Well, hell. Another throwaway day

Well, we’ve still got three more days here. What are we going to do? We decided that we’d try the history museum, but the concierge just rolled his eyes when I told him. He said you know about history. It is what the people in power decide it is. Uzbekistan has been ruled since before independence and while probably not on the scale of the Tunisian ruling family, it ain’t far behind in many respects. He suggested the museum of applied arts.
So off we went. Along the way we met a boy playing cutsy on a park bench with his girlfriend and he greeted us and naturally a conversation ensued. His girlfriend was more shy and sat there and smiled while he was on his feet and having a good time with the banter. He is a student at the Irrigation and something else institute and I asked him if he was going to figure out a way to put the water back in the Aral sea. He said he was studying, but I reminded him that he didn’t have any books out from which to study, and he was really more intent on studying his girlfriend. We had a fun conversation. He was agile of mind and quick with a response. Reminded me of all the times I used to banter with Lisa Gluskin during her lunch at good old LSE. She was so quick with a comeback and NEVER missed a trick, no matter how obscure I might try to make it. Surprisingly, he didn’t want us to take a picture of him. This was the first time we’ve been in Uzbekistan that a young person didn’t want his photo taken.

Further on there was a little pen with rabbits in it. Naturally we had to stop for the photo op. Moms and toddlers were oohing and aahing as was my wife. A policeman at a corner, there is always a policeman at big intersections, wanted to know where we were from and got that great smile that “Amerika” always brings. A lady going home to her two children, from work-I assume, directed us the last little confusing part of our journey.
We arrived at the museum to the strands of Uzbek music coming from inside. A dazzling Uzbek beauty in full regalia from the top of her head to the soles of her shoes was posing and dancing in a doorway while a very professional crew with lights and reflectors and sound grips and all the other accoutrements of film were doing their bit. When she was through working her magic, I noticed a small band of folk instruments watching us. I went over, said my greeting, shook hands with each of them, and the whole conversation: “Where are you from……………” etc began again. They were very interested in us and genuinely warm and welcoming.
We wandered around the museum and when we were through, Carol checked out the fiber in the gift shop and I fled, both in fear that she might buy more stuff and dread because I’ve already seen it all ad nauseum (sp). Besides inside the main hall, the music was playing and the dazzler might be there. Instead it was a folk singer lip syncing to a folk tune. Camera rolled, lights were adjusted and the whole process continued. After this, the band wanted photos so I did the photo routine. Then I filmed them and they played. I learned later that as I was filming, Carol did a little strumming in the background, and that’s when they began to play. The dazzler returned in a different but still stunning outfit, so naturally I had to have my own photo op. She posed next to me and I got a little video as well. Tough job, this.
We walked the couple of miles back to the hotel and rested for a bit. I still hadn’t had my haircut and was running out of time. I told them at the front desk of my desire to get it cut on the street, and the concierge said that nobody works on the streets anymore, and many people get their hair cut at home because of the cost. The people are poor and it is money that is better spent on food. He has his hair cut by his wife. Hmmm, sounds familiar except for the poor bit. But a kid behind the desk said that he knew of a barber shop which was indoors but not the ritzy type you find in the fat cat hotels and salons. His name is Sirdar and it turns out that he was an exchange student in Rapid City S.D. He was one of 500 who applied at the U.S. embassy which was awarding 17 scholarships to 16 year olds for a year as an exchange student. He didn’t like the big city very much and moved to a small town with one grocery store, two gas stations and a video shop. I reminded him that he was from a city of 3+ million and Rapid City hardly qualified as a big city. But it was an unfriendly place, he felt, where people drove and didn’t walk, and nobody knew anybody. In Newell (?) there were 135 kids in the school and he loved it. There were also a German and Danish exchange student at the school, but he was the only one from Asia. Naturally, with the wonderful geography students we have (no offense, Jerry) they only asked him intelligent questions about Uzbekistan. Like: “Do you all ride donkeys? “Do you ride camels to school?” amongst other sophisticated queries. He had a great year and got to take part in all the senior rituals like going to prom with his girlfriend riding in a limousine with friends and the whole enchilada.
He was at the hotel doing some stuff even though it was his vacation because he didn’t have anything else to do. I tried to explain to him that that’s not how it’s supposed to be, but he just laughed. He walked with us to make sure we found it. The shop was in the bazaar and it was open. I got a very professional cut by a real barber who sort of reminded me of my buddy Brock who became a barber. I moved before I got to have Brock cut my hair, but I did think of him today. Snip, snip, snip, all with scissors. No clippers, no razors. He was fast, efficient, and good. Probably the best cut I’ve had in all the places I’ve had it done. Carol took some pictures, and Sirdar translated back and forth. I told him to make sure the “Barber” behind him could see so that she could take notes. He was good-natured, and got I got a big laugh out of him when he cut the hair out of my ears and I told him I could hear again. The whole thing cost $2.50 and I felt really cheesy by only tipping the guy 50 cents, but even that is not normally done here . The girls at the front desk got a big kick out of the fact that I’d actually had it done. They’re not used to such behavior out of the guests. We had a thoroughly engrossing conversation with the Concierge about the history of Uzbekistan. For example, he worked in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs during “The Soviet times,” (There’s that term again.) The whole department only had 10 employees. The Soviets used it as a way to get extra votes on different councils, but everything was controlled by Moscow.
Back in our room at the hotel we had to figure out what to do for din-din. Our show dinner was fully booked up by a wedding party, so we’ve got reservations for tomorrow. But I noticed a little place next to it that looked like a restaurant so we went back there to see. It turned out to be a Georgian restaurant with a little 17-year-old. Her name was something really long and she said it fast. We just looked and she said: “My nickname is LyaLya which means baby.” As she was trying to explain the menu to us, she’d stop, use her phone, call her sister, ask her a question, and then tell us: “It’s in gravy.” Oh, okay, that sounds good. We had a nice meal, and she wanted us to come back tomorrow for lunch. She was so delighted with us and her conversation, that she even got the 20% service reduced down to 15%. It was just a really sweet gesture and was quite touching. We asked her what we could have for lunch and she was back on the phone. She said that it was chicken with potatoes, but beyond that she wasn’t sure. She went back on the phone and then asked us: “You know what is a cauldron?” “Yes,” Carol Answered. “It’s a big pot.” She got a big smile on her face and said: “Yes.” From Rimma in the background came: “It’s chicken with tomatoes.” “Oh, yes,” LyiLyi said. “Tomatoes. Chicken with tomatoes.” She had a really innocent look and was trying so hard to please, we couldn’t help but promise to return.
We returned to the hotel exhausted from all our walking, and with the nagging thought that tomorrow might just be another day just like today. Oh, the agony of it all. Oh yeah, tomorrow we go in search of Vodka to take home. That oughta be fun.