Monday, September 10, 2012

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.

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