Just Some Musings

So after a month in Tajikistan, I figured it might be a good idea to try to compile my thoughts and just make a note of some things I’ve noticed thus far. People have been asking me questions intermittently, and this might also be a good time to address some of those. As a note, I have no intentions of making this a regular thing, I personally hate these “personal reflection after a trip”-type things, but with a month in a country so different than my homeland, it just might be necessary…

I’ll start this paragraph with a statement I’ve repeated several times, but that people really don’t seem to get: Tajikistan is a safe country, and if you’re not stupid, or have any sense of cultural awareness, this place is beautiful. Now I understand, if you’re not focusing on Central Asia (i.e. if you’re not one of the handful of people like myself who are basically diseased with a focus on something so marginal and generally pretty useless to the greater public), you probably know very little about Tajikistan. Also, I understand that it’s not in the friendliest corner of the world. But that’s like saying America is dangerous because it’s next to cartel-riddled Mexico and general disaster area Haiti. The facts are, after a month here, the most threatened I’ve ever felt was in a dirt road on the side of a mountain, because it was a goddamn dirt road on the side of a goddamn mountain. Aside from that, I’ve felt safer in most parts of this country that I would, for instance, in parts of DC or Buffalo (or most other cities in the US). That’s not to say that there aren’t dangers naturally, but again, being smart/culturally sensitive usually helps in not making situation bad, or worse as the case may be.

Now that that’s over, that’s not to say there aren’t problems. I admit that the motto of “it’s not better or worse, just different” doesn’t apply to bathrooms in this (or any developing) country, and the fact I know about 4 words of Russian is a bit of a setback when going out usually requires some basic knowledge of Russian. And I've already had one mental breakdown, and we're only a month in. But these problems are mere stumbling blocks, and have hardly been anything serious enough to turn me away from the country (and mental breakdowns are fun when you have to explain it in Persian). And in regards to food, the thing that was supposed to cause the most problems, the biggest issue thus far has been the fact that I’m continually eating the same thing. In a country where food shortages are a serious issue, however, it’s not something worth complaining or getting worked up over.

In an effort to try to save myself having to write this update, I’ll mention one final thought that I’ve tried to express people that have asked in the simplest and most direct way I can: This place feels like home. This place feels like, for various reasons, like I’m back in Kenmore (for you Western New Yorkers) or relaxing in Thurston (for you DCers). Is it the best place in the world? Absolutely not. Is anyplace perfect? Again, hell no. But this is somewhere where, on any given day, I can go to class, argue something as complex as Iranian politics or as simple as where to buy pork at the bazaar, can leave class, walk down the street to said market, buy a half kilo of pistachios and something to drink, sit in the park and people watch, chat up some random curious Tajik(s), go home, play with the kids, do some homework, enjoy a family dinner, go to bed, and wake and do something completely different. Run-on sentences aside, that’s really all anyone can want from life, the ability to find happiness and joy in whatever forms it may take. And in Tajikistan, fun is where you make it.

I could probably write more, but I’m not really feeling it at the moment. I’ll be glad to answer any questions (as always), and since I’m not planning on going anywhere this weekend, next update will probably be about something I’ve been debating whether to write about, but now feel that the powers that be aren’t anywhere near adequate enough to stop me from doing so.

As always: Tashakkur and khudo hafez.

Over the Mountain and Through the Tunnel of Death: A Weekend in Sughd

“Istaravshan, now they’re a bit more conservative. But Khujand. Khujand is like the Soviet Union all over again. Anything goes…”-Khorshed, program guide in Dushanbe

So got back from a lovely (and certainly interesting) weekend spent out of the capital I’ve been calling home for the last (near) month and headed north to visit Tajikistan’s historic Sughd Province, and in particular, the cities of Khujand and Istaravshan.

Now this part needs to be said, because while it was happening, I genuinely contemplated how exactly I was going to phrase this. But I swear on whatever God(s) kept me from tumbling to my death on the 5+ hour trek north, that the road from Dushanbe to Sughd (and there is only road) is the single most terrifying experience of my life. Let me describe it this way. Picture in your mind an unpaved road. Now picture mountains. Now picture the two combined together in a country where, once you leave the major roads, the “correct” side of the street is wherever you damn well want it to be. Oh, and just for kicks, put in a tunnel with virtually no lighting, no ventilation, no lanes, no pavement, construction, and potholes that form small lakes so car-damaging the thing is actually nicknamed “The Tunnel of Death”.

The above is, in the most censored way I can imagine, an accurate description of the road to Sughd. I hope it gives you nightmares, because I still have flashbacks.

Onto Istaravshan. This city (or maybe it’s closer to a town) is famous for two things, being the birthplace of Roxana, wife of a guy you may know as Alexander the Great, and the fact its people have been called the “Jews of Central Asia” because…well, they’re good at selling things. Not so sure about the last part, but the city was definitely home to some history. Our major stopover in Istaravshan was to visit a particular blacksmith who, in addition to being a teeny bit insane, also drew as an inspiration for his work the tales contained in the Shahnameh, or Iran’s national epic. Now if the names Rustam, Zahhak, Kaveh, and 

Afrasiyab mean nothing to you, get yourself educated, because this guy has done his best (and won awards) for recreating such beauties as the sword of Rustam (William Wallace, eat your heart out), a cane in the image of the “Simorgh”, and a “Zahhak” dagger that ended up sparking an…interesting political debate about who the “Zahhak” was in modern Tajikistan (after all, we had our “Kaveh” right here, and our Tajiki professor Faridun was with us as well..). The guy might’ve gotten a little esoteric for my Farsi comprehensive abilities, but he had some fine work, and if he keeps the people of Tajikistan in touch with their cultural roots, more power to him.

Khujand was, and I say this without a hint of doubt, my favorite place thus far in Tajikistan. As the quote from Khorshed was to prove, Khujand at least appeared both more multicultural, and more liberal than even Dushanbe itself. The streets were an eclectic mix of not only Tajiks and Russians (usual fare), but Uzbeks, Kyrgyz, Germans, and Chinese. The monuments to the greatness of Khujand’s past (which, unlike Dushanbe, stretches back several thousand years) are prominent, but don’t look quite like Dushanbe and appear to have some semblance of modesty (ignoring their size, of course). In Khujand, I learned/experienced many firsts in Tajikistan, including:

•  A proper Tajik family meal (as my family is made up of fairly conservative Muslims, I wasn’t quite ready for the Russian-style vodka toasts…all 5 of them)
•  Turns out Tajikistan’s national alcohol should be cognac, and for only 10 somoni (about $2), you can get a bottle of the second best cognac in the former Soviet Union

And in case you thought I was just getting drunk…

•    Lay’s ™ flavors in Tajikistan include caviar, crab, shashlik (in theory, like a shish kebab, in practice, like barbeque sauce), and spring onion
• Khujandis may be some of the friendliest people I’ve ever met, quite frequently getting stopped on the street with a simple “Salom, shumo chi khel? Shumo az koja hastid?” (Hey, how are you? Where are you from?) Expats don’t seem to be as big a thing there…
•  Tajik weddings are spectacular affairs, the sounding of horns at 8 AM when the wedding party leaves the hotel…not so much
•  Khujand has a lot of relics of its Soviet past, including a disturbing fascination with Stalin, Central Asia’s biggest Lenin statue, and some impressive monuments to WWII
•  Flying back to Dushanbe=significantly safer than driving to Khujand

(EDIT)

• Apparently, I can somehow slog my way through a discussion about football/soccer with a Great Patriotic War vet...in Tajiki
• People take poetry seriously here
• "Shaparak": That's capitalism 1, communism 0

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Following several questions/concerns I’ve received, I will try to update again this week with some general observations about life in Tajikistan I’ve wanted to get out in the open. Also, for those who have asked, I cannot, with Tajik-strength Internet, upload photos onto the blog. When I leave the country for my winter break, I may just have a few posts entirely of pictures (for anyone who can’t/is too lazy to check Facebook).

Until next time: Tashakkur and khudo hofez.

Varzob and Ruz-e Isteqlal

           This past weekend marked the first time that our group of three has really left the safety (and as I learned the prosperity) of the capital Dushanbe for the countryside. And I have to say that, in more than one way, it was certainly an eye-opener. Our group was destined for Varzob, a district neighboring Dushanbe that, among other things, is known for its scenic vistas, and generally a place for resident Tajiks to go and relax.

            

            Under the guide (and marvelous driving skills) of our resident Tajik professor Faridun, we reached our destination, a Tajik version of a picnic ground, complete with service providing chai, melon, and food to anyone who happened to stop-by. Our group settled in for a lovely lunch of shurbo (also known as shurpo, a hearty lamb soup) and kofta kebab. After sitting around eating, drinking, and napping, we finally decided to try our luck at traversing the hills surrounding the picnic spot.

Now for this next section, I was tempted to title it “Varzob: Or How I Was Too Busy Trying Not to Step in Cow Shit to Take Lots of Pictures.” But that just seems a bit crass. In any case, due to the fact that farmers (maybe?) from up the hill have cows which need to graze, the path up the hill is heavily traversed (and thus shat upon) by cows, of which we saw about half a dozen lazing about in the noonday sun. And this is where a lot of the more beautiful pictures from Tajikistan have come from thus far. While these were mere hills compared to the Fanns to the north, or the mighty Pamirs to the east, the scenery was simply breathtaking. It also helped that we found a small waterfall with water both cold enough to relieve the heat, and clean enough to quench our thirst, a good distance up.

Unfortunately, even Varzob had a dark side. In my earlier post, I’d stated that calling this place a “cold Africa” was an apt analogy. However, as I’d learned, the level of sheer “I don’t know who the hell planned this” once we left the capital was astonishing. Entire blocs of what used to be houses in complete disarray. Houses left unfinished. Random mansions that were both beautiful, yet disturbing next to the lean-tos and shanties along the side of the road. It helped to put things into perspective as to where exactly I am, and what exactly is (or isn’t) going on in this country.

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            The following day was “Ruz-e Isteqlal”, or Tajikistan’s Independence Day. And compared to the average Fourth of July, even in the capital it was a rather subdued affair. While my program mates and I searched for a seemingly non-existent concert that we’d been told of, we ended up enjoying some cold beers and some shashlik (kebab) at a café in front of the Dushanbe Opera House. After a lovely afternoon chatting up some Iranian expats and some friendly Tajiks, we decided to get some local sweets (pistachios from Iran and Russian-style ice cream) and went to Rudaki Park to enjoy the marvelous weather, and of course to see the largest flag in the world. Finally, I was able to enjoy a lovely fireworks display, framed over the statue of Rudaki and the Presidential Palace on Ismail Somoni.

            

            Actually touring Dushanbe on foot gave me a chance to realize that, despite the obvious differences in development and infrastructure, Dushanbe is very reminiscent of another city I’ve lived in for the past two years: Washington DC. It’s not that surprising a comparison. Both cities have very little history before their founding, and have had to adapt a previous history of culture to suit their existence (medieval Persian in Dushanbe’s case, and the Western tradition stretching back to Greece and Rome for DC). In order to justify their existence in this way, they’ve both built massive, showy monuments to show how they are truly the successors to these histories. And, as a result of these policies of glorifying some “historical continuance”, both cities have sections of great wealth and opulence, and sections of true poverty.

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           Lastly, this has been the end of my first three-day weekend in Tajikistan, and I’ve got no ideas for what to write about next. Since apparently people read this thing, if of you have anything you want to know about Tajikistan, suggestions would be greatly appreciated, and until next time: Tashakkur and khudo hafez.

First Impressions on Tajikistan (A Week In)

So hopefully, by now the situation regarding this blog’s surprise termination has been fixed, and I’m going to be sharing my thoughts on Tajikistan after a week of being here. I’ll break these down into:

• The country
• The host family
• The language (Tajik vs. Farsi)
• The classes

So first off, how does the country compare to where I thought it was? It’s been a bit of a hit-or-miss. On one hand, my description of this place’s infrastructure as a “colder Africa” have so far held mostly true. I’m in the capital, so there is both water and electricity, and apparently I have the ability to take a shower every day (although I’d feel a bit guilty if I did so, I think I’d be the only person in the compound who did), but there are only a handful of paved roads, and much of the country still bears the scars of either the civil war or, more likely, general neglect as a result of Soviet rule. The food so far has been relatively good, and while I’ve been sticking to a strategy of not eating particularly fast or a lot of food, I haven’t gotten sick yet, so there is that.

Now on to the host family: Without a doubt, this has been my favorite part thus far. The house I’m staying in I’d earlier described as a compound, and for good reason. It’s essentially a ring of houses, all connected, surrounding a central courtyard. While my official hosts are the now-retired couple of Bozor and Gulchehra, I feel safe enough saying that it’s fallen on their daughter-in-law, Safarbi, to be my main caretaker while I’m here. And that’s just dandy in my book, because so far she’s proven to be a marvelous cook, and while I’m sure this will change as I settle in, her meals have been far superior to anything I’ve had anywhere else in Dushanbe. The family also has 4 children, ages 4 to 16, which are not only a talkative bunch, but have reintroduced me to the game Uno (and preceded to proof that “Central Asian” rules are simply “We will always win”). No sign of the hedgehog from the initial family letter (he may have eaten, if I understood the situation correctly), but there’s also a dog, named “Booch”, which is making me both homesick, and preventing the homesickness at the same time. As I get to know the family better, I’ll be sure to mention them in more detail.

In addition to the core family itself, there are also several people here whose connection to the family I haven’t been able to place, including the young married couple (with the adorable little baby that can only be a few months old at the most), the British gent who’s working with a local NGO, and the young woman who lives in the opposite corner of the house. Hopefully, as my Tajiki improves, I can find out what exactly is going on around here. (NOTE: By now, I’ve found out the young married couple was the cousins of the children here, and have since moved out. The dog is also theirs.)

Speaking of Tajiki, the language situation around here is a little insane. First and foremost, for the last two years, I’ve been learning Farsi, or the Iranian version of the greater Persian language. While there seems to be a consensus that Tajiki and Farsi are dialects of the same language, the two are dialects in the sense that the various forms of Arabic are dialects. Basically meaning that understanding one hardly guarantees you’ll understand the other. And as my first day of testing proved, my understanding of Farsi in general needs a good deal of work, so this is going to be an interesting year. Making this even more confusing is the fact that, when in doubt, most Tajiks will switch into Russian. This is alright if it’s only one word, I can accept that, after about a century of Russian domination, Tajiki will have a fair number of Russian loanwords. Where this gets to be a bit much is when Tajiks, in the middle of a sentence, decide that they should switch from Tajiki, which is barely intelligible, to Russian, which is not. And then, to make matters more confusing is that fact that a surprising number of people here speak English. Granted, it’s not great English, but my hope that I would be forced to speak Persian because of the lack of English spoken here is rapidly proving untrue. Hopefully this is an issue I will find a solution to soon…

Finally, classes. After a week, and having taken each class that I’ll have here at least once, these are the most mentally draining, yet perhaps the most entertaining parts of my week. The professors are all an interesting and good-spirited lot, who are more than willing to crack a joke when my mind is at its end. And while it’s interesting seeing how I’ve managed to come through two years of Persian classes without knowing words for kitchen appliances, it’s a rewarding feeling knowing that, even when I leave the classroom, I can still apply what I’m learning on a daily basis.

That’s about it for now. Next time a recap of our group’s first excursion outside of Dushanbe and the celebrations for Tajikistan’s Independence Day.

Let's Try this Again

Alright, so as you probably know if you're reading this, this is my second attempt at a blog for my year abroad in Tajikistan. I'm not going to repost everything I put down the first time, mainly because I didn't save it. I'll post again Thursday (my time, so 10 hours ahead of you East Coasters), and until then, let me just say how appreciative I am that people are taking an interest in this. It really helps a lot over here.

Tashakkur, va khudo hafez!