Tashkent tummy: shit went down

Despite running out of Tinder profiles to swipe through in 15 minutes, life has yet to lull in this so-called Stone City. Skype is still banned until the Independence Day celebrations are over. Obviously those intent on planning any dodgy dealings don’t have whatsapp or something equivalent, and thus I now feel safe attending all celebrations knowing that the Uzbek authorities have their national security under control by means of Skype embargo.

I'm excited to meet men like Sardor in this country

Us TAs seem to be dropping like flies. A mixture of foreign germs, spending all night being bitten to death, and food primarily composed of oil and salt has left most of us in various states of consciousness on the day we had to have our blood taken. We have affectionately named the situation “Tashkent Tummy;” a name much cuter than the situation. The first I’d heard of the blood test was an e-mail the night before, and I’m yet to hear of the actual purpose. For all I know they’ve perfected the cloning process and there’s now 100 new Nadias contributing to this nation’s prosperity by gathering their 120 pound daily quota of cotton in the fields of Samarkand. The efficiency of the plump babushka nurse was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. She had filled up her vials with the blood (sweat and tears) of every new staff member in no more than 25 minutes. A burly doctor stood behind her, watching; and no doubt waiting to send her off to join the disreputed in the fields should she not make her own quota of blood. Armed with our little plasters and very long grapes, we spent our 3^rd day pottering around trying not to break every container in the science lab.

Very long grapes from very tall grape trees

Friday night took us to meet in the park before going for a few drinks. The park is where the locals seem to make a start to a wild weekend. The place was adorned with Uzbek men having their caricatures painted; no doubt to be put on a shrine at home for their wives to idolize. (They’re often not allowed out without their husband’s supervision). I made a few friends; one in particular was a kind gentleman on a motorbike adorned with fairy lights, offering rides to children. I politely declined even when it became бесплатно (free). All I could imagine was getting on the back and before I know it being kidnapped to the fields of cotton, or trafficked into Thailand. Neither a particularly delightful prospect. One particular man wanted me to return tomorrow to look at his new collection of souvenirial pins. I replied with a nice да, завтра (yes, tomorrow); only for him to reply with до завтра (until tomorrow). A little too excitedly at the prospect of my return. Needless to say, I didn’t.

Bustling Uzbek night-life

Reminiscent of the seaside at Southend circa '97

Shine light, shine

"Wasting electricity and these hoes aren't even buying my настоящий (real) Louis Vuitton jewellery"

Saturday was spent at the Chorsu bazaar. Me and Claire took the metro. Armed with resting bitch face, we had no problem on the way there; just 2 bag checks. The way back included a 10 minute look at our documents and one of the policemen inquiring as to why my paper said I had no children, and then after my little bird pendant. Perhaps the police have a more refined taste in jewellery than previously expected.  Or maybe he thought I’d use it as a bribe to take my metro ride. Photos are also not allowed on the metro for "security?" reasons. Needless to say, I snuck some in anyway, trying to look nonchalant but no doubt twitching like a priest in a whorehouse. Some local Uzbek told me it was нельзя (a big no-no) to take pics. Shocked at his lack of comradery I ceased my illegal activities as they whispered about if we were French. Almost pushed him into the tracks at that comment. 

Illegal. Blogger is probably about to be blocked in Uzbekistan for this. All the regrets.

This police man at the end is gonna get caned for allowing this photo to happen.

The bazaar was more like a sort of super club. Go to the toilets and you’ll never find anyone again. Thus, sticking close together, we sauntered through stalls of dead carcass, rotting vegetables, and sour cheese balls. I was merely perusing for my 1^st time there, trying to get a lay of the land. However I did manage to buy all 8 Harry Potter movies on 1 disk and seasons 1 and 2 of GOT for 8,000 som (£2). He tried to get my pay 5,000 each and I swore down I could get it for 3k elsewhere, pointing in the general direction of bustle. Looking suspiciously in aforementioned direction as if to see the person charging below agreed monopoly dvd price, we agreed on 4k each. 

Bizarre or bazaar?

Who knows how much child labour it took to make these wares.

Photos of the TV tower are also illegal, but this is far too artistic. This country should appreciate I made their country look nicer than it actually is.

I moved to Uzbekistan and now I'm just always hot

I’ve moved to the desert, also known as Tashkent, Uzbekistan. The question most people ask is “why, why Uzbekistan?” To be honest it was the first job I applied for and got. Combine that with a hot climate and here I am, chillin in my swanky apartment, AC on full blast as a lady on the TV describes how moving to Moscow from Brazil made her voice deteriorate.

The whole move seemed to have its quirks from the get go. From the flight’s welcome drink of a coke that left a nice layer of sugar around my mouth for the rest of the flight, to the whole seat number situation, where the seats go in order of A, B, C, E, G, J, H from left to right. An alphabet that makes sense to no one anywhere, and makes me wonder why I ever thought logic and order would make my life easier. Dinner was 2 hours after we boarded at 23:30, followed by a swift pain au raisin for breakfast at 2am. Just the right thing to help us acclimatise to a new time zone; thanks Uzbek Airways. The 30 degree inside temperature was certainly to be a help for what lay in store when we landed; unless you were by the leaking windows and doors of course. For a flight that is only twice a week the passengers were few and far in between; most of them Indians using Tashkent as a layover. Upon arrival, I was also tempted to use Tashkent as a layover to anywhere else. We were greeted by a strong military presence as we got off the plane, consisting of 5 men dressed in pixelated blue camo. Don’t worry, if Uzbekistan decides to invade you’ll see them coming a mile off. Also ready to confiscate any contraband we had bought in; aka anything more than 3 pairs of leather shoes, 1 piece of knitwear, or 2 watches as stated in the immigration documents. Removing my beloved Argos Casio out of sight, I followed the lady calling our names in an entirely unrecognisable accent to the VIP entrance as we got off. The VIP section entailed going down a flight of stairs and waiting 45 minutes for our suitcases to be differentiated from the rest of the riff-raff’s upstairs. However we did get to enjoy a drinks table to hydrate in the 8am-35 degree heat.

VIP; I feel like a celebrity

At least there were beverages

There were 2 minibuses which slowly took us 1 by 1 to our new residences. Mine was 2^nd to last but the wait was well worth it. What looks like a wasteland holding a derelict building of brothel-type activities on the outside actually holds a nice modern flat which I share with Claire. We have matching rooms, just one is blue and mine is green. There’s AC, a balcony and a nicer TV than anything I’ve ever owned already filled up with a variety of international and Russian channels. The only downside is that the sun doesn’t hit any of the windows in any of the directions so you can’t really see without the light on. A small price to pay for not dying of heatstroke in your own home. Leaving the house involves walking over the unkempt  desert-type land that they call a street here. Most of the roads have a small ditch running alongside it, meaning that you have to do a little skip to not fall in. Or you can just wear sunglasses that deteriorate your peripheral vision and just fall in 3 times like I did on my 1^st day.

I put a filter on it to make it seem less dodgy

My room in panoramic form

A ditch I fell down

Wasteland, basically

The currency here is providing me with my life-long dream to be a drug dealer. Except without the drugs, and just me sat counting hundreds of notes waiting for my Nokia 3210 to ring. The largest note they have here is 5000 Som, worth just over a pound. Considering that stuff isn’t excessively expensive, it just means that you’re stood there like a nob counting out 55,000 worth of 1000 notes for your shopping only for the checkout lady to snatch it out your hand and use her rather useful counting machine.

bare dolla

Supermarkets here seem to be oddly priced; most likely due to their home-grown produce and imports. An aubergine was about 30p, whereas a tin of beans was a little over £2.50. On the plus side, they recognise that the condition of “insatiable appetite” does exist; aka not being able to stop eating a pack of biscuits once it’s opened. They sell biscuits individually! I tried to buy just the one, exercising a level of self-control yet to be seen when it comes to food. Unfortunately Aziz at the counter informed me that you must buy a minimum of 40g for the scales to recognise it. Hence I now have 40g of chocolate biscuit melting on the table.

Haven’t come into contact with that many Uzbeks. Only the book-stall owners in the market at the end of the road where I pretended I wanted to buy a book in order to practice my Russian. Kind of backfired as I was sent down the line while each owner tried to sell me a variety of “teach yourself Uzbek” books for children, whilst I had to explain that they were far too advanced compared to my current level of 0. A group of us went out for lunch and the waitress, Anya, seemed scared of our foreignness. Therefore she bought over a guy to speak English to us whilst we spoke Russian back to him, and he relayed the information to Anya. A mass of confusion and rubbery tasting feta cheese ensued.

 School, aka work, has been chilled for my first 2 days. Day one consisted of a tour, then coffee and lunch and then we were pretty much free so naturally we ended up at the local Irish pub. Day two consisted of moving some books around and setting up the science lab. Hopefully it will get more strenuous because it’s rather stressful having nothing to constantly moan about.