Sunday Wanderings

     Sunday seems to be the day that finds me wandering through the streets, sometimes striding alongside my athletic friend Jessica, sometimes ambling slowly with only my camera for company. 

      Tashkent is, like all cities, a complex, organic being made up of disparate parts. We have the large, well-kept parks, the wide, tree-lined streets, big old shabby apartment buildings, weird empty-looking white marble monoliths. We also have the malhallahs, little neighbourhoods that seem to be contained within the borders of main streets. 

    As I mentioned in a previous post, you don't see 'front yards' inTashkent. To enter people's homes, you go through a gate that takes you into their yard or courtyard. Most houses are built right onto the sidewalk, so you are usually walking by someone's bedroom window. 

In a schoolyard. 

'cause who doesn't want to live on Bogibaland Street?

Going to India!

Indian Adventure

     This adventure, like so many of my travels, begins with the ORDEAL OF THE VISA. Many of my colleagues here in Tashkent breathed a huge sigh of relief when the Indian government announced that it was making the visa process easier, and was now offering visas on arrival. The sigh of relief wasn’t shared by the Brits and the Canadians. Apparently we’re still threatening enough that we need to submit all of our paperwork in person, at least a few weeks before we even think about getting on a plane (except that in order to apply for the visa, you have to first have a ticket – a bit of a catch-22).

     The first step in the process was to fill in the very lengthy application form online. Unfortunately, the internet in Uzbekistan is not the speediest, so just loading and saving each page seemed to take a lifetime. I had to list every country I have visited in the last ten years, and the place of birth and full names of my parents, and give information about my grandparents. At least I didn’t have to list every job I’ve ever had (Russian visa). I had to come up with references both in Uzbekistan and in India. The last part of the online submission was loading a photo. Not just any photo. A headshot with a white background with specific size restrictions. Using my limited computer skills, I managed to size and resize a photo. Once all of this was submitted, I was generated an appointment date. NOWHERE on the Indian government site, (or anywhere on the entire world-wide-web) could I find the visa fee for a Canadian applying in Tashkent. 

     On the day of the appointment, I arranged with my regular taxi-driver to pick me up at school at 11:00 and take me to the Indian embassy. I had with me; passport, printout of application, letter from my school; copy of my lease agreement; copy of my bank statement; copy of my plane ticket; extra copy of my passport and Uzbek visa. I was also carrying about $300 in various denominations of US dollars, and a bag full of soums. (Not only did I not know how much the fee was, but I didn’t know what currency I had to pay it in). The taxi driver didn’t know where the embassy was, so I had directions from a friend, and a rough map. After a few wrong turns, and stopping for directions a few times, we made it. 

     At the gate, I showed the guard my paper with the appointment time. “Passport.” I handed over my passport, in it’s pretty blue passport cover. Inside the cover, there are handy little pockets. I had shoved the extra photos in the pockets. The guard opened the book, looked at the photos, me, and the word Canada. “Canada?” “Da.” And the gate swung open. 

     The grounds of the Indian embassy, by the way, are quite lovely. There is a little stream with a fake water wheel, and fat white ducks swimming in the water. There are cats wandering around (do they eat the ducks?). 

     I entered the door with the visa sign. It opened to a small waiting room filled with benches. At the end of the room, was a little window reached by a small flight of stairs. There were people seated on the benches, and two people in line at the little window. I looked around to see if there was a number-machine like you find at the deli, but I couldn’t see anything. I got in line. 

     When I was second to the front of the line, a number of people started to quite aggressively tell me that I  was out of line, that I had to wait. I honestly couldn’t figure out how the waiting worked, so I fell back on the tried-and-true stupid-foreigner gambit. I kept pointing to my appointment time, and speaking hopelessly and rapidly in English. I could hear the mutterings around me, and feel the eyes burning into my back, but I held my ill-gotten ground. 

     When I got to the front of the line, the first thing the visa person said was, ‘Did you wait in the queue?” “Yes,” I said. “I have an appointment.” “Everyone here has an appointment. That is the time you’re supposed to enter through the gate.” “But the guard told me to come in!” The visa person took my papers, and told me to wait ‘downstairs.’ 

     I took a seat on the benches, still not sure what was going on, or how long I would be sitting there. Were the visa people going to punish me and make me sit there all day? I had made arrangements to cover my class immediately after lunch, but that was it. What if I had to miss lunch, and didn’t have time to eat for the rest of the day? I pulled out my kobo and started to read. I told myself that, if they didn’t call my name within an hour, I would very sweetly inquire about what was going on. 

     Twenty minutes later, I heard my name called. I pushed my way to the front of the queue (yes, I was extremely popular). There was a new visa person. “Do you work at TIS?” “Yes.” “My daughters go to TIS.” Yay! I’m not going to be punished for being a pushy foreigner! I’m going to be rewarded for having the right connections! The visa fee was $53. The first 50-dollar bill I handed over wasn’t acceptable. Luckily I had another with me. I was told that they have to contact Canada (to make sure I’m not a criminal, or using a false passport, I guess), and they would call me when my visa was ready. 

     I leaned into the window, and asked if I had done something wrong with the queueing, and explained again that the guard had sent me in. I was assured that everything was fine (by the man with daughters in my school). I walked back through the grounds, out the gate, out to the street, caught a taxi, and was back on campus in time for lunch. 

  One week later, I received a telephone call. My visa was ready, and I could come collect it and my passport at 4:30. I called my favourite taxi-driver, Vladimir, and he picked me up at school at 4:30, zoomed me home to pick up my receipt, and then to the Indian embassy. I showed the guard at the gate my receipt, walked to the visa office, and I was the only one there! Within minutes my passport was back in my hands! Yay, I’m really going to India!

Samarkand

Samarkand

Cities are fascinating because they always seem to carry physical traces of centuries of change.  Samarkand was an important city on the ‘Silk Road’ for centuries before it was destroyed by Genghis Khan in 1220. One hundred and sixteen years later, a new, fierce warrior was born in Shakhrisabz, south of Samarkand. This was Amir Temur, who would go on to conquer regions as far as Turkey. Amir Temur decided to make Samarkand his capital. He used his plundered riches to turn Samarkand into a beautiful showcase of a city. 

 

Statue of Amir Temur

Although his son moved the capital to Herat, his grandson Ulugbek, who is revered as a scholar, returned to Samarkand and once again it became a centre of intellectualism and artistic endeavour. 

The Registan is an incredible complex. It consists of three medressas built over a span of 200 years (1420-1660). Registan means 'sandy place' in Tajik. This area would have been the spiritual and commercial centre of the city.

In the 16^th century, the Shaybanids held the reins of power in the region, and their capital was established at Buhkara. Samarkand went into decline. Under the Soviets, Samarkand was once again declared the capital of the new Uzbek SSR. This only lasted six years, and then Tashkent became the capital. 

In the 21^st century, Samarkand has seen even more changes. The Uzbek government decided to make the city more aesthetically pleasing to visitors. Around the Registan, and other important sites, entire streets were bulldozed, and a wide, pristine avenue stretches north from the Registan to the Siob Bazaar. Neighbourhoods (mahallahs) in the vicinity of the major sites actually have big walls around them.

When I first arrived in Samarkand, I was actually disappointed. Bukhara has maintained so much of its character, but Samarkand’s character seems to have been bulldozed away in the spirit of modernity. I actually went to the train station to try to change my ticket back to Tashkent, to leave earlier. The trains were full, so I had to return to my original plans. 

On my second day in Samarkand, I returned to the Registan and the other major sites, but I also made an effort to go behind the walls, and see the real mahallahs. I’m so glad I did. I had a lovely conversation with two little girls on their way to school, and with an elderly gentleman having his morning tea. Two little boys blew their whistles at me and bellowed ‘HELLO!’ I got completely lost once, and had to ask for help from a gorgeous young woman with a thick braid to her waist, and a mouthful of gold teeth. She gave me directions, but I’m pretty sure we were speaking two different languages (me in Russian, her in Tajik), but her hand signals got me to where I wanted to go. 

And yes, I went shopping. I bought an incredible silk rug, and a very pretty suzani (embroidered piece to go on the wall or a table). 

Gur-e-Amir Mausoleum

Gur-E-Amir Mausoleum

Gur-E-Amir Mausoleom

the little shop by my hotel

The Old Jewish Quarter

A lot of old soviet buildings have these fantastic murals. This one is especially beautiful. 

Halwa at the Siob Bazaar

Nigora negotiating the price of raisins. Nigora was hilarious to watch at the bazaar. She tasted EVERYTHING. I have to admit, though, that when I buy produce at my local market now, I'm aware that many, many hands have touched it.

'beautiful bread' at the Siob Bazaar

Bibi-Khanym Mosque. Women used to crawl until this stone in the hopes of getting pregnant. It is roped off now. 

Bibi-Khanym Mosque.

Bibi-Khanym Mosque

Bibi-Khanym Mosque

Registan

Registan

Registan

On our way to Shah-I-Zinda, a mausoleum complex that centres around the tomb of a cousin of Muhammed who is said to have brought Islam to the region in the 7th century. 

a modern cemetery is attached to Shah-I-Zinda.