So, after all my trips to Romania, a relatively poor country even by Balkan standards, I get an infinitely better trip, this one to Sweden, in a much improved neighborhood.
Unfortunately the smoke monster, coming from the frozen barren wasteland of Iceland continued to spew smoke out at an alarming rate, ruining anyone's air travel. Even mine was ruined. Instead of taking a direct flight to Stockholm, or a transfer through Helsinski, I ended up transferring over London.
JFK could not have been more chaotic. I met so many people who kept on saying "Quick, can I cut you, I have 25 minutes to catch my flight". Seeing the airline people work their non-magical also must have been painful. To be stranded in another country for days on end no doubt must have been troublesome. A book kept me company as small snippets of conversation came into my ears. One piece, directed at me, asked if I had a smaller suitcase, which was easily the dumbest request I'd ever heard. When I said no, they shook their head and said I'd pay for such a large item. A whole $50, oh my, what a worry.
The bigger problem happened when I got on the plane. Some people say that you need to enjoy both the trip and the destination. As someone who has been on enough international flights, I can tell you how true that is. And American Airlines has to be one of the absolute worst airlines ever. Now it doesn't even have to do with it being an American plane, I flew on Delta before and was perfectly content. But American, your movies are terrible (Invictus, Lovely Bones, really?) and your charges for alcohol ($8 for wine!), completely out of whack. Plus, your frugality with the space, duly noted. I just ordered water, no need to see if I get charged for a soda, you evil wretched people.
Stockholm rules. I can't begin to describe the sheer, wonderful joy of the country. Everything is so clean that when I told my coworker how clean it was, he replied "Hm, that always seems to be the first thing people mention to us." Their politeness took me aback, being from New York. Like, think of those people in Fargo who were polite almost to a fault. That's basically their mentality. People spoke English better than most of my (well-educated) friends, and treated foreigners wonderfully. Plus, they have these delightful little race car gummy candy called Bilar which absolutely knock my socks off.
Driving around, you get the feeling that everything sprawls, which is true. Land doesn't seem to be a commodity they are concerned about. Even within Stockholm city limits, you get people with lawns, nature trails, etc. I know a certain amount of this exists in the boroughs (like Staten Island, Bronx, etc) but within the very small islands, it is a real joy. Beers there taste like actual beer, the lamb there tastes much different from what I'm used to (I usually have it spicy) and I even got introduced to a "Cuban Tea" drink which tasted great. I'd recommend it to anyone, really just a solid drink.
That was only the night, of wandering around with my colleagues there drinking. Daylight came early, and I woke up as soon as I saw the first rays of sunshine. Colors looked great in the early dawn, and the cobblestone could not have been more even. Waterways within the city are so clean that during the summer, people can actually swim in them. Compare that to New York water which might possibly give you new forms of cancer, and you might be able to gauge my delight.
Ikea started here, and looking at the homes, I knew why. Every space looked as if they designed it to be admired from every angle, not just to overwhelm the skyline. The skyline negotiated with the surroundings and came to an agreement, where natural development took place.
Most of it is very pedestrian and biker friendly. In fact, they have two lanes for bikers, which are heavily used. That part freaked me out a bit, since it is pretty cold most of the year. Yet not one person ever complained about the cold, or anything really. Finns seemed to get some sort of derision, basically the Swedes called them "Pussies" at any given opportunity. So if you're very pro-Finn, you might want to avoid that topic. Also, meat was everywhere. I have no idea how vegetarians can exist there, but even for a salad, I needed at least two types of meat placed on it before the server felt satisfied.
As for work, work felt kinder. For my office, they apparently stay after work on Fridays, drink beer at work and play Grand Theft Auto. None of those things happen at my job and it makes me stay up late at night crying. Public transportation could not have been better either, anyone who tells you about our great subway system in New York probably hasn't traveled a lot.
This brings me towards the end of my discussion on Sweden. Basically, they don't worry about taxes the way we do because they seem to get something out of it. Perfect, clean everything, manufacturing all done locally, and paying considerably more for it. Sure, we might pay less for a lot of our basic consumer goods, but we suffer for it. Most of our manufacturing, the locally-made kind, is done on the cheap so much that it is annoying. They seem perfectly happy with how things are, and they also get the joy of great social mobility than we currently enjoy (thank you Economist for that article, I forget the issue number). Just sometimes I wish that we could meet the potential I know we have, and learn a thing or two from these countries we mindlessly bash.
Sweden, I really want to visit it again. Easily one of my favorite places to visit, right up there with Malaysia. My only complaint would be the cold, but I guess anyone would get used to it. And, as an added bonus, the British Airways flight had virtually every movie I had intended to see (A Serious Man, Fantastic Mr. Fox, and Dark Knight). Yes, I know how far behind I am in movies.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Timisoara, Romania
I've been too busy to write about this place lately, mostly since I always end up going there randomly. In March I went there twice.
The first time I had plenty of time to get through security and remembered everything. A large group of Hasidim Jews joined me on the journey, at least 50 or more of them. While I sat there, watching movies of varying degrees of pass ability (The Invention of Lying was Ho-Hum, Where the Wild Things Are made me choke up in tears, and The Informant bored me and somewhat brought me down) the pilot advised the passengers to pray in their seats. Landing in Timisoara, I realized that the rain I left behind in New York followed me. Going halfway across the world couldn't save me from the gray dreariness.
Romania's main city has nothing on this one. For one thing, much of the architecture looks beautiful, maintained, clean, with very little to indicate that it had gone through the same Communist period that befell Bucharest. My guide advised me that the city had been built on a swamp long ago and the architecture was from the Hapsburg Empire. So much so that people called it "Little Vienna". A low rise city, it literally couldn't be torn down. Due to being built on a swamp, those gross communist blocks could not be replicated en mass like they were in Bucharest. Soil conditions generally did not permit buildings taller than 10 stories (without great expense of course). Thus, the architecture was saved by its environment.
Rain poured through every hole. I managed to get through to the center, where I saw the main square. The square looked beautiful, and reminded me somewhat of Krakow in Poland. You could see small wooden stands that sold various flowers and other not very necessary items. Absinthe is available there, like it is here. However, it is more fun to buy it in some seedy liquor store there. Over here, our liquor stores don't have that weird vibe, just one of depression and sin.
Snow showed up the next morning as I explored the country side. Even this looked better than Bucharest, though not as pretty as the central city. Random fields of pollution lay about, and I got to see a cart lead by a horse with car tires. Thankfully I did not take a full picture of the rider, since that sort of thing would be disrespectful. All these colors came about, that normally are off limits in our strictly regimented color scheme society. Glorious shades of orange, olives, pinks, turquoise and other unspeakable joys. Finally the sun came out and I went home, running through airports to make my necessary connections.
When I left to Timisoara the second time the weather was beautiful. I made the flight on the skin of my teeth, running around like some chicken with its head cut off. Barely made it before the boarding call. Didn't even get to read my book, Mason & Dixon, which has been floating around in my mind for so long.
No one interesting boarded the flight with me. Everyone seemed to be pretty content in their various worlds, and left me to my devices. Movies reappeared and I re-watched the actually good movie An Education with Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and the surprisingly intense movie Pope Joan, which had some wonderful fighting scenes. I attempted to watch New Moon, but just couldn't get through more than 2 minutes. Dreadful, dreadful movie probably used to torture inmates somewhere (please, just smash my toes with a hammer again! What's the point of this movies, the acting is terrible!)
Got there and the sun shone brightly on everything. This time everyone stood outside. I was given the worst yogurt I've ever had in my entire life and the worst traffic I've experienced in a while. Separate, neither would mean much. Together they made my life hell and I walked through the city with a gross feeling in my stomach. Dinner helped with that, as did the unreasonable amount of sparkling water. THX 1138 played on the TCM movie channel, as did the movie Dracula. I thought to myself "Why would a country promote this blood sucking jerk? Wouldn't they want to show a deeper, less well-known part of their culture, like the movie "Youth without Youth"? But nah, I guess foreigners were expecting vampires. Oh well.
Friday felt fantastic. I walked through a gross rat infested pollution park to get to a major roundabout. Walking through the grass, I noticed a part of someone's lower jawbone lying on the grass. Yes, please do not mess around here please, it seemed to say. Immediately upon seeing this, I changed the direction I was walking it.
Instead I found a beautiful, very low rise part of the city, mostly residential. Good thing that skull fragment showed me the way. And the sunlight helped illuminate everything. Finally I even found some decent sweets for once, which eluded me on my first visit.
The trip home consisted of me passing out and taking way too many trains.
The first time I had plenty of time to get through security and remembered everything. A large group of Hasidim Jews joined me on the journey, at least 50 or more of them. While I sat there, watching movies of varying degrees of pass ability (The Invention of Lying was Ho-Hum, Where the Wild Things Are made me choke up in tears, and The Informant bored me and somewhat brought me down) the pilot advised the passengers to pray in their seats. Landing in Timisoara, I realized that the rain I left behind in New York followed me. Going halfway across the world couldn't save me from the gray dreariness.
Romania's main city has nothing on this one. For one thing, much of the architecture looks beautiful, maintained, clean, with very little to indicate that it had gone through the same Communist period that befell Bucharest. My guide advised me that the city had been built on a swamp long ago and the architecture was from the Hapsburg Empire. So much so that people called it "Little Vienna". A low rise city, it literally couldn't be torn down. Due to being built on a swamp, those gross communist blocks could not be replicated en mass like they were in Bucharest. Soil conditions generally did not permit buildings taller than 10 stories (without great expense of course). Thus, the architecture was saved by its environment.
Rain poured through every hole. I managed to get through to the center, where I saw the main square. The square looked beautiful, and reminded me somewhat of Krakow in Poland. You could see small wooden stands that sold various flowers and other not very necessary items. Absinthe is available there, like it is here. However, it is more fun to buy it in some seedy liquor store there. Over here, our liquor stores don't have that weird vibe, just one of depression and sin.
Snow showed up the next morning as I explored the country side. Even this looked better than Bucharest, though not as pretty as the central city. Random fields of pollution lay about, and I got to see a cart lead by a horse with car tires. Thankfully I did not take a full picture of the rider, since that sort of thing would be disrespectful. All these colors came about, that normally are off limits in our strictly regimented color scheme society. Glorious shades of orange, olives, pinks, turquoise and other unspeakable joys. Finally the sun came out and I went home, running through airports to make my necessary connections.
When I left to Timisoara the second time the weather was beautiful. I made the flight on the skin of my teeth, running around like some chicken with its head cut off. Barely made it before the boarding call. Didn't even get to read my book, Mason & Dixon, which has been floating around in my mind for so long.
No one interesting boarded the flight with me. Everyone seemed to be pretty content in their various worlds, and left me to my devices. Movies reappeared and I re-watched the actually good movie An Education with Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and the surprisingly intense movie Pope Joan, which had some wonderful fighting scenes. I attempted to watch New Moon, but just couldn't get through more than 2 minutes. Dreadful, dreadful movie probably used to torture inmates somewhere (please, just smash my toes with a hammer again! What's the point of this movies, the acting is terrible!)
Got there and the sun shone brightly on everything. This time everyone stood outside. I was given the worst yogurt I've ever had in my entire life and the worst traffic I've experienced in a while. Separate, neither would mean much. Together they made my life hell and I walked through the city with a gross feeling in my stomach. Dinner helped with that, as did the unreasonable amount of sparkling water. THX 1138 played on the TCM movie channel, as did the movie Dracula. I thought to myself "Why would a country promote this blood sucking jerk? Wouldn't they want to show a deeper, less well-known part of their culture, like the movie "Youth without Youth"? But nah, I guess foreigners were expecting vampires. Oh well.
Friday felt fantastic. I walked through a gross rat infested pollution park to get to a major roundabout. Walking through the grass, I noticed a part of someone's lower jawbone lying on the grass. Yes, please do not mess around here please, it seemed to say. Immediately upon seeing this, I changed the direction I was walking it.
Instead I found a beautiful, very low rise part of the city, mostly residential. Good thing that skull fragment showed me the way. And the sunlight helped illuminate everything. Finally I even found some decent sweets for once, which eluded me on my first visit.
The trip home consisted of me passing out and taking way too many trains.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Bucharest
So it has been quite a while since I last traveled (over a year). Apparently people enjoy sending me to former Iron Curtain countries and seeing the results, whatever they may be. This one had a particularly short amount of "prepare" time, and I sort of ran to the airport.
Air France flew me over, and I was quite impressed with the service. Infinitely polite, even changing my seat for me without any sort of hassle, like I usually experience with other airlines. It certainly is a cold day in hell when people bend over backwards for me from any airline (excluding Singapore Airlines, still my all-time favorite).
Some of their movie selection did sort of reflect what airline I flew on. They had an inordinate amount of Woody Allen movies available, so that was quite nice. And even though I sat next to a young couple clearly still in love, they at least restrained themselves (Americans so rarely do that).
The transfer plane confirmed all I have come to believe about air travel. Whenever a flight comes out of US, going anywhere really, the airline usually makes less effort than they would for a flight going out to out (say, from Singapore to Malaysia, France to Malaysia, etc, etc). Flying from Paris to Bucharest confirmed this, when I got some extremely good food, especially for such a short flight. I even got spoken to in French, although my inability to answer sort of tipped them off.
Romania had such good, decent people making the best of years of under-investment, and prejudice from other European countries (The UK specifically has set quotas for how many Bulgarians and Romanians are allowed into the country, strict ones, quite different from anything they've done to other Eastern Bloc countries. Yes, there are some rather offensive advertisements against Polish workers in France, UK, and elsewhere in Europe, but the pervasive laws rather than attitude is noticeable).
Speaking to my driver, apparently after the fall of communism, when they violently overthrew their leader, the entire country's living standards fell down to third world standards for the 1990s. Unlike other former East Bloc countries, it was difficult to find any sort of nostalgic memories of the Communist regime, it was wiped clean of any traces, instead promoting some of the more folk customs. Although hearing the average Romanian speak about the Gypsies was somewhat painful for me, it felt like they were conjuring up images of Borat when they spoke of their "laziness, poverty, and poor business skills". Walking through the city, it was very obvious where the Gypsies lived.
The Gypsies lived in the most dilapidated part of an already run-down city. Former store fronts were boarded up, and you could see entire families squatting in the storefronts. They, like many other Romanians, stole electricity from the main grid. In fact, stealing electricity seemed to be pretty commonplace, excluding the few main avenues and boulevards the city possessed.
Bucharest felt less like a city, and more like villages which had just sort of extended indefinitely into the countryside. Never before have I felt so small in a city. Everything seemed to have been there forever, and the glory had faded off of these beautiful, Pre-Communist buildings. Though it did feel as if the country had begun to get considerably wealthier over the past few years, and that infrastructure improvement simply could not keep up with the demand. So you'd see shiny new cars next to the near-infinite amounts of Communist-Era built housing blocks.
In some ways, the area seemed to suffer from investment even more than Tajikistan. Unlike Tajikistan, which had heavy Soviet investment, Romania financed all of its own development and received little support from other members of the Eastern Bloc. Also, their industy had been kept antiquated, even by the low standards of the Iron Curtain. This, on top of the eccentric rule of their President, almost ensured their isolation from the rest of Europe. Plus, traveling on the Trolleys and Buses, I saw an unusual thing: the older members would bless themselves whenever they passed a church, something I never saw even in supposedly more religious Poland. Nor is this restricted to the older members in society, it seems as if there is something of an increased interest in religion over the past few years, according to someone I spoke with while out in the more quaint countryside.
Unfortunately, the food wouldn't be something I could recommend. Excluding some particularly good cheeses and various weird nuts, most of it felt like bland versions of better Eastern European dishes. The tourism was barely developed, and unfortunately focused on the cheesier aspects of Romanian culture, like Vlad the Impaler, rather than some of their philosophers or writers. Oh well, I guess that's unavoidable anywhere, but I was hoping for a stature or some mention of Tristan Tzara, a particular favorite Dadaist of mine.
People seemed somewhat strange there. Everyone was extraordinarly pleasant and very polite, yet always volunteered slightly more information than I would've liked. Its difficult to describe, it was like a way for them to appear warmer and friendlier by giving up information that would've been better to hide. I was implored many, many times to come back and stay even longer. Next time I might, but I sort of wish I knew a bit of Romanian, since I was completely unfamilar with it, and my German didn't even help me, like it usually can.
Finally, to top off perfect weather, nice people, and a wonderful hotel, I got upgraded to first class for no apparent reason on my direct flight back. Thank you Air France.
Air France flew me over, and I was quite impressed with the service. Infinitely polite, even changing my seat for me without any sort of hassle, like I usually experience with other airlines. It certainly is a cold day in hell when people bend over backwards for me from any airline (excluding Singapore Airlines, still my all-time favorite).
Some of their movie selection did sort of reflect what airline I flew on. They had an inordinate amount of Woody Allen movies available, so that was quite nice. And even though I sat next to a young couple clearly still in love, they at least restrained themselves (Americans so rarely do that).
The transfer plane confirmed all I have come to believe about air travel. Whenever a flight comes out of US, going anywhere really, the airline usually makes less effort than they would for a flight going out to out (say, from Singapore to Malaysia, France to Malaysia, etc, etc). Flying from Paris to Bucharest confirmed this, when I got some extremely good food, especially for such a short flight. I even got spoken to in French, although my inability to answer sort of tipped them off.
Romania had such good, decent people making the best of years of under-investment, and prejudice from other European countries (The UK specifically has set quotas for how many Bulgarians and Romanians are allowed into the country, strict ones, quite different from anything they've done to other Eastern Bloc countries. Yes, there are some rather offensive advertisements against Polish workers in France, UK, and elsewhere in Europe, but the pervasive laws rather than attitude is noticeable).
Speaking to my driver, apparently after the fall of communism, when they violently overthrew their leader, the entire country's living standards fell down to third world standards for the 1990s. Unlike other former East Bloc countries, it was difficult to find any sort of nostalgic memories of the Communist regime, it was wiped clean of any traces, instead promoting some of the more folk customs. Although hearing the average Romanian speak about the Gypsies was somewhat painful for me, it felt like they were conjuring up images of Borat when they spoke of their "laziness, poverty, and poor business skills". Walking through the city, it was very obvious where the Gypsies lived.
The Gypsies lived in the most dilapidated part of an already run-down city. Former store fronts were boarded up, and you could see entire families squatting in the storefronts. They, like many other Romanians, stole electricity from the main grid. In fact, stealing electricity seemed to be pretty commonplace, excluding the few main avenues and boulevards the city possessed.
Bucharest felt less like a city, and more like villages which had just sort of extended indefinitely into the countryside. Never before have I felt so small in a city. Everything seemed to have been there forever, and the glory had faded off of these beautiful, Pre-Communist buildings. Though it did feel as if the country had begun to get considerably wealthier over the past few years, and that infrastructure improvement simply could not keep up with the demand. So you'd see shiny new cars next to the near-infinite amounts of Communist-Era built housing blocks.
In some ways, the area seemed to suffer from investment even more than Tajikistan. Unlike Tajikistan, which had heavy Soviet investment, Romania financed all of its own development and received little support from other members of the Eastern Bloc. Also, their industy had been kept antiquated, even by the low standards of the Iron Curtain. This, on top of the eccentric rule of their President, almost ensured their isolation from the rest of Europe. Plus, traveling on the Trolleys and Buses, I saw an unusual thing: the older members would bless themselves whenever they passed a church, something I never saw even in supposedly more religious Poland. Nor is this restricted to the older members in society, it seems as if there is something of an increased interest in religion over the past few years, according to someone I spoke with while out in the more quaint countryside.
Unfortunately, the food wouldn't be something I could recommend. Excluding some particularly good cheeses and various weird nuts, most of it felt like bland versions of better Eastern European dishes. The tourism was barely developed, and unfortunately focused on the cheesier aspects of Romanian culture, like Vlad the Impaler, rather than some of their philosophers or writers. Oh well, I guess that's unavoidable anywhere, but I was hoping for a stature or some mention of Tristan Tzara, a particular favorite Dadaist of mine.
People seemed somewhat strange there. Everyone was extraordinarly pleasant and very polite, yet always volunteered slightly more information than I would've liked. Its difficult to describe, it was like a way for them to appear warmer and friendlier by giving up information that would've been better to hide. I was implored many, many times to come back and stay even longer. Next time I might, but I sort of wish I knew a bit of Romanian, since I was completely unfamilar with it, and my German didn't even help me, like it usually can.
Finally, to top off perfect weather, nice people, and a wonderful hotel, I got upgraded to first class for no apparent reason on my direct flight back. Thank you Air France.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Poland Day 1 & 2
Getting to Poland is quite easy. You get on a single flight to Warsaw, it arrives at your destination. Only problem I had was as soon as I arrived in Warsaw, I immediately got brought over to a small (I can't state the smallness enough) Cessina called "Seneca II" to bring me to Krakow. Apparently I wasn't good enough for the first Seneca, I had to settle for a more mediocre moon. Every wind gust forced the plane to dive about 5 feet or so. Usually I fly so smoothly, so this jarred me. Anything I experienced in my entire life, any song, TV show, piece of History, friend, came to mind as I tried not to freak out in this mere shell of a plane. Thankfully it lasted only an hour, and as the trip had a meaningful purpose, rather than being some pseudo-bohemian messing around Southeast Asia for no reason. That purpose did actually get fulfilled, so I'm glad that my suffering helped ease the suffering of another. Ying and Yang, I guess.
Poland felt wonderful. In only one other country have I been mistaken as a native resident (England), so every time I did anything people spoke to me in Polish first. My location lie in the center of town, I could basically wander wherever and never get lost. Whoever set up the city over the past several hundred years did an excellent job. Completely clean and comfortable weather, with so few of the communist traces that Tajikistan had in abundance. Also, the US dollar still wielded a small edge there, unlike almost everywhere else on Earth (though again, Tajikistan was much cheaper).
My favorite part of the beautiful location had to be everyone out at all hours. No one ever seemed to be inside at any time. So many cyclists flying around, I almost got hit about 8 times walking around the riverside. Never before did I feel so comfortable, excluding my complete inability to speak Polish. I could walk around in Manhattan for hours, no one would ever ask me for directions. Within a two hour period, about 4 different people did. Including the English.
Now normally, I love the English. However, Krakow must be their Cancun. The jackasses that abounded must have been deported there, that's how bad they acted. An example: "If that cunt ever got pregnant, I'd have to punch her in the twat" referring to his girlfriend. Very nice, jerk. The beer there also ran quite strong, and by about 1 or 2 I was quite cheerful. People still sat around the main square, which just spread out over an unreasonable amount of space. You know Union Square? Guess what, that's not a real square. Krakow's got a real square, go see for yourself. An enormous amount of history everywhere, and unfortunately I did not have enough time to explore it all. Even the castles within the city, I continually missed seeing them.
Thankfully I was close to several major universities, and seeing nuns with their habit threw me back a couple of decades. Krakow stayed modern, yet had some of these random throwbacks to a much, much earlier time. Hopefully next time I'll get to spend more time with it.
Poland felt wonderful. In only one other country have I been mistaken as a native resident (England), so every time I did anything people spoke to me in Polish first. My location lie in the center of town, I could basically wander wherever and never get lost. Whoever set up the city over the past several hundred years did an excellent job. Completely clean and comfortable weather, with so few of the communist traces that Tajikistan had in abundance. Also, the US dollar still wielded a small edge there, unlike almost everywhere else on Earth (though again, Tajikistan was much cheaper).
My favorite part of the beautiful location had to be everyone out at all hours. No one ever seemed to be inside at any time. So many cyclists flying around, I almost got hit about 8 times walking around the riverside. Never before did I feel so comfortable, excluding my complete inability to speak Polish. I could walk around in Manhattan for hours, no one would ever ask me for directions. Within a two hour period, about 4 different people did. Including the English.
Now normally, I love the English. However, Krakow must be their Cancun. The jackasses that abounded must have been deported there, that's how bad they acted. An example: "If that cunt ever got pregnant, I'd have to punch her in the twat" referring to his girlfriend. Very nice, jerk. The beer there also ran quite strong, and by about 1 or 2 I was quite cheerful. People still sat around the main square, which just spread out over an unreasonable amount of space. You know Union Square? Guess what, that's not a real square. Krakow's got a real square, go see for yourself. An enormous amount of history everywhere, and unfortunately I did not have enough time to explore it all. Even the castles within the city, I continually missed seeing them.
Thankfully I was close to several major universities, and seeing nuns with their habit threw me back a couple of decades. Krakow stayed modern, yet had some of these random throwbacks to a much, much earlier time. Hopefully next time I'll get to spend more time with it.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Tajikistan Day 4 & 5
Day 4 & 5
I woke up feeling very unpleasant. The day before I had been invited to a wedding, but I declined. Instead, I spent the day touring around the city by myself. The city itself isn't as bleak as you'd think. Rather, a collection of Russian architecture and infrastructure surrounded the place. The amount of investment put into the country by the Soviet empire made the people there not particularly resentful of the Russian presence, even now. Most of the Germans (from World War II) had left following the fall of the Empire, but if you drove out far enough you'd find them.
An abandoned amusement park stood not far from my hotel. After exploring the immediate area around where I was located, I went to it. People looked at me as if I was an abnormality, like a Russian waxing nostalgic over the loss of the territory. I needed to be outside, already I had begun sweating badly and losing my appetite.
In the park you saw a derelict ferris wheel, complete with its little booths lying all over the ground. Gaudy colors fading fast, and right near the park a family lived in the park's railroad car. Lenin stood above all of it, growing increasing irrelevant and looking less steady. I've heard in most Soviet republics they toppled those statues, or removed them. In Dushanbe they kept it around, like some sort of reminder. Their feelings weren't as angry as in the rest of the former territories. Most of the people these assumed I was Russian, and didn't see any fault with it. Everything there looked like it needed updating, but would continue to last, in its last breaths. The New Year Decorations (already bad they were out in the fall) were from several years ago. No one seemed to mind.
Finally my cabbie arrived and drove me to the airport. He made gestures that showed the food made him sick as well. Then he tried to gauge me for the ride, which I fought as best I could. Hard to do that when he's bigger than you and can simply fuck you over by dropping you off in the middle of nowhere at 3 am, to fend for yourself among all the feral dogs running around.
The airport consisted of the most bizarre collection of people ever. Among them were various overseas exchange students leaving the country for the first time, a Jamaican (?), spooks of Eastern European and American extraction, and, of course, armed soldiers. The soldiers remained shocked that I bought so little during my stay.
A German sitting next to me on the plane didn't find it unusual. She laughed when I said I went there on business. Some Aussies were on the plane too, again making me believe they are far over-represented around the world, and they make no sense. I spoke to her in German, she spoke to one of the overseas students in Russian, which he conviently spoke in addition to Tajik and broken English. Originally from Yugoslavia, she taught languages in Hamburg. Her favorite country was Burkina Faso, which she loved dearly. The colors, the amount of food they gave her, simply the raw feel of the place made her go wild. She'd been to most of the world on a pathetic salary, sort of having no responsibility whatsoever. In exchange, people were free to crash in her apartment.
That was the flight to Turkey. The flight from Turkey to New York ranks as one of the worst experiences in my entire life. A couple that could not have annoyed me more sat across from me, drinking too much and spooning, kissing, etc on the flight. Fucking annoying jackasses, they stood stay far away from me, in some unknown tacky suburb where they can brag to their friends how they went to Turkey that one time and stayed in a resort. Of course I do the same thing with my trips, but they tend to have a bit more style.
I woke up feeling very unpleasant. The day before I had been invited to a wedding, but I declined. Instead, I spent the day touring around the city by myself. The city itself isn't as bleak as you'd think. Rather, a collection of Russian architecture and infrastructure surrounded the place. The amount of investment put into the country by the Soviet empire made the people there not particularly resentful of the Russian presence, even now. Most of the Germans (from World War II) had left following the fall of the Empire, but if you drove out far enough you'd find them.
An abandoned amusement park stood not far from my hotel. After exploring the immediate area around where I was located, I went to it. People looked at me as if I was an abnormality, like a Russian waxing nostalgic over the loss of the territory. I needed to be outside, already I had begun sweating badly and losing my appetite.
In the park you saw a derelict ferris wheel, complete with its little booths lying all over the ground. Gaudy colors fading fast, and right near the park a family lived in the park's railroad car. Lenin stood above all of it, growing increasing irrelevant and looking less steady. I've heard in most Soviet republics they toppled those statues, or removed them. In Dushanbe they kept it around, like some sort of reminder. Their feelings weren't as angry as in the rest of the former territories. Most of the people these assumed I was Russian, and didn't see any fault with it. Everything there looked like it needed updating, but would continue to last, in its last breaths. The New Year Decorations (already bad they were out in the fall) were from several years ago. No one seemed to mind.
Finally my cabbie arrived and drove me to the airport. He made gestures that showed the food made him sick as well. Then he tried to gauge me for the ride, which I fought as best I could. Hard to do that when he's bigger than you and can simply fuck you over by dropping you off in the middle of nowhere at 3 am, to fend for yourself among all the feral dogs running around.
The airport consisted of the most bizarre collection of people ever. Among them were various overseas exchange students leaving the country for the first time, a Jamaican (?), spooks of Eastern European and American extraction, and, of course, armed soldiers. The soldiers remained shocked that I bought so little during my stay.
A German sitting next to me on the plane didn't find it unusual. She laughed when I said I went there on business. Some Aussies were on the plane too, again making me believe they are far over-represented around the world, and they make no sense. I spoke to her in German, she spoke to one of the overseas students in Russian, which he conviently spoke in addition to Tajik and broken English. Originally from Yugoslavia, she taught languages in Hamburg. Her favorite country was Burkina Faso, which she loved dearly. The colors, the amount of food they gave her, simply the raw feel of the place made her go wild. She'd been to most of the world on a pathetic salary, sort of having no responsibility whatsoever. In exchange, people were free to crash in her apartment.
That was the flight to Turkey. The flight from Turkey to New York ranks as one of the worst experiences in my entire life. A couple that could not have annoyed me more sat across from me, drinking too much and spooning, kissing, etc on the flight. Fucking annoying jackasses, they stood stay far away from me, in some unknown tacky suburb where they can brag to their friends how they went to Turkey that one time and stayed in a resort. Of course I do the same thing with my trips, but they tend to have a bit more style.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Tajikistan Day 3
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.
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, 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.
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