April 27, 2012

Rain was in the air when I got up this morning and I tried to make it to the PedInst before the downpour started. The grounds and the hallways were deserted, but five students were waiting for me in the dark classroom which didn’t look any brighter when I turned on the lone light bulb on the ceiling. Two of the students had been present the day before, but were willing to repeat the lesson on creating a portrait based on the photo I provided. The students did confirm that they had tests scheduled for the first three days of the following week even when I quizzed about the fact that Tuesday was May First, or workers’ day, all over the world, except of course in the United States. They didn’t know anything about it. Eraj called in the middle of the lesson to tell me he was having trouble following the email thread from the German Embassy regarding his scholarship for this summer. Since I was heading to the American Corner to retrieve the PedInst’s certificates, I agreed to meet him there when my class was over.

Delivering flat bread to the grocery store near the PedInst. Germs don't seem to be a concern here.

The American Corner was practically empty and all I needed to do for Eraj was locate the attached document they had submitted and get the coordinator to print all three pages for him so he could submit them to the German Embassy. I had two more stops to make: the post office to see if my coffee shipment from Seattle had ever made it to Tajikistan and then the seamstress for another dress. Eraj accompanied to both places to serve as my interpreter with negative results at the post office and reassurances from the dressmaker, at the next one, that said dress would be ready for Monday, something I didn’t believe for a minute.

I was hungry by then and we stopped at a nearby café for lunch and I finally tried what Tajiks call “soup petit”, but can’t explain the origin of the name. They cook it in a piece of round crockery and had more flavor than other soups I’ve tried in the past. We parted ways so I could go back to the house, finish packing and meet our taxi driver to head to Gharm. I had my school bag draped over one shoulder, my overnight bag over the other, the market bag where I have placed all my cards and games in one hand, and a set of fly swatters on the other as I made my way to the Opera Ballet Theater where Mr. Sharbat’s son was waiting for us to make sure we got in the right taxi. I ought to have the biceps of bodybuilder by now and instead all I do is grunt and sweat my way to wherever I need to go with miscellaneous loads.

Corrie was not there yet and was in fact more than fifteen minutes late. Mr. Sharbat’s son spoke about 20 words of English and used them up in the first couple of sentences. After that, there was a lot of staring and smiling at each other. We got on the road before the downpour started and drove for a couple of hours before we both felt extremely hungry. The driver suggested a desolate spot for this purpose where the outdoor tapchons were useless due to the windy and cold conditions. The shorbot soup was greasy, the meat tough and full of gristle and the bread cold and hard. I had to find the toilet some ways from the so called “restaurant” and it was just a hole in the ground surrounded by a big tarp. I realized then that I had not even thought about what the weather conditions might be in Gharm and thus lacked any warm garments to protect myself. I had on jeans, a camisole and cardigan, my TEVA sandals and a shawl while Corrie wore hiking boots, her lightweight coat and three other layers underneath. I had to take out the socks I normally wear at night to cover my feet.

The driver warned us that the next 34 kilometers were going to be extremely rough as the Chinese government is widening the highway at the spot where most landslides have occurred killing numerous motorists and passengers. We saw lots of trucks carrying what he called war materials from the U. S. air base in Kirgizstan to Afghanistan. There were also lots of Chinese trucks bringing in merchandise for sale in Dushanbe. We were stopped for a while as the traffic at that point was one way only.

                                          Waiting for the road to Gharm to reopen

After five and half hour of riding over some really scary roads, we arrived at the city of Gharm with its one-street center. It was already dark, but Mr. Sharbat was waiting for us and waited while we picked a few grocery items and fresh bread before heading to Janice’s house, the American woman who lives here full time while trying to develop a bee-keeping operation and to attract tourism to the region. The house was a bit ramshackle with several large rooms opening along a corridor and a kitchen that reminded me of those I’ve seen in movies made in France. She does have a lot of different coffee grinders and coffees from a variety of roasters, so a woman after my own heart. I had packed my coffeemaker and ground coffee just in case.

The caretaker brought in a space heater from her bedroom and asked us to hang any grocery items not going into the fridge from a peg in the kitchen wall due to a problem with ants. There was no TV, computer or Internet service available, but plenty of books around, many of them about horses as I understand Janice is a accomplished rider. I chose to sleep in the living room,  where a twin-size mattress was on display,  with handy access to the western-style toilet and Corrie slept in the guest bedroom. The rain did not let up for a moment and I was tired enough that attempting to read even a few pages felt too much like a chore.