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.