Bukhara, The holy city as they call it, is a wonderful, albeit hot, place to wind up our trip…the old city dating back a thousand years maintains the characteristics it has had for that length of time…there is a tree that was planted in 1477 still standing although not alive. The madrassas are still standing with their high gates similar in structure, though lacking in size, to the ones in Samarkand, and the old walls of the Ark, or citadel, still stand though rebuilt to give them the appearance of how imposing they must have seemed to invaders.
This, then, is our last stop on our journey to meet people who have become part of my life over the last two years….and it has proven to be a great way to end the trip…two years ago we stayed in a 12 story hotel away from the old city and were shuttled here and there with no real sense of where we were. All we knew was that we weren’t near anything resembling the old city…so this time I booked a little boutique hotel, cheap at $50 a night, but it is delightful with everything I need/want….AC, Wi-fi in my room ( I’m such a geek) a very helpful staff, comfortable beds and is situated right on the edge of the ancient walls…Each morning, while it is cool, we venture out and watch things come alive…it is the center of the tourist trade and nearly every corner is filled with people selling exactly the same things on every other corner. I’m still amazed at the fact that these people can make a living when you have 50 places to choose from….I guess it says something about the markup….LOL.
Much of the area of the old city with the madrassas and the bazaar (market) area is blocked off from traffic so it makes for relaxed ambling. It is a place you walk in the mornings because the heat is on at this time of the year…not like it will be in blistering July and August where temperatures will reach over 110 degrees on a regular basis, but still we’re doing triple digits here on the Fahrenheit scale. That makes for a hasty retreat to the hotel room in the early afternoon, waiting for the cool of the evening to kick in. But around 7 p.m. everybody ventures forth from their homes and heads for the old city…it’s a hive of activity and wonderful to see and watch….
Flea markets in the States are weekly events where people gather to see other people trying to sell things they no longer want or need to people who for some unknown reason suddenly think they want and/or need them. But markets here in Central Asia, as in Latin America are gathering places for people who really do find what they really do want and need. There are no malls here, no glitzy shopping centers selling upscale goods at exaggerated prices…here the markets are jammed with thousands of people pouring over blankets spread on the ground with tee shirts, sandals, bras, and everything in between all spread out on the blanket.
The food area is a conglomeration of fresh food…vegetables, fruits, breads, and meats are all purchased on a daily basis by the majority of people here…there are no freezers full of things to be pulled out and whipped into dinner. This spontaneity of life is both a blessing and a curse to a westerner trying to organize schedules to make sure he sees all the people he wants to see…but more about that later…..the bazaars here are such a hodge-podge of people from all classes of society…shoppers are almost entirely made up of women….it is after all, their job….LOL…while the majority of sellers also are women, but with scatterings of men as well. Small stalls selling kebobs and other food stuffs give the air a richness of different spices and herbs wafting across our faces as we carefully walk trying not to step on anybody or anything other than the uneven, pitted sidewalk beneath our feet. Wealthy women in finery and poorer women in clothes that needed to be washed weeks ago stand side by side buying tomatoes for tonight’s dinner without either taking notice of anything unusual about that juxtaposition of society. Hand carts are pushed through the crowd with appropriate shouts to get out of the way even though there seems to be no place to go to avoid them…somehow, it all works.
I mentioned the “live by the minute” aspect of life here…in the west, we are so organized, super scheduled, and plan it all ahead types, but here it just happens as it happens…We were supposed to go to a birthday party in Tashkent on the 14th, but it got rescheduled that morning to the 16th, and then on the afternoon of the16th it was again rescheduled to the 18th..unfortunately, our schedule had us in Fergana on the 18th and people were disappointed that we didn’t come…Same thing here, we were to attend a wedding on the 1st of June, but it too was postponed, someone is planning a get together for us, but it is such a surprise that we don’t even know when it is…it makes for some standing around waiting for calls and some frustration when people don’t understand why we have made other plans with other people. And in an extreme example, there were some big university games planned for Bukhara for the 26-29 of May…Advertisements are everywhere, people have been practicing for months and the sports competitions are a huge thing here…but……somebody decided they weren’t ready, so it’s been postponed…at this point, no one is quite sure when it will take place, but everybody assures it will happen. At home, parents would have booked travel, made hotel reservations, arranged for the neighbors to take care of the dog and water the plants, and a huge uproar would have occurred had some official just decided they weren’t ready and postponed it to some future date, to be announced when he felt that things were in order…but here, it’s just how things work, and nobody gets too upset about it…. A friend here, who has studied in Korea, led a group of Korean businessmen around for a few days at a festival they have each year, and she said they almost went nuts over the ever-changing schedule and delays and cancellations….Korean businessmen are uber-organized. In the end, it’s just travel…roll with it or get run over by it.
I have a large bloc of friends here in Bukhara with whom we have been spending time. It is so gratifying how we are taken into homes and hearts…Uzbeks are such a generous people…they share everything with you….when you are their guests, you are not allowed to do anything or pay for anything. I’ve had to be VERY assertive at times when we invite people for dinner, but they don’t want us to pay the bill….I’m not trying to be some fat cat American throwing money around…I’m basically a stingy bastard, but I know that these people struggle to make ends meet and it seems ridiculous that they spend their meager resources while we sit back and let them take care of us… When I suggest that we do something that costs money, I don’t expect that others will suffer for my desire to do that….I’m throwing a birthday party for a few friends here and I’ve already had some conversation with those involved that I want to do this. I’m not making much headway. Carol understands both sides, and while I do as well, I’m just not comfortable knowing that they will suffer while I’m just saving money. There is a fine line here, just another one with which I’m struggling to find the balance.
We had dinner the other night at one of the girls’ house…It was her husband and father’s birthday…It was in the old residential section of town…She had told me before we came that she didn’t invite her friends to her home because she was embarrassed by it…her friends are more financially secure…so I took it as a matter of significance that she wanted us to come. we were picked up by an uncle who had a car and traversing the maze of small streets and near alleys with the vehicle was difficult…cars are parked in the already too narrow street and getting by had to be carefully negotiated as the driver was not there to move the car, of course…the street was a series of ruts, pits, and huge mounds of dirt…no pavement, of course, just dry, dusty streets…there were piles of rubble, looked like old building materials, combinations of brick, rock, and dirt which were not taken away when the job was finished, but rather just left there to sit and wait for who knows what….people walked through unlit streets with little children at their sides as dust swirled around them kicked up by the cars inching their way through the street and the night breeze. At 10 p.m. there were still small tables where people sold band aids, string, and other little items which somebody might need at some non-traditional shop hours, and I couldn’t help wonder what it must be like in the rainy season, when the dust and dirt turns to mushy slime where people must literally slip and slide their way down the streets….Snow must be a blessing, at least for walking purposes. But the amazing thing to me was that it was clean…I say that knowing that it sounds paradoxical, but there was no trash scattered about…no litter blowing in the breeze. No graffiti marking the walls of the brick and adobe houses…it is the poor part of town, but that doesn’t mean that the people have to be uncaring about their surroundings. There is a personal pride that the people maintain…there is a dignity that comes from taking charge of their limited resources and making it as good as possible…there is honor here…and it seemed very safe as young children and young women walked in the knowledge that they were safe on the dark, unlit streets. I was very impressed.
The home was behind a large metal door and down an alley past other houses….We didn’t see the whole house as such, only three rooms… it is a traditional home…the men eat in one room and the women eat in another….both rooms were devoid of furniture save rugs and pads on the floor where food was displayed on a long ribbon of cloth. As in most of the Muslim homes we have been in, the meal was begun with thanks to Allah with palms upraised, and then the prayers are brought inside the body by “washing” the hands over the face. It is a simple, yet dignified process.
We started off in the men’s room, Carol and I with our friend who acted as interpreter, but we later moved to our own small room where we could talk and laugh as the men had their privacy to do their thing…I understood that the Vodka flowed after we left…. There was an ancient gas heater with pipes coming down from the walls in one corner of the room and a TV in another, while mats and quilts were piled up in another corner of the room. I presumed that they slept on these….they brought in a fan which cooled the air somewhat……laughter emanated from all rooms, ours, men’s, and women’s. Two families intertwined by marriage celebrating a birthday on each side….there is a unity to family life here…once joined by marriage, there is little distinction…sisters-in-law become sisters, and a bride’s new family becomes her own, while retaining her attachment to her blood family.
It was a wonderful evening full of gracious people who again shared their lives with us…they were honored to have us in their home and their kind faces told us all that we needed to know….they are fine people, and it is I who am honored that we were allowed to see this part of life.
This, then, is our last stop on our journey to meet people who have become part of my life over the last two years….and it has proven to be a great way to end the trip…two years ago we stayed in a 12 story hotel away from the old city and were shuttled here and there with no real sense of where we were. All we knew was that we weren’t near anything resembling the old city…so this time I booked a little boutique hotel, cheap at $50 a night, but it is delightful with everything I need/want….AC, Wi-fi in my room ( I’m such a geek) a very helpful staff, comfortable beds and is situated right on the edge of the ancient walls…Each morning, while it is cool, we venture out and watch things come alive…it is the center of the tourist trade and nearly every corner is filled with people selling exactly the same things on every other corner. I’m still amazed at the fact that these people can make a living when you have 50 places to choose from….I guess it says something about the markup….LOL.
Much of the area of the old city with the madrassas and the bazaar (market) area is blocked off from traffic so it makes for relaxed ambling. It is a place you walk in the mornings because the heat is on at this time of the year…not like it will be in blistering July and August where temperatures will reach over 110 degrees on a regular basis, but still we’re doing triple digits here on the Fahrenheit scale. That makes for a hasty retreat to the hotel room in the early afternoon, waiting for the cool of the evening to kick in. But around 7 p.m. everybody ventures forth from their homes and heads for the old city…it’s a hive of activity and wonderful to see and watch….
Flea markets in the States are weekly events where people gather to see other people trying to sell things they no longer want or need to people who for some unknown reason suddenly think they want and/or need them. But markets here in Central Asia, as in Latin America are gathering places for people who really do find what they really do want and need. There are no malls here, no glitzy shopping centers selling upscale goods at exaggerated prices…here the markets are jammed with thousands of people pouring over blankets spread on the ground with tee shirts, sandals, bras, and everything in between all spread out on the blanket.
The food area is a conglomeration of fresh food…vegetables, fruits, breads, and meats are all purchased on a daily basis by the majority of people here…there are no freezers full of things to be pulled out and whipped into dinner. This spontaneity of life is both a blessing and a curse to a westerner trying to organize schedules to make sure he sees all the people he wants to see…but more about that later…..the bazaars here are such a hodge-podge of people from all classes of society…shoppers are almost entirely made up of women….it is after all, their job….LOL…while the majority of sellers also are women, but with scatterings of men as well. Small stalls selling kebobs and other food stuffs give the air a richness of different spices and herbs wafting across our faces as we carefully walk trying not to step on anybody or anything other than the uneven, pitted sidewalk beneath our feet. Wealthy women in finery and poorer women in clothes that needed to be washed weeks ago stand side by side buying tomatoes for tonight’s dinner without either taking notice of anything unusual about that juxtaposition of society. Hand carts are pushed through the crowd with appropriate shouts to get out of the way even though there seems to be no place to go to avoid them…somehow, it all works.
I mentioned the “live by the minute” aspect of life here…in the west, we are so organized, super scheduled, and plan it all ahead types, but here it just happens as it happens…We were supposed to go to a birthday party in Tashkent on the 14th, but it got rescheduled that morning to the 16th, and then on the afternoon of the16th it was again rescheduled to the 18th..unfortunately, our schedule had us in Fergana on the 18th and people were disappointed that we didn’t come…Same thing here, we were to attend a wedding on the 1st of June, but it too was postponed, someone is planning a get together for us, but it is such a surprise that we don’t even know when it is…it makes for some standing around waiting for calls and some frustration when people don’t understand why we have made other plans with other people. And in an extreme example, there were some big university games planned for Bukhara for the 26-29 of May…Advertisements are everywhere, people have been practicing for months and the sports competitions are a huge thing here…but……somebody decided they weren’t ready, so it’s been postponed…at this point, no one is quite sure when it will take place, but everybody assures it will happen. At home, parents would have booked travel, made hotel reservations, arranged for the neighbors to take care of the dog and water the plants, and a huge uproar would have occurred had some official just decided they weren’t ready and postponed it to some future date, to be announced when he felt that things were in order…but here, it’s just how things work, and nobody gets too upset about it…. A friend here, who has studied in Korea, led a group of Korean businessmen around for a few days at a festival they have each year, and she said they almost went nuts over the ever-changing schedule and delays and cancellations….Korean businessmen are uber-organized. In the end, it’s just travel…roll with it or get run over by it.
I have a large bloc of friends here in Bukhara with whom we have been spending time. It is so gratifying how we are taken into homes and hearts…Uzbeks are such a generous people…they share everything with you….when you are their guests, you are not allowed to do anything or pay for anything. I’ve had to be VERY assertive at times when we invite people for dinner, but they don’t want us to pay the bill….I’m not trying to be some fat cat American throwing money around…I’m basically a stingy bastard, but I know that these people struggle to make ends meet and it seems ridiculous that they spend their meager resources while we sit back and let them take care of us… When I suggest that we do something that costs money, I don’t expect that others will suffer for my desire to do that….I’m throwing a birthday party for a few friends here and I’ve already had some conversation with those involved that I want to do this. I’m not making much headway. Carol understands both sides, and while I do as well, I’m just not comfortable knowing that they will suffer while I’m just saving money. There is a fine line here, just another one with which I’m struggling to find the balance.
We had dinner the other night at one of the girls’ house…It was her husband and father’s birthday…It was in the old residential section of town…She had told me before we came that she didn’t invite her friends to her home because she was embarrassed by it…her friends are more financially secure…so I took it as a matter of significance that she wanted us to come. we were picked up by an uncle who had a car and traversing the maze of small streets and near alleys with the vehicle was difficult…cars are parked in the already too narrow street and getting by had to be carefully negotiated as the driver was not there to move the car, of course…the street was a series of ruts, pits, and huge mounds of dirt…no pavement, of course, just dry, dusty streets…there were piles of rubble, looked like old building materials, combinations of brick, rock, and dirt which were not taken away when the job was finished, but rather just left there to sit and wait for who knows what….people walked through unlit streets with little children at their sides as dust swirled around them kicked up by the cars inching their way through the street and the night breeze. At 10 p.m. there were still small tables where people sold band aids, string, and other little items which somebody might need at some non-traditional shop hours, and I couldn’t help wonder what it must be like in the rainy season, when the dust and dirt turns to mushy slime where people must literally slip and slide their way down the streets….Snow must be a blessing, at least for walking purposes. But the amazing thing to me was that it was clean…I say that knowing that it sounds paradoxical, but there was no trash scattered about…no litter blowing in the breeze. No graffiti marking the walls of the brick and adobe houses…it is the poor part of town, but that doesn’t mean that the people have to be uncaring about their surroundings. There is a personal pride that the people maintain…there is a dignity that comes from taking charge of their limited resources and making it as good as possible…there is honor here…and it seemed very safe as young children and young women walked in the knowledge that they were safe on the dark, unlit streets. I was very impressed.
The home was behind a large metal door and down an alley past other houses….We didn’t see the whole house as such, only three rooms… it is a traditional home…the men eat in one room and the women eat in another….both rooms were devoid of furniture save rugs and pads on the floor where food was displayed on a long ribbon of cloth. As in most of the Muslim homes we have been in, the meal was begun with thanks to Allah with palms upraised, and then the prayers are brought inside the body by “washing” the hands over the face. It is a simple, yet dignified process. 
We started off in the men’s room, Carol and I with our friend who acted as interpreter, but we later moved to our own small room where we could talk and laugh as the men had their privacy to do their thing…I understood that the Vodka flowed after we left…. There was an ancient gas heater with pipes coming down from the walls in one corner of the room and a TV in another, while mats and quilts were piled up in another corner of the room. I presumed that they slept on these….they brought in a fan which cooled the air somewhat……laughter emanated from all rooms, ours, men’s, and women’s. Two families intertwined by marriage celebrating a birthday on each side….there is a unity to family life here…once joined by marriage, there is little distinction…sisters-in-law become sisters, and a bride’s new family becomes her own, while retaining her attachment to her blood family.
It was a wonderful evening full of gracious people who again shared their lives with us…they were honored to have us in their home and their kind faces told us all that we needed to know….they are fine people, and it is I who am honored that we were allowed to see this part of life.
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