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)

Dushanbe Day 4 - Undercover B-Day

28 years ago the first piece of government paperwork was filled out for Richard Ryan Weber, SSN###-##-####. Time has passed, and I'm still filling out forms, and verifying my identity. A lot has changed for me, but for most of the world July 12 remains a rather unremarkable occasion. A few jazz fans might note is also happens to be the birthday of soul jazz organ master "Big" John Patton, but the Sun doesn't exactly hold its place in the sky, nor the birds weave crowns of juniper in celebration. It's just another day.

And while I'm not a man opposed to a party, having been several times surprised (I am only so clever) by my sneaky friends and girlfriend, I prefer to either celebrate with my close friends, or, if they are for whatever reason unavailable, put it off until a later time. I've got 364 other days of being 28 before the opportunity passes. This is especially true these last 2 summers, when I've been traveling solo in mid-July. I don't mean to be a total Oscar (grouch), but it just feels weird to be the center of attention in a group of essentially strangers.

Last summer, I was thwarted by a very nice (and insidiously snoopy) project leader at a wildlife preserve in Serbia. Officially, she had to see our passports to record the number for local registration, but I suspect there were alterior motives and curiosities at play. The ensuing party wasn't much of a surprise, but it was a very nice gesture, and since dinner that night again left me somewhat wanting, the "birthday jello" - they don't do cake - was an important additional source of sustenance.

This year, I've been with another well-meaning group of semi-strangers since May, but this time it was my turn to be sneaky. For my birthday, rather than staying in Bishkek with co-workers and new acquaintances, I went to Dushanbe. Do not think the timing is entirely coincidental.

On this particular day in question, I arose early and made my way to the rendez-vous for a tour-group organized hike that I learned about from Rob & Mari the previous afternoon. I had very little info - sum: "it's a hike, it costs $20 (a little steep), and it meets at (apparently they said "near") the agricultural college at 10 am."

After some slight hiccups involving the time (did they say 10 or 9?) and location (the Taxi drive had no idea what the Agricultural College was - after some asking around, we eventually decided this was probably the Institute of Agrobusiness, which he then drove straight past until I decoded the Cyrillic and encouraged him to slow down enough for me to exit), I was about where I wanted to be. It took a little more work (spotting a tourist in the distance, and headed away, I started tracking him to the eventual meet-up location around a corner and behind a building).

In the end, some 30 tourists - mostly from Europe, but all fluent English-speakers - piled into an odd caravan of minibuses and SUVs and headed North. There were regular allusions to waterfalls and bathing suits; apparently everyone else was better informed than I.

In my car were a trio of European Commission auditors from Earnst & Young (sorry Duff), Rob from yesterday, and a young seasoned traveler named Alex from the UK. The Auditors, all in their late 20s, were Nikolas (Walloon), Julia (Russian), and Carolina (Romanian from Moldova). Pretty interesting crew, and we ended up sticking together for the rest of the day. The Auditors were just in Dushanbe for 2 weeks, working 9-5 (and sometimes 9-9) to check out an NGO's books. They weren't regular travelers, and marveled a bit, especially at some of Alex's tales (he's been to Uzbekistan and Iran in the past year).

When we finally made it to the trail head (there was some doubt about our vehicle - one of the "nanovans" - which we had to exit once to make it up a hill), it was time for sunscreen and stretching. The hike wouldn't be too strenuous, but as with most tour-run outtings, they were treating the group with kid-gloves.

And then we hiked. It was great. Wonderful views as we followed a small river up through a valley. The nearby stream dropped the temperature a good 10 degrees (down to 90 F) just by proximity. We talked, got sweaty, tried to drink enough water. Many of the hikers worked on their tan. I covered up like a leper in an elevator. My first hike in Kyrgyzstan had already removed several layers of arm-flesh, and I wasn't taking chances.

The terrain went up and up, and the day got warmer, but I was in my prime. Cheerful, hot, and excited. I'm not sure what it is I like so much about hiking - easy answers like "nature," or "exercise" don't sound very convincing - but it is something I haver to, despite the extremely rare instances when I actually embark upon it.

We got to the waterfall a few hours later, and most of the tour stipped down to their bikinis, boxers, or speedos. They were not universally young. The water was also apparently quite cold - it is glacial runoff, afterall - which I can tell you was obvious by the screeches they made, not anything else, lest your imagination run off with you. I decided to opt out of watersports. I was ill-prepared, not even owning a bathing suit, and not feeling all *that* European.

Besides - I came to Hike.

The way back down afforded more picturesque opportunities, and some more banter. Along on our tour (in fact, perhaps helping to organize it?) was the US Ambassador to Tajikistan. A good bit more involved than the Kyrgyz equivalent, she was winding up her tour in Dushanbe after 3 years and previous posts in Latvia and Turkmenistan. A smart lady, no doubt, she was quite gung-ho about not only the hike, but the foreign service as a career option. I must say that, despite her pitch that "not many people work for the same boss for 21 years without any regrets," I haven't exactly reached peace with the prospect of playing Uncle Sam's strong arm in whatever country (familiarity doesn't matter - it's all basically the same) I would wind up in. But it never hurts to feel professionally desirable, even if it's a job offer from the local McDonalds night shift manager.

I took a short, icy shower (the mojo of hot water at Hotel Vakhsh remains a mystery now for 2 days), and met up with 'Afar. He had invited me over to his house for dinner, and again, I wasn't about to refuse.

For dinner we had more Osh, as well as "salad" (any collection of vegetables), and the bitterest yoghurt I have ever tried in my life. I did manage to swallow the first big spoon full, but no amount of veggies or rice was going to cut that enough for round 2.

We talked more about Tajikistan, the civil war ('Afar's family is from the Garm district, where much of the opposition Islamic movement was formed), and watched Euronews. The big stories were about Obama in Ghana, the "Usually Pro-Democrat New York Times revealing the Former Vice-President Cheney kept a CIA operations Secret from Congress for 8 years", Uighur unrest in Xinjiang (and how it was no big deal), and international golf updates.

As the night wore on, 'Afar put in a DVD of a classic old Soviet cartoon called ну, погодни ("Nu, Pogodni" - no pictures, my sincere apologies!), which is quite similar to Tom&Jerry, or Roadrunner/Wiley Coyote.

It was good times, and as the hour got late (10:30 - all day in the sun makes me a virtual octogenarian) I made my way back to the hotel and collapsed.

28 years down, hopefully a good lot more to go.

And for most of us, July 13 is just another day. Even in giant digital lights.

Weber (on the lamb)

Dushanbe Day 3 - Things Not Found in Lonely Planet

As promised, my new Tajik friend 'Afar met me at 9 am to get our day started. There was some confusion on whether or not I needed to "register" with the local passport office (in addition to the visa I already had), and he volunteered to walk me over to the OVIR office to sort things out. The office was closed (contrary to its posted Saturday hours), but the guard said my hotel should take care of that, not me. So we went back to the hotel. There, they insisted that since I only have a 1 week visa, I didn't need to register. I remain a little sckeptical, but so it goes. Needless to say, I would have been one confused monkey without 'Afar - there's zero english at OVIR and not much more at my hotel.

The "Business" end of our day concluded, 'Afar took me to the Museum of National Antiquities (not to be confused with the National Museum). This elegant and meticulously clean museum (no shoes allowed) houses a wide assortment of stone, iron, and bronze age artifacts found in the current Tajik territory. It also has some vases, muslim tomb stones, and a decent array of jewelry and other small household objects - Basically, what you would expect to find via small archaeological digs.
Then there's the Buddha. This mammoth 40ft reclining statue is about 65% original, and like everything else in the museum, was actually uncovered after being entirely burried. The photo on the wall next to it (depicting its excavation in an otherwise unremarkable plot of dirt) is pretty impressive. It's a really nice Buddha.

What was so strange about the museum is that it divided the finds by their sites, and to a secondard degree chronologically. But they were not sorted by "styles" or "cultures." For most of the past 7 millenia, Central Asia has been a crossroads; both a nexus of intra-empire commerce, and also a region of regularly shifting boundaries and the rise and fall of local powers. So when you first look at a wall painting, for example, it takes some close looking to decide if you're actually looking at something that is Hindu, Islamic, Chinese, pre-Islamic Persian, Hellenistic, or one of the other indigenous civilizations to arise in Central Asia contemporary with the Egyptians, Greeks, and later Romans. Some times it's more obvious than others, but there are also fusions - Hindu gods with blatant Chinese features; Sogdian statues of Alexander the Great; etc. And then there's the just-bizarre: the seeming figures of Romulus and Remus suckling from a wolf - but there was little contact between Central Asia and "Rome" until near the end of the Byzantine empire.

On the plus side, the Buddha (a major attraction) on a Saturday is a virtual tourist magnet. In Tajikistan, this means there were about 6 people in the entire building. And that was where we met Mari and Rob, two American NGO interns in Dushanbe over the summer to learn Farsi (closely related to Tajik). Actually, Mari (who is from Massachusettes) is part Japanese, and for whatever reason passes very easily for Tajik. 'Afar and I walked past, thinking, "oh, another American (Rob is as obviously mid-western as I am) and His Tajik friend/guide." We then heard them talking - in English - and 'Afar turned to me, a little crushed, "Her English is Much better than mine, yes?"

I tried to downplay the discrepancy, but I didn't have much to go on. Luckily, they shortly thereafter introduced themselves, and 'Afar was a bit relieved. Mari's an undergrad at Yale studying international relations, and Rob is a law student at UPenn, with an interest in eventually being a diplomat. Though this didn't come up until later, and was not a topic of much discussion even then, I would not that Rob is a Mormon, and Mari was at least raised Quaker. Just saying, we made an odd slice of Americana.
Shortly after we started parousing the museum, we were joined by several military guards (who refused to take off their boots, and thus had to wear blue plastic surgical booties instead - sorry I didn't have the guts to snap a photo). They, and their bomb-sniffing German Shephard, had to sweep the museum - apparently the President of Latvia was in town on a state visit, and the Tajik Vice-President was giving him a tour of the museum.
We were rushed out right about the time we had finished anyway, and decided to go together to the very large tea house (I cannot pronounce, or even remember, the Tajik name) that 'Afar recommended. It was pretty incredible. Basically a large banquet hall, the walls and pillars are all ornately decorated with intricate wood carvings in floral and geometric designs, while the ceiling is a multi-depth labyrinth of colors, carvings, and shapes. Sometimes inverted pyramids, othertimes full domes. Rob said it looked like some of what he'd seen in Laos. I have no comparison. Kyrgyz rejoice in certain crafts associated with a long tradition of nomadism - felt rugs, embroidery, etc. The Tajiks are sedentary, and this demonstration of their artistic/craft legacy certainly proved the point.

For lunch I had "Osh," which I was told was the primary traditional dish in Tajikistan. It turned out to be nothing more than pilov, no different from the Kyrgyz pilau in any discernable way. There was also Manti, Laghman, and Shashlyk on the menu. It seems that there are a lot of areas separating the Central Asian republics - politics, economics, language - but food is not among them.

Oddly - beverage does seem to be one such division. In Kyrgyz, Coca-Cola and Fanta are the king Western drinks, though most people prefer the barrage of "National" Kyrgyz drinks, a subject I'm overdue to blog about, but after one abortive effort, am still summoning the courage to test out more varieties. In Dushanbe, it's RC Cola (bottled locally) and "Royal Crown Orange," also a local specimen. That Coca-Cola and Pepsi are both absent in Tajik probably says more than GDP figures about the local economy/ international commerce.

We split ways with the interns after a long chat about Tajikistan, America, religion, politics, and Ibn Sina (Avicenna) - a major cultural identity figure in Tajikistan. I also gleaned info about a nature hike organized by a local tourism group for the 12th, and am planning to make it a birthday outing.
Afterwards, 'Afar took me to the Dushanbe Botanical Gardens. Bishkek also has such a place, and I think it's pretty common across the former Soviet areas. But while the Bishkek BG is little different than any of its other public parks, Dushanbe does it up right. Not only is there an enormous blue-tiled entry gate, but several square kilometers of landscaped terrain, manicured paths, and model "traditional tajik homes." They also have a series of large elaborate pagodas, and demonstrations of early (pre-industrial) ovens, water wheels, and even a suction-based, hand-operated oil-well. The crown is the "African Tree," a 50 ft. palm tree imported as a gift from somewhere in Africa (no info on-site, and generally just known as "from Africa"). 'Afar wasn't sure how long it's been in Tajikistan, but he remembers visiting it (in its hydroponically-sealed mega-pavilion) as a small boy.

I was of course reminded of the only Palm tree in Poland.
Perhaps the greatest use for the Botanical Gardens, especially on a Saturday afternoon, was for weddings. Videographers are huge in Dushanbe, and they spend at least an hour back-walking in front of "happy" couples as they pass various BG landmarks. I say "happy," not as any accusation of local martial practices, but because, no matter how happy you are for the first 5 or 10 such shots, after an hour in full wedding dress and 100 degree heat, it takes a very resiliant bride to keep her smile intact.

At the big gates the wedding really gets under way, with a herd of musicians (hand drums, clarinets, and a few enormous Tajik mountain trumpets) at the ready for a small price. The gates swing open, musicians play, and the friends dance in front as the couple makes their way toward whichever one of the half-dozen limos lined up are theirs. As soon as one bride is in her car, the gates close, only to immediately re-open for the next bride - cue musicians, start dancing, etc.

I think we saw 5 wedding parties in 20 minutes. Most were Uzbeks ('Afar says they tend to be wealthier, and thus can afford the musicians, videographer, limos), one was a Tajik. The dress was generally conservative - as is the norm in Dushanbe - but one bride was especially well covered (she couldn't see out of her veil, and was guided tiny steps at a time since her dress practically wrapped to her ankles). Oddly, the next was a Russian, and as short as the bridesmaids dresses were, I'm pretty sure the Bride secured the award for skimpiest ensemble. There was no music or dancing for the Russians, who did nonetheless have a videographer, and otherwise go through the same procedures - just much less jovially.

'Afar and I parted ways for some rest, but met up again later than night - I thought for dinner, but apparently just to go for a walk in the Central Park after dark. I'd been here before - seen the statue of Rudaki; the fountains; the lack of big trees - but at night it really did come alive. LCDs lit up the fountains, there was music, and children (on roller blades) everywhere. I had to confess that, to my knowledge, we didn't have anything like it in New York. I couldn't actually tell if this made 'Afar smile, but I like to assume it did.

It should be noted that the park is immediately in front of the new Presidential Residence, which displaced several hundred Tajik families to acquire the prime real estate. The park itself is still somewhat new, and the statue (formerly the place of Lenin) and lights were even newer. As I commented to 'Afar, now the president can go out on his balcony at night and see all his happy citizens (or subjects, depending on how much you link civil status with civil rights). Anyway - Tajikistan seems to be doing OK from such a specific, artificial vantage point.

Looking back the other direction, at a new grand palace with a gold dome built on old Tajik family homes and with unspecified funds (the entire annual budget for Tajikistan is $50 million, and this house had to cost a good % of that), the vantage was a bit more skew.

Weber (on the lamb)

Dushanbe Day 2 - Lions & Tourists & Ills, oh my!

After the semi-success (new hat!) semi-debacle (Bactria what?) of Day 1's aimless wandering, I decided to get on-plan for Day 2. There are three major museums in Dushanbe, the National Museum, the Museum of National Antiquities, and the Museum of Musical Instruments. The second is supposed to be the best, and the third the least interesting, so #1 on my list (to save a bit for later) was the National Museum.

All Museums in Dushanbe are closed on Mondays (no big deal), and open from 8-noon, then close for an hour so everyone can go eat lunch, and re-open from 1-5 pm. So the trick is not to start a museum at a time when you'll be rushed to finish. I managed this by being extra lazy in the morning, enjoying a hot shower, and then luxuriously strolling up and down Rudaki avenue before finally settling into a little cafe I sighted on the way from the airport.

The cafe turned out to be much higher-class than I originally realized, but paired this with the kind of rock-bottom prices I was looking for. Day 2 was off to a good start.

The restaurant was also super-air conditioned, which I was finding helpful. For some reason, it felt especially hot today....

The menu was a mystery: only Tajik, no pictures, no other customers to steal ideas from. Luckily my cyrillic is improving, and I saw several different varieties of Laghman, a hand-rolled noodle dish I'm familiar with from Bishkek. In Kyrgyzstan we had only 2 types: Lagman in soup/broth, or stirfried laghman. Here were 5 different types - how to choose?

One was called "ъозо лагман" (Bozo Laghman) - winner.

Food came out, and I had a big bottle of "voda nye gaz" as well. I sure was thirsty. The plate was a huge helping of noodles stir-friend in a thick brown sauce. It was, to be honest, much more glorious (and semi-chinese) than the Laghman I had in Bishkek - all good things.

But I just couldn't eat much of it.

I've been fortunate in most of my travels, and haven't been bitten by the "travel bug," itself a euphemism for a variety of bacterial, viral, or even parasitic "co-travelers" one can pickup through casual contact, food, water, or just bad luck. In my 1.5 months abroad, I haven't been sick one day. That's not bad, even for state-side, but it does put a fate-kick-me sign on your back if you aren't careful.

I took my time with the food, wiped my clammy forehead, and bade my time. I wasn't "ill" in the graphic sense, just... not quite right. Since the only thing on my current agenda was the museum, an enclosed, air conditioned, casual experience, I wasn't too worried about over-exerting.

Now, the best thing to do when sick is the rest, get better, and get on with your journey. Only an idiot goes Rambo on such dispassionate foes as indigestion, fever, or nausea. Especially in 100 degree heat.

I am one such idiot.

Working on the theory of "how bad could a foreign illness with no treatment possibly be," I set out for the National Museum.

For a whopping 200 somoni (US $5), I was in, and directed down a small hallway. I saw topographical maps of Tajikistan. I saw samples of minerals prominent in Tajikistan. I saw trees, flowers, swarms of insects on pins, snakes in flooded bottles, dissected frogs, stuffed birds, and some very, VERY mangy woodland creatures arranged in Disney-esque tableaus. I even saw a small (micro-hyena?) with eyes clearly designed for his bigger brother. That was creepy.

Still not 100% with it, and a little disappointed (to be honest, my travel book said not to expect much from this one), I made my way back out of the hall, and toward the exit. The ticket lady - bless her - waved and clapped enough times to get my attention, and direct me toward the staircase. Apparently, I was just getting started.

When you call a place the "National" Museum, I guess there's a certain pressure to encompass all that you are proud of from your nation. Whether this means rooms full of the academic (mostly mathematical) treatises and textbooks written by your citizens, comprehensive figures on agricultural output, famous actors/composes/ballerinas... it's a mixed pot. On floor 2 the highlights were the shrine to the President and the room full of the many gifts he's been given by other countries. USCENTCOM gave him a nicely engraved box with a flag in it. The Senate of Poland awarded him a plaque. Thailand sent this amazing miniature palace. etc.

No one blocked the stairs, so I figured floor 3 was open territory, and I was in for a surprise. A full floor dedicated to WWII history and modern Tajik art!!!

WWII has a mixed nostalgia in Central Asia, usually celebrating Russians and the war as a Russian-only triumph. In the Bishkek Museum of National History, for example, the focus is on the Soviet Revolution, but mostly just the Russian contribution to it, and then WWII as the triumph of that (mostly Russian) effort.

Not so in Dushanbe.

This floor was dedicated to the Tajik contribution to WWII. It was awesome! Propaganda posters in Tajik! Posters with obviously Tajik men/women joining forces with their Russian brothers. Even one with the ghost of Ghengis Khan (arch-nemesis of all things Russian) waving his sword forward as if to say "This way my Asian prodigy!" (It actually does say something in Russian, but I have no idea what).

Pictures of Tajiks in Tanks. The medals of valour won by Tajiks. etc. Really, a great exhibit, and not something you get very many places (since it's sort-of-pro-soviet, which is odd in the post-soviet period, and also sort of not-pro-russian, which would have been odd during the later soviet era).

The modern art was also cool - actually some was really great. Most was more like traditional still lifes, but with items that were unique to Tajik/Central Asia. You don't see many boring paintings with a Hooka, or a skullcap in Italian museums (or so I assume).

The "actually" modern stuff was cool, but I know about as much about modern art as I do about any art - not much.

There was more, but it's just too much to recall. Hopefully the barrage of photos I illicitly snapped will help reveal more.

After the museum I still wasn't feeling great, so I went back to the hotel to cool down. I laid on my bed for just a minute... and woke up 3.5 hours later.

Apparently, even an idiot can be pushed only so far.

Refreshed by my biologically-imposed nap/heat coma, I headed out to find internet and dinner.

As I stolled down Rudaki, a young Tajik in a polo, dark shades, and a "US ARMY" baseball cap walked up next to me to say hello.

His name is 'Afar, he speaks very good English (his dad is an English teacher at one of the several universities in Dushanbe), and has worked for a few years with an American NGO in Tajikistan. We walked for awhile, then I asked if he would join me for dinner (the Georgia Cafe - highly recommended! TRY THE BLUEBERRY LEMONADE!). We talked about politics, tajik language, the imagined heritage, US policy, etc.

A couple gems:
"Is it true that in America, the african-americans are now the majority?"
"Aren't young Americans even more religious than their parents?"

And this zinger:
"Why did the value of the US dollar go up after the US caused the financial crisis?

We talked about a lot, and he asked if he could show me around more on Saturday. I'm always a little suspicious of such forward "local" beneficence. But then, what position was I in to refuse?

when you're on the lamb, your best bet is to follow any yellow bricks you stub your toe on.

Weber (on the lamb)

Dushanbe Day 1 - Walkabout

Arriving in Dushanbe at 11 am, after a somewhat stressful flight (the airborn leg was fine, despite the soviet-era plane. the pre-flight boarding, on the otherhand, was a nightmare in undisplayed info combined with very lax departure times), I decided to hike from the airport to my hotel. This is usually a very bad idea, but the Dushanbe airport is right in the middle of town. In fact, it's presently more like a glorified bus station with a particularly big parking lot. I haven't been anywhere truly remote, but as for international capitals go, this was the most pitiful airport I've ever seen. Except for it's customs house, it was about the size of the Hondo (TX) regional airfield.

The hike should have been about 4 km, the only nervous part being that only the last 2 km of the journey was on the map I had. Never hike off-map: it's one of those golden rules. Long story short(er), I did make it to the hotel, but was a good bit sweatier than was perhaps necessary. It's 90+ by noon, and just barely over 100 as the afternoon wears on in Dushanbe's early July.

For the rest of the day, I just wanted to get my bearings. From reading ahead, I knew Dushanbe had several respectable museums, a few bazaars, and several other public buildings/parks worth checking out. It also has a wealth of international food choices - from the expected Tajik & Russian, to the more "exotic" Lebanese, Italian, French, and even Ecuadorian fare. In other words, Dushanbe had more to "offer" in a tourism sense than Bishkek. That, I would say, was my first surprise.

With a population of 600,000 and not a lot of tall buildings, you can surmise that Dushanbe isn't a huge place, but it does spread out. Having said that, everything I wanted to see is located along the main drag, a very long bit of a landscaped park/avenue called Rudaki (after a famous

Persian poet, claimed as a "proto-Tajik").

A lot of the public space is used to promote Tajik nationalism, which interestingly has very little (or even nothing) to do with the modern Tajik state. Instead, it's almost entirely focused on the past - even the imagined past. Sogdians, Samanids, and Sassanid empires join Alexander the Great as the forefathers of modern Tajikistan, even though in each the current Tajik territory was a tiny, and frankly very insignificant, chunk. Tajiks lay cultural claim the major metropolises of Samarkand and Bukhara - both now in Uzbekistan, and since these were the capitals of major empires - so they reason - those empires were actually Tajik, not Persian/Sogdian/Hellenistic, etc.

It's a bit of a leap, but they pull it off with gusto (and repetition doesn't hurt).

The most prominent statue in Dushanbe is of Ismoili Samani (at top), the founder of the Samanid empire, and nearby is the Central Park with a great statue of the persian/"Tajik" poet Rudaki framed by a frescoed arch. Between the two is a map of the once-great Samanid empire, stretching from southern russia to the persian gulf, from India to the Caspian.

Another item of interest I noticed in my wandering is the rare, but repeating, motif of randomly-frescoed buildings. This would be common on government buildings, but I've seen some beautiful, colorful, usually "inspiring" works on the sides of apartment buildings, grocery stores, etc. It's a great way to spruce up the neighborhood (and much richer than the usual white-framed pastel gov buildings), but I cannot find a reason to the rhyme.

Toward evening, I started looking for the Bactria Center. According to my Lonely Planet Central Asia book, this was somekind of "center" in which various NGOs sold handmade goods from the countryside to directly benefit Tajik families. And at 6 pm on Tues/Thursday nights, they did free movie screenings. And it's Thursday!!!

I was looking for a large structure, even a mall-like entity (movies... multiple stores...). The area in question was less precise than my map suggested, so I was forced to use the loop-and-look approach. After a few hours, and a stop off at the main bazaar to buy a much-needed hat, I finally located a large house with a red roof and a small plaque that said "Bactria center" just in time for the movie - sort of. According to the sign on the door, not only did Bactria Center close at 4 pm that day, it was taking a "season break" and would be closed from July 10 - August 10. Wah wah.

Only a little disheartened, I closed out the evening with dinner at a Lebanese/Syrian restaurant called al-Shams. It was quite tasty. The chicken I ate contained no bones or ligaments, and the tabbouleh was pure vegetal growth. A welcome respite.

Weber (on the lamb)

Dushanbe Overview (for posts July 9-14)

After spending more than a month in Bishkek with few "touristic" opportunities (and frankly not all that much workload), I am now taking a 1-week "vacation" to the capital of Tajikistan, Dushanbe.

While in Dushanbe, my internet access/time will be limited, but I'll be living la vida tourist, so expect lots of photos, and blogs based more on itinerary and quick description than intense, pseudo-scholastic data and editorial drudgery. It's a return to the style of on-my-own travel for which this blog (and the iconic "lamb" by which is has become personified) was created.

Since I'll (hopefully) be doing quite a lot, but (probably) will not be updating this as I go, please forgive my use of the "backdated" blog, whereby I'll post events/items for the days on which they occurred, not necessarily the day on which they're written. Expect considerable errors in tense/foreknowledge.

"Little Did He Know..." and all that.

Thanks for your patience - I'm very excited.

(one "scholastic" note: the reason I'm so hyped about seeing Dushanbe is that while it shares so much of the Soviet history and legacies of the other Central Asian Republics - especially Kyrgyzstan - it's pre-Soviet history was quite different, and it's persian-based language/culture not only sets it apart linguistically from the rest of CA, but culturally the Tajiks see themselves as the legacy of Samarkand and the great Persian Islamic empires, not the Mongol/Turkish lineage. Taken even further, I've heard Tajik described as "the closest thing to Iran outside Iran," and given my US citizenship, and the recent events in Iran, that's about as close as I'm going to get for awhile. It should also be said that while the other CIS states were carving up the Soviet 'goods,' Tajik descended into a bloody civil war, just ended in 1997 in a bizarre, benevolent kleptocratic autocracy. It's a smorgasborg of interest. You might even consider doing a quick wiki-view).

Manas Ordo

As I mentioned in an earlier post, my travels to Talas over the weekend brought me to exactly one tourist location: Manas Ordo.

It's an odd place for a variety of real, imagined, historical, and strictly political reasons. Something like a fusion of the Acropolis, Mount Vernon, and, I guess... Turin?

First the backstory, then onto my actual visit:

Manas is the epic hero of Kyrgyzstan, and serves as a unique cultural identifier (the two things separating Kazakhs and Kyrgyz, as far as I can tell, is flat vs. mountainous terrain, and a strictly-Kyrgyz attachment to the Manas epic), and also a unifier (prior to Manas, the "Kyrgyz" recognize themselves as many disparate and warring tribes, much like the Caucasus of the 19th century; after Manas, they have all called themselves "Kyrgyz"... the historiography here is shaky. I'm not suggesting this is actually what happened, but it is the official version that I've heard many Kyrgyz support).

But Manas is not a "Folk Hero" or a "Myth" - he is an Epic hero in the literal since - he is the protagonist of a long prose narrative. More than that, he is perhaps the most epic hero on the planet in that the epic of Manas is enormous, even by epic standards. The total of 500,000 lines is hard to comprehend, but for perspective, consider that it is 20 times longer than the Odyssey & Iliad combined. It beats the heck out of Gilgamesh, and is even longer than the Mahabarata, making Manas the longest (known) epic in the world. Ever.

And it's still a "living" epic - very much unlike the other examples. It is still recited (either in episodes or in week-long full-renditions) by Manaschi, professional epic reciters, who chant the poem in a lyrical style, but without musical accompaniment. There are many professional "lesser" Manaschi, who know only a few episodes, but only a few "Great" Manaschi, who know the entire epic, and are celebrated as national heroes, and occasionally even international celebrities.

The Manas epic has been transmitted orally since its composition (which some place as early as the 7th century, and others as late at the 15th - whichever is true, it also makes it a very Young epic), before finally being written down as last as 1885 (in truth, there was not much of a formal written Kyrgyz language prior to the mid-19th century).

Let me admit here that I have not (yet) read the Manas epic. It has been translated into English and is available in at least 2 versions. Perhaps I'll tackle that by the time I'm 30...

The story (from what I understand) is pretty standard epic-fare. A hero unites his people, defeats various local antagonists, and ultimately dies (heroically) and bequeths the challenge of continuing his efforts to his heirs (the succesive generatiosn after Manas actually make up 2/3 of the epic).

And here is where Manas Ordo (and I) come into play.

Manas Ordo is loosely translated as the "Throne of Manas," which seems to indicate both a seat of governance, but also an elevated place of observation. The title refers specifically to a small hill jutting up in the middle of a flat valley surrounded by receding chains of mountains. From this position, one can see a great distances down the valley, and also survey clearly (there are partically no indigenous trees in Kyrgyzstan) all the mountain slopes surrounding it. Speaking militarily, it's not the most defensible position - but Kyrgyz military tactics were never based on sedentary fortifications. These are horse people - to fight they needed open terrain, good intelligence of the opposition's movement, and an ability to watch their flank - all of which Manas Ordo provides.

From this strictly military classification, Manas Ordo took on greater symbolic value as the burial place of Manas after his fall. The bottom of the hill served as a cemetery for some time, but even this story is complicated. Like the misleading joke about Grant, no one is burried in Manas' tomb - actually, it's completely empty. Accordig to the inscription on the monument (destroyed centuries about but reconstructed in the late 1800's), it is the burial sight for the daughter of a local Khan - perhaps this is so, or perhaps as legend goes, the inscription itself is a ruse to throw off the enemies of Manas (mostly Chinese, who did actually defeat him) and not let them desecrate his remains.

From the late 1800s through the Soviet era, Manas Ordo was a hill, an old cemetery, and that was about it. It's located some 30 km outside the small town of Talas, in the far NorthEast of the country, making it technically more accessible than much of the otherwise mountainous terrain, but also making it very remote to most Kyrgyz.

Nonetheless, it did develop a small cult following, and the mountain was seen as a holy site, with occasional pilgrims coming for good health, fertility, etc. despite the attempts to mute such supernatural attachments by Soviet authorities.

In 1991, the Kyrgyz Republic became a soveirgn state with virtually no warning, and absolutely no political, economic, or social preparation for what that would entail. The full story of how the various Soviet Republics became actual state governments is a fascinating one, but one that will have to wait. For now, it's important to note that, in lieu of any other reason for considering itself a "nation" (in the ethno-cultural sense), Kyrgyzstan turned the "heritage" knob up to 11.

In 1995, Manas Ordo (state park/monument/cultural site) was built and commemorated on the (rather conveniently discovered) "1000th anniversary of Manas."

This new site included an enormous statue of Manas on a tremendous elevated pillar surrounded in a landscaped circle by more-than-life-sized bronze statues of his 40 loyal generals/warriors/advisors. The circle, which is at the bottom on Manas Ordo proper, leads into a path that takes visitors to various sites of "traditional" Kyrgyz culture including cooking, textile-making, etc. The path continues to the site of the "Manas Grave" itself (pictured at right), in all its reconstructed glory. Besides the mausoleam sits an enormous bolder - supposedly one of the ones that Manas himself lifted with his bare hands.

A path snakes up from the mausoleam to the top of the "Ordo" hill itself (below left), where one can catch your breath and enjoy the same sweeping view of the valley that for so long guaranteed the victories of Manas.

The journey is complete only at the foot of the hill, where a small but elaborate (dare I say, even Elegant) museum chronicles the life of Manas in miniature scenes accompanied by archaeological evidence of proto-Kyrgyz settlements and artifacts such as 18th-19th century swords, ornate horse saddles, and Chinese rifles. The entire museum interior is wrapped in stylistically-consistent murals depicting particular Manas episodes, and the heroes of the various pre-Kyrgyz tribes. Actually, it has Many similarities to the Museum of National History in Bishkek, which gives the same soft-glow treatment to the broader Soviet history - including wall-to-wall murals and larger-than-life bronze statues.

Interestingly, the similarities don't stop there. Being at Manas Ordo park is like being in any park in Bishkek. The landscaping is the same, the irrigation ditches are the same - even the tiles that line the sidewalks are the same. I was struck by this, and asked my accomplice Eleanora if these were used all over Kyrgyzstan?

"No - only Bishkek and Manas Ordo."

Puzzled, I asked why this was. "[They are the] only 2 big government projects"

And that's Very much what Manas Ordo is - a Big Government Project. Building on the epic that is one of the few uniquely Kyrgyz identifiers, the Kyrgyz gov built a shrine to its own imagined history, encouraged pilgrimages and elevated the religious aspect of the location, and reinforced Manas Ordo as a symbol of Kyrgyz nationalism, patriotism, and the positive future ahead.

14 years later, Kyrgyzstan has not fulfilled the many promises of its early independence fervor. There have been moments and areas of tremendous progress, and others of disappointments and even reversals of objectives. Whether Kyrgyzstan paints itself as the "Island of Democracy," the "Switzerland of Central Asia," or the "Home of Santa Claus," all of these glib descriptors ring hollow in the face of actual state policies and the failures of political, social, and economic development.

It's hard to fault a people who endured 60 years of repressive Russian chauvenism for wanting to reclaim some national pride - regardless of how well- or ill-founded such pride may be - but equally it's troubling to marvel at the manicured Manas Ordo surrounded by rural poverty, which seems to be the only "sustainable" situation in the Kyrgyz state (it's economic and political policies are self-acknowledginly non-perpetuating).

So what is the power of myth/epic? What is the cost:value ratio of national imagination? How much effort will a government with nothing to lose go to build a foundation of glittery sand?

But let's not keep the lens on poor little Kyrgyz. The experience of being at Manas Ordo would be well considered in comparison with a trip to the Alamo. Both are historical to some extent, though much more famous for the legends and half-truths that surround them. They both have a bearing on patriotism that is entirely artificial - When an American shouts "Remember the Alamo," they're really advocating for Texas separatism from Mexican political control, not some Western amalgam of "Live Free or Die." And they do build a certain currency, even cultish orthodoxy, around unknown, or even disproven "facts." No one knows how Davey Crockett died (one eye-witness account says he surrendered, then was shot; most movies/paintings depict him leading a final charge against the entire Mexican army). Likewise Manas may or may not existed, but the myth has overtaken even the Epic, which is a great case-in-point for anyone who studies myth and epic, or for most of the rest of us, who assume the two terms to be interchangable.

I enjoyed my time at Manas Ordo; it was interesting. But I would reiterate that what Manas Ordo gives one an insight into is NOT kyrgyz culture, heritage, tradition, or society. It doesn't even really give much of an insight into the Kyrgyz literary/epic tradition. More than anything, it is a demonstration of political power applied to its own self-substantiation. The fact that it is so thinly veiled, and thus easily perceived, from the heights of Manas Ordo, is an irony I'd like to pretend the Manas of my imagination would savor.

Weber (on the lamb)