Tomorrow we plan on crossing into China and, apparently, WordPress is blocked in China. Therefore, in order to continue documenting my travels, i have started up a new address where I shall continue posting entries.
The address is:
http//blog.bootsnall.com/beirut2beijingandbeyond
The lay-out isn’t as nice, but it´s a bit last minute and will have to do…
Cheers,
lilith
16/11/08, Zharkent
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Central Alamty is tastelessly gentrified and tacticfully sanitised from anything remotely ‘Kazakh’; it is only Kazakh in name and geography. It is a sprawling, completely Westernised metropolis, replete with over-priced cafes offering wi-fi internet and dishing up $10 slices of cake, Mercedes/Land Rover/Porsche SUV’s careening down wide avenues, Soviet war memorials, and huge supermarkets where you can purchase anything from French Brie to sushi to Heinz baked beans. It is flanked to the south by towering mountains which boast the Chimbalak ski resort, where the town’s more wealthy (and, more often that not, Russian) inhabitants stretch their legs.
Leave the centre, though, and you are quickly faced with a very different picture. Tree-lined, paved avenues are replaced by uneven, unlit dirt roads; the atrocious architecture of Soviet-style apartment blocks fades into the quaint simplicity of single-story, almost barn-like wooden houses; the upmarket shopping malls filled with designer labels are substituted by the Barak Holka bazaar, an endless maze of haphazard containers and stalls that runs five kilometres along a road to the west of the city.
It is in this bazaar that one begins to get a real taste of the contemporary character of Kazakhstan’s cosmopolitanism. A distant relation of J’s, Mahmut, (his aunt’s partner’s brother) lives in Almaty. Ethnically Kazakh, the brothers and their siblings were born and raised in Istanbul and are now scattered all over the planet, in what reads like the locations of an haute couture label: London, New York, Zürich, Almaty.
Mahmut imports Turkish leather coats from Turkey and sells them in Barak Holka, and invited us to see his shop. The inside of the container was made to feel warm with imitation wood panelling, and we were immediately offered seats and tea. We were joined by the merchants in neighbouring shops: an Kazakh who had lived in Iran, Turkey and Russia, and an Afghani who boasted the same. After we had finished the tea and exchanged some phrases in rudimentary Farsi, Mahmut invited us to lunch. We followed Mahmut and the Afgani through the labyrinth of fox fur coats, goat hair shawls and leather boots to the main road, which we crossed and entered a whole new maze. ‘This is the Chinese bazaar’, Mahmut said.
Indeed! The elaborate clothing had been replaced by mounds of industrial plastic bits and bobs, fairy lights, footballs, toy trucks and sandals.
A few more minutes of wandering, we arrived at our destination: a small white container which was an Afghan restaurant on the inside. We were introduced to Ahmed, the owner, who spoke Arabic because he had spent some time in Saudi Arabia as a cook. Now, he served up what Mahmut called ‘the best shashlyk (lamb kebab) in Almaty’. A grand claim, but when the chunks of meat arrived still sizzling on their metal skewers and we had the opportunity to test its truth, we could not disagree. Sprinkled with a dash of cumin and chilli, the shashlyk was the best I have eaten in my life (i suppose 6 years of vegetarianism puts this statement into perspective).
* * *
Today, in the small village of Zharkent in Eastern Kazakhstan, I learned two interesting things:
- The Kazakhs have a very particular method of making butter. They extract the stomach of a sheep from the slaughtered animal, inflate it, and leave it to dry slightly. Then, they put milk, whey and salt inside the stomach, mix it up, and leave it to ferment. This process doesn’t take long, only a few days, but the stomach prevents the butter from spoiling. It can literally be preserved for years in this way. And despite the seeming grossness of its production, the taste is exquisite: light, fresh, with a slight but pleasant arome de mouton…
- ”The only thing that loves meat more than a Kazakh is a wolf”
-Kazakh saying
7/11/08 Shymkent, Kazakhstan
I am aware that my writing during the three weeks that I spent in Uzbekistan has not been as stimulating as it was while I was in Iran, nor has it offered as many interpretative ’snapshots’ of Uzbek people or life as I feel my Iran writings did. I think this is because I engaged much less with Uzbekistan, in the sense that I both learned less about it and felt that what I did learn was, perhaps, somewhat superficial. I feel like I left Uzbekistan with a piecemeal idea about its history and a glimpse of its geography, but no comprehensive sense of Uzbek social dynamics, no hint of individual perceptions, tastes or hopes, which are aspects that I felt I gained a minimal yet significant exposure to in Iran.
One of the biggest causes of this sense of lack was definitely due to the fact that I experienced much less interaction with Uzbek people than with Iranians. In Iran, I felt that I had several meaningful encounters with different people, even within the frame of ‘foreigner’ or ‘tourist’ to which I am inescapably bound in my travels. Generally, I suppose, I found Iranians to be more open, more curious, more eager to strike up a conversation in which they inquired about me and spoke about themselves. Moreover, while they actively sought my point of view on ‘touchy’ subjects such as politics or religion, I was surprised to find them willing to express often dissident opinions about those matters. When I expressed such surprise to one Iranian man quite early on in my trip, he said that he was not afraid to voice his disapproval to foreigners (when asked his opinion about Ahmedinejad, he had replied, without a second’s hesitation,: ”asshole”), but that he would never choose to act on his feelings because he felt that there was too much at stake. I found that his comment shed light on the ideas that condition the circumstances under which many Iranians feel more or less able to manifest their opinions.
In Uzbekistan, I was privy to only a handful of conversations with Uzbeks, and their scope was far more standard: origins, education, family. On one hand, I think it had something to do with the language barrier: more people spoke English in Iran, and Arabic is far closer to Farsi than it is to both Russian and Uzbek, which had proven very useful at times. (I managed to make some headway with the ethnic Tajiks we met near Bukhara and Samarkand, because Tajik and Farsi overlap quite heavily).
But language aside, I felt that many Uzbeks reacted to my foreignness with a certain distance. In the rural areas, I felt this translated into amusement, where my linguistic ignorance was often met with laughter. In the cities it expressed itself less endearingly, and, especially Tashkent, I felt general apathy, manifested in a scarcity of smiling faces and a lack of willingness to help. This stood in such drastic contrast to the hospitality of the Iranians, the scale of which I had never encountered before. Perhaps mistakenly, I attribute the relative disinterest, even coldness that i experienced in urban Uzbekistan to a combination of the proliferation of mass tourism and the indifference and anonymity that accompanies the way that Central Asia has come to be atomized along post-Soviet Russo-European lines.
By the same token, I must acknowledge my own agency in not connecting as much with Uzbeks as I felt i did with Iranians. Two months of travel (coupled with a week’s worth of traveller’s diarrhea) have doubtlessly drained my explorational energies. My laziness manifested itself as much in my lack of efforts to learn Uzbek or Russian as in my favouring early bed-times over nights out in local haunts, which is where I could have potentially met and chatted to more people.
The amalgamation of these factors, set against the frequency and depth that characterised my conversations with the Iranians I met, led me to feel that my interactions with Uzbeks revealed to me less about aspects of Uzbek society. This might sound patronising, but I did not find that my conversations with Uzbeks were as eye-opening or as insightful as those that I had with Iranians.
* * *
Personal interaction is not, of course, the only source of knowledge, but unfortunately, the information that I acquired through other channels proved hardly illuminating either. There is undoubtedly a plethora of material artifacts and architectural structures that bear testimony to the hayday of Uzbek history, the glorious days when the Silk Road was the centre of the world. However, I failed to find the curation and presentation of these stimulating. Something that i found particularly offputting in the ancient Khanates of Khiva, Bukhara and Samarkand was that each mosque and madrasa was being used more as a market stall than a place of archaeological import. When one enters through the huge, arched, blue mosaic-tiled entrances of the centuries-old structures, instead of being able to absorb the characteristics and imagine the past life of the building, one is encountered with flocks of old ladies clad in colourful head-scarves peddling embroidered bags, throws and carpets; terra cotta plates and bowls with intricate geometric designs; and small boxes with hand-painted miniature scenes of courting, music and feasting.
Now, do not doubt the craftsmanship and consequent appeal of their wares, for both are evident. But I felt that it was inappropriate to allow four hundred year-old courtyards, celebrated as prestigious centres of learning of Islamic world some 500 years ago, to serve as platforms from which unsuspecting tourists could be wielded out of a few dollars. Although it could be seen as infusing otherwise ‘dead’ places with a new commercial life, I found that it distracted me from being able to imagine their histories. The vaulted rooms which were once the classrooms of the Islamic world’s most ground-breaking philosophers, doctors, astronomers and poets had been transformed into tourist bazaars. Sight-seeing came to be quickly replaced by browsing and, eventually, shopping. Yes, time and time again, i was sucked right in.
Even the History Museum of the People of Uzbekistan, aka national museum, offered a shallow overview of over 10,000 years of human history, beginning with the stone tools of Neanderthal man and ending with fragments that represent the modernity of post-Soviet Uzbekistan: the production quota of chemical plants; various Olympic medals; Visa cards and Mastercards. Admittedly, some of the more interesting material concerning popular Uzbek uprisings against Russian and then Soviet imperialism was not translated into English, so again language proved a significant barrier to learning.
Thankfully, one avenue of cultural/historical discovery was opened for us: we were fortunate to be able to get tickets for a production at the Ilkhom Theatre in Tashkent which had English subtitles. Ecstasy with the Pomegranate told the story of a Russian painter who had been sent to live in Tashkent in 1916, as part of the Russian conquest of Central Asia. Against the background of the ‘civilizing’ mission of imperial Russia which sought to replace traditional Uzbek culture with Russified values, the painter finds his objects of both artistic and social interest in a group of ‘bachas’, male dancers that perform in a sexual, homoerotic style similar to Arab belly-dancing. The themes were multi-faceted, ranging from traditional Uzbek gender roles (one character is a girl who dresses as a boy in order to be able to fulfill her passion for dancing); the dynamics of the colonial encounter, including the sexualisation of the cultural other which stimulates unconventional affections (a Russian soldier who falls for a young bacha) and the difficulties in blindly applying the Russian legal system in a completely different cultural context; and the impact of the Bolshevik revolution on both Russians and non-Russians.
It was a long production, almost 3 hours, and though i nodded off during the last act (shame!), I found it was the most interesting representation of Uzbek history and culture that I had encountered in Uzbekistan. I left the theatre feeling like I had engaged emotionally with Uzbek history as well as having witnessed a snippet of the avant-garde contemporary arts scene, which, judging from the fact that the show was sold out, seems to be in full bloom.
* * *
I think that ultimately, though, my overall disappointment with my time spent travelling in Uzbekistan is a consequence of the fact that all experiences are perceived of comparatively. Generally, the interpretation of any experience is significantly influenced by the past, and therefore the ways in which we come to think about or see something new will always be imbued with previous encounters. Our perceptions will always be influenced by the many factors of our own construction. We can never experience something as it is; but only according to the conditions that structure our encounter with it.
In my mind, my experiences in Uzbekistan will always stand in relation to my experiences in Iran because I visited the two countries as part of the same trip, in which one followed nearly immediately after the other (save the brief four-day transit through Turkmenistan). I believe that this relationality dampened my appreciation of the country, which also means that should have made extra efforts to break through my high-expectations. Therefore, I wish to mediate my previous negative comments about Uzbeks, their hospitality, the organization of their tourism etc by stating that I realise that my interpretation is equally, if not more responsible for the mediocraty of my experience than any of the flaws i previosly pointed out.
And this is not a disclaimer! It is only the meager efforts of a wandering wonderer to bring sense and meaning to the many different, often conflicting emotions that the (largely indulgent) act of perpetual vagabonding entails….
5/11/08, Tashkent
The internet is no doubt inundated with reactions to the election of Barak Obama as president of the USA. As an American passport holder who has never self-defined as an American; as an Arabist; as a perpetual traveller currently in Uzbekistan; as a deconstructionist with liberal-humanist tendencies; here is my five pence worth on the issue.
* * *
Round the breakfast table in a small Tashkent guesthouse, we watched Barak Obama give his first speech as the new president of the United States of America. The combination of the historical weight of the election results and the hype surrounding Obama’s charisma led me to question the apparent monumentous value of the occasion: is the world a different place now that Barak Obama is president of the USA?
On one hand, there were moments in Obama’s speech where I cringed at the nationalist rhetoric of the American Dream that has seemingly limitless appeal to the American people. Obviously, Obama sees himself as the epitomization of the American Dream: the potential for any individual to succeed regardless of social background, education, financial status etc. But the American Dream is more accurately describable as an American Myth: positing individuals as solely responsible for their economic and social destinies is a device which serves to lessen their expectations about the services of the state and appeases their frustration at a lack of social mobility… I think that to really effectuate the ‘change’ he celebrates, Obama should begin by debunking the myth of his country…
But, given the constraints and norms of the system and establishment that precedes him, it would be naïve to expect him to be such a revolutionary. I suppose that, to a certain extent, the discourse of American patriotism is a rhetorical device used to mobilise popular support, and therefore can be understood. (I have made a similar assessment of Obama’s pro-Israel stance of the past 6 months, see here). Taking ‘the system’ into consideration, the emotions that his election evokes in myself, a young, internationalist idealist, should be measured and not translated into blind hopes for drastic change in the world order (the realization of a viable Palestinian state; the cessation of US neo-imperialism etc). I nevertheless believe that no system, no matter how long-standing or entrenched, is ever permanent. Therefore, some small hopes are perhaps in order….
In that context, the most remarkable aspect of his speech was the extent to which national pride was downplayed in comparison to other ideals. In both his attitude and his words, he expressed the need for humility. Of course, allusions to the American dream littered his speech, and he ended it with the obligatory ”God bless Ameica”, but I nevertheless found that during the whole episode, the rhetoric of national pride was alluded to instrumentally, i.e. it functioned as the means whereby the achievement of a new ideological era, rooted in a supra-national, humanist discourse, could be achieved. Indeed, in his idiosyncratic style that encompasses vivid imagery and personal narrative, intertwined with retrospect and future hopes, it was the principles of a broader humanist ideal that were given precedence over a narrow nationalism. And that is what touched me most.
I have an American passport, but I do not self-define as American. I also have Australian and French passports, and only define as the latter because it is the document that I use in my travels, not because I feel any patriotic attachment to the country. In fact, I do not feel any real nationalism towards any of the countries of which I am a ‘national’. If anything, i have grown to consider nationalism to be a damaging conviction.
Given that predisposition, I am trying to understand what it was about the fact that Barack Obama is the president of the US that resonates so powerfully inside of me.
Is it the poetic eloquence of his oration that stirs my emotions?
Is it the image of the underdog fighting against all the odds to rise to an unprecedented victory?
Is it the mere fact that it embodies a change from the war-mongering pricks that preceded him?
Is it the symbolism of the desire of the population of the Earth’s superpower to move beyond the notions of racial supremacy that, to some extent, inform its internationally aggressive attitudes?
Or is it that he sat next to Edward Said at a conference on Palestine? That he openly welcomed the existence of ‘gay’ people in his victory speech, and expounds an openness to all myriad axes of identity?
Is it that, for me, he seems to represent a viable, compassionate leader who can engender an international order characterised by pluralism, respect and justice?
The optimist in me says yes, the cynic on the other side is still insure…
* * *
So is the world a different place now that Obama has been elected president of the US?
After weighing up both sides of the argument and attempting not to be swept away by the tide of those who proclaim the beginning of a new era, I nevertheless think the world is a different place in view of the Obama presidency. But in the same sense that the world is a different place each morning, in that the sun will rise at a slightly different time each day, that the weather will be slightly different from the day before, and that every person’s individual routine is slightly modified by these minute details.
Accordingly, the influence that Obama’s presidency will have on people around the world will vary accoding to many factors. Some will get a national holiday out of it. Others will get a new ‘African-American’ idol to look up to. Still others will derive a symbol of change for a new American role in the world order based on more peaceful, compassionate principles. But mostly, that influence will be determined according to the policies that he can implement while in power; to the lives that will be impacted either positively or negatively by by the might of his country.
His portfolio over the next 4 years will bear testimony to the extent to which he can achieve the change that rolls forth from his eloquent lips and induces his interlocutors into a trance-like state in which they dream of a utopian tomorrow… In the meantime, optimists like myself will take the historical event of his election as proof that greater, broader change is indeed on the horizon…
