-Uzbekistan-

-Uzbekistan-


After a short relaxing glimmer of relaxation and recuperation in Shymkent, Kazakhstan; I was on my way to Uzbekistan. I ended up taking a marshutka (mini-bus, fixed route taxi)$2 to the Uzbek-Kazakh border, where I quickly unloaded my remaining Kazakh currency for Uzbek Som, and began my journey on foot into the unknown. I got pretty much destroyed on the exchange rate…….but I only had about $2 worth of Kazakh currency, so I didn’t lose much sleep over it. Getting past the money changers and border vendors proved to be both painful and challenging. Their persistence and fervor was difficult to break. I literally had to rip their hands off me and dodge them like a basketball player charging the lane.

I eventually made it past the feisty scavengers and unto the scruffy, rosy cheeked border guards and the border’s lingering soviet bureaucracy. After getting past the first two check points, that involved a thorough search, and thorough questioning……..mostly fueled by the guards’ curiosity, rather than their security interests. I made it through to the final checkpoint, where I hit an almost impenetrable snag. Apparently I was supposed to register my visa with immigration police within 5 days of entering Kazakhstan. It is not that I was unaware of this rule, it is just that I felt a bit cocky and above the law,…….and somehow felt that I would easily sneak through the border without repercussions. Probably not the greatest move in hindsight.

I was a stamp away from making it through the border, but I was missing important registration papers. The friendly young border guard explained to me in Russian that I must go back to the immigration police and sort out my little problem. –This undoubtedly would result in the imposition of the known and feared $80-150 fine for not registering.

My strategy was to smile, plead ignorance, and to downplay my Russian language proficiency by turning the simple situation into a complicated headache that the border guards would be reluctant to follow through with. As the guards explained to me the problem with my passport, and pointed toward the immigration office…….I simply smiled and said “ Mozhna Tashkent, Poshoulstva”(may I, Tashkent Please). I repeated this phrase over and over again, while calmly smiling and pleasantly ignoring their requests, through staged ignorance and misunderstanding. After about 20 minutes of these shenanigans, the main border guard smiled at me, and said in English……. “Lakka, I like you”…..He stamped my passport and sent me on my way.

I walked through the final gate smiling ear to ear, and relieved to have gotten through that potential disaster with my pocket book intact.

It was about 4:30pm and freezing cold in Uzbekistan….my cheap cotton gloves were beginning to fray at the fingertips, exposing my fingers to the harshly cold winter weather. I was forced to constantly shelter my hands in my coat; otherwise my exposed fingers would go painfully numb almost immediately after exposure. I mention this only because of how difficult it was for me to fill out the 2 customs forms at the Uzbek border. I found it to be significantly challenging to legibly write in the forms’ small boxes, while my fingers felt like unfamiliar prosthetics( I was actually forced to rewrite one of the forms because my handwriting was so poor).

At around 5:30pm………I had made it into Uzbekistan, I walked about a mile past the border and flagged down a marshutka that took me into the center of Tashkent (30cents).

Tashkent looked very Soviet and familiar at first glance, crumbling block apartments, gaudy monuments, and streets filled with rusty Lada’s (soviet cars). The Uzbek people seemed to have predominant Turk, and Persian physical features, unlike their Kazakh neighbors who seamed to get their genetics from the Mongols.

After the short marshutka ride to the center of Tashkent, I hopped on the metro-line and made my way to Pushkin station; where I solicited a telephone from a stranger, and contacted my host Aibek to retrieve me.

My Host Aibek is a ridiculously well traveled 28-year-old, with a thirst for adventure, and a persistent drive for success and life experience. He lives with his cousins Ulebek, and Mohammad Ali. My hosts have proven to be excessively hospitable, warm, kind, and wonderful Uzbek educators (I being the pupil).

Before I get sucked into writing a bland, hypnotic, and less than entertaining play by play of my time spent in Uzbekistan; I will attempt to cut away, and to dive into a few of the more interesting aspects and abnormalities of Uzbekistan and its culture.

The Subway:

- Like many soviet subway systems I have thus far visited; the Tashkent subway is extensive, proficient, simple, cheap, and a highly reliable. However the differences in it’s appearance are quite vast and substantial.

While most soviet era metro systems tend to incorporate a depressingly stale and unenthusiastic concoction of concrete, steel, peeling brown and yellow paint, rust, darkness, and cold shadows. Tashkent’s metro system has absorbed an essence of virility and life, by representing brilliant architectural design filled with brightness, creativity, life, and pride.

Each Metro station is designed in a completely unique and different way. The highly diverse and creative underground bunkers (the metro system was designed by the soviets to double as a nuclear shelter) are kept in immaculate condition, and heavily guarded by overly conscientious police officers. The diversity and complexity of each metro station is considerable and undoubtedly unique and superior to its former soviet counterparts.

My favorite of these stations would be the cliché choice: Prospect-Kosmonovtov Station
The Kosmonovtov station, dedicated to Soviet astronauts, looks like an artsy space exhibit in a museum of science. Each support column is surrounded by black ruffled glass, The central ceiling has a creative cloud like array of staggered black material, the walls are neatly accompanied by large blue and grey plates with sparkling space murals painted on them……….I find it difficult to adequately explain how interesting, unique and strange this subway station is, and unfortunately a photo was out of the question.

The cops guarding these metro stations are quite vigilant; I have yet to make it through any Tashkent metro stations without showing my documents and being subject to a standard interrogation and search. The one time I attempted to take photos of a metro station….did not go over so well, they spotted me immediately, and were in my face before I was able to snap my first shot.

A walk in the Park:

-One day in Tashkent while Ulebek and I were wandering around ‘Independence Square’, we stumbled across a handful of cops partaking in some rather uncharacteristic activities. I was taking a picture of a large brass monument(apparently the new monument is sitting on the spot that once hosted the largest Lenin statue in the Soviet union), when suddenly I was interrupted and startled by a serious of loud, seemingly nearby, gun blasts. I was in the central park that lies between the senate and a series of government buildings. After a visual investigation of the situation; I witnessed a couple groups of cops drifting around the park, monuments, and buildings holding shotguns. To my astonishment and surprise they were actually firing their guns right there in the park. It was hilarious! These cops were wandering the neatly landscaped park laughing and having a good time, while shooting crows both on the ground and in the air. Anyways…….perhaps this is not the greatest written story……but I thoroughly enjoyed the strangeness and peculiarity of the situation. It makes me laugh to imagine the reaction of Americans, if they were to witness a crew of city cops wandering around a public park in DC casually shooting birds with large shotguns.

Uzbek food:

-I have had the opportunity to share several wonderful meals with graciously hospitable Uzbeks. And have had the honor, and pleasure to have been invited to a few formal dinner parties with Uzbek families. One in particular was at Aibek’s uncle’s home. We all sat on the floor around a large rectangle table and enjoyed a wonderful feast of traditional Uzbek food and deserts. Aibek and I were served our own large plate of ‘plov’(Uzbek national dish: pleasantly greasy rice dish with vegetables and topped with various meat). This particular evening the giant dish of plov we were served, was topped with large chunks of horse meat. I can’t say I really enjoy the taste of horse meat. Perhaps it is because the flavor and texture is so unique and foreign to me. The dark brown, dense, salty, tart tasting meat, had a strange consistency and lingering aftertaste that I was definitely not accustomed to. Horse meat is actually a bit of a delicacy these days because in Central Asia it is currently much more expensive than lamb or beef. It is also considered a ‘Mans Man’ meat. Horse meat has a dense texture,…….and carries the opinion that it creates manly strength and helps build muscle.

Aibek informed me that we were literally expected to finish the entire plate, otherwise it would be considered an insult to our host……….So consequently, I ended up choking down far to much horse meat than desired.

That night we also were served two types of Russian caviar………..it was hilarious to watch the little boy seated next to me sneaking bites from my plate of caviar. I was surprised the kid enjoyed the taste; he has much more sophisticated and expensive taste than I. Later that evening I burped in my mouth, and was immediately consumed by an unpleasantly pungent flavor combination of salty horse meat and strong caviar.

Most of the ethnically Uzbek dishes I have eaten in Uzbekistan have consisted potatoes, meat, various herbs, and have been served with nan bread ( traditional round bread with decorations punched in the middle).

Ohh………..and there was the Camel Milk. The strange thing about camel milk is that it ferments almost immediately. Aibek presented me with a bottle of day old camel milk (literally straight from the camel) stored in a Pepsi bottle. We had to undo the bottle cap slowly, as if the milk were carbonated,(which it pretty much was). The milk had an alcohol content of a bit more than 3%, and tasted like salty sour milk with a kick. It gives your mouth the strange acidic tingle that you get from fresh wine. Overall I would say that camel milk is quite good. I found it to be a bit challenging to get over the fact that it was produced by a camel, but all in all it was quite tasty.

Transportation:

I hate the transportation in this country!!!!!!!!!(Buses that is, I hear trains are nice here) It is a real pain in the ass, and horribly unpleasant.

From Tashkent I took a bus to Samarkand…..but was dropped off about 50km from Samarkand, and then told to get onto a muddy, crowded marshutka………About 45 minutes later I was dropped off on the edge of the highway,…about 10km from Samarkand……..not that this was unusual or horribly inconvenient, but still it would have been nice to have taken a bus directly from Tashkent to Samarkand.

To Bukhara: I found a private bus that was taking people from the far edge of Samarkand to Bukhara. This particular bus was an absolute shit box………..The bus was completely full, and surrounded by about 20 people still yelling, and crowding the door. I had given up hope of boarding the packed out bus, when the driver signaled for me to come aboard. With skepticism and hesitation, I approached the driver and firmly told him I would not buy a ticket unless I was assured a seat;……with a spot of resentment, he agreed. The bus assistant, a chubby, scruffy looking, gold toothed gentleman, rockin a fur hat, sold each person waiting out side the bus tickets. He then proceeded to load them all onto the bus like cattle. I was shocked, I have no idea how this guy was able to fit everyone on the bus; a circus sideshow would have trouble fitting more bodies onto this bus.

The guy casually tried to herd me onto the bus with the crowd, but I harshly stared him down and adamantly insisted that I be given a seat. So after we were all boarded, I ended up sharing the fold out seat next to the driver with 4 other people. I had the far right 5inches, and the bus assistant had the crack between me and the bus door,……….. he was pretty much in my lap the entire time. It really sucked!

Even though we were at full occupancy (literally), the bus kept stopping along the road and picking up more people and their luggage. It was ridiculous, horribly awkward, and uncomfortable. The icing on the cake was the fact that the bus door was fragile, and barely functional. This piece of equipment proved to be near fatal for the bus assistant……..Honestly, the guy almost fell out of the bus three times! Each time the door swung open, I would dig my feet into the crevice in front of me as an anchor, bear hug the guy, and yank him back into the bus with all my strength………and after each time, the guy looked at me as if I were over amplifying the situation, and that he would be perfectly fine without me,…it was strange.

Anyways…….the bus ride was an absolute disaster, filled with uncomfortable conversations and strange interactions with people I would prefer to ignore. Example being when the bus assistant forced me to share my head phones(he got one ear) with him for 2 hours……it was horrible because the crack in the bus door made the bus so loud that I could barely hear my tunes………and I really, really, needed music to ease my mind, and to relieve a bit of the anxiety and stress that was building up throughout the ride. Or the lady behind me who kept poking me in the back and asking me annoying questions about what I thought about Uzbek women.

The best travel experience was the Bukhara-Tashkent ride!

I woke up at 6:30am,………left my hotel, and boarded a shared taxi to the train stations 15km out of town. At about 7:10 I was told by the ticket guy, that the only bus tickets available were for first or business class. So with this news, I turned away and hopped on a marshutka for the bus station. I arrived at the bus station at around 7:30am and purchased my bus ticket. The bus was said to be leaving at 9am. After a quick breakfast of eggs and hotdogs, I boarded the bus and took a snooze. I awoke at about 11:30am……..and to my surprise…the bus had not left the station. The bus finally left the station at 3:30pm, and at this point I was quite calm, happy, and feeling patient despite the fact that I had already been waiting on the bus for 6.5 hours.

After the bus departed we spent the next hour picking up people on the side of the road, and loading their cargo onto the bus.( buses in Uzbekistan are used for import\export as much as they are used for passengers) At around 6:00pm the bus came to a screeching halt, and everyone quickly exited the bus onto the cold muddy roadside. For the next 2 hours we stood in the cold as a few scruffy men with furry hats; jacked up the back end of the bus, and fixed what seamed to be a suspension problem.

We hit the road again at around 8:30pm, and ended up in Samarkand roughly 10:00pm. After a quick pit stop, and a snack of bread and chocolate; we were off.

An hour after Samarkand, the bus slowed down a bit do to the flooding valleys in route. The weather in Uzbekistan had drastically warmed up over the last few days, resulting in the rapid melting of the areas large packs of stagnant snow. A couple towns we drove through were submerged in over a foot of water. It felt rather strange to be driving a bus through it, we drove slow and steady through the deep waters, as if we were a ship. The bus created a large wake and emulated a ship drifting smoothly through an icy lake. I was saddened by the site of the many villagers holding shovels, and wooden sticks, standing knee deep in water in front of their homes. They appeared helpless and distraught, as they desperately tried to control the untamable waters, and avoid further destruction of their homes and land.

At around 12:00am I really ran out of patience. I was sweating, hungry, cramped, annoyed, sick, tired, and restless from awkward immobility. The following hour we stopped several times to meet up with men who swiftly unloaded the buses cargo into their old Russian cars, and quickly drove away.

Ohh…………and I should probably mention the road blocks……….In Uzbekistan, it is literally impossible to drive more than 40miles in a row without stopping. There are constant road blocks, which are like mini border crossing equipped with armed police, gates, and a customs offices. These road blocks run 24 hours a day, and separate each county, and regions within counties. So of course every time we passed through one of these…….the bus driver would have to exit the bus in and talk to the cops for a few minutes.

At around 3:30am, my bus arrived in wonderful Tashkent……what a relief, or so I thought. A quick analysis of my pocket funds resulted in the realization that I had only 800sum(60 cents) to my name. I reevaluated the situations, weighed my options and came up with a solid game plan of getting where I need to go. Piece of cake!

The friendly and exhausted bus driver allowed me to wait on the bus, and shelter myself from the pouring wet snow until 5:20am. The Metro does not open until 5:30am……..so temporary shelter was a necessity. After leaving the bus, I wandered through the wet parking lot and took a seat in an almost empty marshutka {marshutkas leave only when full} The bus driver reminded me of a certain Star Wars character. The scruffy old man had no neck, was round like a beach ball, had overly loose and wrinkled skin, sported a flat skull cap, and conversed with his colleague in a deep throated mumble as he chained smoked cigarettes.

I waited silently in the cold dark marshutka for an eternity(1.45hrs) before it finally left the station at 7:15 and eventually dropped me off at the metro station. The 500som for the bus ride left me with just enough money for the metro! I wandered in the thick snow through a series of cold dark parking lots until I arrived at the metro station. Upon entering the metro station, I was immediately spotted by the police. I was escorted to a back room, where I was asked a series of security questions, and thoroughly searched. No I do not have a bomb in my bag, no I do not have any drugs, no I am not carrying any guns……… I was really not in the mood at this point, and displayed a look of anger and annoyance throughout the entire process. After being released by the police and promising I would not blow up the subway, I continued on to my metro stop, and soon began the long (30min) walk back to Aibek’s apartment.

Perhaps writing out this entire story was a waste of time, in hindsight, I felt it to be rather dull when writing …….but I have got to vent my frustrations to someone…….so there you have it

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I have really enjoyed Uzbekistan, this country has been very unique and interesting to me. I am always pleased to see countries that have emerged from their Soviet period with greatness and brilliant character. The people in Uzbekistan treat each other with warmth, and unrivalled hospitality, while displaying an image and ora of happiness and love. The classic soviet characteristics of selfishness, coldness, pain, victimization, and depression, abundantly common amongst former soviet countries; has fortunately not saturated Uzbekistan. Instead Uzbekistan appears to have emerged from soviet rule and oppression with pride, happiness, joy, and dominant aspirations of progress and success.

Uzbekistan undoubtedly has the most beautiful architecture in Central Asia. The deep cultural and historical roots of Uzbekistan are shown with brilliance in both Samarkand and Bukhara. Uzbekistan’s Islamic architecture is dazzling, distinctive and in my opinion the most beautiful in the world.

{The Arabs brought Islam to Uzbekistan in the 8th century}

Uzbekistan gets its name from a descendant of Ghegaz Khan named Ozbeg, who ruled the region from 1310-40. After Ozbeg’s reign, the surrounding tribes began to refer themselves as Uzbeks……….However, modern day Uzbekistan was created in the 1920s by the Soviets. They drew a few ethnic borders, provided the Uzbeks with a language and a sense of cultural identity that separated them from their nomadic neighbors to their north and east.

Samarkand: has had a long extensive history in Central Asia. It was even visited by Alexander the great in the 4th century BC. But instead of pretending I know all about it, I will just provide you with a few photos……..and say that Samarkand’s architectural marvels are absolutely breathtaking!

Bukhara: By far my favorite city in Uzbekistan! Bukhara is absolutely magical…….the city has not seemed to have changed in the last 500 years. I thoroughly enjoyed wandering around the muddy narrow streets of old town, and losing myself in the magical atmosphere. I could go on all day about Bukhara……….but I think I will keep those opinions to myself and simply post the pictures…

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I am currently in Tashkent, Uzbekistan, and actually heading to a Aibeks village tomorrow for a bit of camel milking,…….and perhaps some hunting. It should be interesting. I had a lot of free time today, and internet access, so I figured I would take advantage of it, and post a blog while I can. After a couple days at Aibek’s village; I will be heading to Kyrgyzstan. I have made a few Peace Corps contacts there……..so yeah………I am really excited to visit the very rural and nomadic Kyrgz.

That’s all for now,…………..I really miss all my friends and family……..and really, really, miss America. I look forward to seeing you all this summer. Take care…….and I truly enjoy emails, and updates…….so please keep in touch. Internet is what keeps me sane, and helps me stay motivated!

Over and Out
Trevor


$100 exchanged into bills of 1000sum (Uzbekistan’s largest currency denomination)


Bazaar-Tashkent



-Independence Square-And the cops having fun shooting crows-I could not get too close: cops in Central Asia are a bit camera shy-


These Uzbek ladies wanted to have their picture taken with the grizzly looking American tourist


Dinner party at Aibek’s Uncle’s place:



Nan Bread, with Katya at Aibek’s pad:


Camel Milk:





Samarkand:

-The Registan


Ulughbek Medressa-finished in 1420

Sher Dor Medressa: 1636

Tilla-Kari Medressa: 1660

Bibi-Khanym Mosque: 14th century, but most is recently restored

I paid off a guard to allow me to climb through the dark, tunnel of a stairwell to the top of the large minaret, to get a good view of the city.


Locals:

Samarkand’s bazaar:


Shahr-I-Zindah: a complex of tombs including the tomb of Qusam ibn-Abbas(Mohammed’s cousin)


Bukhara:

{You will notice in some of the pictures, large square pools. These pools were used by the cities residents for drinking and washing, up through the 19th century. As a result, Bukhara became well known for its brutal plagues that would tear through the city. In the 19th Century the average resident of Bukhara did not make it past his early thirties.}


-Old town:



Char Minor:1807

Mir-i-Arab Medressa: 16th century

Nadir Divanbegi Medressa

Kalon Minaret: 1127AD


Bolo-Hauz Mosque: 1718

The Ark: 5th Century AD



Old soviet water tower: now abandoned lookout tour

Local Tajik’s



Me with the traveling essentials: a book, tunes, iodine flavored water, cheap food, cold medicine, and a beard.

-Kazakhstan-

Kazakhstan

1-27-2008

I awoke at 8am………just in time to watch the majestically reddish-orange sun, rise from the edge of the sea. The vibrant sun made the black water and pale blue-sky glow in an absolutely beautiful way………I woke up at the perfect moment, and felt that it was a sign of more beauty and safe adventures to come during my future journey.

The boat stopped suddenly at around 1:30pm………..we were (an estimated) 10 miles from shore. I spent the day reading, studying, and mingling with the locals in the common area. The boat did not begin moving again until about 12:20am.


-Aktau-

The boat docked in the frozen (literally) port of Aktau Kazakhstan at around 1:00am. After a lot of waiting around…….I made it through customs at around 4am.

I caught a break, and ended up meeting an Azeri-Kazakh man (Vagiv) on the boat who was heading to the same city I was. My next destination was Oktobe……….a town about 900 miles North East of Aktau. Vagiv ( in his mid 40s) works in Oktobe, and was previously in Baku visiting his parents and brothers.

Aktau felt to me like a displaced chunk of Antarctica, the brutally cold winds made the weather absolutely painful. The Caspian Sea was partially frozen, with huge chunks of ice crashing swiftly through the white-capped waves. Baku seamed to be a tropical paradise compared to what lied ahead of me.

After bout 3.5 hours of sitting around the crowed customs waiting room, Vagiv and hopped into a shared taxi for the train station. It was about 8am,………and I was completely exhausted, having not slept a wink, my mind was both numb and disoriented. The dark icy roads to the train station cut across a flat, frozen, desolate land of oil pipes and electrical wires. Our driver drove like a crazed maniac through the deeply rutted icy roads, but my fear and anxiety about the situation was pleasantly numbed by my exhaustion.

After arriving at Aktau’s train station( about 5km outside of town) a quick inquiry produced the fact that the Oktobe train was not due to depart until 2:00pm. To say the least, I found this news to be both disappointing and irritating. I desperately wanted to lie down and sleep, however this option was not at all available to me.

Vagiv and I ate some breakfast and drank a few cups of coffee at a nearby cafÈ, while I tried to regain my composure and get a grasp on my surroundings. I was now in Asia……..surrounded by Asians with physical characteristics unlike any I was familiar with. The apartment blocks around the train station brought back memories of Eastern Europe, but the strangely dressed shepherds, locals with fur hats, and hostile police officers reminded me that I was in a very unfamiliar land.

Vagiv and I passed the time by taking a bus into town to check out a few soviet monuments, and by walking around the frozen seaside.

After buying our 4th class tickets for our 28-hour train journey to Oktobe; we boarded the train and immediately crashed out on adjacent second level green vinyl bench seats.

Even though I was exhausted, I found it quite challenging to sleep. I was on a train in Kazakhstan……and surrounded by the unknown. My mind’s curiosity and excitement for the strange hindered my body’s ability to gain much-needed R&R.

The train began to fill up with working class locals, selling all sorts of goods from broomsticks to horsemeat sausage. The train literally turned into a moving bizarre……it was like nothing I had ever seen before. There were a total of 6 bench seats in my open compartment; occupied by no less than 12 people at any given time. Some people were sleeping on the third level benches(made for luggage).…It was quite the experience!

The lands the train cut through were absolutely bare and desolate………brown dirt and grass fields, covered with patches of snow and ice was all I saw for hours and hours. Occasionally I would glance through the frosty windows to see large groups of roaming horses or double humped camels searching for grass on the plains near the rail line.

The Kazakh people have been great so far! They are wonderfully hospitable and emit contagious rays of genuine kindness. On the train everyone puts all the food they have on the table, and it becomes a sort of potluck meal. The Kazakhs speaks kindly to one another and share food and tea with each other as if they were family, or close friends. I have thankfully been absorbed into this culture with open arms; during my 28hr train journey between Aktau and Oktobe, I was constantly eating traditional Kazakh food, drinking tea, and speaking broken Russian to smiling locals. I can honestly say it was one of the most memorable, warm, and unique experiences I have ever had. After the ice was broken, I was paraded around the entire train like a celebrity, constantly being asked basic inquiries, and questioned extensively about life in the USA.

The downside of the journey was constantly being in close proximity and harassment range of the drunk Police officers on the train. I was shaken down about 5 times by several different cops during my journey, and each time had my documents thoroughly checked.

-Aktobe-

Vagiv and I arrived in Aktobe at around 5:30pm……the weather was about –20C…..and the ground thoroughly blanketed with snow. After a bit of confusion and communication difficulty…, I began to grasp the concept that Vagiv wanted me to come to his girlfriends pad for dinner.

We took a bus to the suburbs of Oktobe……..the neighborhood consisted of blocks of ‘A frame’ houses decorated with fancy trim, and German cottage like window shutters. Each block contained a water source usually surrounded with tires and rubber blankets, to protect the water pipes from the severe elements of winter.

At around 7pm Vagiv and I arrived at his girlfriends home, and were greeted warmly by Vagiv’s girlfriend, and her two roommates. Soon the Vodka and food came out, and within no time I was convinced to stay the night in their home……..I figured why not!

After a lot of food and Vodka, a few guys and gals showed up,….one being Vagivs brother. The men were already hammered, and seamed overly excited to consume even more food and Vodka. One guy became quite unpleasant as he incoherently berated me about President Bush, and how Mike Tyson is the answer to all of America’s problems. I hardly understood the guy, but he managed to say Mike Tyson about every other word. The company, including the obnoxious Mike Tyson lover left at around 11pm. Immediately after their departure, my hosts pleaded with me to forgive them for the obnoxious guys behavior.

More and more food and vodka was consumed……….and things got stranger and stranger. I requested a photo with Vagiv………and this spark led to all the women of the house going into the next room for 45 minutes to put on their best clothes and make up……. for the 2am photo op. After several series of drunken portraits were taken……..Vagivs girlfriend dressed up like a fortuneteller and came out of her room for more pictures. The night was a wicked combination of strange, and hilarious!

The next day Vagiv and I went to his brother’s apartment; he lived in a new apartment block in the heart of the city, and the kicker was that it had plumbing and central heating.

{Vagiv’s girfriend’s pad had no running water and a horribly disgusting outhouse out back………they did however have a make shift sit down toilet. If one wished; the wooden hole in the ground could be supplemented by a toilet seat. The seat was basically the square wooden shell of an old stereo receiver with a toilet seat nailed to the top…….it was a bit ridiculous…….but it worked.}

I was in desperate need of a shower…………after running 12+ miles, a 35-hour boat ride, a 28-hour train ride, and a couple sleepless nights, I was in much need of a shower! After showering, and hanging out at Vagiv’s Bro’s house all day(mostly watching old wedding videos in comfortable silence) we headed to a dinner party. I was the guest of honor, and was greeted warmly by a Siberian-Kazakh family; who happened to have a son who spoke a bit of English.

It was nice to get a few words of English out over a nice warm dinner. Speaking choppy poorly conjugated Russian gets a bit frustrating at times, but it has definitely forced me to pick up the language quicker.

The feast was wonderful, we ate traditional Kazakh food including a dish of beef and noodles, various salads, and thick slices of raw mackerel. The food, was of course washed down by periodic toasts with Russian vodka. The evening was very pleasant and enjoyable, the family’s son helped break the language barrier, and allow me to make a very thankful toast to my hosts and new friends.

The English-speaking son is actually heading to Oregon state this spring for a work-study program with an affiliated American university.

His best friend was also a guest at the table: He was as short, chubby, ethnically Kazakh guy who smiled a lot, but rarely spoke. He did however become the center of conversation when my hosts began to explain to me that he was currently saving up money for an Uzbek wife.

He is planning on going to Uzbekistan this following summer to buy a wife………..Apparently a good looking village girl can be acquired for marriage by a $2-3,000 donation to the brides father. Sounds like a good deal…………2-3K for a healthy Uzbek girl sounds like a steal(pun intended).

-Aralsk-

Here is where things got a bit out of hand………………

After a couple days in Aktobe, I took a 5pm train 11 hours south to Aralsk. Aralsk is a small former fishing town once on the Aral Sea.

{side note: The Aral Sea was once a large Sea occupied by both Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan,……….however Stalin decided to disregard the lucrative fishing industry the sea provided, and the livelihood of the people surrounding the sea, in favor of competing with America in the cotton trade. The Russians basically decided to cut off all the major water sources leading to the Aral Sea, in order to use irrigation to provide the above lands with enough water to quench the thirst of the newly created Kazakh cotton fields. The results of this Soviet induced strangling of the Aral Sea’s resources has dried up a major fishing industry, destroyed cities and communities, created several severe health problems for the people living around the former sea,……..and has shriveled the Aral Sea to a small fraction of its original size.}


The reason for my visit to Aralsk was to see first hand the environmental follies of the former Soviet Union. Aralsk had once boasted a booming fishing port, and processing plant……..but due to the man made environmental disaster, the town's main industry has been desolated, and the towns port and harbor have become nothing but a dry crater of decaying fishing boats.

I arrived in Aralsk at around 5am ( I lost another hour, I am currently 14 hours ahead of my former home in the USA) It was even colder in Aralsk than it had been in Oktobe……I was around –12F. I walked through the freezing darkness to the center of town…….which was no easy task. The roads were blocks of ice, and dimly lit only by the moon, and the occasional passing truck.

I managed to find my way to the hotel, an old run down soviet block with a large, red, crusty front door. After about 20 minutes of pounding on the door in the numbing darkness, an old woman came to the door and escorted me inside. She seemed to be annoyed with my presence, and to consider me an inconvenience…..she then demanded $25 dollars for a room in her cold empty hotel……….

Change of plans……..I walked back to the train station, and drank a couple cups of coffee as I pondered my next move. It was 7am, freezing cold, and the sun had not yet risen………but I did know that a train for Turkistan( my next destination) left at 9:30am.

I had not slept a wink on the train, and was now experiencing the increasingly familiar sensation and bodily affects of sleep depravation, and freezing weather. The train stations marble floors and concrete walls seemed to create a large icebox for it's occupants. The inside windows were covered with a half-inch of frost……..and the floor with patches of ice.

While quietly waiting in the small train station cafe, I was befriended by a couple old Kazakh men………(an increasingly common occurrence), after simple introductions, and about an hour of mostly understandable small talk (my Russian is coming along!), the old guys convinced me that vodka would stop my shivering and warm me up.

At this point I was violently shivering and lacking all common sense due to exhaustion. I accepted their proposal…it was 7:30am. We headed to a nearby hole in the wall cafe, where we each gave the women behind the counter a few coins in exchange for coffee mugs half filled with Vodka. After a simple toast to international friendship………we tipped the glasses back……..down in one!

The old guy next to me rubbed my back and arms for about 5 minutes in order to help put an end to my shivering………the old man's massage, mixed with a quick 4 ounce shot of vodka, seamed to do the trick. I was comfortably numb……..mind and body.

We conversed for the next hour or so……I can’t honestly say I understood most of it. I became somewhat coherent again when the old guy sitting across from me started telling me that he had been to outer space. Wow I thought! I know that less than 100KM away was the Russian Baykonur Cosmodrome that launched the first man into space in 1961……….I became all ears to the drunken old man when he started telling me that he had special clearance, and that he could easily show me around the place. Sure I thought, what an incredible experience that would be………{This place is still actively leased by the Russians and still in use}

The plan was first to go to the bank, and sort out some documents, and then we would head to the cosmodrome. It was about 9am……..and the sun coming up as we walked through the glacier like roads to the bank. My initial excitement about the situation began to fade, as my common sense came flooding back to me. I was cold, half-drunk, and sleep deprived……..and actually considering hanging out with some old dude I could barely understand.. I began to rationalize the situation…………should I turn around and head for the train station, or ride this one out and see what happens……..being a complete idiot I chose the latter.

I became increasingly suspicious of my new friend while we were at the bank; everyone seemed to look at him funny, and not take his words seriously……….was this guy the town nut-job? Was this guy really an astronaut? Is it possible for me to sneak out of the bank with out the old guy seeing me?

We left the bank at around 9:35am……………my window of escape had closed, I had missed my train. As we walked down the road from the bank, the rising sun glistened off the snow burning my eyes, and increasing my physical exhaustion.

While we were walking down the road the old man would yell things at people that we were passing by……..and each time the people simply ignored the guy. I don’t know if he was asking them for the time, or yelling obscenities…..but I do know that this guy was definitely the town crazy guy. And I was stuck hanging with him until I could come up with an escape route. I figured simply running away……..would be a bit awkward.

We arrived at his house at about 10am………….he lived in a small concrete 4-walled shack about a half-mile back behind the train station. The house contained a small brick stove/oven in the corner, and a large central carpet containing a floor table surrounded by traditionally decorated pillows. The mans wife was an old weathered looking women wearing traditional Kazakh clothes, who was busy stocking the stove with twigs, and did not seam to even notice my presence. After taking a piss in the outhouse behind the shack I went inside and immediately crashed on one of the pillows near the table.

I woke up at about 12:30pm,……..the guy told me he needed to go back to the bank and to wait for him in the house and drink tea. Sure I said, no problem…………..he then demanded that I give him 2 dollars for the cab ride……….I would have given him $10 to get him out of the house to secure my window of escape. About 10 minutes after the old crazy guy left, I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. The old women became an obstacle, she insisted that I stay and drink tea, and that her husband had instructed her to have me stay there………..I dodged the old lady by telling her I was heading to the train station to buy a ticket, and that I would be back in 20 minutes……………….and just like that I was out!

So now, as I write about this situation and ponder the events of that strange and eventful morning; I find myself wondering how the hell I could have possibly been convinced that an old crazy guy hanging out at a train station at 5am in Kazakhstan,….. was an astronaut. I blame it on sleep depravation, cold weather, disorientation, and booze!

The sun was shining and I had escaped my crazy old friend, I was happy and full of energy as I wandered around the dry, snow filled crater of the former seaport. It was fascinating, and almost beautiful to see these large rusty fishing boats in a pit of snow and ice, and well over 20 miles from the Aral Sea.

Later in the afternoon, I was able to find a local NGO that hooked me up with a home stay. After a quick introduction and a hearty meal of bread and potatoes, I went on a walk around the town, and explored the local bazaar.

-Turkistan-

Another ridiculously crazy morning in Kazakhstan…………………………..

I woke up at 3:55am, gathered my things and headed out the door down the dark icy streets toward the train station. The weather was so cold, it made my face hurt, it made the muscles around my eyes tighten, and gave me a painful headache.
As I approached the train station a train quickly appeared out of the shadows and dim lighting. My train was not do to arrive until 5am…….and it was only 4:30am, but I felt it be prudent if I inquire about the current train. As I approached the tracks a scruffy old man waved me over to the door he was hanging out of, and asked me where I was heading……..I replied Turkistan. He then eagerly signaled me to come aboard. I was a bit confused, but stepped onto the train anyways…….I showed him my ticket and asked him if he was sure that I was on the right train, he nodded yes, and just then the train took off…………..and sealed the fate of the disastrous morning ahead.

About 2 minutes after the train departed, the guy told me that the train was number 60………and that I needed to go to section 2 of the train( I was in section 7)……..I began to feel a bit uneasy when I realized that my ticket said train 30……..panic began to slowly infiltrate my veins.

It was a bit challenging getting to the second section of the train,……..the lights in the entire train were out, most of the doors were frozen shut, and my bag was a bit too bulky to fit easily through the hallways………….after about 20 minutes of stubborn doors, and almost crawling through train segments I had arrived in section 2.

My body was tight and nervous when I handed the conductor my ticket………..after briefly glancing at my ticket, he pointed out that I was definitely on the wrong train. I was not on the Atyrau-Almaty train but rather the Moscow-Tashkent(Uzbekistan) train!

I panicked……( I literally had a panic attack)………….I was tired, it was dark, cold, I had less than $5 of local currency in my pocket, and I was on the wrong train at 5am in Kazakhstan!!!!!!!!

I had no idea what to do, I was freaking out. I stepped outside of the train conductor’s office, and began to quietly voice profanities to myself in absolute horror and despair! I stood in shock and fear for about 40 minutes before I gained enough composure to get a grasp on the situation. What were my options………..buying a ticket was not an option……….It is dark and cold outside…….so jumping off the train was definitely not an option……….the only logical option was to simply slip off the train at the next stop and avoid paying the fair.. So I stood in the hallway and prayed to the gods that the train would stop soon, and that all would be OK.

After about an hour and a half of awkward silence in the train’s hallway………the train came to a halt. I quickly yanked the frozen door open and exited the train with lightning speed. I made my way to the station…………and to my surprise found that my train( #30) was do to arrive in an hour. It is indescribable the amount of joy and relieve I felt at this particular moment………..I was in the middle of nowhere, in the freezing darkness…….and was given pocket aces! It was now 7am…………and I was now cold, and tired, but full of confidence and overwhelming relief.

At 7:55am a train pulled up………train #36…………not my train! I had officially learned my lesson. At 8:00am another train pulled up, but on the second track………..the fact is that these trains stop for about 5 minutes tops. So basically if train #36 did not get out of the way soon………….I was in trouble. Everyone around me felt the same sort of desperation, which resulted in some risky behavior. The doors of the first train closed……and as train number #36 began to prepare for departure, a crowd of locals flooded underneath(literally) the train to train #30 on the second track………..in a split second decision I followed suit and threw my bag on the ground and crawled under the train and dragging my bag to the other side (maybe 2-2.5ft clearnace)…………wow, that was scary! But I was able to catch my train, and another potential disaster was avoided.

I woke up at around 1:00pm……….by the local cops who wanted to search me and check my documents. I grabbed my bag and headed to their small train compartment. Two chubby, drunk cops greeted me at the door and told me to put my bag down and empty my pockets. After frisking me he found that I had one pocket of local currency and a money belt under my shirt. The cop demanded that I put the cash and the money belt on the table…………I was beaming with confidence at this point, and had dealt with enough of these crooked cops by this point to see through the bullshit. I stared at him fiercely and told him he can look, but he is not to touch my money or my money belt(this is all of course in Russian). He looked at me shocked……….who was I to question his authority……….he then thumbed through my money belt and picked up a couple euro coins from the bottom. He then looked at me with gentle eyes and said “ for me”…………..at this point I had enough, I angrily took the coins from his grasp, and told him we were finished. I said that “ you saw my passport, and my visa” and searched my bag……….I am going back to my seat………………he looked at me angrily for a few seconds, but then released me with a mischievous smile.

The rest of the train ride was great, I was hanging with a crew of guys in their 20s and 30s……..and became part of the gang immediately. We shared food, and spoke about the similarities and differences of Kazakhstan and America. I also once again avoided the Borat question……..I always tell the locals that Borat was a movie made by an Englishmen, and that I had never scene it nor do I condone the contents of the film. Which were really quite insulting and unfair to the Kazakh nationals.

Toward the end of the trip the guys in my cabin offered me what looked like pellets of rat shit. They signaled me to put it under my lip and presented me a cup to spit in. Kazakh chew………….why not! After putting the strange and pungent smelling pellets between my lip and my gums…….. I immediately began to feel its effects. My face began to go numb starting with my lip and chin…………my body felt light, and it felt like I was being gently massaged by a cool breeze………….my brain began to tingle………….at this point I spit the stuff out, the stuff was ridiculously strong………a bit to potent for my taste. I soon after arrived in Turkistan………..but not before being presented with a 3-ounce bag of the mystery pellets as a gift from my new friends.

I later found out that the stuff was Nasvai: basically finely cut tobacco cut with spices ash or lime, and often laced with opium. Well……………yeah………that kind of explains its frighteningly strong effects.

I arrived in Turkistan at around 8:00pm and immediately hopped on a minibus for the town’s center. The weather was cold, but not near as cold as it was in Aralsk or Aktobe. After about an hour-long hotel search, I had failed to find any budget options. The cheapest hotel I could find was $15 a night………..which would not cut it for me. I have become ridiculously tight with my cash, but that is the only way I will be able to make this trip last, so I suppose the ends justify the means.

While cold and confused and wandering around the dark streets of Turkistan I was offered assistance by a crew of university kids. After explaining my situation, and inquiring about budget hotel options in the city………..they smiled and signaled me to follow them. About 30 minutes later we had arrived at their dormitory………my home for the next couple days. We spoke only Russian(the guys did not speak a word of English)……..and got along wonderfully. They were filled with kindness and spoke the language of peace and international friendship.

The next couple days were filled with comradery, kindness, friendship, confusion, understanding, more confusion, sightseeing, tea drinking, and unrivaled hospitality.

I will not go into more details……….because this blog is running a bit long, and must seem a bit dry to read by now…………..but I will just say that my time in Turkistan was wonderful. The historical sights ( mainly the beautiful Mausoleum) were fantastic, and my crew of university students were a blast to hang out with.

I am currently hanging with a PCV in Turkistan (i met him at the internet cafe)………we are heading to Shymkent tomorrow to hang out with a crew of PCVs there. After Shymkent I will be heading to Tashkent Uzbekistan. Kazakhstan has been a quite interesting and intriguing experience………….to say the least.

That is all for now…………..I am quite safe…………., and having an adventure of a lifetime, I miss you all, and will see you soon……….I am thinking I will return sometime this summer…………but for now I have a lot of ground to cover.

Trevor

On the ship to Kazakhstan:




Aktau Kazakhstan, with Vagiv:


Oktobe
Vagiv’s Girfriend and roommates:


Dinner party in Oktobe:

Hangin with the guys in Oktobe:


On the train to Turkmenistan:


Aralsk:

Bazaar in Aralsk:

My crazy old friend(on left) and my morning vodka brother


Arlask’s former harbor:



Turkistan Bazaar:



My College kid crew in Turkistan:



At the dorm, eating a traditional dish(horse meat, and noodles)……..and wearing my new hat.