Fergana Valley
May 29 is the anniversary of the passing of my father. My Dad was so enthusiastic about and proud of my travels, and we travelled a lot together when he was well. I try to mark this anniversary by having a little adventure in his honour.
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| Mom and Dad on the top of a double-decker bus in London |
Colleagues of mine recently took a weekend trip to Fergana Valley, in eastern Uzbekistan. They raved about the trip, so I decided to do it myself. One of the office staff at TIS organized a car and driver for me (I know, such luxury, but I only had one weekend, and Fergana Valley is not easy to get to on your own).
Fergana Valley seems to be a strange little add-on, geographically, to the physical territory of Uzbekistan. You have to take one of a few passes through the Tian Shan mountain range. I thought at first it might be the result of Stalin's diabolical cartography. But the people in Fergana Valley are truly Uzbek; they speak Uzbek, and practise Uzbek culture. In fact, they are quite conservative, at least compared to the people I have come to know in Tashkent.
Fergana Valley also seems to be quite the economic powerhouse in Uzbekistan. It is a fertile area, so there is a great deal of agricultural industry; cotton, vineyards, silk. There is also oil production and other industry.
As arranged, I met Mahmud the guide at the Macro supermarket near my house. I live down a little alley in the Mironshon neighbourhood. Every street in the name is named Mironshon, so directions to my house tend to be vague. As usual, I was travelling lightly; I had my little rolling carry-on suitcase, my backpack purse, a bag full of car travel essentials (snacks, water, extra lenses), and a pillow. It's a good thing I had the entire back seat to stretch out in.
Going from Tashkent province to the Fergana valley involves passing through a few checkpoints. At one checkpoint, I had to exit the car, dash across the highway, and present my passport to an officer in a guardbooth. A few other other times, I just gave my passport to Mahmud, who took care of things.
Mahmud is very proud of his country, and he turned out to be an absolute fount of information. The man seemed to know the height of every mountain, the number of cows imported into Fergana Valley from the Netherlands (as well as the amount of milk produced by said cows both in the Netherlands and in Uzbekistan), the cost of different apple trees imported from the Middle Ease, and the dates of the reign of every Khan of Central Asia. After a while I stretched out and fell asleep.
Mahmud woke me up when we arrived at the bread market. It was amazing. I had one of those wonderful experiences that you don't expect and will always remember. The female bread sellers were entranced by my eyelashes. One even reached out and touched them!
Our next stop was Qo'qon (Kokand in English, but I think the Uzbek spelling is cooler).
Mahmud informed me that Qo'qon has been a settlement for over 1,000 years. In the year of the 1000th anniversary, Qo'qon was the site of a huge celebration. Unfortunately, it was decided that the city needed to be cleaned up and modernized before it became the focus of so much attention. Now Qo'qon sports wide, bare streets, and pale, modern buildings. All that remains of its 1,000 year history in the form of architecture is the Khan's castle, built about 150 years ago, and half-destroyed by the Russians during the invasion of Central Asia.
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| one of the original doors |
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| a small model of a madrassa school. |
We had lunch in Qo'qon. The first restaurant we tried, had blaring music, and little to no option for a weirdo vegetarian. Mahmud decided that we should try a Turkish restaurant. After a quick scan of the menu, I settled on my Uzbek usual - lentil soup and fries. I also asked for black tea with milk. No milk. Ok, I can survive one milk-less cup of tea. The fries came, and I wolfed them down. Then the soup came, and Mahmud looked over and said, 'That's not lentil soup.' I gave it a sniff, and he was right, it was tomato. (side note - this a common occurence in Uzbek restaurants - random substitutions or just non-appearance of ingredients and dishes with no explanation). I don't like tomatoes. I have tried tomatoes at different stages in my life, and have swallowed them unhappily when politeness necessitated. But I really really don't like tomatoes. So. We looked at the menu again. The only thing that was vegetarian was bread covered with cheese and honey. It was amazing, delicious. But I had already scarfed down a plate of fries, and we're talking BREAD CHEESE and HONEY. I could only eat one piece of this deliciousness before my stomach cried uncle.
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| shoe repair stall in Qo'Qon |
The next stop on my Fergana adventure was in the town of Rishton, at
I watched a young man who has been apprenticing for SEVEN years on the potter's wheel. He generously let me have a go.
I watched a master painting a piece
As you can see, the piece above is part of a large mosaic. The artists draw the design on a large sheet of white paper, then poke holes along the design lines. They lay the large 'cartoon' over the tiles, and brush it with charcoal, leaving an impression of the design on the white tiles. This is reminiscent of a technique used by 15th century Italian fresco masters.
From Rishton, we headed to Margolin. Mahmud told me two key things about the people of Margolin - 1. They are super tradesmen. 'If you want a rooster's egg, a man from Margolin will find it for you." 2. They are very conservative. Wedding celebrations are so segregated, the men and women actually celebrate in different restaurants.
I was staying the night in Margolin. The weekend of my adventure, there was a big sports competition in Fergana Town, so there were no hotel rooms available. My hotel seemed to be in the middle of a renovation, and I seemed to be the only guest. The young man who showed me my room spoke no Russian or English, only Uzbek. Mahmud asked him, in Uzbek, if the hotel could rustle up a vegetarian dinner for me. It was promised for 7:30PM. Mahmud then took his leave, with great trepidation, I think (his family lives in Fergana Town).
I settled into my room. 7:30 came and went. I figured I wasn't going to be getting dinner. I had brought somsas for exactly that reason. At 8:00, there was a tap on my door. I opened it to find the young man who had shown me my room. He made the universal gesture of eating. I followed him to the dining room. Laid out on a table for me were several plates; a mound of rice, french fries, stuffed eggplant, salad, soup, dessert, a bottle of water, and tea.
After my banquet, I went back to my room and stretched out. At 9PM, there was another knock on my door. Another young man, and this one spoke English. He wanted to be paid for the room and the dinner right away.
The next morning, our first stop was the Yodgorlik Silk Factory. Margolin is the traditional centre of the silk production industry in Uzbekistan. At the factory, you can walk through the entire process, from cocoon to carpet.
It's actually a bit gruesome. Silk is made from the cocoons of silk worms. Rather than letting the silkworms emerge from their cocoons naturally, they boil them alive. The empty cocoons are gathered and spun into thread. The dead worms are then sold to a chicken factory as chicken feed. It seems unnecessary and foolhardy to kill the worms, because as soon as they become moths, they start laying eggs again.
Next, we went to the room where the spun thread is readied to be dyed. It is marked with charcoal, and parts that are not to be dyed are wrapped tightly with scotch tape. After dyeing with one colour, the threads are rewrapped in different places for different colours.
At this factory, they use dyes made from natural sources; plants, minerals, & insects.
Our next stop was the rug knotting room.
And to the room where the textiles are woven
I resisted buying any of the beautiful fabric (mainly because I had 20 metres of beautiful fabric back in Tashkent). We then proceeded to the Sunday market at Margilon. It was great visiting the market with Mahmud, because as we wandered around, he explained baby care and wedding customs in Uzbekistan. When a couple gets married here, the bride is expected to provide all new household goods; linens, kitchen ware, tv. Generally the bride will deliver a truckload of goods to her new home (with the in-laws) the day before the wedding.
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| Mahmud demonstrates a typical men's coat. |
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| lemonade stand |
On the way back to Tashkent, we stopped at a highway restaurant. VERY different from the highway complexes we're used in Canada. The tables are called 'tapchans.' They are a traditional Uzbek seating arrangement. You can sit cross legged, or stretch your legs out under the table. I wonder if aging Uzbeks have fewer hip problems because they are accustomed to sitting in this fashion? There were very few mixed-gender groups at the tapchans. They were either all men, or all women.
And just a few more shots from the trip back to Tashkent:
