Greetings from icy cold Bukhara (temperature about 34 degrees).

Thanks to everyone for the concern and advice about my ankle. It’s still a little swollen but the nightly icing (last two nights) has helped. It’s black and blue on the opposite side of my foot from where the swelling is/has been. But I’m persevering and today was a bit easier than previous days. I was able to walk about three miles and getting in and ot of my boot was a lot easier. Mostly it’s stairs that are challenging and unfortunately these cities are filled with stairs. Impossible to go anywhere without climbing stairs. I’m hopeful that in another two days I’ll be good as new.

Anyway, our plan for today was to walk in the oldest quarter of Bukhara, to see the work of one of the ikat artists, and to walk through the four dome route to the Poi Kalon Complex. As it turned out, we walked briefly past a very old synagogue which was closed and went on to meet Ferluzi, who has a tiny shop selling ikat fabric that she designs herself – some from traditional patterns and others from designs she has created anew. She’s quite interesting. We got to the shop, which is not too far from our hotel and it was closed, but we phoned the number on the sign. Her English is quite good and she told us she will be there in 15 minutes. So we strolled a bit in the freezing cold and came back a few minutes before she got there. She’s about 50 years old, has three children aged 8 to 18 (the oldest of which is starting medical college). She’s been divorced for four years and now lives with her children and her parents and her brother. Her family has been involved in the fabric business for generations; her parents have a shop nearby that sells antique fabrics. Given that we did not include the Fergan area in our travel plans, I think she’s the next best thing. All of the fabrics are created locally, some sourced from weavers employed by Ferluzi. She’s very knowledgeable about design and also about Bukhara being part of a family living here for generations.

Anyway, she arrived and within 5 minutes she and he assistant had moved tables of fabrics and pillow coverings, and bags, onto the street in front of the shop… so that they could operate and so that we could get into the tiny shop (about 10’ x 15’) which is packed with fabrics. We did a little shopping (surprise, surprise), getting a beautiful table runner, three scarves, and two items that she is sewing for me (will be ready on Wednesday, with me coming in for a fitting tomorrow). I knew to bring something with me that I could have copied – having experienced not doing this when in Vietnam and Laos. Anyway, I selected two great ikat patterns and she’ll sew one copying the shirt/jacket I brought and the other will be a vest based on a vest she had in the shop, but recreated based on my guidance as to length and pocket placement. Very excited.

By then we decided it made sense to grab something for lunch so she suggested we go to Old Bukhara Restaurant which was about two blocks away. We each had a bowl of soup and some fried “ravioli.” Actually quite good. Then we began to get serious about our walk. We strolled through what is referred to by some as the “four trading domes” – a series of domes stretching, somewhat in procession, about ½ mile. From what I understand, the first “dome” complex was considered the money trading area, then came the gold trading area, then the markets, and then the sleeping areas — because after all this was on the Silk Road…   This “path” leads to the Poi Kalon complex which is an Islamic religious complex located surrounding the Kalan Minaret. The walk from complex to complex was fine. The preservation and also restoration of important buildings in Bukhara was done well and is predominantly natural-colored brick … tiles are reserved for religious buildings… It was all done with care and sense of history and has a very different style from Samarkand.

At the edges of every structure and also within the walls of the buildings are many, many tiny and also larger shops selling carpets, fabrics, jewelry, knives, etc. It’s got that touristy sense of trying to capture the attention of visitors, but it’s actually a bit like a contemporary version of what it must have been like to have traders trying to capture attention centuries ago, as they sold their goods.

Eventually we reached Poi Kalon Complex with its prominent minaret. The story goes something like this… When Genghis Khan arrived in what is now called Bukhara, about one hundred years after the minaret was constructed.. it was so tall he leaned back to see the top and leaned back so far that his helmet fell to the ground. He bent down to get his helmet and his army thought he was genuflecting in admiration.. and thus the minaret was spared while the rest of the city was destroyed.

Because it was so cold (32 degrees) we walked toward the hotel and sought some hot tea en route. We stumbled on something called Wishbone Café (??) inside one of these old structures. I actually had a matcha latte and Mike had hot chocolate. Then we made our way back to the hotel until we headed out for dinner.

When we ate at Lyabi House last night, we asked the waiter for some dining suggestions. He really thought long and hard and then came back to our table with a little torn piece of paper with two restaurants and some written explanation (all in Russian). He told us that any taxi driver would know these restaurants – one was fish and one meat. So tonight we ventured to the fish restaurant (whose name I don’t know because it was in Russian – but something like Shodlik). Anyway, it turned out to be on the outskirts of Bukhara — about 7 miles out — so we got to see the “modern” part of the city, but in the dark. Eventually we reached this very large, brightly lit place and we took a table. It was about 2/3 empty. Then when they realized we spoke English there was a bit of a scramble to figure out how to take our order. The owner then came (didn’t realize he was the owner at first). He was wearing a Reebok tee shirt so we figured he must be the one who speaks English. But, no, he was the owner. Then, he stood at our table and made a phone call — to his son! He’s 18 and speaks some English. So first the son told us that the father wants us to go upstairs to the better restaurant as we will like it better. We vacated the table and up we went.

The upstairs was definitely more upscale than the barren downstairs… but its decor left a lot to be desired… complete with large paintings on the walls done with palette knife dimensionality. Anyway, the son called again to get our order – he told us they had two kinds of fish: with bones and without bones. We asked what kind of fish, but the response was the same: with bones and without bones. We said without bones, but the son said with bones was tastier. We asked about how the fish would be cooked, but there was only one way. We asked about vegetables and the son said “only salad.” We ordered beer (they don’t have wine). Bread came to the table. And soon the fish came. Intermittently the father would bring his cell phone by the table and call the son.. to find out if we liked the food, if there was anything we needed, etc. Then, the father brought the phone by for the son to chat with us about university education in the staes. The son will be studying business abroad and then wants to get his MBA in the states. We chatted about schools and where we lived in the states. He has a friend who was accepted at Penn on full scholarship. I assume any Uzbeki would need a scholarship to study in the US.

While the fish was fresh and good, it was also a bit boring, although it came with a side dish of some kind of spicy tomato-y sauce for dipping. We taxied back and then headed for a little coffee shop near the hotel for green tea and dessert, before they closed.

Take care –

Fern

Greetings from Bukhara

Since we were mostly in the car today—moving from Samarkand to Bukhara, the images are not spectacular like those of the mosques and mausoleums… Rather, let’s say…. they are descriptive of the day.

Finally the sun came out in Samarkand — just in time to bid us farewell as we began our journey driving from Samarkand to Bukhara in our little Nissan Sentra (with a totally packed trunk). We left at about 11 a.m. for the four hour drive, which we figured would really take us about six hours, considering the strong possibility of getting lost and stopping for lunch. We walked along that unbelievable “ledge” from the hotel to where our car was parked. The photo included above attempts to describe the three foot wide “path” (along that wall and the 8 foot drop along the way – with people going in both directions and during the day workers with wheel barrels as well). The hotel guys carried the luggage on that narrow ledge as well. There is a secondary entrance/exit from the hotel which takes you to a walking street leading to the mosque, but it is a pedestrian street so there is no way to park or get a taxi to that entrance. Thus we walked on that ledge every day.. to and from the hotel.. even late at night when a taxi would drop us off there.  Along the way, a group of Uzbeks stopped to ask if they could take our picture… We are sort of exotic here. This has happened a few times. So either these are Russian spies assigned to us and taking our picture shows they are doing their job, or we are just different and interesting.

By the way, the taxi driver we had last night when we left the restaurant had a few words of English and we learned that he has been trying for five years to get access to a visa to the US. He’s in the green card lottery and he tried each year. He says there are 30 million applicants and 50,000 get selected. He has a friend who won that lottery a few years ago, so he’s hopeful. His friend lives in Queens – naturally – and is working in a supermarket. The taxi driver seemed to think this was a good job and the friend makes good money.

Anyway, we successfully left the hotel, got the car backed out of the narrow street and we were on our way to Bukhara. But first we had to deal with daily traffic, triple parked cars, people crossing the street where there aren’t any walkways,  left turns requiring complete u-turns because there aren’t any left turns, and more. We had been told by the rental car company in Tashkent that there weren’t going to be any petrol stations between Samarkand and Bukhara, so we heeded his advice and gassed up on the outskirts of Samarkand. As it turned out there are petrol stations practically lining the road so there wasn’t any need for panic… I think the rental car guy in Tashkent needs to get out of the capital city more often.  We stopped also at a roadside cart selling delicious Samarkand bread – a particular round bread that has pepper in the center. It’s really delicious… So for a while we snacked on great bread and water.. (sort of like prisoners but with better bread, I suppose).

About two hours into the drive we decided to look for a place to have some lunch..  We knew we wouldn’t find much along the road, but figured we would stumble on something.. We finally came to a town (?) – more like a series of shops lining the road – each shop selling some kind of home repair or building supply.. Kind of like a linear Home Depot. We parked the car and walked down the street and found a “restaurant”… tables inside (and two tables outside, but it was about 40 degrees!).

We sat down and clearly this was not a place for foreigners to eat. Many of the 20 or so tables were filled. Some tables had chairs; others required you to take off your shoes and sit cross legged. We opted for chairs.  A few minutes passed but no one came to take our order. We weren’t sure we had done it correctly. Anyway, a little while later someone came out with a big platter with pickled cabbage, some kind of shredded green raw vegetable, two bowls of yogurt with dill, bread, tea, and cutlery. At first we weren’t sure this was for us. But we’ve traveled enough to figure out that this is some kind of first course or starter that everyone gets.

Eventually, a “waiter” came to the table and we ordered – without speaking the language. We pointed to the shashlik and said “lamb”… but we weren’t certain how many skewers came with the order or how big each skewer would be. We showed three fingers to indicate three skewers, but we must have looked a bit confused so the waiter went to a refrigerator and brought out the lamb skewers raw… and he had six skewers… We then pointed to one, two, three… and he smiled and went off to cook them on a little jerry-rigged barbecue outside. Of course I followed him and photographed. About halfway through our meal, another waiter came to the table with an order of “plov,” the national meat dish that is sort of like rice pilaf.. Mike ate that as well as his share of the shashlik. At the end of the meal, a group of guys (Uzbekis) asked to take a picture with us, so once again we are exotic. They seemed excited to learn we were Americans… they thought we were Germans. FYI, the picture of the toilet is compliments of Mike.. I knew better…

Then we were off again for the next two hours of our drive. We were using our own GPS and also a new app that the car rental guy suggested called MapsMe… It can give you directions and location information without being on WiFi which proved helpful when we lost a signal for a while.

We had reservations at a hotel called Lyabi House Hotel which had looked quite nice on the Internet. But, while we thought we had a reservation we were a bit skeptical since, the hotel never answered any emails we sent regarding our arrival time. And we didn’t have any phone number. So, as we got close to Bukhara we talked about what would be good to have in a hotel for the next few days… especially given that while Bibikhanum was fun and well located, it was actually difficult once I developed my ankle problem. So we said we really needed a good mattress, a place that could bring ice to the room to ice my foot, and that had an interior lobby so that we didn’t always have to walk in the rain when we were actually already inside the hotel. We looked again at Lyabi House and it no longer seemed like the best option.. I searched the internet as Mike drove and a hotel called Malika Bukhara looked good.. and had good reviews. So I called and they had a room which we booked. We have no idea if we paid for Lyabi House or not.. but we decided it didn’t matter. Hotels are very inexpensive so we’d live with the consequences.

We arrived at Makila Bukhara and checked in… We asked for a really good restaurant recommendation — you guessed it…. Lyabi House.. So we got to our room which is on the second floor.. and guess what.. It’s an interior courtyard and you have to walk upstairs in the rain, just like we did at Bibikhanum.. and as we knew we’d have to do at Lyabi House.

Oh well.. We checked out the room – good mattress and they had ice, and even a plastic bag for the ice. Once we got settled in the room, we ventured out to dinner at Lyabi House.. more on dinner in a minute. The hotel looked really nice, and I think we were both a little sorry that we jumped ship so fast. Probably should have gone to Lyabi House, checked it out… and if we didn’t like it, then we could have moved on to Malika. The only drawback for Lyabi House would have been that it is about two blocks into a central square that is completely pedestrian… so if my foot continued to act up and we needed to use taxis we’d have to walk two blocks to just get to the taxi. We resigned ourselves that we made the right decision.

As we walked to Lyabi House for dinner, across the pedestrian square, a little girl approached us and said in perfect English: “Hello, my name is Lucilia (or I think that was the name); I am 10 years old…” We asked her grade but she had a little trouble with that one.. and we asked if she lived in Bukhara. She didn’t; she lived in the Fergana Valley; she was visiting Bukhara with family. As I turned around I could see her beaming mother who was now videoing my conversation with Lucilia who then started over again: “Hello, my name is Lucilia; I am 10 years old.”  We did chat a little more as I asked very very simple questions. With each response the mother seemed happier. Then we hugged for the camera and I took a very quick picture of Lucilia. Not sure where all of these pictures and videos that people are taking of us are going. Then again, they don’t know where all the pictures we are taking of them are going either!

But, dinner at Lyabi House was actually wonderful. First truly good meal we’ve had in Uzbekistan. The restaurant is within a 135-year old building, across the courtyard from the hotel. We had an appetizer of marinated herring in a vegetable salad (really a sort of compote of chopped marinated vegetables on top of which sat the pieces of herring); little raviolis stuffed with lamb served in a very very light pesto sauce; medallions of veal with a simple balsamic sauce (cooked perfectly rare as we requested — first time a restaurant here understood “rare” and first time the meat wasn’t leathery); we ended with a very very wonderful and unbelievably light cheesecake. We had a whole bottle of red wine (from Uzbekistan which was actually good. 

The bill for the dinner which could stand up easily to a Bay Area dinner… was $21.00!! Truly amazing. We already made reservations to return on Tuesday night again, for dinner. The waiter was delightful. He was super-excited to practice his English (which wasn’t bad, although he apologized profusely and asked us to correct him if he makes mistakes. He has been trying to take the TOEFL exams although I don’t think he’s planning to study in the US. Since he seemed to like food, we asked for recommendations of other restaurants in Bhukara and now we are set.  By the time we left Lyabi House it was raining and very very cold. Supposed to rain all day tomorrow so we will have to figure out a plan..

Best –

Fern

Last Day in Samarkand – Rainy, muddy, Hobbling a bit (swollen ankle)

Began our day by meeting up with the same taxi driver we had yesterday.. Figured, given that I’m still walking quite slowly, it would make sense to get driven to a few destinations rather than navigating the very uneven streets and potholes amid the rain. When we got to the taxi, the driver had his grandson in the car as well. He’s a very sweet and bright 8^th grader who’s been studying English since 4^th grade. I think the grandfather wanted to show him off and also help with communication – and to give the kid some opportunity to practice his English. So we found out a lot about the family – The grandfather is his father’s father. His father is a dentist and his mother is a nurse. He hopes to study aerospace engineering and has dreams of coming to the U.S. where he has an uncle (living in Queens – where I now gather there must be a large Uzbeki population). The family speaks mostly Russian at home, although they all speak Uzbeki with the grandparents. And he clearly said he only speaks Russian to his father. I asked why and he said his father (the dentist) prefer Russian and why his Russian is better than his Uzbeki. I looked surprised so the boy said that his father grew up in the Uzbekistan Soviet Socialist Republic so it was normal to speak Russian.

Anyway, as we drove and then walked to our destinations I chatted more with him. It was funny because with adults when we say we are from California, they immediately harken to Arnold Schwartzenegger or Hollywood, but at 14 he immediately said… “California – that’s where Apple is.”  And then he said.. “Mark Zuckerberg lives in California… and Steve Jobs lived in California.. and then he listed all the major tech companies and he knew all the founders of these companies! I asked if he had ever traveled out of Uzbekistan and he said he had been to Russia with his family. But NY is the dream. We also learned that kids go to school six days a week (they are off on Saturdays) from 11 am until 6 pm.

 

Anyway, we headed first to Maftumi Azam – a small and beautiful place that is both a mosque and a mausoleum – and the architect/builder of Zinda is buried there. The driver seemed to be very partial to this place as he loved the very old trees and the beautiful wood columns (hand carved) that supported all of the roofs of the outdoor prayer pavilions. He especially wanted us to take pictures under one particular tree which he said was 500 years old.

Once we took the pictures we were off to see the mausoleum of Imam al-Bukhari who was a famous Persian Islamic scholar who authored the most famous book of hadith which is said to be the second most important book for Sunnis after the Koran (at least this is what I think is the case). He was born 200 years after Muhammed (in 810). At age 16 he made the pilgrimage to Mecca with his brother and legend has it that he spoke with more than 1,000 men to gather the hadith (wise sayings about life).  [Given the work our firm does and how much we rely on one-on-one interviews, I like this guy! ] Anyway, the unbelievable “tombstone” is quite a an impressive site. Many Uzbeks and Russians were visiting. Seemed to be a place for families to gather.

The number of people and families posing in front of the structure was fun to watch as people took photos and selfies over and again. I took a slew of photos of people taking photos to add to my growing collection on this theme.

Then we headed to see a traditional (private) paper-making “factory” located just outside the city. It’s sort of like a park with a babbling brook. While there weren’t any tourist groups visiting when we were there, it’s clear that Meros Paper Factory has plugged into the tourist scene and provides tours and tea and has a shop that sells its products. But it was fine because it was just us and they did walk through their paper making process which was quite interesting. I’ve seen papermaking in the states and this is quite fascinating since it’s all done by hand using ancient methods without benefit of electricity (all powered with water wheels).

It’s all done manually using water to provide the energy for the factory’s mill wheel. They use “strands” of mulberry bark for the raw material which is cleaned and boiled for many hours and then mashed. Then, when the pulp reaches the right consistency, it’s filtered and spread over screens and set to dry (after the excess water is squeezed out of the raw paper). They make two different kinds of base paper; one is very smooth for writing. To get it smooth, they rub it with sea shells or bones (very smooth objects) for about 15 minutes per side for each sheet (about 11 x 16”). They do this “polishing” on a slab of marble. The other paper is left “rough” and yellowish and is sometimes dyed. The unpolished paper is truly beautiful and a work of art. The mill has a little shop where they sell the paper as well as some paper products like wallets and dolls and calendars… and even some paper clothing. One vest was quite tempting.

Supposedly, this unique process came from China by captured soldiers (after a failed invasion of Kyrgystan in 751) , some of whom were artisans. To avoid being executed, the artisans gave up their paper making techniques to the ruler of Samarkand who passed the art form on to local Samarkand artisans. The paper made in Samarkand was famous and used for Persian and Arab manuscripts in the 9^th and 10^th centuries. The technique was used for about a thousand years until the factory was destroyed in the 19^th century. It was resurrected recently.

Then we headed back to the hotel and strolled briefly in the rain to get a light, late lunch near the hotel.

Tonight the pickings were slim for dinner. Apparently Samarkand is still in New Years mode and many restaurants are closed until January 6. So our choices (according to the hotel) were: the hotel restaurant, Platan where we ate on Thursday night, or Samarkand where we ate last night. We opted for Platan and did a much better job on selections tonight, so I’d say the meal was just fine. Nothing to send to Michelin, but ok. We ordered Uzbeki samosas, s plate of grilled vegetables, a lamb dish (a la Platan), a chicken shishkebab,  two glasses of wine (for Fern) and two shots of scotch (for Mike) and followed it all with a shared piece of “traditional cheesecake” and green tea.  The bill was $32.00… !!!

Taxied to the hotel – stopping at an ATM (they often don’t work and you can only get the equivalent of $50 – 500,000 som – at any one time. And given that a lot of places don’t take credit cards.. you always need to have a lot of cash. The denominations are generally in 50,000 units so you’ve always got a lot of bills and your wallet is really fat.  We made our way along that awful ledge to the hotel and now we have to pack to leave in the morning – we will drive four hours to get to Bukhara. We’ve been warned to get petrol in Samarkand because there aren’t any petrol stations on that four hour drive. Should be interesting.

One last comment… in the old section of town where we are, the pothole situation is pretty awful. We’re always complaining about Oakland potholes, but now maybe that we’ve seen these we’ll be more gracious about Oakland’s lack of attention to this infrastructure situation.

Best –

Fern

Greetings from Samarkand
3 January 2020

What a day… I will try to describe it as succinctly as possible, but it’s a lot.

We were up quite late last night trying to assess my foot situation, and I stayed up late to write last night’s blog post. So we didn’t get to bed until about 2:30 am. We were awoken suddenly at around 5:30 am when there was no power at the hotel (maybe the whole neighborhood; not sure). Not really certain what woke us up, but I guess it was the utter silence – no sound of radiators (heat depends on the power) and no light coming from the walkway outside. Anyway, we realized the power was out and then wondered how long it would take to restore. We heard a lot of noise outside, so we figured they were trying to fix the situation. Power was restored a few hours later and we fell back asleep and slept in past the breakfast time. So we got a late start. Given that my foot was swollen and I’m walking rather slowly, we decided the best thing to do was to hire a taxi for a few hours to take us to the places we wanted to visit and that way I could minimize walking (and preserve my walkability to walking “within” the places rather than having to walk “to” the places as well).

Our plan for the day was to go to Shah-i-Zinda (a huge necropolis) and the Gubaz Synagogue (which services all 250 Jews in the Samarkand region and which we were told would be difficult to find). We got a local Samarkand taxi (actually more like a gypsy cab) on the street – an older driver who was very friendly and who had lots of gold teeth, but who spoke not a word of English. However, given how much we’ve traveled that wasn’t an issue as we always manage to find some way to get our message across. So off we went to Shah-i-Zinda. (Prior to departing the hotel, along that treacherous path which was quite muddy today, we had determined after a bit of research that we’d go to a restaurant called Straya Abra so the hotel made the reservation.)

The Shah-i-Zinda houses many mausoleums and buildings from the 9^th to 14^th centuries and also some from the 19^th century. There are a lot of legends about Kusam ib Abbas, a cousin of Muhammad the prophet. They say he came to Samarkand with the Arab invasion to preach Islam and that he was beheaded for his faith, but he never died… that he went into a deep well and is living there now. Anyway, the complex includes about 20 buildings. As we approached the site, I was a bit apprehensive as you could see from the parking area that there was a huge, steep set of stairs with very high risers… equaling about four flights of stairs! In some parts there was a railing; in other parts, no railing. But I was determined and figured that if we climbed slowly, I could do it… one step at a time, putting both feet on each step. It took a while, but I made it to the top.. and then there was a lot of walking and smaller sets of stairs.. But it was worth it. Zinda (as the locals call it) is spectacular. I’m only posting a few of the hundreds of photos I took for fear of making this email too large to be received.

It is rare for historic sites to endure as long as this one, through centuries of war, natural disasters, progress, and development. Maybe it is because it began with one building and then there were so many additions over the centuries so the area remained sacred. Also it houses the remains of many famous people. As a result there are layers of history and architecture that intersect along narrow streets that climb the hillside. It’s a truly amazing sight to behold – with tile work everywhere in vibrant blues and greens and hints of yellow. Can’t even imagine how many servants had to be employed to create each of these structures. In a way it’s just a narrow walking street lined with mausoleums, climbing a hillside. It’s obviously a popular place to visit as there were many people there – mostly Uzbekis and Russians. Didn’t hear any English.

After about 90 minutes we made the descent down that staircase … slowly and carefully! The taxi was waiting and we asked to go to the Synagogue (the only one in Samarkand). The driver didn’t know it, but we had read a bit about it and could find it on our map and on the GPS, although the exact location was not totally spelled out. We knew we could get close. According to one article, it was important to phone the rabbi in advance. So we did that. Unfortunately, he didn’t speak any English – only Uzbek, Russian, and Hebrew. (No help for us, but I said we were from California and maybe he understood a little.) Anyway, the taxi driver had already left the car and gone to speak with some other drivers and when he came back I called the rabbi again and let the taxi driver talk to him. It now seemed like we would make the effort to go there. Actually, we knew from the map that it was only about a 15-minute walk from our hotel, but given the path and the quality of the little streets.. and my foot… we thought it was not a good idea to walk.

Anyway, we followed the GPS as the driver headed there and he was definitely going on the route. As we got very close, a man in a leatherette jacket (about 60-years-old) approached the car and the driver rolled down his window and the man said “Shalom!”  We figured he was looking for us and was going to walk us into the small street and then the rabbi would be there to open the synagogue. But , we learned quickly, he was the rabbi. No beard, clean shaven, wearing a cap (similar to Mike’s). So we all walked about a half-block to a small building (that had the star of David painted on the outside). The taxi driver came too, since he had never been there and seemed curious.

So, given that there wasn’t any common language… here is what I believe to be the situation. From some research we did, the Jews have been in Uzbekistan centuries before Genghis Khan arrived, and at various points in history there was a thriving community. Today the numbers are very small and here in Samarkand there appears to be anywhere from 50 to 250 Jews living in the city. Different books have different numbers. There were more than 100,000 Jews here in Uzbekistan in the 1980s.. By 2002 there were only 6,000 and now about 200.

And from the “conversation” with the rabbi — There are actually two synagogues in one building separated by a little covered walkway (which is probably quite sweet in the summertime since there are vines that would be green or flowering). Really, I’d say there are two “rooms” rather than two buildings that comprise these two “synagogues.”  One is for Ashkenazi Jews and the other for Sephardic Jews. When I said my family was Ashkenazi, he unlocked that room. It’s pretty spartan with a big heater in the center. On one side of that heater was a shelf with the prayer book. Around the edges of the room were tables with chairs facing toward that heater. They could probably seat about 20 people in that setting. I asked where the torah was kept, he said they had three torahs.. all were kept in the Sephardic side, I think. He kept pointing to photos (pasted onto a cardboard) hanging on the wall with pictures of all the rabbis for the past 100 years or so. He kept pointing to one particular rabbi saying “New York, Israel, Samarkand” so I suppose this one rabbi who was there in the 1970s, I think, came from NY and went to Israel (perhaps to study?) and then chose to settle in Samarkand?  He also proudly pointed to a 2016 calendar on the wall that was from the Uzbeki Jews of America and Canada – there were photos of some kind of convention or celebration. We checked out the advertisements on the calendar and they were all from businesses in Queens, so I suppose there is an Uzbeki Jewish community in Queens (NY).

He then took us to the Sephardic side, which was a bit more upscale than the Ashkenazi side. It had more of a bimah, and he pointed to the doors behind which the torahs were kept. Again there were a few memorabilia of this American/Canadian Uzbeki Jewish community association. I think he asked where my family was from (although maybe that wasn’t the question), but I answered Romania. The rabbi was part of the Sephardic side of the synagogue but he was rabbi to the whole congregation, and perhaps they worship together in the Sephardic side. He pointed to the area for women, so I’m guessing the synagogue is conservative or orthodox although I think it’s all a big blend here. He didn’t ask Mike to put on a kippa but Mike was wearing his cap so I suppose he was OK… We took pictures of the sanctuary and of the rabbi and the rabbi took pictures of us. We put American money in a little cup that was not overly visible and near the bimah, but that seemed better than giving it directly to the rabbi. He thanked us as we left and said “Shabat Shalom!”

We returned to the hotel and later took a taxi to the restaurant where we had a reservation. When we arrived (it’s in a totally different part of the city – in a newer section) and in an interesting building that is a hotel (more upscale than ours – but we had eliminated all hotels that were not in the very old section of the city) at the restaurant, it was closed. So the taxi called our hotel and they recommended a restaurant called Samarkand (how appropriate and creative). When we got there, we walked into what I think was a huge wedding with very very loud music and lots of people. The host said in very weak English – upstairs, no smoking, no music. We said “great!” and up we went – two full flights.. to another world from the downstairs disco. A quiet restaurant room that seats about 120 people. While there was supposedly no smoking, there was actually a lot of smoking. But no music.

The menu was pages long, with some very strange English translations for a few of the dishes. It took us some time to decide and to figure out what each dish might be… And again the choice for wine was red or white… We opted for red which turned out to be an Uzbeki wine… not too great, but not terrible. We selected three dishes – one appetizer and two mains.. but none were available. We went to another round of decisions but those were not available either. This was beginning to feel like our travels in the old Soviet Union many years ago, when they gave us menus that were about 10 pages long, but they would always say “Beef Stroganoff”.. and we would say, “ no, maybe something different” until we realized they only had beef stroganoff. Anyway, we ordered a dish called “assorted marinated”… which we assumed correctly was assorted marinated vegetables (like we had seen in the markets). But when it arrived, it was just pickles and pickled tomatoes.. We also ordered one chicken dish and one lamb dish.. Food was OK.. maybe on a scale of 1 to 10 I’d give it a 6. When it came to dessert, there was a list of about 15 choices but all they had was vanilla ice cream.

About midway through our meal, the four guys (in their 40s) at the adjacent table leaned over and asked where we were from (in very basic, hesitant English); turns out (we think) that these are all four cousins, with three living in Samarkand and one visiting from Tashkent. They were pretty high – having downed a whole bottle of vodka along with beers. Anyway, they wanted to talk – a lot. One of them had lived in the states for two years having attended some kind of college in Clearwater Florida and also spent time in St. Petersburg. He loved Florida. He explained (many times) that he came back to Uzbekistan in 2005 and has not had the opportunity to speak English. He studied International Business and he currently works as an exporter of peppers (I think). Frankly, his cousin’s English was better than his. They are all Turks living in Uzbekistan (not sure how long they’ve been in Uzbekistan, but they clearly identify with being Turkish). They were excited to learn we had traveled to Turkey three times and that we had been to Antalya, although I believe their families were from Istanbul.

We took pictures and selfies and then they headed out (we sort of waited for them to leave, fearful they might offer to drive us to our hotel, but they were totally smashed). We left a few minutes later having the restaurant get us a cab.

Back in the hotel safe and sound. Looking forward  to another exciting day tomorrow.

Fern

Began our second day of 2020 in Samarkand in a different room from last night; we had requested a second floor room (top floor) when we made the reservations but somehow – probably because we got here so late – we were given a first floor room.. Anyway, we are now in a much larger corner room (there are only about 15 or 20 rooms in this little hotel that is located about 50 feet from the majestic Bibi Khanym Mosque, which in the 15^th Century was one of the largest and most magnificent mosques in the Islamic world. It also has an interesting, but long story… In a nutshell, the original construction was rushed and pushed the technology of the time (14^th Century)… and when the “client” (Timur — typical of interfering clients) returned from his travels to India, he was disappointed and made many changes to the plans which really stretched the construction capacity of the time… Bricks began to fall from the dome and there were many repairs instituted. Then in the 16^th Century, Abdulla Khan stopped all repairs on the building and it began to deteriorate quickly — not helped by earthquakes, weather, and the theft of materials by locals trying to construct their own houses. By the mid-20th century it was a ruin… but major parts were restored during the Soviet period. Interesting since this is a contradiction to Soviet atheism and a smart form of cooptation (or dominating with a velvet glove).

We strolled each of the buildings and photographed a lot… even as the rain set in…

And then we strolled to the Registan… which was the heart of Samarkand in ancient times during the Timurid Dynasty. In Persian, Registan means “sandy place” or “desert.” This was to be a huge public square… proclamations would be read here.. and I guess it was also the place for public executions. It’s framed by three Madrasahs (Islamic schools). Because we realized we’d probably spend a lot of time exploring the Registan, we decided to find a place for lunch before venturing onto the grounds. We spotted several restaurants (which are usually identifiable by their wooden placards outside that have faded pictures of the food they serve). But alas most were closed. Maybe they are only dinner places or perhaps it is still holiday time. New Years is very very big here, since they don’t celebrate Christmas… although they have a bit of Christmas tied into the New Years as Santa-type costumes appear everywhere.

Anyway, we finally stumbled upon a little place that had plov (that rice dish) and salad and soup. We had one plov to share and one soup to share. Very greasy… and I think the meat in the soup was horse meat. Anyway, we ate (I’m really grateful that they have great local bread everywhere… I can live on the bread). Again the plov was cooked outside downstairs in huge cauldrons. The seating was upstairs.. for about 30 people… always with plastic sheets on the table to protect the tablecloth which seems to be plastic as well. Many of the tables were occupied by cops, so I think that’s a sign that it was good local food (or maybe a sign that no other restaurant was open today).

Then we walked to the Registan which is probably unbelievably fantastic when it’s not raining and later really poring. But we were troupers and strolled and photographed away… By the time we emerged from inside one of the main buildings it was really really raining hard… Got back to the hotel with enough time to download photos and then headed out for dinner at a place called Platan. But not before I had a little mishap — I slipped on the last two steps of the exterior of our little hotel, in the poring rain… The steps are a kind of marble and thus very slippery… I landed on my butt… but somehow got my ankle twisted a bit.. Walked to the taxi in the rain and got to the restaurant, managing to leave my favorite Marimekko umbrella inside the taxi – in an effort to carefully emerge from the taxi onto the rainy street by the restaurant.

First a little about Platan and then my ankle. Platan is considered the best restaurant in Samarkand (??) It’s a 10-minute taxi ride from our hotel, so it’s located in a much newer part of the city. The menu is extensive and a bit eclectic although it specializes in Uzbeki food. We ordered chuchvara which was a little like Uzbeki mantu (sort of like the Turkish manti, although I prefer the Turkish version) which was good and then we ordered two different soups (the menu had about a dozen different soups): borscht and another soup whose name I cannot recall, but it was a tomato base with vegetables and a dollop of sour cream. Although I’m not a borscht lover, I wound up with the borscht since the other soup had a lot of ham in it. Anyway, the borscht was quite good. Then we shared what was called “rack of lamb” but was really simply three lamb chops with some vegetables. We hesitated to order the lamb because we tried it a few times since we’ve been here and no matter how hard we tried to explain that we like it rare (“not cooked very much,” “red on the inside,” “fast cooking”) it always appeared on our plate very well done. I tried to translate “cooked rare” into Russian and showed the words to the waiter but it didn’t make any sense to him. He brought someone over who said that they broil the lamb and then bake it so it cannot be cooked less. But then after a conversation, the decision was made to just broil the lamb chops and not bake them after that.. so “half-cooked” according to them. Success, sort of… definitely edible but I’d say they were more medium than rare! Despite a very extensive menu of desserts, Platan didn’t have any desserts tonight. From what we could understand, they are still gearing up to normal following the New Years holiday. Our wine choices were limited to “red” or “white” if we wanted glasses rather than a whole bottle.

Despite the upscale, old-world ambiance the meal was incredibly cheap and we almost thought they made a mistake. We taxied back to Bibikhanum, although neither taxis nor cars can reach the very front of the hotel. Instead they wind up about ¾ of a block away… but the walk, especially at night, is a bit treacherous as you walk on a ledge that is about 3’ wide and has a 7 foot drop on the edge with no rail. Didn’t think too much about this yesterday, but today in the rain and with my new injury, it seemed sort of death defying.

OK.. my ankle.. I think it’s either just a bruise of a sprain. It’s a bit swollen but I’m fairly certain nothing is broken. Naturally, it’s the same ankle and foot I’ve injured before, including once in Paris and once in Berlin where I tore the fifth metatarsal (which put me into one of those annoying “boots”). The hotel gave me a little bowl of ice.. which I put into a Ziploc bag that I had for liquids, and that is now tied to my foot and I took a pain killer (although I’m not really in  pain). Actually the pain killer is an anti-inflammatory so I hope it undoes the swelling. I’ll see how I feel tomorrow and that will determine what activities we can do on our second day in Samarkand. And, of course the rain will also factor into our plans. Frankly, it doesn’t look good with regard to the rain ending. Prediction is for rain for the next two days.

Before closing, some responses to some questions that were asked… While Uzbekistan is a Muslim country (87%), it’s simultaneously a very secular country. So, interestingly there aren’t the usual calls to prayer like you hear in Turkey or Tunisia and so many other countries around the world. And in some ways, all of these incredible mosques are a bit of a backdrop and works of art rather than functioning religious institutions or buildings. And interestingly, there are fewer women with head scarves here in Samarkand than in either Tashkent or Istanbul. And a little bit about Samarkand: It’s in the central east part of the country and is one of the oldest cities of Central Asia. It was captured by Alexander the Great in the 4^th Century BC, and later ruled by Turks, Arabs, the Samanids of Iran, and other Turkic peoples and then in the 13^th Century it was annexed by the Kwarezm-Shah Dynasty and totally destroyed by Genghis Khan in 1220. Then it revolted against the Mongol rulers and it became the capital of the Empire of Timur, who made it the most important center of Central Asia. The city was conquered by the Uzbeks and became part of Bukhara, if I understand what I read… But, by the 18^th Century the area declined considerably until it became a provincial capital of the Russian Empire when the economy recovered. For about a decade from the mid 1920s to the mid 1930s Samarkand was the capital of what was then called the Uzbek Soviet Socialist Republic. Today, there’s an old medieval city and a new section that was built in the 19^th Century. Complicated..and probably a lot of really interesting stories in there.

Take care.

Walk carefully…

All the best –

Fern

“Yangi yilingiz bilan” from Tashkent (on our last day here)… or… Happy New Year from Tashkent… and arrival in Samarkand (the drive).

We began our last day in Tashkent (we head to Samarkand tomorrow morning–January 1, 2020) and the last day of 2019 with a good breakfast and our usual walk to the Metro station (which is about a half-mile from the hotel). Along the way we stopped, ever so briefly, at the Monument at Mustaqillik Maydoni. After Uzbekistan’s independence in Fall 1991, the former Lenin Square was renamed Mustaquillik Maydoni, which means “Independence Square” in English. The monument to Lenin was dismantled, and a new sculpture was erected – a globe and later a sculpture of a woman with a baby in her arms (motherland) was constructed and set at the base of the globe. This is also a memorial for the close-to-400,000 Uzbeki soldiers who died in World War II.  We’ve passws by this square every day as we headws to the Metro. There is an arch at the entry to the square called the Arch of Humanism (Arch of Ezgulik). The “square” is more of a park and is surrounded by many official buildings, most of which look like typical Soviet formal institutional structures.

On this day, we decided to spend several hours taking the metro to random stations and getting out to walk around different neighborhoods. We also stumbled on several amazing subway stations along the way, so we often got out of the train to photograph the stations and then get back onto the train. Our journey took us to the far end (last stops) of several of the metro lines. The weather was gray which didn’t help our assessment of these more distant neighborhoods. But it did look a bit like what Queens (NY) might have looked like in the 1950s. There are many buildings in unfinished states and sometimes it’s not clear if the building is on its way up or on its way down.

One station brought us to a  very vibrant supermarket (which we checked out) and a sort of mini Chorsu Bazaar — selling every possible kind of food. The area was bustling. One thing, I can say confidently, is that food seems very available – everything including pineapples and bananas (which come from Ecuador). There’s an abundance of meats, and cheeses, and vegetables and fruits. There’s also typical packaged goods, including Oreo cookies! The only American fast food that we’ve seen is KFC (which seems to be located in many spots in Tashkent).

Eventually we made our way to the Tashkent TV Tower which is about 1,200 feet (375 meters) tall and they say is the 11^th tallest tower in the world — but not before stopping at Plov Center, a restaurant that only has plov, salad, and bread. There are a few different plov dishes at the center, but naturally we got there toward the end of the lunch hour and so our choices were limited. The one waiter who spoke some English said the one that was remaining was “the best and often served at weddings” (good salesman). Plov is a little like rice pilaf… a rice dish with some vegetables and also some fruits (apricots in ours) and different meat. The waiter asked which meats and we said lamb; he asked if we wanted horse meat too, saying it was tasty, but we declined. At the Plov Center there are tables and chairs for about 850 people in one room, with about 700 seated on the main floor and the remainder on a balcony that wraps the room. The ceiling height is about 30’. They cook the plov in giant cauldrons just outside the restaurant and if you can speak Russian you can chat about what you want in your plov (I think).

The entry to the TV Tower which is located just about 100 meters from the Plov Center (as the crow flies) but is about 5 times that distance because you have to walk out into the street and around and up and down stairs to find the tower. Anyway, as you walk to the elevator which takes you to the viewing floor, you walk past models (not too well made) of other towers around the world, including the Empire State Building and the Hancock Tower in Chicago. The view from the top is not too impressive since Tashkent is so flat and mostly because it was so hazy you couldn’t see very much.

We then walked about a mile (Mike complaining that there aren’t enough benches in Tashkent to rest as you walk) to the nearest Metro Station and headed back to the hotel where we would spend New Years Eve (and my birthday). By the time we reached the hotel, preparations were in full swing. We went to the restaurant for our reserved table at about 9:30 and most parties were already seated and the entertainment had already started. Loud! Mixture of rock, 80s disco, local folksy Central Asian tunes played on old instruments, and a little bit of Christmas… oh and also some Frank Sinatra! Food was fine, lots of alcohol – champagne, wine, cocktails, etc.  About 30 minutes in, they announced my name although I didn’t really hear it clearly — and they brought over a tiramisu cake with candles to our table. They also said something at the mic, but it was in Russian so I’m assuming it was just Happy Birthday (always complicated to be a New Year’s Eve baby).

 Dancing began as well and there were a few big circle dances (a little like the Horah that is danced at Jewish weddings) – I actually participated. Most everyone in the restaurant spoke Russian and the event was all done in Russian. Apparently Russian is still the official language for all transactions, menus, and everyday work, while Uzbek is spoken at home.

A few minutes before midnight, everyone left their tables (we followed) and headed to the deck adjacent to the restaurant. There everyone was handed cannisters that twisted and out popped glitter (many of the women wore dresses with sequins and other sparkly things — once again, I was probably a bit underdressed, although I did not wear a turtleneck! But I did wear boots.) At midnight they all started to sing (without accompaniment) the national anthem, which I assume they did in Uzbek. From what we could tell, about 60% or more of the guests were Uzbeks from Tashkent area; there were some Uzbeks from other parts of the country; there were a few foreigners (we know one table of about 8 people were from Istanbul) and there was us. They assigned a waitress to us who could speak some English and she seemed to pop up frequently to check that we were OK.. and to replenish our wine (probably too many times).

At about 1 am we headed to the lobby lounge to get an after dinner drink – it was nice and quiet and we could actually have a conversation.

Before I begin… by popular demand… Above is the only photo I could get of one of the tables with the guy and his “dates..”  (see earlier post). Couldn’t get a shot of the other table with the three “couples.” Also, when we got back to the hotel and strolled to the entrance of the hotel – through that maze of lights (they love lights here… every building is adorned with twinkle lights…. ) and the photo ops with the Santas and the blaring music on the DJ’s playlist which includes everything from Uzbeki Rap to Xmas jingles… All of a sudden they were playing Rachmaninov!

And to those of you who commented on the Metro stations, photography was not allowed in the stations until June of 2018! The stations were seen as military installations and as shelters in the event of a nuclear attack. You could get arrested for taking photographs. But now it’s allowed, although we haven’t seen anyone else taking pictures, just us. Then again, we really haven’t seen any tourists, except when we are at the hotel.

And some other tidbits:

• A guy came up to talk with us while waiting for the train; his English was fairly good. Turns out he lived in Sweden for a year and learned English there. I think he was an engineer or in some kind of technology position. After just a few moments, he asked about the US and said he feared for the future of American democracy because of Trump.
• Pictures of Mike and me must be everywhere.. as there are a lot of street cameras, and when we arrived in Tashkent, as we were getting off an escalator (prior to going through Uzbeki Customs, an airport staffer was photographing (video) everyone deplaning.
• People rarely smile here in Tashkent
• Lots of people have gold teeth; someone said it was to provide “insurance” for the next generation.

So, now about today… Monday, December 30 –

We took the Metro to the Chorsu stop — requiring a change of trains – and headed to the famous Chorsu Bazaar, which did not disappoint. It’s a huge, huge market located in the center of the old town of Tashkent. It’s within a blue-green-color domed building and flows out into all the surrounding streets and up the stairs that lead to the bazaar. Apparently the word, chorsu comes from the Persian language and means something like “crossroads.” The building is about 10 stories tall at the center of the dome; it’s about 300 feet in diameter. There are a few smaller domes that surround the large one. There’s also a second floor “balcony” that surrounds the main dome on the inside. The Bazaar (the space under the main dome) has literally hundreds of stalls. Each sells a particular kind of food and the stalls are fairly well organized by food — all the meat is in one section; cheese in another; chicken and fowl in another part.. all of the stalls are in concentric circles matching the rings of the dome; on the upper level “terrace” they sell an amazing array of nuts and dried fruits; there is a whole section of stalls that sell pickles and pickled vegetables; there’s a noodle section; etc. etc. The bazaar is always crowded but especially so today since people were shopping for big New Year’s dinners (or so we think). Maybe because there are not many tourists in Uzbekistan at this time of year, or maybe it’s just the Uzbeki style… but there was little to no gawking and no one really tried to sell us anything. We love visiting markets and have seen some pretty exotic ones in various parts of Asia and Latin America – but this one was quite wonderful and different.

After strolling through the entire market, we emerged back onto the street and the many outdoor stalls selling clothing, fruits and vegetables (they pretty much have every kind of food including pineapples; the only produce we didn’t see was avocado), we decided it was time for lunch. So we stopped at a little stall selling shaslik.. and after a minute or two figured out the system (helped a bit by a woman who worked there who said “Sit down!”).. We found two seats (plastic chairs) at a little table and soon the woman emerged to tell us what they had (sort of in English, but not completely).

We ordered four skewers (they are small) of a “mixed grill” (my term, not theirs) – chicken, lamb, beef. And soon the food emerged, which we could see being cooked on a very makeshift grill in front of us. Actually, it turned out that they don’t put chicken on the skewers so we had two skewers of lamb, two of beef, and then an order of chicken grilled in another part of the stall. They brought over very fresh bread (they serve wonderful home-baked bread everywhere and it’s just part of the meal), and some pickled onions, and a sort of honey tea (which was really good). While we waited for our “order,” a guy (probably in his 40s) took a seat at our table (there were four chairs) and then a woman with two children sat down as well. There was a basket on our table, into which they put our bread.. and then they brought the bread for the guy and it went into the same basket. So we had quite a group! No one spoke any English. We couldn’t finish the last skewer so we gave it to the guy, who was appreciative and even almost cracked a smile.

Then we strolled through the outdoor sections of the market and got to the Kukeldash Madrash and the nearby mosque – both of which had been rebuilt after the 1868 earthquake and was one of the few buildings in the area to survive the 1966 earthquake. Today, the first floor (which has numerous tiny rooms) houses craftspeople who try to sell their products to visitors. We then walked into the surrounding neighborhood for a bit and then hiked back to the Metro station which was hard to find, since it literally is within the outdoor stalls of Chorsu.. We stopped at a stall and asked for directions (saying “meeetro”) and the woman decided it was best to have her daughter (maybe 10-years-old) escort us to the stairs leading to the station.. which was actually only about 50 yards away.

Then our evening adventures began.

Given the absurdity of last night’s dinner… we opted for a very low-key restaurant that we had read about called “Traditional Food.” We asked the hotel to get us a taxi and they said they didn’t know this restaurant and questioned whether we really wanted to go there. We did. So when the taxi arrived, they told the taxi the name and location of the restaurant (or at least we think they did, since the driver had no interest in seeing it on our GPS). The taxi driver spoke no English… and he drove about 15 minutes and dropped us off in front of a restaurant (that said it had Karaoke!) and off he went. Somehow it didn’t seem like the right place. Turned out to be a huge Chinese restaurant. We were intent on getting to the other restaurant, but needed someone to call for a taxi (I actually downloaded the local taxi app — you know I’m totally anti-Uber – but it’s all in Uzbeki).

There was a guy who seemed to be a bouncer near the door and I think he realized we were a bit lost, so he came outside (where we could hear each other, given the volume of the music inside). He had no English at all, but somehow we communicated that we needed a taxi.. and he called someone …. Probably a relative.. who showed up and drove us to the right restaurant. But now it was about 8:45 and we knew the restaurant closed at 9:00 so it was unknown whether or not we’d be able to eat there. The “driver” was incredibly nice. He spoke Farsi, Russian, and Uzbek — and a few words of English, which he used to tell us that English was a problem; we replied that Russian was a problem for us! He refused to take any money for the ride, but we gave him 20,000 Som (about $2.00, which was more than what it had cost to get to the Chinese restaurant). In the taxi, we said we were from California and he immediately responded “Schwartzenegger” … Amazing. This has happened to us before. Arnold has got to be one of the best known figures internationally — those movies sell.

The Traditional Food restaurant (definitely not its real name) is one very very large room. It took a while to figure out the system, especially since they were beginning to close and the food choices were very very limited by then. The restaurant is a cross between a soup kitchen and an old institutional dining room. As you approach, on the street, there are “cooks” making shishkebabs, a table with soups, and then huge vats that are cooking a variety of other local foods. But, the huge, huge, huge vats were empty and our only choice was shishkebab. So for the second time in one day… Anyway, a guy saw we didn’t quite understand the system and he came to help. His English was quite good. Mike says he works there, or maybe is an owner. When we asked about his English, he told us he was on the Law faculty of the University. He turned us over to a ‘waitress’ who had a little bit of English and she took our order, as we pointed to what we wanted (or what was available at closing time) – shishkebab and a dish of pickled vegetables. Again we got the green tea and good bread. The place has absolutely no ambiance. Plastic sheeting on the tables, nothing hanging on the walls.

There was a whole row of women (all women) who were making noodles… unbelievable scene. About a dozen women in a row, standing shoulder to shoulder. At one end two women were making sheets of a pasta-like product and then soaking it in water and then the other women would slice the sheets into very thin strips – no pasta making machines here. All done by hand. Since I was photographing non-stop as they made these noodles, another guy came up to us and he spoke some English – and explained that while they always make noodles here (which we tasted and they were really good – thick and spongy) they were preparing this huge batch because it is traditional for New Years to serve these cold noodles topped with horse meat. People were lining up to purchase pounds of it to go so they could make it tomorrow night. We politely rejected getting a portion. They call the dish “nori” or something like that. Or maybe the noodle part is the nori and the horse meat is another word.

Food was pretty bland, but authentic. Not sure if it all would have been a lot better had we arrived as planned, without the side trip to the Chinese restaurant and the second taxi.

Now we needed a taxi to get back to the hotel.

The waitress came to the rescue. She came outside with us, but didn’t phone for a cab. She stood in the street and suddenly a beat up old car stopped. She talked to the driver and told us he would take us to the hotel. As we got into the car, I saw that she gave the driver a few thousand Som (maybe equal to 50 cents or so). I got out of the car and tried to give her money but she refused to take it.. She said it was a New Years present from her. Clearly, this was not a taxi…. It was more like the old gypsy “cabs” in Brooklyn when I was a kid.. or like the many “informal taxis” that we took in Mexico City when going to and from the colonias populares. Anyway, the guy took us directly to the hotel, although he wisely let us out on the street rather than driving up to the hotel door. He knew the hotel had lots of police nearby and his beat up car would be a give-away! He wouldn’t take any money, since the waitress had already paid.

We strolled to the hotel, and went immediately to the top floor bar (where we think some of last night’s mafia group were also having drinks).

All the best as we approach the final day of 2019.

Fern

Greetings from Tashkent on the 30^th of December

Where to begin…. First, a few pieces of information I didn’t mention in previous notes:

The Metro (pronounced “meeetro” – so now we can ask to find the station; Uzbekis do not seem familiar with any variations to pronunciation) is amazingly clean (almost immaculate) and very safe. Every station has at least two policemen (so far only males) at the entrance and every platform there are two more cops (sort of transit cops) inside the station (mostly they seem to chat with one another all day). There is no litter, no gum on the floors, no graffiti, no begging, no one sleeping in the station. And there is at least one babushka-clad sweeper on each platform — bending down with a small whisk-style brush and an antiquated dust bin made of metal. I think by now we’ve been in more than half of the stations and platforms and I can say with confidence that the above is true. The stations are a bit like museums.

Anyway, we’re quite proficient now changing trains and moving about without hesitation. There aren’t any elevators or escalators – only stairs, So, not sure what people with disabilities do. Clearly we haven’t seen any on the trains.

So, last night we asked the hotel for a recommendation for a local restaurant, with good food, casual, and located in a neighborhood. They suggested strongly that we go to Obi-hayot, which was about a 20-minute taxi ride from the hotel. The further we got, the more we thought we were truly headed into an interesting neighborhood and a small local restaurant. Alas, we finally arrived at Obi-hayot which is huge! We walk in and there was absolutely deafening music blasting.. but we learned there was a wedding going on and the music was in a private area (wedding looked like about 200 guests at least – the tables were set in a stepped fashion so that everyone could see the show. So we were escorted into a small supposedly quiet restaurant area. There were about 10 tables set for four to six people at each. About four tables were occupied. As soon as we sat down we knew we were in for an unexpected evening. There was a constant show going on… very loud.. with performers changing about every 10 minutes. It was like a bad cabaret; many of the performances were 1920-flappers and gangsters wearing striped zoot suits!

We’re pretty certain, based on two of the tables that this restaurant is part of the Uzbeki mafia. Two of the tables had men in their 60s with “dates” in their late 20s or early 30s. They were ordering up a storm, dancing from time to time… and the 60-year old guys were trying oh so hard to be cool. Then a Santa-style performer came out and tried to engage the audience, including us… in a strange set where he would sing (or scream) something and then he brought the mic to a table and you were supposed to copy.

We feigned ignorance and tried to ignore it all, but when the mic was in our face and everyone else (by now the only people left were the two tables of mafioso who had participated in the game)… we uttered something. The 60-year old guys were wearing tight jeans and tee shirts (with large bellies overflowing their belts); the women were all in very tight very short skirts with 4” spiked heels (needle-thin) and low cut tops. (I was clearly over-dressed in a black turtleneck sweater.) One of the guys wore a tee shirt that said “Working Hard at Hardly Working” in English. He was at a different table with his two dates… one a tall slender platinum blonde with a giant tattoo on her left shoulder that looked like a dragon.

Mike says that even the Sopranos would not find these guys classy enough to be part of their “family.”  Two of the guys looked like they probably have met up with Giuliani… and maybe Trump would be eating here if he were visiting Tashkent. It had a bit of a mix of the Catskills, Mar a Lago, Las Vegas. All of this group was vaping at some point in the evening.

Actually the food was good, and the evening could have been enjoyable. We were also hit up with a fee for the performance! We headed out as soon as we finished dinner (an eggplant appetizer salad; two kinds of manti; kebabs; and a sort of cheesecake for dessert).

Lots to say about today’s exploration of Chorsu Bazaar.. and I’ll try to write about it when we get back from tonight’s dinner.. at a restaurant we read about called National Food… which the hotel says is not really the name, but that’s how it’s written up in all of the guides we scanned.

More to come in a few hours.

Fern