10-9-8-7

Well, things are starting to get really nasty. At noon we have to be out of our room, then our airport transfer is at 6 p.m. Our flight from Tashkent to Seoul leaves at 9pm. Our six hour flight arrives at 7 in the morning. We have a 12 hour layover in Seoul and then a 10 hour flight to Seattle. Two hours to clear customs, immigration and then a one hour flight to Portland. From the time we leave here we’ll be 34 hours in transit. Best that I send these things today before I get really gnarly.
Our vodka search turned out to be a non-adventure. It’s not too hard to find a liquor store around here. Sirdar had told us yesterday that there are a lot of men who just drink all day and then sleep on the streets at night. We haven’t seen that, but I don’t doubt him. We experienced the same thing in Russia a few years back. There are those who just haven’t made the adjustment from having a lifetime no -work job, to having to be accountable in their work.
We went back to Lyalya’s restaurant for lunch. She wasn’t there, but they called her and she rushed down to see us. Photos were taken, emails were exchanged, promises to keep in touch vowed, and we’re supposed to go back and say goodbye tomorrow. I’m now her unofficial grandfather, and she called Carol Grandmother when introducing her to the owner of the restaurant. The same 15% service charge was again offered, a free banana split (pieces of banana totally gooey with melted chocolate) was delivered to our table, and the owner came over to tell us how much they appreciate us.
We have been struck over and over again by the outpouring of warmth and affection from the people. We have been hugged, snuggled with, kissed on both cheeks, shaken more hands than a politician running for election, and smiled at more than on any trip we can think of in our past.
You always try not to come with stereotypes of cultures, but we never got this kind of warmth in Russia. We always talk about the pouty Russian females, and the surly officials taking tickets at the museum and the cold stares we got on the street. So we more or less expected the same here. Nothing could be further from the truth. The Uzbeks are an open, gregarious people who openly display affection between themselves and with those they meet. Men walk hand in hand with men, girls lock arms as they walk together, and you see a lot more public affection between boyfriends and girlfriends than we have anywhere else on the trip.
They are not a cold people in any respect. They are open with their opinions, even though it’s not too smart to do so a lot of times. They have great love for Americans and the image of the United States has not been sullied by our recent history, even though in many parts of the Muslim world we’re seen as anti-Muslim. They still believe in the idea of the American dream. John put it well, I thought, in a conversation after most of the group had left. He said it was very important that America succeed, because if democracy and an open society can’t work in America, it can’t work anywhere. We still have the best chance to make an ideal society where people respect each other and people work towards a common good. I just can’t say enough about how much I like and enjoy the people of Uzbekistan.
We went to the museum of fine arts. While walking around, a young woman came up and asked us the usual questions. She was a guide and offered to take us around, not a money thing, but she didn’t have anything to do and was happy to show us the museum. We didn’t want to occupy her time and the potential to make some money with a tour, so we declined. I told her that I could see tapestries on the next level and that’s where Carol could be found. Later on she was guiding an Uzbek group and saw us. She abandoned the group, came downstairs, and gave Carol some printed material on textiles in Uzbekistan. Photos were taken, Emails………………well you certainly know the rest by now.
And so it’s over. I hope you’ve sensed the wonder of it all. Thanks for bearing with my ranting, but that just gives it some perspective, I suppose . I’m not the best of travelers at times. I get pissed, small-minded, judgmental, and just downright short-tempered. But through it all, the overall glorious picture forms and I’ve tried to convey that to you. It’s a wonderful world and one which I hope to continue to explore. W. C. Fields notwithstanding, I would not rather be in Philadelphia.