One thing that comes to mind today is the stories I overhear other Foreign Service Officers tell.
The nanny of one of our families is very amused that the father actually cares for the baby when the mother is gone. This is apparently unheard of in her world. One evening just before she left, he wanted to give the baby some milk, but there was none so he gave the baby water. Aghast, she told him. "You don't give a baby water!"
Although I have shared how much I miss food in America, the food here is delicious. Usually. One of our Embasy employees was served pizza - very popular in Tashkent - with cheese and what looked like a can of corn poured over it. He asked them why they put corn on the pizza. "Because that's the way Americans eat pizza." The waiter then proceeded to argue the point with him.
I was recently at a restaurant that provided English translations on the menu which I always appreciate. The translations were hysterical. My salad was translated as something like "garden growths". There was a dish called "legs escaped from hen coup". Free range chicken? I wish I could remember more. As I do, I'll share.
One man, while stationed somewhere in Africa, was honored by his employees. They roasted a whole goat for him. He's a vegetarian. He smiled graciously, thanked them, then explained that he's a vegetarian. "Eez okay." They said. "Eez no meat. Eez goat." Here in Tashkent, chicken is chicken, while meat seems to be any meat that is not chicken.
There was a Mexican restaurant in Tashkent that I went to with several Embassy employees. As we ate, one of them shared a story of the first time they ate at this restaurant. They were served tortillas. That's all, just tortillas. They sat and waited for something to go with the tortillas. Nothing. Finally they called the waiter over and asked. He said "These are tortllas (pronounced "tor-ti-LLaz" not "tor-ti-yaz") you eat them." "Yes," they agreed, "But we need some cheese, some meat, some vegetables . . ." "No. You just eat them." This went back and forth for a while. Yesterday was Cinco de Mayo and I'm happy to report that the fajitas we were served at the Marine House happy hour were quite tasty.
It's another world here. I've already gone on about driving in Tashkent, but I don't think I mentioned the general lack of safety measures here. Women regularly sweep the streets with these short brooms over which they have to stoop to use. Although there is a warning sign put in the lane where the women are sweeping, it is never any more than about five yards in front of them giving people lilttle notice to move. Somehow, they survive.
Manhole covers are regularly removed for whatever reason and left off while the workers to to lunch, the store to buy supplies, etc.
The pot holes here are more like sink holes and they sit unrepaired for months. Often someone, to be kind, will put a large tree branch they've broken off into the hole so it looks like there's a small tree in the middle of the road.
There is an amusement park that is being 'built' nearby. There are three or four rides partially set up. A small ferris wheel and a ride that circles around perpendicular to the ground are sitting unguarded and unblocked, open for anyone to climb on and play on.
Flying with Uzbeks is frustrating. They pay no mind to warnings to not use cel phones during take off and landing. As soon as the wheels are on the ground, many stand up and pull their stored bags off the overhead shelf and head to the front of the plane to be first in line. It's like being back in elementary school sometimes.
The negative behaviors and practices I see do stick out in my mind since we must live with it and deal with it. However, I don't want to just sit here and tell you the negative things.
What do I see that I like? I think I've mentioned some of them before, but they are worth repeating. I love the way they greet each other. They talk over each other saying things like, "How are you? How is your family?" They talk over each other for a good 15 or 20 seconds. When they part company, they offer a sincere farewell. It's like they unspokenly recognize that they may never see each other again so they wish each other peace, health, etc. I admire that.
I love seeing men walking down the street together. Often they will have their arms slung casually over one another's shoulders. This is true of children as well as adults. It's a simple, loving gesture that, unfortunately, is looked upon by too many in America as gay behavior. Likewise, women will hold hands as they stroll. Again, not just mother and daughter or young girls; women hold hands as they walk and talk. I've had two adult friends with whom I've been comfortable holding hands. It's rare in America.
Now from the department of "It's not right or wrong; it's different" comes this little story. Doug and I drove to a bazaar to buy a few bread presses with which you make a pretty pattern in the center of a flat, round loaf of bread. I chose about five, negotiated the price and was looking for money when I saw the man reaching for a sack to put them in. "I don't want a sack" I said. (This entire exchange was, of course, in Russian.) "I'll put them in a sack." "No," I said as I gathered them in my hands, "I don't want a sack." "Yes, please." "No, thank you." This went on and on, back and forth. I explained that our car was right there and I pointed at it. I didn't need a sack. I didn't know how to say that the sack will just tear anyway. (They use the cheapest plastic sacks here in Tashkent. A cherry would tear it.) Finally Doug, getting tired of the scene, told me to just take the sack. No. I then said to the distraught man, "If you'll lower your price by 1,000 sum (that's about 40 cents), I'll take the sack." Done deal. I couldn't believe that he lowered his price and used up more goods (albeight, just a sack) rather than letting me have what I wanted for more money. Repeat after me: It's not right, it's not wrong; it's different.
Here's a preview of what my next blog will be about:
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