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!
~ 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.
