Giving Thanks

In the spirit of the holiday, I thought I'd let y'all know of a few of the things I'm thankful for this time around:

Continents

For being so different, so fun to visit and sometimes so arbitrary. Like the line between Europe and Asia, which apparently goes through Atyrau. Nothing says Eurocentrism like drawing a line across a huge landmass and calling it two landmasses.

азиа is on the other side of the river

intercontinental travel was never so easy!

That Borat was wrong

Turns out, Kazakhstan is actually quite an open and westernized country, especially as you compare it to the rest of Central Asia. My Atyrau host, Ash, happened to be both Jewish and openly gay, two things that movie did not lead me to expect in this part of the world.

He fed me like a Jewish mother. It was fantastic.

Geometry

For reminding me that a straight line is always the shortest distance between two points

The Kazakh Steppe

For reminding me that this isn't always true. Especially in Kazakhstan. After I left Atyrau, I decided to hitch my way to Aktobe. By looking at google maps (below), I saw that clearly I should head northeast, through Oktyabrsk and up to Aktobe. The shortest distance.

Uralsk? Who would want to go there?

After my first two drivers both told me that they'd drive me, but I really should have taken the route through Uralsk, I started to worry. The third ride then left me where this video was taken:

Apparently my decision to take this route was akin to saying, "hey, let's cross the mountains, but who wants to take I-90? Let's take the fire roads!" Then, deciding to do it by hitching on logging trucks. What Google calls an 8-hr journey turned into a 40-hr trek.

Consistent pavement

For making my voyages slightly more comfortable and expedient, when possible.

Obviously this is what that yellow "highway" line on the Google maps should represent, right?

The same highway

Not just any pavement, but consistent pavement, is amazing. When you have old pavement that was laid down by the soviets and forgotten for decades, you get the worst roads I've ever seen in my life. The bits of pavement that do exist make the the potholes even huge, even to the point where they're big enough to drive a car entirely into and back out. For those of you who read my early post about the Mongolian bus ride, imagine the same thing, but with fewer people, slightly more legroom, even more bouncing, and the wonderful people known as...

Central Asian Truckers

For almost always being willing to give me a ride. Except for the ones who don't, but I didn't want their ride anyway.

A friendly face

Chevron and Big Oil

For employing, directly or indirectly, everyone in Western Kazakhstan. Without these companies (Chevron in particular) I would never have had Wifi and free steak and wine tasting in Atyrau, Nobody would have ever driven on that road, and most of these cities wouldn't really exist. That being said, I still despise these companies for many, many reasons.

A step up from streetside samsas. Courtesy of  oil money.

Russian Pop and Kazakh folk music (and American pop c. 1994)

For keeping long rides in trucks interesting. There's nothing like hearing белый розы (byelie roza - youtube it) for the 12th time that day, or perhaps some arhythmic dombra strumming along with the wavering voice of a Kazakh bard. Even stranger is hearing most of the songs from the 1994 mix I made in college (a collection of hits from that year ranging from "skat man" to "max don't have sex with your ex" and other less savory titles) multiple times on the mp3 players that every Central Asian vehicle comes equipped with. 

Here's a sample from the other day. Fortunately this trucker was more into modern dance hits from Latin America...

Long periods for reflection

For allowing me to process this adventure along the way. Hitchhiking provides many of these opportunities.

This was taken about 2 1/2 hours and 5km from where the first video was taken... still no cars

Central Asian Hospitality

For coming through when I need it. After being deposited for a second time at dusk in the middle of nowhere, I walked another 1hr+ to what looked like a town. I arrived after dark, it was already well below freezing, and I was pretty sure there was no hotel in town. I approached the nearest house with lights on and people nearby, scared the daylights out of a few Kazakh girls, who ran inside to grab the nearest man, Jaksibar, who ultimately let me sleep on his floor.

Photo op with the new guy!

That I'm not actually a spy

Because every other Kazakh has asked me if I am. Including that host, who finally invited me in after asking me if I was afraid that someone might try to kill me ("I might try to kill you!") and then Russian-Googled my name in Cyrillic (шон конноли) along with the Russian words for "traveler" "from America" "American" "hitchhiking" and others. It turns out I'm not very popular in the Russian-speaking world, as nothing came up. He seemed satisfied after I showed him my facebook profile, although he later joked with me via an online translator, asking if I was "Shawn the traveler... or spy?" "Just a joke." Then, "в каждой шутке есть доля правды" - "Many a true word is spoken in jest"

The boy was more interested in satellite photos of his own house and Seattle.  Who's the real spy, I ask?

My immune system

For keeping me alive, and relatively healthy, regardless of how many times I challenge it. I'm sure the horse's head in the supermarket is clean, but what about the chicken that guy fed me in his car...?

so, can I just have a kilo of face?

Long underwear

Because the Kazakh steppe is crazy cold in the winter. Especially when the wind starts to blow.

That's ice, not water

Kazakh Trains

Because sometimes you look at the map and you think, "Screw the journey, I just want to get there..." Plus, a 20-hr train ride across the steppe provides lots of time for that reflection stuff...

Surprisingly comfortable, too

Caboose!

Trees and snow

For giving me a break from the sweltering deserts of august, but also for reminding me of happy places I've considered home over the years.

Aktobe. Could be MN, or NY... probably not Seattle, sorry.

Friends and family

For being there and keeping me grounded. This whole trip would not be possible without all of you, the support you give me now and the contributions you have made to making me who I am over the years. I am who I am because of the people I've met along the way, and I'm thankful for each of you. Thanksgiving is a hard time to be alone, so I also appreciate the connections I've been able to maintain with you while I've been gone. Thanks :)

The bottlecap that I found in the steppe. At first I thought it was an Outward Bound pin

A sense of adventure

Because travel, and life, would be super boring without it.

Onward!

Old stuff, new stuff, old friends, new friends

The past week or so has been a voyage through old and new in Uzbekistan. I've reached a point in my trip where I'm seeing "old" friends whom I met earlier in my trip, while simultaneously meeting new ones. In parallel, I've found that the rich historical landscape of Uzbekistan has a similar mixture of the old and new...

Old friends and New friends

In Bishkek, I stayed with a friend of the brother of a co-worker of my girlfriend, Anna. His name was Rashid (second from right, in the photo). While Rashid was teaching us how to make plov (my first lesson), he introduced me to two guys he'd met working for the UN in Tashkent who were on vacation: Vojta (pronounced voy-tah) from the Czech Republic, and Mario from Switzerland. We hit it off during their short stay in Bishkek and they offered their hospitality in Tashkent, when I arrived. Gotta love friends of friends of brothers of co-workers of girlfriends...

Flashback: Vojta and Mario are the two in the back, seen here at our plov-fest at Rashid's in Bishkek

So, in the name of friendship (and free places to stay), I got back in touch with Vojta as I approached Tashkent. Due to technical difficulties and timing problems, I didn't hear back from him until I was hours away from the city and had already connected with a Couchsurfer. No problem, I just got two hosts!

Vojta introduced me into the expat-world of Tashkent. Anyone who has lived in or spent much time in an international city knows that every international city has this type of worldworld. For many reasons, many expats (foreigners living abroad) tend to find and cling to each other, creating a little community. Kind of like Chinatown... The smaller the number of expats, the tighter the community. Tashkent's was quite tight. Within the first night I had met most of them between Vojta's flat (where I met Gordon and Lola, below), "The Irish Pub" (that's the real name. Prices were closer to European than Uzbek...), and a series of bars after that. Occupations ranged from UN Volunteer to English Teacher to English School Founder to International School Teacher to Head of UNICEF in Uzbekistan to Funemployed Husband of the Head of UNICEF (Gordon). After a couple nights out with these folks, I was left with a few new ideas about the world and a lot less cash in my pocket.

Blurry photo of Gordon (Canadian, left) and Lola (Uzbek, right) in Tashkent

On the other side of things were my Couchsurfing hosts: four Uzbek college students from Bukhara living in a 2-room flat in the old town. Three of the four spoke excellent English and we had many long conversations about Uzbekistan and the US (see the "questions" post for the majority of their questions about America). Through them, I met their friend Justin, another Bukharan who had been teaching English recently in Tashkent and had developed a british accent from rooming with a Londoner while studying in Japan. Justin, it turns out, was on his way to Samarkand and Bukhara that weekend, as well, and offered that we go together. Sounded good to me.

The boys at home. Same as American college students, just plov-ier and with shorter tables.

Rakhmed's English class. I was again the guest of honor

Rakhmed, Alisher and I (pre-shave)

Plus sides of traveling with a local:
1) language: I was able to sit back while Justin did most of the navigating, ordering and haggling. A nice respite when traveling alone.
2) discounts: Justin's connections got us close to 80% off at the hotels
3) local knowledge: Having grown up in Bukhara and spent his childhood giving amateur tours to foreigners, Justin knew the places to go and a lot of the history. How else would I have found myself playing backgammon in a smoky shisha bar with a bunch of Uzbeks?

Registan in Samarkand. Justin was really excited about this pose, he wouldn't take the photo without it

Down sides of traveling with a local:
1) they like to travel in style. Hitchhiking was the furthest from Justin's mind, as were cheap eats. Luckily, he picked up the bill more often than not (pushing me away when I tried to pay
2) discounts: 80% off of a ridiculously priced hotel is still a costly room. At least it came with a sauna.
3) local knowledge: in his overconfidence, he often told us things of questionable validity. This ranged from simply contradicting our guidebook (which could easily be mistaken, as well) to calling horse riding stirrups "handcuffs." and busts of any white man "Lenin"
4) time stress: Justin only had the weekend off from Tashkent, so we had a whirlwind 24-hour tour of Samarkand before jetting off to Bukhara, which he left after another 24 hours.


The bird-shaped scissors came with an explanation of Islamic circumcision traditions...

It was thus a blessing and a curse to be traveling with him, but overall I was quite thankful. Once in Bukhara, I had another old friend along for the ride with Justin ars our tourguide. Robert, the Irish cyclist from my adventures along the Afghan border, happened to be coming through Bukhara at the same time, so we teamed up again for a more urban adventure.

Feeling a bit shy about my new haircut, I decided to try some new styles with Rob

In a whirlwind day Justin brought us from one historic sight to another, stopping briefly for some delicious shashlik, a quick visit to the police station and a ferris wheel ride (see below)!

This is what happens when you try to drive a car without registration in Uzbekistan: The police personally drive it to the impound lot for you. Then, you call your friend the police chief and he lets you have it back.

Mother of all Shashlik in Bukhara. I'm pretty sure there was a whole chicken on this spit.

Old stuff and New Stuff

Both Samarkand and Bukhara, as with much of Uzbekistan, have a rich ancient history. This is the heart of the silk road and a piece of land that has been fought over by many would-be-world-conquerers in its day, including Alexander of Macedonia, Genghis Khan, various Persian and Turkik rulers, and more recently, Stalin. Unfortunately for people who are interested in seeing some of this history, each of these rulers wanted to make it his own. Genghis Khan was the most ruthless, and there is hardly anything from before 1200 that survived his onslaught.

On the rickety soviet ferris wheel in Bukhara. One of the soviet's additions. Rob's fear of heights and rickety things made it way more fun.

Most of the historical sights I've seen in the west are touched up, preserved, or sometimes memorialized. Here, however, they have no qualms with completely renovating and replacing ancient buildings with brand new ones that look basically the same. Thus, you may be looking at an "ancient minaret" that was actually built by the soviets in 1960.

The assimilation of old into new didn't stop with buildings, either. The persian rugs that traveled with caravans to markets in Venice are still being made here today, just with some different patterns:

Mickey Mouse with a scimitar on a camel would have definitely taken over the world

After a few days of reconnecting in Bukhara, seeing some sights, eating some plov and watching some English TV, it was time for Rob to leave again. He's headed down through Turkmenistan to Iran for a few months, and who knows where after that. He has a blog if you're interested (http://homeiswheremybikeis.tumblr.com/) you can see his version of our time in the Pamir there, too.

Rob ready for departure. Turkemenistan and Iran await!

Once Rob left, I was back on my own. Since this part of Uzbekistan is a little less populated than the Fergan valley, and there's really only one major road, I decided to try hitchhiking again. After trying to explain hitchhiking in Russian to a couple of cars ("like taxi, but no money. friend. give ride. or I walk."), I finally got a ride from a Belarusian trucker on his way from the Afghan border with a load of something related to the American military. He got excited when he found out I was American, but after about an hour of chatting in Russian, I think he started to realize that I only understood about 10% of what he was saying, so things got quiet. Maybe it was because I didn't laugh at his Alaska joke (I think it was a joke...)

Back to hitching. This is the road from Bukhara to Nukus

Whatever the reason, he dropped me off about 20km short of my hoped-for destination, in the dark, at a gas station. Having no idea whether or not there was a hotel that would take tourists in town, and not really wanting to wander around trying to find one, I decided for option two: forget about registration (the worst part of Uzbekistan) and either camp or get invited in for the night. After about 20min of walking down the dark road looking for a campsite, I happened upon a very jovial birthday boy and his party. Before I knew it, I was being fed fresh samsa, offered drinks (apparently "I don't drink" doesn't go over too well with alcoholic muslims. "Yeah, same here! Let's have a shot!") and a place to stay for the night. My goal was to stay relatively sober and convince Azim, the man on the left in the photo, that I really don't speak Uzbek and my Russian really is pretty shitty. He was convinced that I was fluent in both and was faking it.

New best friends at a birthday party in Tok'tul

The next day I managed to make it out of Tok'tul and south down to Khiva, another historic Uzbek city. This was the head of the Khivan khanate back in the day (Bukhara, Samarkand and Kokand also were khanates in that time, I'm pretty sure). Khiva, though, has a remarkably well-kept old city, complete with walls, minarets, a citadel (called an "ark") and tons of mosques, medrassas and mausoleums. 

old town Khiva at sunset. The big minaret on the left is younger than  the US Capitol building by several decades.

I had heard of Khiva before arriving and had imagined this ancient city. I wasn't quite disappointed upon arrival, but what was surprising is that "ancient" looks a lot older than it really is. Although parts of the city walls and the watchtower you can see on the right in the photo above date back to the 10th and 12th centuries, most of the rest of the city was built in the 1800s or later, and nearly all of it has been renovated in the last 100 years. Again, an odd mix of old and new that seems to characterize this part of the world.

Old and older: another rickety soviet ferris wheel (out of commission) beyond the Khivan walls

Khiva is also known as a "museum city". There is a new part of town, but the old town is where they send all of the tourists. Although there are still about 3000 people who live within the walls, the entire place is clearly geared towards tourism and little else. Every building is a hotel or museum, with a few cafes scattered here and there and plenty of souvenier stands lining the main roads. Surprisingly, the majority of the tourists seemed to be Uzbek, and about half of those were wedding parties. I must have seen at least 12 brides yesterday.

Old wall, new art. Just outside the old town

In one back room of one of the museums, I found a little exhibit on the history of public education. The building was a Russian school built in the early 1900s, so it was a fitting location. Unfortunately, the only things in English were captions to photographs or paintings, so I didn't get much information, but it seems like this was one of the first schools that wasn't a medrassa in the area. One of the photos was of a girl's class and one of a class of teachers, nearly all women. This was a refreshing relief after visiting dozens of old medrassas around Central Asia which catered only to men. Also refreshing was this:

Uzbek kids doing SCIENCE! c. 1914

One of the benefits of being in tourist central was nightly Uzbek movies shown on the wall of the Ark. During my first day, at least 5 people told me about the movie and that I should come back that night. I showed up right on time and there was a huge padlock on the door and nobody to be found. A few minutes later, some other tourists came by, but ultimately we all went home disappointed. The next day I came by 5 minutes early to find the padlock still firmly in place. While peering through the door, however, a young local guy came running, unlocked the door and set up the equipment. Clearly there isn't a lot of demand.

The movie was interesting from a cultural perspective,  but unfortunately it was Uzbek dubbed in Russian with English subtitles. This in itself wouldn't have been so bad, but the Russian dubbing was about 3 seconds late and the English subtitles started out about 5 seconds early. I was able to follow along for a bit, matching the remembered subtitles to the delayed images and trying to piece together some of the Russian, but by the end of the movie the subtitles were a full minute or two early and comprehension became impossible. Oh well, nice try, Khiva.

free Uzbek movie night in the citadel! Attendance: 4

Next step

I'm off west to try to see what's left of the Aral Sea before crossing my last Central Asian border into Kazakhstan! It will be nice to not have to worry about daily registration anymore, but it's only getting more expensive until I get to Africa...

And just for you food lovers out there, here are a couple photos of Khivan cuisine:

I do not highly recommend this dish. The meat and potatoes aren't bad, but that stuff around the edges is cold noodles with what tastes like a mix of mayo and sour cream. Clearly, a Khivan delicacy.

This, on the other hand, is a delicious, delicious Khivan meat pie. Also, it's half the price of the noodle mess.

US Election

Some of you have been asking about the reaction here to the US Election. The answer, for the most part, is "nothing." Most people here don't really seem to care, or know, about the election. The few people I've met who do know about it seem mildly pleased that Obama won (Neither I nor they have brought up gay marriage or legalized pot yet), mostly because he's a known quantity. Only one person before the election was surprised that I supported Obama, saying, "but aren't you bored of him? Don't you want someone new?" Surprising words coming from someone who has had the same president for over 20 years...



A plov-tastic postscript

So I had planned not to post again for a while, but then a couple things happened immediately after my last post that I wanted to tell y'all about:

In an attempt to meet up with a Couchsurfer that I had spotty contact with, I took the short bus ride up to Margilon from Fergana. I had no way of contacting my potential host other than email, which he might not check for days, so I spent my afternoon wandering the town waiting for a phone call or darkness, whichever came first.

As luck would happen, darkness came first, so I started looking for a hotel. Uzbekistan has a similar policy to China in that tourists have to stay at certain hotels and register. It's questionable how often you have to register, but from what I've heard you should have at least a handful of registration slips when you try to leave the country. Unfortunately, the first hotel I checked out had lost their license and couldn't accept foreigners, they pointed me instead up the road to the other hotel in town. A couple of local kids who I had just met wanted to help me out, so they came with to show me the way.

The 2nd and 3rd from the left were my guides on the first night, the furthest right is Ahmed, my guide for day 2.

Once we got there, we were told that a single night at this hotel would cost me $55, at the cheapest. Wah wah. Being used to spending between $0 and $6 on accomodation for the past two months, I was shocked, and got ready to find myself a camping hole somewhere in suburban Uzbekistan.Not so fast. One of the boys (I can't pronounce his name and definitely won't try to spell it here) pulled out his phone, called his mom, and within minutes was guiding me back to his house to stay for the night.

During the walk, I took a mental step back and thought about this situation for a minute. What if two American 16-year-olds met some scruffy, cheap foreigner on the street who didn't speak any English, then called their mom and said, "can we bring him home?" I could think of a few outcomes, most of which would leave me homeless or arrested back stateside.

Luckily, this was Uzbekistan, and instead of a cold, lonely night in my bivy in a ditch somewhere, I was treated to a hot meal, some hilarious language-barrier-battling conversation (with help from four dictionaries and through three languages, plus gestures), a warm bed and an invitation to stay yet another night to get a tour of the town and to celebrate the beginnings of the Islamic holiday of Eid al-Adha with them.

An unfortunately terrible quality family photo

Not only did I get all of that, but the next morning the local 17-year-old English teacher (one of the most ambitious little men I've ever met), Ahmed met me at 8am to begin our tour of Margilon. 12hrs later, he had whisked me back to Fergana to see the collection of English books at the library, donated by the US Embassy (I missed the ambassador by 2 weeks, but I got to sign my name just after his in the guestbook), one of the biggest markets in Central Asia,

The crowd, and some Uzbek boots hanging

An Uzbek bike shop

 his old English teacher in the midst of a class,

You could never get a class of American kids to look like this

a silk factory,

The cocoons are in the vat in the foreground, then the thread goes to the second lady, who coils it

Another mosque and mausoleum

Ahmed, me and Humayun in front of the mausoleum

and his own home,

The air filled with smoke as thousands of families began to cook plov at the same time

 
to celebrate the eve of Eid-al-Adha. The holiday itself is described by wikipedia as,

"an important 4-day religious holiday celebrated by Muslims worldwide to honor the willingness of the prophet Ibrahim (Abraham) to sacrifice his young firstborn son Ishmael as an act of submission to God, and his son's acceptance of the sacrifice before God intervened to provide Abraham with a ram to sacrifice instead."

In practice, they spend the morning of the holiday at the mosque in prayer, and the night before is kind of like a reverse Halloween, without the costumes. Everyone makes a huge steaming vat of plov, then they send the kids out with small plates full to take to all of the neighbors. The result is a street filled with happy kids (often sampling their deliveries on the way) and a table covered in at least 6 different family recipes of plov. As my friend, Joy, told me after my last post that when I get back, "plov! that's either gonna become your middle name or your favorite word!" I think she may be right. I could measure my current weekly plov intake by kilograms, easily.

Two varieties on the table

The family batch

Ok, that is all. I just wanted to pass on another example of the exceedingly generous hospitality of the Uzbeks, and some cultural awareness. I continue to be impressed. Until next time!