VIGNETTES FROM CENTRAL ASIA -Irina

Walking -rain, snow or shine- is what Irina does, it's her routine. Those who don't know her, don't understand her practice, and may think her mentally unstable or that she's simply a homeless beggar; except for Natasha, the young deaf woman who works for us here, in Tashkent, Uzbekistan.


Natasha has come to us curtsy of her brother Dimitry -who in the early days used to drive me to work. Because Dimitry speaks fairly good English and my Russian is not, he does all the talking and interpreting for his sister the rainy eve he introduced us to her. Natasha was only seventeen when we hired her on a trial basis ‘for a month and then we will see’ we told Dimitry. Within two days I realized my young worker was deaf -she would not respond if I addressed her when she wasn't facing me, or if she didn't see me speak or if I talked to her when she was doing dishes and looking out the window at the wintry scene outside. 
even though she thought i'd be upset and would fire her -I didn't.
We began to communicate by signing or by writing on a pad (my Russian Cyrillic writing!) if I need something special or if I need her to go to the bazaar for the day’s purchases.
Natasha arrives quietly by 7 in the morning and leaves by 6 pm, after we get home from work. She's strong and thin. Natasha has -in no time- become indispensable keeping our large two-storied house impeccable -inside and out- mending and ironing clothes, cleaning corners, lamp shades and baseboards regularly. Shopping for food and sometimes even preparing dinner for us, we feel as if we have won a prize in the lottery of housekeepers! She's young so I give her my daughters' older (but nice) clothes and stuffed animals that who knows why I packed and brought here! 

Last spring she even worked the little gardening plot we have by the side of the house. And all this without my requesting it. For the Christmas holidays I gave her a nice warm coat, sweaters for her siblings and a gift of money. Her joy was so contagious! I've never seen her smile so broadly.
What will I do without her when we eventually leave this country, I wonder. I will search for a good employer for her, for sure.

Returning to Irina, the initial character in this story, she's seen walking our neighborhood and beyond, regardless of weather conditions, icy winds, rain or snow. People see her in the early hours before dawn carrying a large bag over her left shoulder, bent double against high winds or thundery storms. She's also been seen treading alongside the nearby Chirchik River which more often than not, rises above its banks in bad weather. The surprising fact is that Irina wears a pair of thin black sandals, no matter the season, her feet must be hardened from years of ambling about the area.


Early one morning, I came downstairs for a glass of water from our distiller, when through the kitchen window, I saw Natasha in deep sign language conversation with the bent-over Irina. I had seen Irina during her walks, on occasions when we had a very early flight to catch out of Tashkent, but I had not given much thought to her bent image, the large bag on her back or the threadbare sandals. Seeing the two out the window prompted me to ask Natasha once she came in the house, about this strange woman, seemingly older, whom I'd seen in the past. In sign- language and her guttural sounds along with my expanding understanding of Russian, I began to comprehend that Irina has been a widow for four years and has six children to support –she's thankful that two of them are old enough to keep jobs, but four are under the age of twelve.


Irina combs the trash bins of bazaars, bakeries and shops -every night- for goods thrown out or unacceptable for sale for whatever reason. She usually gathers items that allow her family to survive day to day, maybe finding stale lipioshki (flat breads), bruised fruit or partially wilted vegetables. She is always able to find kartoshkas (potatoes) and (morkovs) carrots, sometimes cabbage (kapusta) either not sold or overlooked by sellers or simply because everyone knows of Irina’s nightly outings. She also keeps a part-time job cleaning her building's landings and stairwells.

A detail my good housekeeper forgot to mention and I didn't know until a few weeks ago is that Irina is Natasha's and Dimitry’s mother as well.

VIGNETTES FROM CENTRAL ASIA -Miss Lyuba

Miss Lyuba can be found at the corner of Leonid Sovinof and Buyun Turun streets. She spends her time crocheting colorful and tiny flowers out of raffia and yarn which she dyes herself. She also sells cigarettes by the unit to anyone who needs a quick smoke, usually young high school and university youth. She lays her wares out on a square piece of cloth -which she unfolds from her big satchel- and stretches out on the sidewalk. Cigarretes and yarn-y  blooms are on display.  She never anchors them with anything to stop them from flying out with the wind gusts. Winter is coming soon and with it dusty, gray freezing rain and sleet. What will she do by then?
I've been watching Miss Lyuba for a few days from a nearby park bench here in Almaty, Kazakhstan. She caught my attention because she so reminds me of my late grandmother!...her beautiful and remarkably wrinkled face, her silvery hair and vivacious gray eyes.
Every other day, she places flowers on windshields, on coffee-shop tables, or on people's hands when they are not looking. She doesn't ask for any money but people always give her some.
Miss Lyuba like many other very elderly women in this former Soviet republic, have lost everything after the collapse of the Soviet Union. The restructuring of the country's social security system is too costly and not very sustainable. High unemployment, an aging population and out of control inflation are all factors in the break-up of the pension system in the post-Soviet 1990’s.
Average pensions barely cover necessities making it essential for the elderly to continue working as they are no longer receiving stipends for food and medicine.
When I put the equivalent of twenty dollars in Lyuba’s hand, her eyes began to water. She only whispered ‘spaciba’, ‘pashalsta’ I replied, squeezing her hand –full knowing that the amount would help her in the month to come. What else can I do to alleviate these people's suffering?
ESW@11/'96
                                                                                                                   *****

VIGNETTES FROM CENTRAL ASIA -Rasputin

Rasputin is as black as night. He looks at the world with solemn indifference from the lofty rooftop of an old lipioshka van whose paint job is a witness and victim of time. Belonging to no one, Rasputin lives on people's charity. I'm sure he loves the wafting smells of  fresh baking lipioshka and other pastries issuing from the confines of the bake shop because I see his small body swaying in delight when the bread is placed on the trays to be delivered to some neighborhood patrons. Once the van’s engine revs up and his favorite drives away, he swiftly finds a sunny area atop the bakery’s entrance steps from where he commands the best view of the street: children playing ball and all the housewives carrying their bags or small shopping wheeled carts, on their way to get their daily produce, meats, and groceries at the nearby souk.

When stray dogs bark Rasputin arches his back and hisses, his face distorting ungracefully.
I usually talk to him in English even though he is an Uzbek feline and may not understand me; lately though, when I come to get my  daily lipioshkas I've brought him some dry cat food. If I'm not in a hurry I bring him some rice milk in a jar  –which he loves-  and pour it in the tin container someone has placed nearby at the top of the steps. As my Russian improves, I'm able to say a few things to him as I scratch his head. He moves it slowly from left to right and then closes his eyes, yawning in bliss. I think he’s beginning to like me. esw'97

VIGNETTES FROM CENTRAL ASIA First Few Weeks in Uzbekistan - Continued...The Chorsu Bazaar

I know that in bygone days the Uzbek bazaars were not only prosperous centers for trade along the Silk Road, but also places where official town criers and court announcers paced the streets bringing public decrees from governors and rulers. These prosperous market places provided sheltered security for commercial dealings as well as a heaven for lovers of water-pipe smoking and for lovers of tea. The latter being served in the many successful chaikhanas spread out throughout the bazaar.  Fairs and celebrations were also held in these markets; felons were publicly judged and punished or pardoned accordingly -within the squared area directly in front of the bazaar.

Today the chaikhanas remain, and the produce farmers have moved in along with the dairy farmers, butchers, bakers and grocers; the nut producers and the herbalists; the antique dealers and such. They’ve all set up shop within the arcaded confines of the Uzbek bazaars.

Uzbekistan is a legendary country and to me as far from the familiar as one can get -a rare gem, arresting and enigmatic. Life here is old and deeply rooted in tradition. I see it in the head gear people wear on the streets, the colorful robes that cloak men on their way to the mosque…the striking, Uzbek produced, vibrant silks.

The Chorsu Bazaar seems mostly Uzbek while at Alayski I saw more Russians. Chorsu appears mono ethnic in comparison and more colorful in dress and sound levels, if that is possible. In Persian, Chorsu means Crossroads.

Life looks to be in full swing as we arrive early on a Wednesday morning; the Chorsu metro stop has an exit conveniently located within one of the busy streets of the bazaar. It is so crowded, it’s a bit daunting; I strap my shoulder bag around my head and under my arm tightly. Nobody ever said there are pickpockets here, but I guess, it’s instinctive for me. This market seems much larger than Alayiski, maybe there's a greater variety of goods; clothes, shoes, traditional costumes and lots of Chinese-made clothing. Literally, there are hundreds of mini stalls along the alleyways and much more stuff on the ground, occupying sidewalks in the open.

There’s a lot of bargaining going on and it’s quite interesting to watch, and it’s done with a smile.

Originally an open air market place, Through centuries Chorsu had alleyways covered with merchandise from all parts of the Silk Road. By the 1950’s all that confusion was moved away to make room for the blue and turquoise mosaic domed buildings designed by master Soviet architects to give the area a more ordered less ethnic look during the U.S.S.R. period. Business is now partly conducted under the shadow of those most impressive blue domes but somehow, after the breakup of the Soviet Union and Uzbekistan's independence, the market is again brimming beyond its boundaries as it may have been during its periods of trade when the Silk Road camel caravans stopped over in Tashkent, their goods spilling from wool and goat hair kilim bags.

This bazaar contains bakery shops with baking tandor ovens in plain view -an bread-making education in itself. There are also some butchers selling horse meat -a true delicacy in this part of the world- slightly sweet, tender and low in fat, I am told.

Housed under another beautiful blue dome at Chorsu, are the carpet and souvenir shops, some restaurants, chaikhanas and all kinds of imaginable household plastic ware.

I can say that I liked both bazaars equally: Alayski is closer to my house and we can drive there on weekends for the weeks produce. Chorsu has a more Asian like -sophisticated beat to it and is a nice place to bring guests who visit the area and maybe for a yearly jaunt to look at carpets.

I'm definitely taken by these age-old market places.

VIGNETTES FROM CENTRAL ASIA: First few weeks in Uzbekistan

As days creep on, our personal belongings begin to arrive in Uzbekistan; our bigger house is ready and a new routine is setting in with our books and familiar belongings.

After a little time organizing the house I’m more attuned to accepting this new culture that surrounds me; I begin to feel life in Central Asia as my own as I look forward to my youngest children arriving for the holidays.

Making friends has made all the difference in my world and daring to drive in this new country gives me independence to explore on my own or with others even though international driving rules are neither enforced nor observed.

My rule here is: get in the car and pray -be aware of every car on the road and what it may do. A stop sign may not mean people will actually stop –however, they do stop for red traffic lights - really, it’s not bad once I get a handle on it. If one knows what to expect, all’s fine. It just takes a bit of practice.

I’m learning much in my first few weeks in Uzbekistan by using Tashkent's wonderful Rapid Transit System, a truly remarkable underground museum where people can appreciate the intricate tilework on the arched walls showcasing beautiful art-deco lighting fixtures.

Structurally sound and ingenious, each metro station is an original work of art reflecting its given name and designed by prominent Uzbek architects and artists. It is saner than driving if there’s a nearby stop wherever one’s going.

My first two outings with new friends on the metro were to the Alayski and the Chorsu bazaars because they told me I needed a traditional oriental experience. I said I’d been to Alayski already but hadn’t seen all of it. Anyway, both markets are ages old, diverse and super crowded.

These two bazaars are the most unique so I wanted to learn about them first (there are also other big ones and many small neighborhood ones). Ancient bazaars are the best place to experience Central Asian culture; its sounds, smells and life in general.

In spite of the stares we received from several Uzbek boys, I need to take a minute to place my mind on what Cathie is telling me -the fact that Alaisky is one of the oldest in Tashkent-  budding around the 13^th century (!) as a place of trade along the Silk Route. The actual market developed naturally as farmers began to bring their produce in the spring and summer months. It became very popular among the locals from the old town and also the regional areas created during Russia's colonial period and later among the USSR’s mock geographical divisions of Tashkent. It’s been standing here as a true bazaar for 150 years.

The area is partly covered under tiled pavilions and partly in the open; the day is pleasantly warm with deep blue skies and radiant sunshine; the market is brimming with herbs, fruit and melons of all kinds, grapes, pomegranates as well as vegetables, spices, dried fruits and a variety of nuts. Trying to communicate over the vendors’ loud voices is impossible, so we march on looking at this and that.

We also made our way upstairs –it’s a large area- where there are souvenirs, colorful fabrics and the dairy part of the bazaar where there’s honey in bats, milk and cream, sour cream and many varieties of cheese –all unpasteurized, however. Cathie tells me that if the milk is used within two days it’s fine. Or sour cream if you plan to use it in tonight’s dinner. There are no packaged dairy products except for butter and that’s in the bigger supermarkets with many empty shelfs. Most dairy items are frozen because they come from other countries, generally for the convenience of expatriates who can afford to buy them.

 Continues...Chorsu bazaar in the next blog.

VIGNETTES FROM CENTRAL ASIA: Off to Uzbekistan

During our first few weeks in Tashkent, Uzbekistan, we have been assigned a temporary house in a thoroughly Uzbek neighborhood. There’s even a mosque at the end of the block. In this our second weekend, we are shown how to bazaar shop –and how it works-  also the route to follow from the house; last weekend we were able to drive a company car which was helpful at making us feel a bit more ‘at home’ and gave us some independence. Today’s first experience at the bazaar was exotic, almost mythical  -not unlike the Tangier Kasbah- except here there were no foreign tourists, no copper items or ceramic ware for sale; nonetheless, it was deafening with bargaining, haggling, carts making their way along the cobbled stones;  we ended up buying fruit, vegetables some spices , at ‘home’ we only have salt, pepper and olive oil,  items our sponsors bought for us before our arrival (plus some paper products from the company's commissary) -it will be some time before we acquire a pantry and a rack full of spices- that’s what I always miss the most, it always takes time. Our consumables won’t arrive for a month. So far we’ve been eating dinners that our sponsors and other company people have sent for us as we try to settle in and learn the ropes of life in Uzbekistan.

The first weekdays I stayed ‘home’ feeling miserable and homesick. But Thursday and Friday I went to work with my husband, spending the day in his office, typing papers and also writing to my children, my sister and my parents. Our new cell phone is very expensive for use on overseas non-emergency calling.

I need to find a job soonest!

Central Asia is new to me, quite dissimilar from other places I’d been to before; I feel I need to tell someone about it, write all I am witnessing, the colors, the scent of the fruit trees lining the sidewalks; the street potholes; the different food, the absolute lack of attractive retail businesses in the downtown areas, the massive gray Soviet style monuments; the lack of restaurants or fast food.

On arrival in Uzbekistan, we experience a completely authoritarian attitude and pointless bureaucracy coming from customs officers scrutinizing passengers’ passports at Islam Karimov Tashkent International Airport, even at three in the morning! We came on a long haul Lufthansa flight from Washington DC to Tashkent via Vienna and Frankfurt. We are told that the Arrivals Terminal ‘routine’ always involves a lengthy process. When we finally get to our temporary ‘home’ it’s almost daybreak.  

A slight smell of cow dung dangles in the air as the colors of dawn materialize in the horizon. It’s November 10.

At my husband's office everyone is welcoming; Russians and Uzbeks working here are all smiles, a rare commodity at the airport, they are all English speaking, of course; friendly and inviting. The two days I’m here this first week they share their lunches with me and are curious to learn about us and what our first impressions of their country have been.

The Russians at the office and the ones on the street wear western attire but the Uzbeks I see walking by our house in the districts and outskirts of Tashkent are exotically attired; with a wealth of gold teeth and the tyubeteyka hats in traditional shapes, richly textured fabrics and colors. Iconic to this Central Asian nation, tyubeteykas form part of the vibrant Uzbek national costumes used in celebrations and holidays. Another ubiquitous headdress that has caught my fancy is the black skull cap called Chust -routinely worn by men- with distinctive embroidery of white arches along their border. Others call them Taqiyah or Uzbek kufi hats.

After culture shock disappears, I think I’m gonna like it here.

VIGNETTES FROM CENTRAL ASIA -Uzbekistan, my first year

After the Tsarist Russians and later the Bolsheviks occupied the Central Asian lands, a system was designed to make boundaries according to ethnic identities thus creating the different Central Asian Republics.

It’s not easy to live and travel by car within Uzbekistan or the other ex-Soviet republics, even in the 21st century. Persistent food shortages, lack of basic sanitary systems, safe drinking water, and undeveloped medical services confine it to a third world status, and that, may even be a high ranking.

The discrepancy between urban and rural areas is abysmal. There are small villages dispersed through the high mountain areas where life is more than austere.  Mud huts with subsistence farming next to tiny bodies of water bring the only relief. However, I have never met friendlier people in spite of their meager situation.

George and I took an intensive Russian language course in Washington, DC before our departure. It helped somewhat, but not completely, although we were able to communicate in bazaars and street situations.

Life in a remote and unknown place such as Tashkent is hard at first, especially when the host country’s culture is so dissimilar to one’s own. A long period of ‘culture shock’ is quite common and expected; it vanishes within the first three months as new understanding for the new country sets in and most importantly, friendships develop.

I love so many things about Uzbekistan! The simplicity of their housing – with long benches flanking the front door: a meeting spot for the exchange of friendly gossip; the olden Alayski Bazaar where everything is found: from basic foods to shoes to toilet tissue; and the Farchatski Market near the Tashkent metro station (old Chilanzar) where peculiarly, only melons are sold,  but, oh! such melons! – all kinds, sizes and degrees of sweetness -- some melons species I had never even seen before.

This summer I learned to can vegetables, fruit and also to make Mexican picante sauce from scratch!  Central Asian hospitality complements our life here; in the residential areas the air is always filled with the sound of exotic instruments, and the perfume of fragrant flowers; on warm summer eves women’s colorful silk attire flash in the airy night lights; the men, most sporting their black and white taqiyah or Uzbek kufi -a sort of small cap that sits atop the head, a kind of square Yamulke- sitting on exquisite carpets as they discuss the day’s affairs, many smoking hand-rolled cigarretes; children running here and there, caring for the younger ones as their mothers, spoon and ladle in hand, chatter among themselves while preparing a great copper vessel replete with ‘plov’, a savory saffron rice pilaff with fatty mutton, and several spices...it's amazing to me that these people’s age-old habits have not shifted much in the past few centuries. Scenes like this are often seen in park picnics or as twilight falls in our own neighborhood where we are included as if we were old friends. 

Another favorite spot of mine is the 'chaikhana' or tea house, a special meeting place for community friends where the Uzbeks' classic lifestyle and traditional legacy are always on display. A men-only gathering place until recently, the tea houses serve now an increasing number of younger women and foreigners like me. Chaikhanas are a great place to meet friends for a chat and a cup of chai. Some sweets are also available and some Uzbek specialties such as laghman (a noodle soup), shashliks (skewered lamb pieces) and yes, plov!

The drinking of tea in such a traditional place fills me with respect for the ages-old convention of sharing and friendship. An extraordinary Central Asian tradition serving the best hot green chai I have ever tasted, especially welcome on a wintry, snowy day but also perfect on hot summer days when it's needed for digestive support following a greasy meal. 

 ~ A starry night, plov, tea, family and good communal friends ~ I will carry that inside me as well as the colors of the alpine valleys; the lakes hidden within the Tien Shien cordillera; the purity of the bluest of skies. The magnificently ancient tiled buildings!

Closing my eyes I can invoke the past echoes of the trading caravans trudging along the Silk Road -overflowing with the richest of silks, gems and coveted items- approaching their Tashkent stop, pausing possibly for a drink of water or perchance looking for refuge for the night, after having crossed the 14 thousand foot Torugat Pass.

 When I leave Uzbekistan I will dearly miss my loving and raucous Russian friends, and the Uzbeks in all their splendor and respectful kindness.

VIGNETTES FROM CENTRAL ASIA -Shopping in Tashkent

Consumables in Tashkent are generally in short supply and people eat whatever is fresh and in season. Spinach is only available in spring and early summer, tomatoes are rare in cold winter months so I make great winter salads by grating radishes and carrots with a light vinaigrette dressing. Living in Uzbekistan is like going back in time to a place where foods are never frozen and chickens and other animals are freshly slaughtered and sold from hooks in open air bazaars.

For anyone knowing the joys of a summer harvest, Uzbekistan -- known as the ‘bread basket’ of the former Soviet Union -- harvests it all: the sweetest melons and grapes plus the very best mountain berries; the most luscious tomatoes, peaches, nectarines, persimmons and plums.  The spring air in Tashkent is fresh and clean, drenched with the aroma of flowering fruit trees, herbs and hay eaten by barn animals who live in neighborhood barns. Our morning wake-up calls come from roosters but also from a donkey housed in a nearby shed.
Living here has raised my consciousness and awareness to different levels.  People have to manage and survive with the supplies acquired through resourceful thinking. It comes automatically to them. I am learning. Many times primary items such as milk, sugar and protein are hard to come by. In my necessary inventiveness, I've learned how to prepare things like salsa, catsup and hummus from scratch. I discovered how to pickle small cucumbers, olives and onions. We've learned to incorporate dried fruits and nuts, lavishly available at the bazaars. I became creative with canned beans and canned spinach we had brought from the U.S.

For us, this is a new take on life. Convenience foods are non-existent here and sometimes the two big supermarkets run out of the few things they do carry and it may take weeks to get new supplies -usually from Turkey or Germany as both those countries' airlines have daily or weekly flights into Tashkent.
We are lucky that our embassy has a small commissary bringing some consumables twice a month. We can always get chocolate chips, canned soups and tuna fish and certainly canned tomatoes, and some paper products.

I have found that it's important to take a shopping bag in my purse because in my daily walks or drives I may see an item I may need in the future, and I know to buy it NOW as it may not be there tomorrow. It will NOT be there tomorrow.
We've learned to live in the present because we cannot pop over to Walmart or Safeway for readily available items, we have to rely on our own inventiveness to acquire food and other products whenever we can find them -the thing is we never know when that'll be!

Farmers however, stock bazaars with potatoes, cabbages and onions in the wintertime. Honey, cheeses and yogurts are brought in daily by sturdy farming Uzbek babushkas; all that is always available, although it's not pasteurized. We started by trying the offered samples and buying small amounts, if after a day or two we don't get sick, we'll keep coming back to the same seller again and again.
In a way, I love this simplicity of doing things. It certainly is a challenge!