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.