I had never heard of a Robert Burns Night until about a month ago when the Ambassador came to Douglas and I and asked us if we'd be interested in participating in one. We, of course, said "yes" and set out to choose songs to sing and poetry to recite. We arrived Saturday night at the Ambassador's residence to find him handsomely dressed in a kilt. That was the only kilt, but there were many tartans worn by guests. I think Robert Burns Night is kind of like St. Patrick's Day in that while everyone is Irish on March 17, everyone is Scottish on Robert Burns Night.
After some drinks, we sat down and heard a blessing for the evening. After that was the presentation of the haggis! Unfortunately our resident piper was too out of practice and declined our begging to play for this event so the haggis was processed in to recorded pipes. "Ode to a Haggis" was read and we were served. Haggis has a bad reputation. I tasted it for the first time at our Minnesota Renaissance Festival. I was standing near the line (yes, there was a line) and said to my friend that I'd like to taste it, but I didn't know if I could make the financial commitment of actually buying one. A patron in line overheard me and offered me a bite of his. He, too, had never tasted it. I noticed he gave me the first bite. I loved it. I made sure to not know what was in it until after I'd tasted it. Good move. If you like meatloaf, just taste it. Close enough. May all Scots forgive me.
After we ate there were more readings including Douglas reading "Is There for Honesty, Poverty?" commonly known as "A Man's a Man for all that". We sang "Ye Banks and Braes", lyrics by Robert Burns, and "Loch Lomond" to which everyone joined in on the chorus.
After dinner, dancers gathered in the basement to dance some Scottish Highland dances. After a while they invited all to dance and the floor was full of people swinging each other around, bouncing into one another, skipping the wrong way and laughing a lot. Did I mention the free-flowing Scotch? That explains a lot of what happened on the dance floor. Great way to end a fine evening.
The next day we were invited to lunch by our music teacher, Mahmurjan. He wanted to cook for us so he reserved a restaurant and had a small party made up of a former dancer now local television producer (who wants to interview me!), a young singer/guitar player, Mahmurjan's good friend who often comes to our lessons (I have no idea how to spell his name in English, it sounds like "Eelyoze") and Bakhadir, a man who plays the doira (the Uzbek folk drum that Doug is learning to play). We sat down to a table full of fruits and vegetables and awaited the Lagman (a's sound like "ah"). Lagman is a thick noodle soup with meat, vegetables and seasonings that is traditionally made with one looooong noodle. It's one of our favorite local dishes. We were warned (not that it did any good in my case) not to eat too much because there was plov coming next. Plov (long 'o'), if you recall, is the national dish of Uzbekistan and is traditionally made by the men. It is spiced rice with tiny pieces of carrots, raisins, lamb and, depending on where it's made, it can have a slice of horse meat and quail eggs. I did not eat dinner that night.
After we ate, the music started. Mahmurjan plays a 'geedjock' (a violin held in his lap like a cello), "Eelyoze" plays a dutar - a two-stringed long necked instrument held like a guitar - Bakhadir played the doira. They asked us to sing some of the folksongs we've learned. Everyone seemed to have genuinely liked it. The younger fellow sang such a beautiful song with such a lucious voice that all could think of was how many women would want to hear that outside their bedroom window one night. We ate, played and talked for about four hours. That was hard for me, especially as full as I was. I hope I get better at that. The younger singer and the producer both spoke some English, but all conversation was in Russian. I was pretty fried when we finally left.
I'd like us to do more of that, though. To me, that's why we're hear. I know Doug has bigger goals in the Foreign Service, a mission. But it's these interactions that I can communicate best with you. I think that, as we travel, we'll find that music is the best introduction we'll have to a new society.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Life in Tashkent as I See It
I don't feel I have spent enough time telling you about my observations of general life in Tashkent. You must remember that I'm pretty removed from it as I live so near the Embassy and spend nearly all my time at home alone or at the Embassy exercising and taking Russian lessons. But I'll share what I can.
When we flew in to Tashkent two Septembers ago, if you remember, we landed at sunrise. This is very common. I have seen only one plane in the air since we moved here and that was about a week ago. It was funny because I was walking down the stairs looking out a high window into the sky, saw the plane and stopped dead. What is that, I thought? Flights generally leave and arrive between the hours of 1:00 a.m. and 4:00 a.m. The men who work closely with Douglas are expediters. They help us with arriving and departing at the airport. That's their overtime. They then work full time hours during the day. They make our travel life so easy for us and they do it with a sincere smile. When my parents arrived, Doug and I picked them up. We stood there waiting and waiting. The entire group of passengers checked through and my parents were not there. It seems that even though my mother had wheelchair access requested (arthritis, previous broken knee, etc.) she was not provided with a wheelchair in Uzbekistan. The airport has one wheelchair and there was a sick man sitting in it. The thought of sitting him in a chair while they fetched my mom apparently didn't occur to them. They had to lower her on the service lift from the plane onto the tarmac and bodily assist her. She was in her usual gracious good spirits and smiling happily when she finally came into sight.
Remember my telling you that I came here with an attitude of "It's now right; it's not wrong - it's different"? Well, Douglas helped me keep that attitude recently. I think I've already mentioned how fast people drive here and how slowly they walk. They also have a very different spacial concept than we do. For shy people who don't like to hug, they don't mind walking into you or pushing their way in front of you into a line. When passing (facing) someone on a sidewalk, they will wait until they are going to make contact before moving ever so slightly to avoid this, all the while staring straight ahead like there's nothing/noone else around. One day I was walking to the Embassy - about a block and a half away. There was a group of four young people headed towards me taking up the entire sidewalk. Just behind them was a young woman who was intent on passing them. Between all of us was a tree growing in the middle of the sidewalk. I saw the future so I stopped dead in my tracks to watch the show and stay out of the way. The young woman managed to pass them and was headed toward me (who was standing properly on the right side of the sidewalk). She appeared to be doing the normal waiting until the last micro-second to move, but instead she plowed right into me knocking me off the sidewalk into the mud. Everyone turned and looked at me as I looked at her. I was - unfortunately - speechless. Oh, I had plenty to say - in English! Корова (pronounced karova with a long o) was the only Russian that came to mind. That means cow. I held my tongue. But I stewed about it for way too long with the usual wasted thoughts of, "I should have . . ." and "If I ever see her again I'll . . ." etc. When I told Doug, he reminded me how oppressed these people are and that that was probably her only bit of power in her life. Boy was I humbled. I wish I could go back in time and walk back to her, ask her if she's okay and ask her why she did that instead of just glaring nastily at her.
I have one annoyance here that I also had in the States. Plastic bags at the check out counter. If I bought three small items, the bag boy at the store near Doug and I in St. Paul would put each item in a bag - three bags! I'd take two out and put them all in one bag. I got smart and brought my own canvas bag. Then he'd put my groceries into a plastic bag and then put that in my canvas bag. No kidding. I explained to him that the idea of carrying the canvas bag was to not use a plastic bag. Duh. Sometimes I'd forget my canvas bag and I'd have to deal with the bag boy. I would tell him, "One bag, please." He would then take two bags, put on inside the other and put my three items in them. Sigh. So, here in Tashkent the problem continues. According to Doug, it's old school to carry around your own bag because now they have these plastic bags to offer their customers. These are the cheapest plastic bags you will find. If anything is remotely sharp or of any weight, the bag splits open. So I carry my own bags. Grocery stores really don't like this and they constantly tell me that I can't bring them in. Before I spoke as much Russian as I do now I just smiled and said thank you and kept walking. Once they sent someone to follow me around the store as I shopped. I guess that was to make sure I didn't steal anything. It was handy, though, because he knew where everything I wanted was! Anyway, while Doug and I were Christmas shopping recently I bought three small wooden-handled bread presses. The man and I dickered over the price, we met in the middle and I was reaching in my purse for money. He turned to get a plastic sack. I told him I didn't want a plastic sack. Yes you do, he said. I picked up the bread presses and assured him that I did not. We argued as I dug out money to pay him. Doug stepped in to help. No good; he was adament. Doug finally turned to me, "Just take it" he said. "No", I answered. "I don't want it. The car is 20 steps away." The man tried to pull the presses out of my hand. I held strong. Finally, I said "If you'll come down on the price, I'll take the sack." He lowered his price! Can you believe that? He lost money and product instead of just letting me carry the presses away in my hand. It's not right; it's not wrong - it's different.
It amuses me that the same people who believe that standing in front of a fan or drinking anything cold will make you sick are the same people who believe that rinsing a glass in tap water is washing it. After months, I saw my housekeeper do this. After she drank from one of our glasses, she gave it a quick rinse and put it away as clean. I had to explain to her that anything that goes in someone's mouth must be washed in hot water with soap. She turned on the faucet and stood there looking at the ceiling while waiting for the water to get hot - about a minute and a half wait in our house.
Appearances - especially in front of certain people - are very important here. The roads are in very poor condition except where the president regularly rides. Every time Secretary Clinton has visited our Embassy there has been a major improvement to the street in front of it. Dress is generally basic black if you are younger (teens through 20's or 30's). It seems to be required that young women wear stilletto boots with the highest heels imaginable.Older women wear COLOR. Very common is a flowery dress with brightly colored socks not remotely in any color family represented in the dress and sandals and a scarf. Men like suits in a shiny fabric that reminds me somewhat of disco days. And they spit all the time. I try to never look at them. The men look their best when it's quite cold. They wear a traditional thick robe-like garment and a tallish fur hat. Handsome.
I'm being awfully negative. I think that's because it makes for more humorous writing. So let me end with telling you that I'm familiar enough with a few locals who work the shops and bazaars that we greet each other on the street and converse. That's special to me. On Christmas day I took a box of homemade candy (yes, I shared) and gave it away to the guards here at the compound and the Embassy and to the shopkeepers that are so nice to me. They don't celebrate Christmas, at least not on December 25 - many celebrate Orthodox Christmas on January 7th - but they told me Merry Christmas in English. Sweet. Many people are very interested to know where I'm from and why I'm here. I bought some carrots from a new store - so dirty I didn't know they were yellow carrots until I got them home - and Rustam, the man who sold them to me, was so kind. He's learning English and wanted to practice just a little. I'm getting comfortable enough with Russian that I can joke a little. That same day, I realized that I needed onions so I went to my regular produce man on another corner. He asked me if I wanted carrots because I usually buy carrots from him. I apologized and told him that I just bought carrots somewhere else. I also told him that they were so dirty I'm sure I paid as much for the dirt as I did for the carrots. We laughed. He pointed out his clean carrots. Even in the nice stores, the produce is often filthy. It's like they're pulling it right out of the ground. Another time I asked one of the guards if he went to the big New Year's party. Yes, he did. I asked him if he danced alot. Yes. I asked him if he danced on the table. He laughed. I think it's extra funny coming from me because I'm so slow at forming thoughts sentences. By the time they realize what I said, it's funnier.
When we flew in to Tashkent two Septembers ago, if you remember, we landed at sunrise. This is very common. I have seen only one plane in the air since we moved here and that was about a week ago. It was funny because I was walking down the stairs looking out a high window into the sky, saw the plane and stopped dead. What is that, I thought? Flights generally leave and arrive between the hours of 1:00 a.m. and 4:00 a.m. The men who work closely with Douglas are expediters. They help us with arriving and departing at the airport. That's their overtime. They then work full time hours during the day. They make our travel life so easy for us and they do it with a sincere smile. When my parents arrived, Doug and I picked them up. We stood there waiting and waiting. The entire group of passengers checked through and my parents were not there. It seems that even though my mother had wheelchair access requested (arthritis, previous broken knee, etc.) she was not provided with a wheelchair in Uzbekistan. The airport has one wheelchair and there was a sick man sitting in it. The thought of sitting him in a chair while they fetched my mom apparently didn't occur to them. They had to lower her on the service lift from the plane onto the tarmac and bodily assist her. She was in her usual gracious good spirits and smiling happily when she finally came into sight.
Remember my telling you that I came here with an attitude of "It's now right; it's not wrong - it's different"? Well, Douglas helped me keep that attitude recently. I think I've already mentioned how fast people drive here and how slowly they walk. They also have a very different spacial concept than we do. For shy people who don't like to hug, they don't mind walking into you or pushing their way in front of you into a line. When passing (facing) someone on a sidewalk, they will wait until they are going to make contact before moving ever so slightly to avoid this, all the while staring straight ahead like there's nothing/noone else around. One day I was walking to the Embassy - about a block and a half away. There was a group of four young people headed towards me taking up the entire sidewalk. Just behind them was a young woman who was intent on passing them. Between all of us was a tree growing in the middle of the sidewalk. I saw the future so I stopped dead in my tracks to watch the show and stay out of the way. The young woman managed to pass them and was headed toward me (who was standing properly on the right side of the sidewalk). She appeared to be doing the normal waiting until the last micro-second to move, but instead she plowed right into me knocking me off the sidewalk into the mud. Everyone turned and looked at me as I looked at her. I was - unfortunately - speechless. Oh, I had plenty to say - in English! Корова (pronounced karova with a long o) was the only Russian that came to mind. That means cow. I held my tongue. But I stewed about it for way too long with the usual wasted thoughts of, "I should have . . ." and "If I ever see her again I'll . . ." etc. When I told Doug, he reminded me how oppressed these people are and that that was probably her only bit of power in her life. Boy was I humbled. I wish I could go back in time and walk back to her, ask her if she's okay and ask her why she did that instead of just glaring nastily at her.
I have one annoyance here that I also had in the States. Plastic bags at the check out counter. If I bought three small items, the bag boy at the store near Doug and I in St. Paul would put each item in a bag - three bags! I'd take two out and put them all in one bag. I got smart and brought my own canvas bag. Then he'd put my groceries into a plastic bag and then put that in my canvas bag. No kidding. I explained to him that the idea of carrying the canvas bag was to not use a plastic bag. Duh. Sometimes I'd forget my canvas bag and I'd have to deal with the bag boy. I would tell him, "One bag, please." He would then take two bags, put on inside the other and put my three items in them. Sigh. So, here in Tashkent the problem continues. According to Doug, it's old school to carry around your own bag because now they have these plastic bags to offer their customers. These are the cheapest plastic bags you will find. If anything is remotely sharp or of any weight, the bag splits open. So I carry my own bags. Grocery stores really don't like this and they constantly tell me that I can't bring them in. Before I spoke as much Russian as I do now I just smiled and said thank you and kept walking. Once they sent someone to follow me around the store as I shopped. I guess that was to make sure I didn't steal anything. It was handy, though, because he knew where everything I wanted was! Anyway, while Doug and I were Christmas shopping recently I bought three small wooden-handled bread presses. The man and I dickered over the price, we met in the middle and I was reaching in my purse for money. He turned to get a plastic sack. I told him I didn't want a plastic sack. Yes you do, he said. I picked up the bread presses and assured him that I did not. We argued as I dug out money to pay him. Doug stepped in to help. No good; he was adament. Doug finally turned to me, "Just take it" he said. "No", I answered. "I don't want it. The car is 20 steps away." The man tried to pull the presses out of my hand. I held strong. Finally, I said "If you'll come down on the price, I'll take the sack." He lowered his price! Can you believe that? He lost money and product instead of just letting me carry the presses away in my hand. It's not right; it's not wrong - it's different.
It amuses me that the same people who believe that standing in front of a fan or drinking anything cold will make you sick are the same people who believe that rinsing a glass in tap water is washing it. After months, I saw my housekeeper do this. After she drank from one of our glasses, she gave it a quick rinse and put it away as clean. I had to explain to her that anything that goes in someone's mouth must be washed in hot water with soap. She turned on the faucet and stood there looking at the ceiling while waiting for the water to get hot - about a minute and a half wait in our house.
Appearances - especially in front of certain people - are very important here. The roads are in very poor condition except where the president regularly rides. Every time Secretary Clinton has visited our Embassy there has been a major improvement to the street in front of it. Dress is generally basic black if you are younger (teens through 20's or 30's). It seems to be required that young women wear stilletto boots with the highest heels imaginable.Older women wear COLOR. Very common is a flowery dress with brightly colored socks not remotely in any color family represented in the dress and sandals and a scarf. Men like suits in a shiny fabric that reminds me somewhat of disco days. And they spit all the time. I try to never look at them. The men look their best when it's quite cold. They wear a traditional thick robe-like garment and a tallish fur hat. Handsome.
I'm being awfully negative. I think that's because it makes for more humorous writing. So let me end with telling you that I'm familiar enough with a few locals who work the shops and bazaars that we greet each other on the street and converse. That's special to me. On Christmas day I took a box of homemade candy (yes, I shared) and gave it away to the guards here at the compound and the Embassy and to the shopkeepers that are so nice to me. They don't celebrate Christmas, at least not on December 25 - many celebrate Orthodox Christmas on January 7th - but they told me Merry Christmas in English. Sweet. Many people are very interested to know where I'm from and why I'm here. I bought some carrots from a new store - so dirty I didn't know they were yellow carrots until I got them home - and Rustam, the man who sold them to me, was so kind. He's learning English and wanted to practice just a little. I'm getting comfortable enough with Russian that I can joke a little. That same day, I realized that I needed onions so I went to my regular produce man on another corner. He asked me if I wanted carrots because I usually buy carrots from him. I apologized and told him that I just bought carrots somewhere else. I also told him that they were so dirty I'm sure I paid as much for the dirt as I did for the carrots. We laughed. He pointed out his clean carrots. Even in the nice stores, the produce is often filthy. It's like they're pulling it right out of the ground. Another time I asked one of the guards if he went to the big New Year's party. Yes, he did. I asked him if he danced alot. Yes. I asked him if he danced on the table. He laughed. I think it's extra funny coming from me because I'm so slow at forming thoughts sentences. By the time they realize what I said, it's funnier.
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