June 5, 2012

I woke up at my usual 6:00 time, had my cup of coffee, and started to write my blog entries while Eraj slept. His brother-in-law had offered to take us out to lunch before we departed for Istaravshan, and we needed to pack up and tidy up the flat before leaving. There was still salami and flat bread leftover from the night before and I was about to throw them into the trash for disposal when Eraj told me not to since it was a sin in his religion to throw away food, and especially bread. He set them aside and said he would take them to the cows on the way out of town. I had two slices of pizza reheated in the skillet and ate them for breakfast.

We rode into Khujand and waited for his brother-in-law in front of the public market where I was constantly harassed by the many beggars, women with babies at their bosom or little girls that pulled at my clothes to get my attention. He took us to the another Zaitoon restaurant in a different part of town letting us know this is a chain of restaurants where diners cannot smoke or drink alcohol as the owner is a strictly religious man. The inside of the restaurant was gorgeous, but extremely dark as all the windows were covered by heavy drapes. We sat a booth, and I requested that the drapes be pulled aside to allow some light in. Even in such a fancy place, there was no menu, just the usual recitation of Tajik dishes and my usual response: soup, salad, flat bread and coffee. The coffee was only lukewarm and they had added tons of sugar on their own. I couldn’t order a second course after that and we left to visit the new monument to Rudaki built recently next to the stadium and swimming pool where women had been allotted two days a week to swim without being ogled by men.

Eraj’s brother-in-law then took us to the taxi stand and negotiated with an older driver to take us to Istaravshan for the one hour drive. I was desperate to get out of the heat and dust of Khujand and profusely thanked him for allowing us to stay in his dilapidated flat and for driving us around in his spare time. The road to Istaravshan was flat and paved and I was even able to nod off for a few minutes while Eraj called the homestay and hotel listed in the Lonely Planet guidebook only to find out that one number was the wrong one and there was no answer at the other one. He asked the driver for suggestions on places to stay and after dropping off his two other passengers, he took us to a hotel near the busy and noisy market, which mercifully was closed, and then to what he called a “resort” a few minutes out of town. I was not impressed by the looks of the public market area or anything I set my eyes on during the ride around town.

I immediately liked the beds of roses inside the gate, but the room in itself was another dilapidated relic from Soviet times. We had a small dining area to the left, a bathroom, with no running water on the right, a room with two twin beds straight ahead and living room with a couch, two chairs and another twin bed in another room. There was a stream running behind the building, and I told Eraj the room would do for  just one night as we’d moving on the next day anyway. We both quickly settled in for a nap in different rooms and mine only lasted for twenty minutes before someone knocked on the door to come in and clean the bathroom. Another knock later on and she brought in a jug of water and a teakettle. I tried to get back to sleep, but there was another knock and this time she presented me with a bouquet of fresh roses in a glass of water along with a stream of Russian that left me paralyzed. Eraj slept through the whole thing.

We took a mini-van to get into town for dinner when it was already close to 6:00pm and everything around the market was closing down. Everyone Eraj asked sent us in a different direction and everyone was closing or only had one or two choices of things to eat, none of which appealed to me. We found a street vendor offering fried fish and I purchased two pieces to have wherever we stopped for dinner. I commented that perhaps we needed to travel to another city in order to find something palatable to eat when we were directed to the newer hotel/shopping center/amusement park type of complex on the outskirts of the city where we found a place offering soup, salad and flat bread and where I found the coldest beer so far. The soup had no flavor, but tons of salt and I set aside eating only the fish, salad and flat bread along with my beer. The proprietor, a woman, had been very pleasant to us and sat us down in one of the outdoor tapchons spaces I so much like. I apologized for not being able to eat the soup while pointing out that someone in the kitchen should taste the food before it was sent out. She seemed truly shocked and offered to give me something different to eat, but I told her was satiated already and it was unnecessary.

Eraj and I walked up the hill to what looked like a mosque, but turned out to be a private residence where an older woman was milking a cow right in front of the house while an older man and a young kid tried to corral the goats. They told Eraj they owned the house, but I got the impression they might be caretakers as there was a car in the driveway and they certainly didn’t look like people who could drive cars. We were heading back downhill and I wanted to find a more level area to do so when a taxi driver told us that was a dead end street. He offered to take us back to the hotel and we paid him 15.00 somoni to do so.

 I skipped my evening bath in the absence of any running water and told Eraj I'd sleep in the room with the two twin beds so he could sleep in the living and use the laptop to his heart;s content. My jaw almost dropped when he asked if it was possible to sleep in the same room with me when he was done for he had never slept in a room alone and was afraid of doing so. I wasn't sure whether to pity him or admire his naivete, but I said yes nonetheless and promptly went to bed.