Dushanbe Day 5 - Hissar!!!

Coming off a tremendously excellent, though physically draining mountain hike, I decided that it was time to man-up and tackle the most daunting of my Dushanbe must-dos: Hissar.

The name refers to an ancient (Sogdian?) fortress about 30 km outside of modern-day Dushanbe, and while it is technically a moderate tourist draw in the pantheon of Tajik tourism, getting there requires 3 separate transportations (1 bus, 1 mashrutka/mini-bus, 1 taxi), and the navigation of two locations for which I do not possess a map. And there are no guides, much less English anywhere.

Truthfully, the trepidation with which I viewed the Hissar excursion is STRONG evidence of just how timid my travels have been. Still, in comparison with walking around the main Rudaki drag and bouncing between Museums and Souvenir shops, Hissar definitely required working with a much thinner safety net.

It didn't hurt that I had just met Alex - who happens to be a real traveler, spending weeks at a time hitch-hiking between small villages in rural Uzbekistan - and that, despite my weak-kneed spleen, I was pretty sure after our talks that I could keep up with him.

Emboldened by the challenge (also - note that the Auditors, knowing no better, lumped me in the same classification of "solo traveler" with Alex), and perhaps feeling my 28-year-old oats, I set out for an adventure on a Monday morning.

Here's the itinerary: walk to the bus stop across from the President's office. Take Bus 8 for 6 km (past the palacial Hyatt Regency and the high-tech fortress that is the new US Embassy). Exit at the Zanisar Bazaar. Wander around until you hear someone say "Hissar." If you're brave enough to walk into the crowd and shout "Hissar?" yourself, you could be ripped limb from limb by waiting taxi drivers.

Climb into In the Mashrutka (minibus), and wait until it fills up with 15 people (they do NOT go until full). 20 minutes later, you get dropped off at another, much smaller bazaar in the small town of Hissar. Here you again cross the street, and start looking for a non-shady taxi driver. If you happen to look like a crazy Western tourist, this will actually help for a change.

Hop in the taxi - again wait for it to fill up - and you're off, soon to be deposited next to a giant heap of earth, a reconstructed gateway, and basically no one else around.

The only structure at Hissar-proper is the gateway, which was obviously rebuilt in recent memory (using concrete and steel rubar behind the facade of clay bricks). It's still pretty impressive, and serves as the entry point to the grounds. It also (appears) to be the admissions point... except on Monday morning there was not a soul in sight. Anywhere.

But it wasn't locked either.

So I made my way past the turnstile, and started climbing up the side of the gate. It was pretty cool. A couple rooms, a large dome, two towers - both of which could be partially scaled! And the rest of the site - which is quite big - was equally abandoned except for a few goats, a small herd of cattle, and their rather uninterested caretakers. One can only imagine what they thought of a sunburned (and sweaty) American tromping all over their grazing area with a huge grin on his face and a zeal for higher ground and kodak moments. I pictured a flock of Japanese Nikon-enthusiasts wandering down NW 59th street in Oklahoma, enamoured with the rows of xeroxed ranch-style homes.

What Hissar was - exactly - is hard for me to say. Huge and Impressive seem certain. Only the earthworks remain - there are no foundations, etc. as it was all clay bricks and wood. But even the earthworks are impressive. Goat paths have worn it down a little, but the walls still clearly outline the circumference of the huge structure, including the inner courtyard, the "secondary hill," the main zigurrat, and the inner courtyard (with spring). From the vantage point of the Zigurrat (I am misusing this term for effect), you have the full outline of ancient Hissar laid out before you in all its majesty.

I don't know how else to make a giant mound of dirt sound exciting, but trust me - it was.

There is also a small museum and a medresa (I think) next to the fort, but apparently the museum was closed on the occasion of 13 July. Not a holiday as far as I can tell, but the Acme-sized padlock on the museum door was international for "You shall not pass."

The trip back to Dushanbe was the same in principle, but easier by definition. From Dushanbe, people go many places. From Hissar, everyone goes to Dushanbe.

Here's the kicker: Round trip (80 km, 6 different vehicles) cost me US $2.50

You're not going to beat that on the MTA.

Satisfied with my accomplishment (and even more tired/suntanned than yesterday) I decided to take it easy. My "Dushanbe To Do List" was getting thinner, and I still had one day left to play clean-up.

For lunch I decided on another cultural experiment - Southern Fried Chicken.

This is the only Western-style fast food restaurant in Dushanbe, and it's located on a big square next to the Opera/Ballet theatre, and conveniently across from my hotel. I sighted it as soon as I checked in, but had kept my curiousity at bay - - until now.

A few things to note:

1) No matter how familiar Americans are with the fast food restaurant concept, ordering in a foreign language - to say nothing of foreign script - immediately turns us into one of those annoying people who get all the way up to the front of the line, and then can't decide what to order.

I hate those people, but in Dushanbe I was one.

I just wanted Chicken Fingers, but knew neither the Tajik for "Chicken" or "Finger" and didn't feel like going all-out charades in the crowd. I knew they had them - I could see them. I could also see their picture among many other items on the back wall. That the words next to them (2 words, each 9+ letters long, and involving a few of the Cyrillic vowels I find especially challenging). After a few garbled attempts (so many consonants!), the 20something behind the counter was kind enough to proceed.

2) Franchise motifs don't need to make sense, they just need to be consistent.

The theme for SFC was nautical.

That might seem.... ridiculous at first, but follow me here. Southern Friend Chicken. Chicken from the South. The South - like the Mississippi river. Paddle boats go on the Mississippi river. Later, they used Steam ships. Steam ships go on the ocean, and need big anchors. In the Ocean, they catch fish with nets. Nets? Pirates climbed nets out of the ocean to take over the british man-o-war in Pirates of the Caribbean.

Therefore:

Southern Fried Chicken = Pirates

I rest my case.

Quite happy with myself, and satiated with some damn-fine imitation fake food (the fries and chicken fingers were spot-on Americana, while the "Coca-Cola" cup was actually full of the very oddly flavored Tajik RC Cola), I took the afternoon off to write e-mails and get this blog chain started.

That night, I had a dinner appointment with the Auditors and Alex from the previous day's hike. It was a good time, though they (auditors) insisted on eating at the most-expat-o-rific restaurant in all of Dushanbe. The food was quite good, I'll gladly admit, but we were surrounded by newly-landed tourists, embassy personnel, and a few of the elite Tajik nouveau-riche. Not my crowd. Plus, the beer (they only had Baltika!) was $3.50 per bottle. Compare with better selection and 1/7 the price ($0.50) at the shop down the street.

After initial protestations from Alex and I (both content to have water at that price), Nikolas (the Belgian) volunteered to cover the beer tab and insisted we join him. So it goes. We were late joined by a young Swede Alex met at his hotel - a fellow traveler, he's been to Palestine, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, China, and India - just in this trip. He's also a student focused on international economics, so with him, myself, the auditors and Alex (generally savvy fellow), we made a good time of it, then walked it back to the hotel.

One day left in Dushanbe, and just enough left to do that I can keep myself busy, but not rushed.

I need to get some relaxation on this holiday.

Weber (on the lamb)