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.
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