Ice Cream Trucks and Bread Sellers

There is something comforting and wholesome about a child's excitement for the song of an ice cream truck.  Even as an adult without children in tow, the song will bring a smile to my face.  In addition to the joy of a memory, such deliveries mark the passage of time.  Growing up the sound of our postman dropping mail in the mailslot meant it was 10am; the ice cream truck's song was 3pm.  In my neighborhood in Dushanbe there is a boy who sells bread door to door each morning.  Here, it is 7am when the bread seller goes by. 

In a world where I'm never quite certain of what time it is and which timezone my brain is currently in, I take the same comfort from a young boy chanting something nearly unintelligible (although perhaps perfectly understandable to someone who knows what he's saying) as he walks through the neighborhood.  I only assume he's selling bread based on the size and shape of the neatly wrapped parcel he draws behind himself in something vaguely resembling a wagon.  Truth be told, he could just as easily be selling cheese or heroin.  I assume it's not the latter based on the lack of enthusiasm or disdain of the rest of the neighborhood - but I digress.

For someone who wakes up at 4am and does not physically report to work until 9, 10, or even 11am, this little soldier of time dutifully chanting his way through the neighborhood announces the morning and ushers in society's start to the day.  He is the foreshadowing of social interaction to come; the warning that it is time to focus less on productivity and more on preparing to face the world. 

This of course is not everyone's interpretation of his cries.  While to me his voice signifies the waking of the world in a near Disney, bird singing, Cinderella-esque fashion, for my colleague it is less of a call to fellowship and more like the incessant buzz of an alarm clock after a very short night.  This child both loved and hated interrupts peaceful morning slumber to nag those in earshot reminding them of their daily duties.

Such a lofty and impactful profession this little boy holds, all while imagining he is only a seller of bread (heroin). 

Today I learned:

... that while I am not skilled at speaking Russian, like a small child, I can absorb most of what is intended - so long as we're talking about food or the whereabouts of colleagues.

... that a white crystallized block on which I can read the word "iodine" kept in the kitchen cupboard is close enough to salt that I'll trust it in my soup.

... that black dust in the same cabinet as the aforementioned white crystal is acceptably pepper and therefore trusted and consumed - as opposed to the tin in the same cupboard next to the tea labeled "special gun powder".  This will not be consumed.

... The feeling of "I did it all by myself" never really gets old.  In fact leaving the supermarket, having successfully purchased dinner without having to ask for help, my heart was beating out of my chest as though I had just peered off the edge of a cliff.

... that it isn't always good to have a dog befriend you and follow you home*.  Especially when home is on the other side of a very busy highway. 

... that the upload speeds for my internet are not such that google voice is a very good option for talking but it's a GREAT option for laughing until my face hurts.  While I can hear you more clearly than I could on a cell phone, I am apparently rendered mute.

*no animals were harmed in the making of this post. 

The facade's facade

There are so many places in the world with distinct architectural styles.  When presented with a picture of a city, just by analyzing the structures that humans create upon the earth one can pin point the city's location and sometimes even the year in which certain structures were created. 

I had a conversation with a friend this summer that probably would not be very popular with many of my friends and fellow travelers.  It seems that in any new place a traveler may go he is compelled by some force or another to tour the architecture.  In our cases those forces are almost never internal.  An overly excited local resident, fellow travel companion or tour guide attempting to do her due diligence will impress upon us the importance of noticing this curve or that buttress as though it were the defining characteristic of any society worth noticing.  Quite frankly ... I just don't find it that interesting.  Yes, I do like seeing the shape of a city and noticing the nuances of style and I do find the structures we create to be both impressive and interesting.  I do not find spending hours analyzing these structures and their timing to be as fantastic as it is often made out to be.

All that said, I have recently found an technique that caught my attention and I thought was worth sharing.  Please be warned that this post risks becoming overly intellectual and perhaps a little confusing.  Below is an example of the decorative work, but I assure you the picture does not fully express the revelation that I had:

Notice the trim around the door frame, and the crown moulding.  While this may seem like ordinary house-finishing-touch type stuff, that is where the magic comes from.  It was explained to me yesterday as "Poliplast".  This roughly translates to: Styrofoam.  That's right.  The crown moulding here is Styrofoam.  And not just here in my apartment ... but also decorating the government office windows and teller desks.  In order to add to the magic, it isn't universal.  While this stuff is carved and decorating in many locations all over Tajikistan, it is frequently interchanged with real wood.  With every finished edge of man made structure, one never knows just what medium one will find.

Another fine example of the Styrofoam moulding in my apartment:

I hope you have enjoyed this discovery nearly as much as I have (although I highly doubt it).  Please also know that I am giggling at the fact that you actually made it this far into this ridiculously silly post.  Some people will read anything!

Love, love, love.
The Writer.

Ataturk: Thank you, oh grandfather of Turkey, for this bustling airport. Now may we please sit down?

My initial impression of Ataturk Airport in Istanbul, was that planning to sleep here was perhaps not a good idea.  Not only is it a bustling hub, but the seating was quite limited.  After 20 minutes of cautiously searching, I did manage to find a section of less crowded seating that would have worked.  In fact the seats are not divided by arm rests like much of London Heathrow, so that helps.  This spot, however, was at a gate.  I thought one must pretend that they know where they are going, confidently pass the ticket desk and find a corner of an unused gate as though these things were guarded by the airline officials.  In fact, this technique worked perfectly until the unused gate amid the other active gates was assigned a flight, at which point it too was packed with travelers and became a hassle. 

Initially I was afraid that I would wander into the wrong section of the airport and inadvertently pass through security or beyond a customs line and then have trouble getting back to my gate when it was time to depart.  Luckily I was tired enough that the only way I could stay awake was to wander and keep moving.  This led to hours of roaming around the airport.  My discovery:  there are whole sections that are completely vacant.  Row upon row of unused chairs (traveler translation:  beds).  I’m not sure if it’s the scheduling of the flights or they layout of the terminals, but if you wander around long enough you can find gate upon gate of ghost terminals that are completely abandoned.  These are perfect for sleep should you have the time, inclination and reliable enough alarm clock.  Unfortunately, by the time I figured this out I had run out of time before my flight.  Oh well, there’s always the 5 hour layover on the return flight.

On the plane to Istanbul …

I feel like it should be the beginning of a nursery rhyme or a child’s geography game.  On the plane to Istanbul … I met a woman going to Mongolia, or I met a Peace Corps Volunteer from Uganda or I met a contractor bound for Najaf.  It seems that Turkish Airlines is the Iceland Air of random destinations.  This reference is perhaps not universally understood:  Iceland Air more than anything – maybe even more than Bjork – has put Reykjavik on the map.  From the east coast of the US, you can get almost anywhere in western Europe and probably most cheaply reach anywhere in Scandinavia if you only agree to a short stop over through the gift shop of Iceland that is Keflevik Airport.

Apparently Turkey thought this was a good idea.  I am not sure if it is because of sheer proximity, or an interesting juxtaposition of cultures and development; rather than connecting Europe with the US, Turkish Airlines connects western industrial nations with … dare I say the rest of the non-latin world?  On the flight from New York to Istanbul there are connections to Russia, Central Asia, South Asia, Africa and the Middle East; and those are only the ones that I’m aware of. 

The fact that I am aware of so many destinations also says something, as I am not the traveler who actively seeks out conversation from those around her.  In fact, I’m the one who sits in her seat and fights not to roll her eyes when she gets stuck next to chatty Cathy who wants to discuss her upcoming “exotic” vacation.  I’m the one who will pretend to fall asleep early in the flight simply to avoid being trapped in a 9 hour conversation.  So if I have been able to find Iraq, Mongolia, Uganda, Tajikistan and Russia plus suspect Kenya or Tanzania, and Pakistan … what other destinations are hidden here among my fellow flight mates that a more social traveler may have discovered?  Not to say that everyone is travelling on.  The Turkish tourists and the Americans on a Turkish holiday are easy enough to spot. 

Amusing that travel to Istanbul would, in this situation, seem to be the most mundane option.

ULTIMATE ITINERARY: A little tid bit on my way out of the US.

Today presented with more of a roller coaster than I had expected.  Last minute emails and funding delays resulted in panicked phone calls to my parents which make for a more stressful departure than I had hoped.  I almost thought I wouldn’t be leaving at all but it looks like my departure is right on track. 

The Boston leg boards in an hour. I have a short flight to New York with a 2 hour layover.  Sounded ideal at the time.  Silly silly me.  During that hour, I have to exit the terminal, find my way to a different terminal, get my boarding pass for the next two flights, and make my way back through security to the gate.  Piece of cake!  With fingers crossed I hesitate to say: All’s well that ends well, right?

On a very happy note … a reliable source tells me there’s a merry band of ex-pats who play ultimate Frisbee in Dushanbe.  This could be interesting indeed!

And so it begins ... again!

Have you ever wished you could travel around the world?  Perhaps it's the people that I tend to meet and hang around with, or maybe it's an underlying human curiosity, but I've talked to so many people that have expressed a desire to be a travel writer, or just be paid to travel around the world.  It occurred to me the other day, that I'm essentially getting to do just that.  Granted, I'm not being paid to write this blog (yet - I'm open to sponsorships if you are an editor or know one that you'd like to connect me with), however I am being paid a nominal sum of money periodically to hop about the globe.  This time part of my job is also to convey a modicum of cultural understanding for the place in which I find myself.  I've thought many times that if I could be anything in the world, with no restrictions, I'd be an explorer.  Somewhere along the lines of Sir Ernest Shackleton or Dora.  In a management class I took last year (we love you Mark Haas!), the instructor used a recruitment ad attributed to Sir Shackleton in order to demonstrate leadership.  The advertisement read: 

MEN WANTED:  For hazardous journey.  Small wages, bitter cold, long months of complete darkness, constant danger, safe return doubtful.  Honour and recognition in case of success.

My first thought was - I would TOTALLY consider that offer if posed.  Okay, to be a little more realistic, if someone where to give me that exact offer right now, I might ask for clarification of "return doubtful" .... why is it doubtful?  Are you lacking confidence in leadership?  Are we likely to be killed by someone?  Or might we simply die from the elements?  I'll take my chances with the last one.  I'll need more information about the first two.  Alas, there seem to be a derth of such opportunities available.  Our curious human nature has mapped out so much of the world already.  Additionally, my ability to take advantage of them goes down with every added loan dollar I accept.  I do continue to promise to do my best to accept any such opportunity that is ... reasonable?  :)

So here we go again.  Filled with a sense of anticipiation and trepidation (love that word!), I set out upon an unsuspecting world.  Perhaps that's a bit over used and even over blown, but certainly an unsuspecting Central Asian nation is true enough.  Tomorrow night I will leave these states that are united for the Republic of Tajikistan. 

This region is not completely unknown to me, and perhaps even for that reason I'm a little uncertain of my decision to go.  I have fond memories and great stories from my year living in Turkmenistan.  There is a place in Turkmenistan where I think of and a warm sensation of home washes over me.  The mental image of faces from that place bring a tear to my eye.  There is a woman whom I call mom, and another who I feel closer to than I ever could imagine even feeling for a sister.  These are people I hoped I was never required to lay my life down for, mostly because I might have, had it been required.  And yet, I know that some of those memories have sweetened with age, and some are only so sweet because of the contrast of adversity in which they were set.  Do I love this place of Central Asia? or am I merely proud of my ability to overcome it?  There is one thing that I am certain of:  I truly loved the people that I met and the hope that they were able to cultivate.  I am excited for the opportunity to go back and more fully understand my relationship with a hard and unforgiving region of the world.  I am not excited to find out just how strong I was able to make my immune system or where it's weaknesses may lie.  No worries though.  I go armed with pink bismuth, ciprofloxacin, and the knowledge that while some vodka is an acceptable anticeptic for small lacerations, it will not kill what dwells within the water.

So here I go, penetrating "deeper and deeper into the heart of darkness" ... with the hope of discovering all the light that has been previously overlooked.

In the event that you would like more general information on Tajikistan, I have included a few links on the left hand side of the page for your reference.  I would also recommend looking up Tajikistan in the World Factbook, but for linkage and perception reasons I will refrain from connecting my site to theirs.  If you have specific questions please feel free to comment here or email me directly and I will try to answer those questions in upcoming posts.  I have downloaded the app required for this site and will work on getting my phone unlocked today so I can use it outside of the US.  With any stroke of luck, this blog will continue to developed throughout my trip.  In the event that all internet fails and I am not actually able to access this thing while I'm there. I will write anyway and post things periodically upon my return.  How fun.  It'll be like living through it twice!

Thank you everyone for your continued interest in my travels, or at the very least allowing your computer to log on periodically, thereby convincing me that it's not just a mental health exercise to get these thoughts out into the world.

Much love and happiness,
Rachel

 

“My task, which I am trying to achieve is, by the power of the written word, to make you hear, to make you feel--it is, before all, to make you see.”
― Joseph Conrad, Lord Jim