Uzbek Richard Gere and Alexander the Great

Hi Folks,

I just got back from an escape of a weekend. A few friends from the program and I hired a car to go to a turquoise alpine lake a few hours north of town. It's called "Iskander Kul" (or, Alexander's Lake) because it's supposedly the lake from which his horse, Bucephalus drank and near the spot where he grabbed his Tajik wife, Roxana. There are other legends associated with the lake, such that it has healing powers and typical Central Asian lore, but most impressive is its turquoise hue which is created by minerals and mercury deposits which prevnt too much organic material from growing.

We took the main north-south highway out of town and I was shocked that it is still being rebuilt after the civil war of the 1990s, and also by some really abject poverty in small villages by the roadside. People are living in mud huts here, in villages high in the mountains with only tiny patches of garden. Other villages are much more prosperous because, as our driver pointed out, all the men were sending money home from Russia. (Tajikistan's GDP is 1/3 to 1/2 comprised of revenues sent back from workers abroad). Two hours in we hit the tunnel of death. It's full of water, carbon monoxide, broken machinery, abandoned cars and goes for about 20 minutes if you're lucky. It was "successfully" opened a few years ago but even teh president refused to go through. It was utterly terrifying. Half way through my nose started to tingle from the collected carbon monoxide, and we all got a little sleepy. Meanwhile, our SUV was trudging through at times a foot and a half of water.

Finally at the end of 20 minutes our nervous chatter about 'death by tunnel' ceased and we breathed in the beautiful, dusty, mountain air.

Only to be stopped 30 minutes later.

The Chinese govt gave teh Tajiks a massive loan in exchange for building the highway, which they're doing in bits and pieces, with laborers imported here who speak no Russian or Tajik and sleep in roadside tents. They have no signage, and yup, they just sort of stop traffic all of a sudden. Literally a half mile from our turnoff to the lake we were stopped by angry, rock holding Chinese who demanded we all stop. Slowly traffic gathered, furious and confused. there was the mullah-mobile, a tiny Chinese made car with two old dudes; there were families going to Samarkand, Penjikent, and other expat groups heading to Iskander kul. We all bonded over shared rage and confusion.

Many diplomatic strategies were used to convince them to open the road for the ten seconds it would take us to reach the turn off. No dice. We tried yelling in Russian, Tajik and English. We tried writing in the gravel to understand hwo long it would take.

Meanwhile, a group of TAjiks invited us down to the little river for vodka, bread, cucumbers and tomatoes. We accepted. And it was a succsssfull way to pass the time: one of our girls was propositioned for marriage; we got to wash our faces in the river; and Curran (program coordinator) and I were invited bear hunting in remote Garm province by a cop who showed us the bone that permanently protrudes from his leg courtesy of a fishing accident, and who told us of the benefits to teh "organism" when, after killing the bear, you climb inside it. He says he can only tolerate it for 20 minutes but that it brings out all the bad inside you and you will never be cold again.

Keep your fingers crossed for a post in a few weeks involving Kalashnikovs and Empire Strikes Back/Bear Grylls-style bear blankets.

A mere three hours later we were let pass and on our way to Iskander kul, and immediately the stream we were following turned a cool green that Gatorade could probably market as "mountain stream," or other such nonsense.

Through canyons that reminded me of the eastern approach to Yellowstone, we finally arrived at the lake at 5:30.

at the lake we pitched tents while our new expat and TAjik friends rented little cabins by the lake. I immediately ran to the water where there was a "cafe-bar" perched over the Tahoe of Tajikistan. I was greeted by a group of drunk men, one of whom demanded that I acknowledge that he looked like "Uzbek Richard Gere." I had to admit that he did. But he was an asiatic version, so after a vodka shot, we agreed that he was half an american movie star, and half Chinghis Khan. Then it was off to pitch the tents.

A mediocre dinner was followed by free hot dogs courtesy of the European NGO workers. then to a dance party dominated by a coed group of foreigners and "local jailbait" in the lingo of Max, from England. An SUV was pumping out Enrique Eglasias, Gypsy Kings, and TAjik music, and only after 30 minutes or so of watching foreign men dance with their teenage daughters did theTajik men join the dancing.

Bleary eyed we awoke the next morning to head for the waterfall that empties out of the lake. Again, I was reminded of Yellowstone - and its massive falls. These were truly awesome - - probably a 20 meter drop into churning white. and you can go to a viewing platform that is freaky, rickety and extends right above it.

After returning home we were met by our driver, Amir, with a crazed look in his eye. "beef, fresh beef," he yelled. The locals had just slaughtered a young cow and they were selling meat for 13 somoni/1kg (that's $4 a kg of fresh, organic, local, farm raised, grass fed, certified "tajik organic" for the Berkeley readers in the house - in other words, a crazy deal). The men dragged me and Curran to the still warm animal hanging in a tree. They were shocked that we wanted only 1 kg, which was bordering on rude given the poverty of the country and the cheapness of th meat. But we were only there for a night and got a kg for kebabs to share with the Europeans.

That night we feasted on kebabs (marinated in beer, ramen noodle spice packets, apples and dried apricots - actually a pretty unsuccessful marinade). Many toasts were made to Chinese road workers, international friendship, north america, the Berkeley organic police (whoops, did I really say that?), and Alexander the Great. Were were mostly too tired this night for too many shenanigans and most of the locals had left. So we cleaned up by the lake and decided the only way to consume the crappy local vodka was, what else, fire breathing. (see photos to come on Facebook or here in the near future).

Given the slyness, slipperiness, and stupidity of all Chinese, and particulalry the roadworkers (this courtesy of our driver) we rose at 4am and got back to Dushanbe at 7:30 am, 12 hours earlier than planned. I expected to find my Uzbek family partying in my room, wearing my clothes. But instead they were all pleasantly suprisied and my host mom was doin my laundry, what a dear.

More to come soon.... meeting Anaita's friend who's head of Tajik TV; seeing the most awesome assortment of antiquities outside the house of stolen goods aka the British Museum.

I miss you all.

Charles