Iskander Kul

The sketchy driver locked our luggage in his trunk. Curran had shaken on a not-so-good deal - 500 somoni for five people in a sedan, meaning four people would squeeze into three seats with our extra baggage. We protested and begged for a larger car. The driver was unmoved, so Curran slipped him 20 som and we transferred our things to the Jeep that could comfortably fit all of us, as well as transport us safely along bumpy mountain roads. We were on our way to Iskander Kul, sans sketchy driver!

If your nervous about driving, this trip is not for you. The road hugs sheer mountainsides with no guardrails. Drivers honk when turning corners to warn oncoming traffic of their approach. On our trip, our driver told us tragic stories: The mountain pass is closed because two cars careened over the edge, killing everyone inside. In the winter, an avalanche trapped 90 people on the road. Benevolent Iranian truckers gave them each an egg a day. However, the tunnel is scariest of all.

Finished a few years ago, the tunnel is poorly designed. Water collects on the inside and stands at 2 or 3 feet in places. Side tunnels lead to nowhere, abandoned machinery rusts in the darkness and mist, single lightbulbs hanging from wires light the way. I took a picture, but it was obscured by the gases that had collected. Another tragic story: During an accident and subsequent pile-up in the tunnel, drivers kept their motors running and several people died of carbon monoxide poisoning. I felt like I was close to being the next victim as we drove through; my lips were tingling and I felt lightheaded.

The tunnel of doom.

Coming out the other side was exhilerating. Life was mine again! Also, the view wasn't bad. Here there are mountains upon mountains.

The trip also gave me some perspective on how people live outside of Dushanbe. In many of the towns that we passed, people lived in mud or stone huts with no greenery in sight.

After being stopped at a roadblock for three hours (three Tajik men shared their vodka and vegetables with us on the riverside), we finally made it to Iskander Kul. The picture below doesn't do it justice. The lake is truly amazing.

Iskander Kul has only one resort - a crumbling Soviet construction that was once picturesque and quaint. While overgrown, it still held some charm. However, we stayed in tents. I felt safer there (fewer fleas) and it was nice to sleep in the outdoors again.

On Saturday, we hiked to a waterfall and then, because the hike to the waterfall wasn't enough, we climbed a mountain. The climb up was tough - loose rocks and boulders slipped and fell on those below and I twisted my ankle, but my legs were happy for the exercise. And I was happy for the view from the top.

I'm not quite sure how the legend about Iskander Kul goes. Something about Alexander's horse walking into the water and never coming out? In any case, I felt that I could have stayed for a lot longer. Up the road, a trail leads into the Fan Mountains where there are more glacial lakes and a path to the Uzbek border. Maybe next time, assuming I could survive the tunnel again.

I Should Have Known or It's All Part of the Experience

As soon as the first bite of qo'rtab (sauteed onions and bread pieces in yogurt) hit my stomach, I knew the outcome would be bad. Something just didn't feel right.

I went to class and, after four hours, I had pretty bad indigestion. But that could just be from sitting in Uzbek class for four hours, couldn't it?

I went home and my stomach was in an uproar. When my host-mother asked me what I'd eaten, I ran to the bathroom to throw-up, but nothing happened. Instead, I went to bed and tossed and turned for two hours; the pain was horrible. Of course, my evil mind kept sending me pictures of qo'rtab - the chunkiness of the yorgurt, the sour taste, the soggy pieces of bread. Every thought brought another wave of nausea.

Finally, the sickness hit. I ran back and forth between my bedroom and the bathroom. My thoughtless host-father decided to take a shower in the midst of this, so I had to resort to the 'other' toilet. The squat toilet. Needless to say, it was horrible. Needless to say, I'll never eat at that cafe again and I will NEVER again eat qo'rtab (unless I'm starving and it's the only thing available).

I feel a little better today, but very tired and weak. My host-mother made me drink hot water that had been mixed with a bitter root - I don't know what it was, but it was so disgusting that it actually made me throw-up the first time I drank it. Maybe that was the point? My host-sister, a doctor, gave me a natural medicine that would 'replace the good bacterias' and provided me extremely sweet black tea, which I was required to drink an entire pot of.

I slept through most of my class this morning, but, as my friend Jarrett said, "I'm growing a strong stomach." However, we'll see how true this is after my next visit to a local restaurant.

Fan Death! Tajikistan-style.

When I get sick in the US, I usually look to the most likely culprits - germs, exhaustion, dehydration, or a combination of all three. Here, however, everything can be blamed on cool air and cold water! It's so much easier. The recipe for good health is to sleep in a stifling room and drink nothing but hot tea. At least, this is what my host-mother tells me.

When I developed a bad allergy to dust, my excessive mucus could be blamed on the fact that I slept with a fan on. When the dust made my chest hurt, this was because I had been drinking cold water. This morning, I could hardly speak because my throat and chest were so raw. My host-mother looked at me menacingly and said, "I told you! No fan! But I heard you watching TV last night with the fan on. This is why you can't speak today."

After classes, we went to the Turkish cafe for lunch, which gave me a bad stomach. When I came home to use the toilet, she said, "This is because you drink cold water. " An unfair accusation! The water that I drink is almost never cold. If it happens to be cold when I buy it, it doesn't stay in that condition long. However, they won't even let the children touch my water! It's too cold for children! I told my host-mother:

"I never drink cold water."

"I see you drinking it all the time," she said. "You use the fan and you drink cold water and this is why you're sick."

At this point, I will share a truth: sometimes I drink cold(ish) water with the fan on. I let the fan blow RIGHT on me as I drink the water! It feels good to live in a dangerous way, but I'm suffering the consequences: a cough, intestinal cramps, and sleepless nights. Obviously, my water is too cold and my fan is too blow-y. Aren't the most pleasant things in life always this way?

The heat is consistent. The electricity is not.

Yesterday, in the middle of my last class, the electricity went out. I thrive on the electricity in our classrooms. When it turns off, so does my soul. It was 4:00 p.m. and the heat was intense. I started sweating. My teacher and I decided to open a window, but it was hotter outside than it was in the room. I made a quick pros and cons list in my head: cooler (but still hot) and stuffy versus hotter and fresher. They were both losers.

Today I was eating lunch in the Turkish cafe and got the gut-wrenching cramps that come only with bad food on an empty stomach. I ran to the bathroom, but the lights went out in the middle of my stint. Afterward, I realized that I had been standing in the wrong direction on the squat toilet.

Tajikistan has "energy problems." Hence, mid-day blackouts and winters without heat or running water. I'm not an expert on the country's natural resources, but I do know that they have a lot of hydropower. The problem is, they sold most of it to Afghanistan. Oh, the wonders that truly great leadership can achieve.

I don't really mind going to the bathroom in the dark. In fact, sometimes it can be an exciting adventure (only for the very bored). I don't even really mind sitting in a hot classroom. I'm just glad that I don't have to be here in the winter.

Dushanbe: Day 2 (the not happy part of the day)

Uzbek placement test!

I failed it. It was awful. They wanted me to translate sentences like: “Please tell Yorik that I intended to call him last night at 7p.m.; unfortunately, I fell ill and could not reach a phone.” After staring at the paper and feeling the tears gather in the back of my throat, I finally handed my test to the teacher. “Ko’p bilmayman,” I said – I don’t know a lot. She nodded, looked at my test and nodded again.

Just this morning I had a glorious conversation with my host-mom about how much work she had to do before she got her very own ‘kelin’ (daughter-in-law) and, also, how to work the bath. She also showed me how to flush the toilet (unnecessary). I was feeling very competent.

These are sentences that I know how to say:

“It’s hot this morning.”
“What time do you usually eat breakfast?”
“I like this movie.”

Anything with a complex sentence structure is out of my reach. In addition, PLEASE do not ask me to read from a text. I might be able to converse (awkwardly) but I have a really hard time reading from a text. I blame this on my Uzbek professor, the notorious Cirtautas, who would pass out articles or stories, ask us to translate them, but then actually read and translate them herself. Not exactly the perfect way to learn a language.

So, I’ll be in the novice class and that’s alright. Maybe I can actually learn how to buy something or even barter. Stupid UW Uzbek class.

Dushanbe: Day 2 (the happy part of the day)

It’s 6:30 and I’m awake, but I’m tired. I could lay in bed and listen to the birds chirping and the goat randomly bleeping for hours, I think. Especially because it’s still cool outside and it’s QUIET. The city sounds that I’m accustomed to in Seattle are non-existant here. On my second day in Tajikistan, I find it extremely relaxing.

In fact, I find the entire experience relaxing. True, struggling through learning a language with a host-family that you don’t know can be a tough experience, but I’m excited for the slow days. After my Uzbek placement test this morning, I hope to sit under the grape arbor and just read while drinking tea and thinking about nothing. A year of graduate school has made me hungry for quiet and long, lazy days. I feel like I’m on a retreat.

But first, I’m going to go running. It might not be a long distance, but it will get my legs moving and, hopefully, I’ll finally have time to get back in shape. Let’s pray for no rabid dogs or children with rocks. Though, to be honest, Dushanbe doesn’t seem like that kind of city.

Dushanbe: Day 1

This morning, our flight from Istanbul arrived at around 3p.m. By the time we unloaded and found our luggage (Jen’s never came – poor Jen) it was light outside. I expected it to be steaming, but the air was pleasantly cool and everything looked and smelled fresh. I had a feeling that it would be a good summer.

Our resident director, Curran, met us at the airport. We all loaded into a van and drove to our respective host-families. My host-family has a single-story house built around a courtyard, in which they grow grapes and tomatoes and apricots and some other delicious things that I don't know the words for. When I arrived, they sat me on the platform and fed me flat, round bread with homemade jam and kashi.

Finally, I asked if I could sleep. It was 7:30 a.m. by this point, so the showed me to my room – two rooms actually – I laid my things on the ground, and fell into bed fully dressed. My host-mother woke me at twenty to 11 a.m., I got dressed, and we went to the American Councils office.

The office is new and welcoming; plus, it has air-conditioning. This is important because, today, the low was 108 degrees and it’s mid-June. Needless to say, it was hot. Curran gave us a quick run-through of what to expect living in Tajikistan. It’s a very safe place, but be wary of police officers. Don’t flash your wealth around. Don’t wear revealing clothing. After that, we started talking about the exciting stuff – excursions. Curran has three potential excursions planned for us this summer. The first, I can’t remember. The second, I can’t remember. The third, though, is to the Pamirs and I can’t wait.

For five or six days, we are meant to drive the Pamiri Highway in rented vehicles of mass destruction (SUVs). Along the border with Afghanistan, you can often see nomadic Afghans with llamas. Also, from certain points along the highway, you can see the mountains stretching all the way to Pakistan. The Wakhan Corridor is mostly peopled with Kyrgyz tribesman who still live a nomadic lifestyle and have maintained their Kyrgyz language and culture despite being separated from their kindred by mountains and years and national boundaries. Needless to say, I'm stoked.

After our meeting at the office, we got a tour of the main part of the city, which is far more developed (at least along the main street) and scenic than I’d expected. Many of the buildings are painted eggshell blue with white trim, others are salmon pink. Most are built in the Russian style, which makes them very picturesque and there are fountains EVERYWHERE. It was about 108 degrees, so I sweated profusely and tried to stick to the shade. However, it was hard not to let the heat drag me down, as well as the jet lag. I felt like the walking dead.


I finally got back to my host-family’s house around 5:30 where they fed me clear broth with a chicken leg in it, vinegared vegetables, and osh (plov) with beef chunks. After I helped clear the table, my host-mother called me in to their section of the house to watch an Indian movie dubbed into Uzbek. “I just love this,” she said. Every time a house would catch on fire or a love would get stabbed, she would gasp. “I LOVE this!” I think we’ll get along.

At 9 p.m., I’d had it for the day and said my goodnights and passed out within seconds of putting my head on the pillow. And thus ended day one in Tajikistan.