighborhood, I saw exposed open sewage in some parts, and kids drinking water from pipes coming out the wall. The colors there were beautiful, gorgeous oranges and browns. I even bought a shirt in Tajikistan, one with all of their best colors, the greens and oranges.
Finally we headed off to our ultimate destination, Norak, the place with a hydroelectric plant. The drive could not have been better. Kevin seemed to be concerned that I wasn't talking much. I stared blankly at the hills and mountains we passed. All this vegetation, trees, mountain goats were completely alien to me. Eventually we stopped, so I could take a picture of a boy with a donkey at a well. After that Kevin and I talked about America's pop culture. He said Shrek was popular there, since they had donkeys. They were looking forward to Shrek 3, which would be coming out in Tajikistan in 2008. I didn't have the heart to tell him that it had been out in the US for about a year or so.
The car stopped. I got out next to a roadside marketplace. The marketplace consisted of about 3 women selling various fruits and vegetables for drivers. According to my guide, who spoke with them, they had never met an American before in their entire lives. I was their first then. He took a few pictures, after I told him where to stand and whatnot. They were so thankful, they even gave me some of their grapes for nothing. Just for being there, I got free stuff. The generous nature of the people there continued to shock me.
Norak looked very neat. The city originally had been built exclusively for engineers working around or for the giant hydroelectric plant there. It showed. Everything there looked as if engineers organized it to a tee. In other words, it put New York City to absolute shame, considering NYC has more than enough resources to neaten itself out.
We met Kevin's contact there, whose name I still don't remember. He looked like an engineer, with his perfectly arranged hair, tucked in shirt, and pleasant but bland sweater. With his help, we would get to the hydro electric plant, and see what generated a great deal of Tajikistan's power.
The whole town was built by the Russians in the 1970s. Norak could have been the planned community to solve all of Tajikistan's problems. Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way. Instead, it lead to the country being mostly self-sufficient in energy, and occasionally even having electric exports, but otherwise Tajikistan could not really compete that much internationally. Those who look at its GDP and per capa would assume (wrongly) that the average Tajikistani lived in dire poverty. While their standards of living could definitely use improvement, generally speaking they kept up the standard of living that many Russians had spent time building for them. Yes, the infrastructure had been crumbling for some time, but somehow they kept it together. Somehow, despite a civil war and little foreign investment, the place at least slowed the decay of 1920s and 1970s Soviet built infrastructure. And the 1920s built buildings were of higher quality.
All of which brings us to the plant itself. We passed about 3 different guards, each one holding their very own AK 47. Each one looked a bit interested in the fact that any American would even be around, or in the vicinity. The plant looked immaculate. Everything there had been kept up-to-date, and the main control room (which I was brought into for some reason) looked like a really comfy library, like the ones long forgotten in some monastery. Inside the room laid the nicest, most plush carpet I have seen in a long time, alongside some Russians and Tajikistanis, who were clearly pleased to have any sort of visitor. Due to the nature of the plant, I couldn't ask too many questions, but the tour was nice.
Next to the plant was the lake which made it all possible. We drove through the countless tunnels within the mountainside to get a closer view of the lake. Our engineer asked me about the ruler of California, Arnold Schwartzenegger. I didn't even bother explaining the idea of governor, or that he couldn't become President due to his Austrian birth. They loved him. As soon as I began talking about Arnold, my friend Kevin was busy translating.
Finally we reached the lake. Another guard, this one rather tired-looking, sat on a rock talking with a boat-owner there. For $1, the boat owner speeded us around the entire lake. I got to see each fixture on it. Every little tower, every piece of the mountain, was shown to me for about a buck. Several Russians stood next to our car when we returned, they looked very shaggy and a bit silly when compared to the guard, who at this point stared blankly into space thinking.
Everyone except me was hungry, so we went to get some food. The first place we went to did not lie far from the Engineer's house, and he recommended it. We sat down, and waited to be served. At this point, I think I messed something up. My driver spoke to me in very broken English and Tajik, about the waitress there. I did not know what to say. She stood there at attention, eager to hear my response. In all honestly, she was a very pretty young woman, probably in her early 20s. All I said was "OK", and this appeared to bother her. Thankfully Kevin said they didn't have any food at the restaurant, which was bizarre. It did allow me to avoid what could have been a really uncomfortable situation. Uncomfortable because I didn't know what was going on.
We drove up the road to an open fish restaurant, with Tajikistan's answer for a embittered businessman as the owner. He looked as if he didn't know how to smile, and his 9 year old daughter was the cook. Immediately I started having second thoughts about the place, but the outdoor setting looked too nice to say no to. All three of them began asking about the US, why we chose Bush twice, what kind of food we had there, all the normal questions. I asked about the "X" that hung from the driver's mirror. Kevin responded, saying that the X-Files were very popular in Tajikistan, since they came from Russian TV. He stated that the new season of the X-Files looked very good. I tried to explain the show had been cancelled in the US for about 5 years, but he didn't believe me. We ate in silence for a while, watching a Chinese truck driver curse off a Tajikistani driver. A truck of Russian soldiers passed by as well, and then stopped. Apparently a Russian base existed close to Noruk. They bought some fish and left. Kevin forced me to have some vodka at 2 in the afternoon, and we continued focusing on the fish.
A man walked down the road, carrying a piece of a car. He saw us and said hi. According to Kevin, that was his old neighbor in Dushanbe. Finally, after speaking to him for a while, we decided it was time to go back to Dushanbe.
Kevin and the man talked for some time. The man looked exactly like Bill Murray, although I didn't tell him this.
We got to my hotel, and I went to sleep for a while, feeling a little ill. Kevin invited me to a wedding the next day, but as I felt this sickness would most likely be getting worse, I politely declined. Unfortunately for me, I turned out to be right.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Tajikistan Day 2
Day Two:
I did an unusual thing and spent the next 12 hours sleeping. When I woke up, it was to the heat of the afternoon. Since there is no large body of water to be found anywhere near the country, it has extremes of heat during the day, and cold during the night.
The food there confirmed its badness with the complimentary breakfast, which would not have passed muster in even the trashiest Motel 6. Also, the business center located in the hotel was laughable. It was a computer hooked up to a slow internet. Porn could be seen in the other window, always. Obviously it was not a particularly strict religious country, and apparently the service there had nothing better to do in the evening than look up pictures of young Russian women's asses.
Eventually my day began and we drove east, away from Dushanbe. Each direction of Dushanbe had a particular city gate to pass through, sort of a throwaway to an earlier time there. This day we spent looking at the Hissar castle, which can be found on the back of their 20 Solomi bill. After paying the youth there about $1, he took us for a very short tour into the place. I got to see firsthand the great hills that I had seen while we travelled the countryside.
Right next to the castle there was a madrassa. As Kevin and I walked towards the madrassa, we saw two relatively scantily clad women walk past us. Apparently they were American, since they looked completely oblivious to everything around them. When we entered the madrassa, we were immediately greeted, since no one seemed to be even remotely busy. An old woman offered to show us around for about $4. Each item in the madrassa was given a poorly spelled computer label. The misspelling had a certain charm to it, like even the word "shoe" being misspelled. With every new item, I wanted to take out my pen and correct it, but I didn't.
Each room brought a new insight into the bleakness that young Muslim scholars encounter. Their lives are filled with these dusty rooms where they study the Koran. In fact, late in their studies they are put into a room with only a Koran to read for forty days. Forty days of reading only the Koran, with only a skylight and a slot for food to be brought into. Finally the tour ended and two young woman were forced into the most awkward picture ever taken ( a promise from my tour guide fulfilled, of getting locals to take a picture with me).
As we drove through the countryside, watching kids in their uniforms walking on the side of the road, I decided I wanted to see some of the marketplaces. We got out of the car and walked around a busy bazaar. When I took a picture, the two most prominent people in the picture shook my hand, happy they were included. Much different than what your average anyone would do in the same situation. My guide informed me that in Tajikistan most of the goods came from either China (with whom Tajikistan shares a border) or from Dubai, which has close ties with the country. He expressed regret that Tajikistani industry could not compete with the flood of cheap goods coming from both these locations.
Eventually after drinking some fruit juice, we drove back to Dushanbe, where the day began to turn odd. First we ate at a Muslim restaurant thankfully. I say thankfully since there was no vodka. Kevin seemed upset about this development. Honestly, I do not feel sad that I didn't drink vodka at 3 in the afternoon.
After lunch we stopped off in my guide's one room apartment. Six people lived there: his wife, his 4 daughters, and himself. He explained that he originally had 11 children, but 7 of them died. That amazed me, that of such a large number, so many would pass away. He introduced me to his second oldest daughter, who was learning English. She said Hello, and thought I was his wife's brother (his wife was considerably fairer skinned than he was). His youngest child woke up, watching Shrek and staring wide eyed at me. After his wife had taken care of the child, she came to make me soup. Somehow Kevin and I began discussing the US. While I ate my soup, he correctly guessed my ethnic origin (I am Polish), which absolutely shocked me. Leaving the apartment complex (for it was a giant Soviet - built one) was overwhelming, seeing the size of it and realizing about 1000 people lived there was sort of humbling.
Tajikistani industry did not have much representation in the colorful countryside bazaars. Where they are represented are in chic clothing outlets in the capital. Hipsters had sprouted out even from the barren land found in Tajikistan, oddly enough. I saw them all over the store, as I purchased what is actually a extremely well tailored little shirt.
His office offered another experience. There I met his boss, who fit the boss mold that exists internationally. A clean nice shirt, expensive hair cut, and a certain upper middle class look about him that could be seen in his glasses. If these were Soviet times, I could not see his boss exisitng. As it was, his boss aparently liked me. I received a tradition square hat from him along with a party invitation. Despite not speaking English, he wanted me there.
Several hours later we went to the party. We met his boss in a shady part of the city where I had never been before. After taking a taxi there, we took another taxi to a small house with several teenagers in front of it. Kevin says "We need to pick something up" with American funk music playing in the background. I try to explain James Brown to him, with him completely not understanding. His boss talks to the teenagers and gets something, no idea what it is or was.
A small, rather Midwestern looking house appears after we pass the tough looking gate. Everyone takes off their shoes before entering the sparse-looking house. I am lead into a room with no furniture and about 10 people, all older than me in it. They are seated around a picnic blanket, with several silver items holdings candies, nuts, fruits, etc.
Kevin explains to me that the party is dedicated to his younger song. In Tajikistan boys are circumcised at age 9, which sounds painful and would really explain why their vodka is so strong.
Suddenly my guide looks at me and says dead seriously:
"Now this is the part of the party where we cut off the tip of your penis."
I sit, frightened. What sort of fucking party did I get invited to? What was it that we picked up? Is there any way to avoid this cruel fate?
"Just kidding" he says, with perfect comic delivery. He then translates this to the people sitting around the blanket and they all laugh. We drink. We drink alot. About 8 shots (shots in Tajikistan are known as tea-cup size). People there express extreme interest in the US, with them choosing out some unusual parts of the US to visit. They choose Las Vegas, love Arnold Schwarznegger (the ruler of California), and want to see Oklahoma? I loved talking to all of them, so I can see my misconceptions of their country, and I explain the ones they have of mine.
The same soup I had at Kevin's apartment earlier in the day is made again. From all the food this day, I am stuffed. I get back to my hotel around midnight to 1 am, and completely pass out.
I did an unusual thing and spent the next 12 hours sleeping. When I woke up, it was to the heat of the afternoon. Since there is no large body of water to be found anywhere near the country, it has extremes of heat during the day, and cold during the night.
The food there confirmed its badness with the complimentary breakfast, which would not have passed muster in even the trashiest Motel 6. Also, the business center located in the hotel was laughable. It was a computer hooked up to a slow internet. Porn could be seen in the other window, always. Obviously it was not a particularly strict religious country, and apparently the service there had nothing better to do in the evening than look up pictures of young Russian women's asses.
Eventually my day began and we drove east, away from Dushanbe. Each direction of Dushanbe had a particular city gate to pass through, sort of a throwaway to an earlier time there. This day we spent looking at the Hissar castle, which can be found on the back of their 20 Solomi bill. After paying the youth there about $1, he took us for a very short tour into the place. I got to see firsthand the great hills that I had seen while we travelled the countryside.
Right next to the castle there was a madrassa. As Kevin and I walked towards the madrassa, we saw two relatively scantily clad women walk past us. Apparently they were American, since they looked completely oblivious to everything around them. When we entered the madrassa, we were immediately greeted, since no one seemed to be even remotely busy. An old woman offered to show us around for about $4. Each item in the madrassa was given a poorly spelled computer label. The misspelling had a certain charm to it, like even the word "shoe" being misspelled. With every new item, I wanted to take out my pen and correct it, but I didn't.
Each room brought a new insight into the bleakness that young Muslim scholars encounter. Their lives are filled with these dusty rooms where they study the Koran. In fact, late in their studies they are put into a room with only a Koran to read for forty days. Forty days of reading only the Koran, with only a skylight and a slot for food to be brought into. Finally the tour ended and two young woman were forced into the most awkward picture ever taken ( a promise from my tour guide fulfilled, of getting locals to take a picture with me).
As we drove through the countryside, watching kids in their uniforms walking on the side of the road, I decided I wanted to see some of the marketplaces. We got out of the car and walked around a busy bazaar. When I took a picture, the two most prominent people in the picture shook my hand, happy they were included. Much different than what your average anyone would do in the same situation. My guide informed me that in Tajikistan most of the goods came from either China (with whom Tajikistan shares a border) or from Dubai, which has close ties with the country. He expressed regret that Tajikistani industry could not compete with the flood of cheap goods coming from both these locations.
Eventually after drinking some fruit juice, we drove back to Dushanbe, where the day began to turn odd. First we ate at a Muslim restaurant thankfully. I say thankfully since there was no vodka. Kevin seemed upset about this development. Honestly, I do not feel sad that I didn't drink vodka at 3 in the afternoon.
After lunch we stopped off in my guide's one room apartment. Six people lived there: his wife, his 4 daughters, and himself. He explained that he originally had 11 children, but 7 of them died. That amazed me, that of such a large number, so many would pass away. He introduced me to his second oldest daughter, who was learning English. She said Hello, and thought I was his wife's brother (his wife was considerably fairer skinned than he was). His youngest child woke up, watching Shrek and staring wide eyed at me. After his wife had taken care of the child, she came to make me soup. Somehow Kevin and I began discussing the US. While I ate my soup, he correctly guessed my ethnic origin (I am Polish), which absolutely shocked me. Leaving the apartment complex (for it was a giant Soviet - built one) was overwhelming, seeing the size of it and realizing about 1000 people lived there was sort of humbling.
Tajikistani industry did not have much representation in the colorful countryside bazaars. Where they are represented are in chic clothing outlets in the capital. Hipsters had sprouted out even from the barren land found in Tajikistan, oddly enough. I saw them all over the store, as I purchased what is actually a extremely well tailored little shirt.
His office offered another experience. There I met his boss, who fit the boss mold that exists internationally. A clean nice shirt, expensive hair cut, and a certain upper middle class look about him that could be seen in his glasses. If these were Soviet times, I could not see his boss exisitng. As it was, his boss aparently liked me. I received a tradition square hat from him along with a party invitation. Despite not speaking English, he wanted me there.
Several hours later we went to the party. We met his boss in a shady part of the city where I had never been before. After taking a taxi there, we took another taxi to a small house with several teenagers in front of it. Kevin says "We need to pick something up" with American funk music playing in the background. I try to explain James Brown to him, with him completely not understanding. His boss talks to the teenagers and gets something, no idea what it is or was.
A small, rather Midwestern looking house appears after we pass the tough looking gate. Everyone takes off their shoes before entering the sparse-looking house. I am lead into a room with no furniture and about 10 people, all older than me in it. They are seated around a picnic blanket, with several silver items holdings candies, nuts, fruits, etc.
Kevin explains to me that the party is dedicated to his younger song. In Tajikistan boys are circumcised at age 9, which sounds painful and would really explain why their vodka is so strong.
Suddenly my guide looks at me and says dead seriously:
"Now this is the part of the party where we cut off the tip of your penis."
I sit, frightened. What sort of fucking party did I get invited to? What was it that we picked up? Is there any way to avoid this cruel fate?
"Just kidding" he says, with perfect comic delivery. He then translates this to the people sitting around the blanket and they all laugh. We drink. We drink alot. About 8 shots (shots in Tajikistan are known as tea-cup size). People there express extreme interest in the US, with them choosing out some unusual parts of the US to visit. They choose Las Vegas, love Arnold Schwarznegger (the ruler of California), and want to see Oklahoma? I loved talking to all of them, so I can see my misconceptions of their country, and I explain the ones they have of mine.
The same soup I had at Kevin's apartment earlier in the day is made again. From all the food this day, I am stuffed. I get back to my hotel around midnight to 1 am, and completely pass out.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Tajikistan Day 1
Day One:
I spent roughly a day flying to Tajikistan, since apparently there are so few flights. In fact, the only major flight I was able to get on such short notice was a Turkish Air flight, which sadly had about an 8 hour layover. Turkish Air is very much a purgatory airline, there is nothing I can really say about it that is that good or that bad. They learned how to be miserly with space, yet the service was acceptable. Food really varied, but I've certainly had far worse. Most likely you will not have any other option to get there, unless you fly out of Central Asia or Russia.
Our flight didn't start immediately. Unfortunately someone on the plane had air fright, and began shaking. An Indiana Jones look-alike came to calm him down, but sadly the man needed to leave the air plane. In front of me sat an absolutely perfect group, of the Indiana Jones doctor, a young man from Hong Kong working for a bank there, and a young girl from Alaska working for an NGO in Northern Tajikistan. All of them talked to each other and were delighted with each other's presence.
I did not have that. On my left was a sleepy Turk who didn't take up much space, but on my right was an utter ass. He brought his fucking dog on the plane, and for about 5 hours I put up with that stupid shitty dog barking.
When we arrived there, I knew it. A bus drove down the tarmac to pick us up. Stairs were brought up to the plane, like you see at photo ops for various foreign leaders. Ours was not so official, but rather cold as it was 3am and gun-slinging guards were waiting at the bottom.
Our airport baggage claim center looked like it needed to apologize for its sorry state. It couldn't have been bigger than my Kindergarten Gymnasium, except it wasn't as luxurious inside. Heaters lined the walls, put up as almost an afterthought. As I waited for two hours to recover my bags, I met several people. One of them, named Jared, studied abroad in Cyprus and was kind enough to give me his phone number, in case I needed help. Since I do not usually expect such kindness for nothing, I thought there had to be a catch. The longer I stayed in Dushanbe though, the more I realized how untrue my assumption had been.
Finally I received as many of my bags as I was going to get. After all had been recovered, I met the man who would be taking me to my hotel, the Tajikistan Hotel on 22 Shotemur.
Kevin's face had several scars on the left side, as if it had been partly melted or encountered fierce fighting. His shirt was an olive green, beneath a decent gray suit. For my whole time there, he simply made my first name plural, thus I became "Mr. Andrews". Next to him stood an extremely spry old man, who jumped up onto the sad-looking baggage claim area.
Dushanbe's streets were extremely broad, and had a distinctly European flair to it. The whole city seemed planned out according to some grand Soviet scheme, as if they wanted more people to move there than eventually did. Old Soviet cars zoomed next to ours, a mere Daewoo. Apparently there also was some unspoken speed limit everyone adhered to, since being there several days I did not see one speed limit sign.
Kevin spoke fluent English, and asked me if there was anything in particular I would like to see after getting to my hotel. He mentioned we could either see the nightlife there, or we could see some of the history there. Since nightclubbing in Dushanbe seemed just a bit too far-fetched for me, I opted to see more of the countryside.
The Tajikistan Hotel looked like a modern hotel on the outside, but the inside showed something a little different. Inside, it reminded you that you weren't in Kansas anymore, so to speak. Nothing had been changed inside for the past three decades. While I was there, a joint American-Chinese company worked diligently to fix the place, to bring it into a new century. What the hotel lacked physically, it made up for in exquisite service. Not once did I have an awkward moment with a single employee there, who helped me more than any employee I've ever dealt with at any other hotel.
My hotel room confirmed the poverty the country suffered. My dorm room at college looked happier and with more personality. Also, instead of a shower, it was more of a hose with a shower head attached to it. In the center of the small bathroom laid a drain, for the water to go into. I looked around for a place to put the shower head, in a vain attempt to make it feel a little more like an actual real shower.
Kevin came back after I slept off some of the jet lag. We went to a museum to see some of the history of Tajikistan. While there, I saw the lying Buddha, who lounged on its side. Before Islam had reached Tajikistan, it apparently had been a mix of pagan religions (like fire worshipping) and Buddhist. As we talked, he expressed dislike for the extreme religious fervour that took away and persecuted many of the Buddhists. Some still do exist in Tajikistan, however, only in the remote mountainous Eastern section. Also, Alexander the Great had conquered part of it, and we got to see pieces of Hellenic temples.
While we drank tea at a trendy (as trendy as it could be) bar, I asked him what else he did as a job, besides do tours of the country. He also worked at a local television station as an advertising agent. When the United States invaded Afghanistan, he gained work from that as well. BBC paid him $250 a day to translate for their television crews, and he did the same for CNN for $500 a day.
Finally night fell, and we ate at a rather nice restaurant. The waitress brought a big glass vase to our table, alongside our lamb and salads. Unfortunately, the Soviet Era influenced the food there, and it did not have as much of the spices as the rest of the Middle East possessed. My guide Kevin told me the vase was vodka, and we needed to finish it. Tajikistani Vodka is intensely powerful, far stronger than any vodka I have had anywhere else.
Kevin explained to me that from 1985-1987, he fought in the Soviet army in Afghanistan. The scars were from fighting there, and he also had shrapnel in his body from that time as well. He went there when he was 17, and after leaving the army, he went to college to study Persian and English. Since then, he raised a family of 11 children, 7 of which had died, leaving only 4 daughters. His large family seemed to be the norm, as children stood all over Tajikistan, every corner and cervice.
I spent roughly a day flying to Tajikistan, since apparently there are so few flights. In fact, the only major flight I was able to get on such short notice was a Turkish Air flight, which sadly had about an 8 hour layover. Turkish Air is very much a purgatory airline, there is nothing I can really say about it that is that good or that bad. They learned how to be miserly with space, yet the service was acceptable. Food really varied, but I've certainly had far worse. Most likely you will not have any other option to get there, unless you fly out of Central Asia or Russia.
Our flight didn't start immediately. Unfortunately someone on the plane had air fright, and began shaking. An Indiana Jones look-alike came to calm him down, but sadly the man needed to leave the air plane. In front of me sat an absolutely perfect group, of the Indiana Jones doctor, a young man from Hong Kong working for a bank there, and a young girl from Alaska working for an NGO in Northern Tajikistan. All of them talked to each other and were delighted with each other's presence.
I did not have that. On my left was a sleepy Turk who didn't take up much space, but on my right was an utter ass. He brought his fucking dog on the plane, and for about 5 hours I put up with that stupid shitty dog barking.
When we arrived there, I knew it. A bus drove down the tarmac to pick us up. Stairs were brought up to the plane, like you see at photo ops for various foreign leaders. Ours was not so official, but rather cold as it was 3am and gun-slinging guards were waiting at the bottom.
Our airport baggage claim center looked like it needed to apologize for its sorry state. It couldn't have been bigger than my Kindergarten Gymnasium, except it wasn't as luxurious inside. Heaters lined the walls, put up as almost an afterthought. As I waited for two hours to recover my bags, I met several people. One of them, named Jared, studied abroad in Cyprus and was kind enough to give me his phone number, in case I needed help. Since I do not usually expect such kindness for nothing, I thought there had to be a catch. The longer I stayed in Dushanbe though, the more I realized how untrue my assumption had been.
Finally I received as many of my bags as I was going to get. After all had been recovered, I met the man who would be taking me to my hotel, the Tajikistan Hotel on 22 Shotemur.
Kevin's face had several scars on the left side, as if it had been partly melted or encountered fierce fighting. His shirt was an olive green, beneath a decent gray suit. For my whole time there, he simply made my first name plural, thus I became "Mr. Andrews". Next to him stood an extremely spry old man, who jumped up onto the sad-looking baggage claim area.
Dushanbe's streets were extremely broad, and had a distinctly European flair to it. The whole city seemed planned out according to some grand Soviet scheme, as if they wanted more people to move there than eventually did. Old Soviet cars zoomed next to ours, a mere Daewoo. Apparently there also was some unspoken speed limit everyone adhered to, since being there several days I did not see one speed limit sign.
Kevin spoke fluent English, and asked me if there was anything in particular I would like to see after getting to my hotel. He mentioned we could either see the nightlife there, or we could see some of the history there. Since nightclubbing in Dushanbe seemed just a bit too far-fetched for me, I opted to see more of the countryside.
The Tajikistan Hotel looked like a modern hotel on the outside, but the inside showed something a little different. Inside, it reminded you that you weren't in Kansas anymore, so to speak. Nothing had been changed inside for the past three decades. While I was there, a joint American-Chinese company worked diligently to fix the place, to bring it into a new century. What the hotel lacked physically, it made up for in exquisite service. Not once did I have an awkward moment with a single employee there, who helped me more than any employee I've ever dealt with at any other hotel.
My hotel room confirmed the poverty the country suffered. My dorm room at college looked happier and with more personality. Also, instead of a shower, it was more of a hose with a shower head attached to it. In the center of the small bathroom laid a drain, for the water to go into. I looked around for a place to put the shower head, in a vain attempt to make it feel a little more like an actual real shower.
Kevin came back after I slept off some of the jet lag. We went to a museum to see some of the history of Tajikistan. While there, I saw the lying Buddha, who lounged on its side. Before Islam had reached Tajikistan, it apparently had been a mix of pagan religions (like fire worshipping) and Buddhist. As we talked, he expressed dislike for the extreme religious fervour that took away and persecuted many of the Buddhists. Some still do exist in Tajikistan, however, only in the remote mountainous Eastern section. Also, Alexander the Great had conquered part of it, and we got to see pieces of Hellenic temples.
While we drank tea at a trendy (as trendy as it could be) bar, I asked him what else he did as a job, besides do tours of the country. He also worked at a local television station as an advertising agent. When the United States invaded Afghanistan, he gained work from that as well. BBC paid him $250 a day to translate for their television crews, and he did the same for CNN for $500 a day.
Finally night fell, and we ate at a rather nice restaurant. The waitress brought a big glass vase to our table, alongside our lamb and salads. Unfortunately, the Soviet Era influenced the food there, and it did not have as much of the spices as the rest of the Middle East possessed. My guide Kevin told me the vase was vodka, and we needed to finish it. Tajikistani Vodka is intensely powerful, far stronger than any vodka I have had anywhere else.
Kevin explained to me that from 1985-1987, he fought in the Soviet army in Afghanistan. The scars were from fighting there, and he also had shrapnel in his body from that time as well. He went there when he was 17, and after leaving the army, he went to college to study Persian and English. Since then, he raised a family of 11 children, 7 of which had died, leaving only 4 daughters. His large family seemed to be the norm, as children stood all over Tajikistan, every corner and cervice.
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