It's Hiking Season

I’ve never seen such busy, happy dung beetles as I saw on a hike I took Sunday the 15^th. Oh, boy! There was so much work to do on the trail what with all those sheep, goats, cows and horses roaming around. And I learned something about dung beetles. Their job is to return the dung to the earth from whence it came. Done properly this allows for preferable growth that the livestock enjoy eating. Left undone this opens the window to undesirable growth that the livestock do not like to eat. Go, dung beetles! (Is it just me or whenever you hear “dung beetle” do you picture the scene in “A Bug’s Life” that takes place in the street café? The waiter brings out a tray he holds high and shouts, “Who ordered the poo-poo platter?” All the dung beetles at the table wave their little arms.)

Spring in the mountains is so pretty. You see so many varieties of flowers with each level you pass. Anyway, for the first 15 minutes or so we passed clusters of wild Irises growing along the side of the path. They weren’t very colorful, sort of a dusty purple-gray, but their painted patterns were a joy to see in nature. The mountains were very green and lush. The herds of cows, goats, sheep and horses we saw were being well fed. Water ran freely from the various springs and runoffs and kept us company a short part of the hike and when we stopped for lunch. At least three hikers drank from the running water.

I liked Sunday’s group. There was a researcher (researching global warming) from Germany, two Americans and one Mexican from General Motors and Kim (a friend from the Embassy) and I. Usually Boris (our guide) has a second guide with him to take up the end of the string of hikers. He did not Sunday and we had to wait quite a while for a slower hiker to catch up occasionally. This did not really bother me. I was there to be in the mountains; I was in the mountains. The weather was perfect, I was comfortable, I listened to the birds (which reminded me of camping and how you could tell what time of day it was by how the birds sang), I watched a couple of curious herders of some sort watching us from a distant rim. They were just silhouettes, but it was so quiet we could hear them talk.

I hiked again the following Sunday and discovered that a rock can be such a cozy place to lie upon – that is, when one has been climbing for 3 hours. And I had a first on this hike. I was the last person to arrive to our destination. That was one of my fears before joining these hikes. It’s not that I mind being last, I just didn’t want to be holding  everyone else up. I almost didn’t climb to the top of Diplomat’s Peak at all. I was very tired. My body was tired, I was sick and tired of climbing and my mind was psyching me out. Two things got me to the top.

1. I told myself that I didn’t come all this way to stop early.

2. I overheard Boris saying that the women could wait here while the men went on up.

Uh, nope. That did it. Onward and upward. To the death! (Too dramatic?) When I reached the top, I took a shaky panoramic video then, after arranging my backpack just right, collapsed on a rock and shut my eyes for 30 minutes or so.

                                                The view from atop Diplomat's Peak

What led up to this? A long climb, of course. When we began, Diplomat’s Peak looked down beckoningly to us. It was splendid, it was inviting. After two and a half hours or so, it was looming over us. It was daunting, it was laughing at me.

                                               Diplomat's Peak (in the background)

During our hike we saw a lot of life. Wild garlic and mint are just a couple of the herbs that grow in these mountains. A few of us tasted them as we hiked. A German man commented to me about the odor the herds of sheep and goats release when they cross our path. It took me a while to realize just exactly which odor he was referring to. I, a reluctant city slicker, thought he was referring to the odor of which the sheep and goats themselves carried and relieved themselves. He was referring to the trampling of the mint, garlic, etc. It did fill the air magnificently.

About two hours into the climb I started getting a little grumpy. I was sweaty, I was, again, sick and tired of climbing. It was at this point that the gnats and bees  and other assorted flying critters became fascinated with their reflection in my sunglasses. Gnats you can swat at; with bees you have to be a little more creative and patient. At one point, something flew up my nose as I gasped for air (properly – through my nose). I had tissues, but it took a little work to free it. Poor thing tried to get out. It went the wrong way. Yes, I felt it. Did I mention I was already grumpy?

                                           Dog Roses and a narcissistic flying critter

Somewhere around the four hour mark (we were descending) a favorite scripture came to my mind. “Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill made low, the crooked straight, and the rough places plains.” I saw the beauty of this coming into my mind when it did, of course, but I couldn’t help but wonder why this particular scripture couldn’t have been fulfilled a couple hours  sooner. Looking back, I think that one miracle for the weekend was enough. We’re still here.

My Worries at Bay

I'm glad that some of the worries I had about being in the Foreign Service have not manifested themselves.

I was concerned that I would be lazy. I am not employeed so I have to be self-motivated, self-disciplined and I am really only accountable to myself. I saw the possibility of myself laying around eating candy all day getting fat and wasting precious time. While I do a certain amount of laying around (while reading) and candy eating (whenever) it doesn't take up much of my time. It has helped that I set goals like learn Russian. Within that, it helped that I had layers of reasons for the goal: communicate here in Tashkent, learn Central Asian folktales and share American folktales. I did not know how much support I'd have around me from the gate guards to the Embassy employees to those of you who write that you are impressed with my learning Russian. I'm grateful.

                                          
                                           My writing room.             

I was worried that I'd sit in the house too nervous to venture out. I admit that it took some serious pushing to get myself out the door, but on the second or so day we were here I walked to the fruit and vegetable stand and bought food. Yes it was uncomfortable, no I didn't know what they said (they likely didn't know what I said), yes I had to practically hand over my wallet to pay because of not knowing what they were saying, but it worked. I am still not thrilled about driving here. I was never a fan of driving in Phoenix or St. Paul either. But I have driven and am fine to drive around again. I heard recently that if you want to build strong neural connections in your brain to strengthen it's power, in addition to doing crosswords and learning a foreign language or a musical instrument (the old standards they always mention), it was suggested that you get lost on purpose. Now THAT'S something I can do! The roads here are not really named. Well they are, sort of. There are no street signs as we know and love. Any street name that is posted is posted on the side of a corner building so you really have to look for it. Streets change names, however and a good deal of the population refuse to call it by it's new name. I'm told that locals don't give directions by using North, South, East and West. They use the metric system so distances are vague at best in my mind until I get used to it. Directions are given by landmarks - this store or that park. Unfortunately, the government regularly steps in and closes shops for whatever reason so the land marks often change. Sigh. More neural power!

I was afraid about my safety. I read some very disturbing accounts about life in Tashkent written fairly recently. I came here scared of the Militsia. I'm told they live off bribes and will shake you down for whatever they can get. Supposedly once they see diplomatic credentials they leave you alone. One day I was waiting outside the Embassy gate for a friend. There is always an officer of the militsia on duty at the gate. So there we stood. I decided to talk to him. I asked him (in Russian) if he liked his work with the militsia. He smiled and said he did. Then he asked where I was from. We talked as best we could for a few minutes. A week or so later, I was walking on the other side of the Embassy and saw him in the middle of a crowd of Uzbeks who were apparently waiting to get in to see a Consular Officer. He glanced up and saw me and smiled and waved. Those small exchanges relaxed me considerably. I think that violent crime is pretty low here. I'd be more likely to be hit by a car than anything.

Another concern I had was of being lonely and not fitting in. While I do miss friends from the States, I cherish the communications we do have. Thank God for Skype (when it works). Some of my best friends here are from Germany, Kenya, Russia and Pakistan. It would be hard to not fit in here with that variety! I'm in the Tashkent Women's International Club where I meet women from all over the globe and attend fashion shows, bazaars and various food related events emphasizing international cultures. I recently attended my first book club. It was one of those where we discussed the book for about 10 minutes, then talked, drank and ate. That was okay; the book wasn't that good. Someone is always having a party so there are plenty of social events. Doug and I are going to start having 'Hump Day Happy Hour" every Wednesday at our house outside on the patio or balcony. Ours is the closest house to the Embassy and everyone who lives in the compound walks right by our house every day so it will be easy to stop off, have a snack and drink then head on home.

                                           Our little bedroom.


One of the only ways I feel like I don't fit in is that I don't work at the Embassy. There has been some friendly pressure on me to take an Embassy job. I've made it clear that I have absolutely no interest in that. But that's not good enough for these caring people. Next I told them that right now people seem to kind of like me. "If I sit behind a desk all day dealing with e-mail no one will like me." I told them. that wasn't convincing either. The Embassy is in the midst of a walking challenge (10,000 steps a day, we are all given a pedometer). I showed one of the men who had been pushing me to apply for a couple of positions my pedometer. At 9:00 AM I was already over 5,000 steps. THAT is why I cannot sit behind a desk all day, I told him. I think the pressure is off for a while.

Another way I don't feel like I fit in is a general attitude I see here in many people. I have to be careful here because I really like and sincerely admire these people. However I do see a pervasive sense of entitlement. I don't think this is unique to this society. For example, we are provided housing which is known to be above average in the Foreign Service. The houses are large here in Tashkent, whereas in Moscow, you'll likely live in an apartment. Since I really want to fit in and get along I'm trying to choose my battles. When we moved into our house it had not been cleaned or painted. Frankly, I hardly noticed I was so excited to be here. Then I started noticing the cobwebe, the white spackle marks filling holes in the walls, scuff marks on the walls etc. The curtains in two of the upstairs rooms are not only warthog ugly, but they don't fit and are not made properly.

                      
                                           Quite possibly the ugliest curtains ever made.


At first, this bothered me. Then I reasoned that our nation is in debt and I really don't need you all sacrificing your earned income so I can have pretty, properly fitted curtains for a couple of years. Unfortunately, there are plenty of people here who insist on this color and that fabric, room addtions and on and on. I understand wanting your house to be your home, but I think there are more important things to consider. I also have trouble with those who find it too much work to recycle their recyclable trash. I carry recycling to the Embassy almost every day. Do I want to? Not really. Is it a big deal. Nope. I didn't come here to leave trash behind.

Here's a funny story I'll leave you with. Speaking of not fitting in. I occasionally shop at a grocery store called Mega Planet. When I go there I always have canvas bags to carry my groceries home in. This perplexes EVERYONE who works in the store. The first obstacle I encounter is the guard who tries to stop me to tell me that I have to put my sacks in a plastic sack he is holding out to me. No kidding. He wants me to put my sacks in a sack. I pretend that I don't understand him, keep smiling, waving, saying "Thank you" and walking. So far he hasn't chased me around the store. He did, however send a plain clothes employee to follow me. I soon noticed and so I started talking to him which, come to think of it, blew my "I don't understand you" cover I initially tried to establish. Dang! Oh, well. Then I get to the cashier who either ignores my sacks and puts my groceries in plastic (which rip immediately - no exaggeration) or, understanding I want the groceries in my sacks attempts to put all the groceries in one of my bags igoring the others OR fills one of my bags and reaches for one of her cheap plastic bags OR (I'm almost through) first puts them in plastic then puts them in my canvas bag. I now bag my own groceries. It is amusing while confounding to all concerned.