Subject: 1996 "It Will Be So Awful, It Will Be Wonderful" Tour -- Continued --
At this point the itinerary becomes more vague because it is hard to predict
where cheap airline tickets and available visas will lead us. A further
complication is the problematic issue of timing seasonal changes across
continents and dealing with unfamiliar seasons like monsoons. The basic rule
for this leg of the trip is to remain on the north side of the Himalaya when the
weather to the south is hellishly wet and/or hot and to retreat to the south
side when the weather on the north side becomes freezing cold, turning an
unheated, cinder block hotel room into a refrigerated tomb.
North of the Himalaya (and related mountain ranges) lie the Commonwealth of
Independent States (CIS). This a cluster of new countries that have recently
broken away from the Soviet Union: Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenstan,
Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan. Actually these countries are not the least bit new -
Alexander the Great (330 BC), Genghis Khan (1220 AD), and Tamarlane (1370 AD)
all slaughtered hordes there during their quests to conquer the known world.
Legendary desert cities such as Samarkand served as way stations for Marco Polo
and the endless streams of trading caravans plying the Silk Road between China
and Europe. Of course all that commerce generated the usual assortment of evil
despots, mysterious politicians, and bandits of unprecedented wickedness. See
the story below about tarantula schnapps.
Figuring out the rules for these newly emerging countries is very difficult.
After decades of strict domination by Communism, everything related to red tape
now appears to be in a state of flux. From the Cadogan Guide for Central Asia:
There are no rules. This is worth remembering. Not quite true, but worth
remembering. History s biggest, most expensive, most pervasive, most notorious
bureaucratic monster (the former USSR) has sunk to its knees. It is still
dying, and will go on doing so for some time yet. Meanwhile new systems of
controlling people - or empowering them - are tried, flung-out, adopted and
adapted all the time on every level; across the CIS, in newly-independent
states, in would-be independent states, and in individual, excitable town halls.
Before 1991 bureaucratic hurdles had to be scrupulously cleared. Now many of
them are simply waiting to be pushed aside. Such an approach may sound rash.
It is merely appropriate.
Since jumping through hoops has never been my forte, I will be happy just
visiting Uzbekistan and maybe Kazakhstan. However, because the Russian
influence is still prominent, life can be a pain for independent travelers. For
example, there is the usual two tiered pricing where the price for a foreigner
is ten times what the locals pay. Visas are required to enter the countries and
in order to obtain them, you must have accommodation booked and receive an
invitation from a CIS organization. The transport, lodging, and restaurant
infrastructure is geared toward big buck tour groups. Independent travelers are
going to this part of the world but the stories of frustration and exasperation
I have read on the Internet will make staying there on the cheap quite a
challenge.
Here is how an Australian travel agency described Uzbekistan. They, of course,
will sell me a letter of invitation for $120, an obscene amount which must
include the necessary bribes but I am wary because the agents I have been
emailing all have Russian names.
Uzbekistan conjures up visions of the Great Silk Road. Its capital is Tashkent,
the cultural centre of the country. Here you will find theaters, a
conservatory, museums, shady parks, exhibition halls, stadiums, swimming pools,
libraries and gardens. Unfortunately, the city was leveled by earthquakes in
the 1960 s so all the architecture is Russian cinder block. I can hardly wait
to roll in during August when the temperature hits 45 degrees C.
Other major centres are the ancient desert oases of Samarkand, Bukhara, and
Khiva. Samarkand is a majestic and beautiful city with a history that goes back
25 centuries. It withstood the invasion of Alexander the Great and seduced
Tamerlane into decorating the roofs of its domes and minarets with brilliant
blue tiles. There are many ancient monuments and architectural masterpieces
here, such as the ancient madrasahs on Registan Square, the Bibi-khonum mosque,
the Timurids burial vault, and Ulugbek s observatory.
Bukhara is of a similar age with ornate buildings, many of which have been
preserved, turning Bukhara into an open air city museum. Even Genghis Khan
stopped in his tracks when he saw the great Kalyan minaret whose great beauty
spared it of the Khan s savage destruction of the rest of the city.
Unfortunately it was also known as the Tower of Death because criminals were
routinely tossed off the top as punishment. Better that than the infamous Bug
Pit the description of which even I cannot bear to plagiarize. I can just see
the Unit sipping tea and enjoying a meal of plov (scraps of mutton and
shredded yellow turnip on a mountain of rice) by the pool of Lyabi Hauz while
mingling with bearded old men in striped coats and colorful turbans. I myself
will acquire a taste for shashlyk (skewered chunks of fatty mutton barbecued
over charcoal, i.e. kebabs) and lepeshka (unleavened bread).
Khiva was a small town fortress during the 11th Century but was destroyed by the
Mongolian invasion. Later it achieved fame as the last great oasis on the
caravan route to Russia. Today Khiva is a time capsule in the desert, virtually
unchanged in the 400 years before the Russians came, with mud streets,
inward-looking squares, and wrapped in 2200 meters of unbroken city walls.
Supposedly the only place to stay in Khiva is in a madrasa, which I believe is
an Islamic seminary.
With the expected difficulties and improbable rewards, you may wonder what leads
a person to such destinations. Perhaps I just want to get a sense of the
tenacity and ferocity of the people who have lived and died in this part of the
world for thousands of years. Let me relate an incredible story from the
Cadogan Guide to Central Asia by Giles Whittell who, in turn, tells the tale of
Gustav Krist, an escaped Hungarian POW in eastern Tajikistan during the Russian
civil war.
While traversing these wild mountains himself, Krist sheltered for a night in a
forester s hut. The hut, according to its owner, stood on the site of an old
caravanserai that had been taken over by the Bolsheviks only after bitter
fighting. When it fell, its keeper boasted before a revolutionary tribunal of
having killed 411 men:
His procedure was ingenious, wrote the credulous Krist. He entertained the
newly arrived guests with drink, including always tarantula schnapps. When they
were thoroughly drunk on this poisoned liqueur he threw them into the cellar to
feed his bear. He used to keep the bear for weeks without food till it was
reconciled to human flesh.
After this gruesome confession, a detachment of the Red Army was sent back into
the mountains and-- sure enough--under the ruins of the bombarded caravanserai
they found the cellar with a great savage bear and the bones of hundreds of its
victims covering the floor in thick layers.
Tarantula schnapps, the forester told Krist, has been known and used in
Turkistan from time immemorial. If you want to brew it, you catch a number of
the poisonous spiders, put them in a glass, and throw in some scraps of dried
apples or apricots. The furious brutes fling themselves on the food and bite
into it. They thus inject their poison into the dry fruit, which you then mix
with fermented grapes. Thirty or forty tarantulas make about a quart of the
deadly brew. A tiny glass of this liqueur is enough to drive a man insane.
Half an hour after he has drunk it the victim is so paralyzed that he cannot
move; an hour later he is raving mad.
The caretaker of the caravanserai used to dope his guests with this tarantula
schnapps, and as soon as paralysis set in, he threw them to the bear, who did
the rest. The Russians condemned the man to death, but in the night the Sarts
(local Uzbeks or Tajiks) broke into the prison and fetched him out into the
desert. They tied him with ropes to the saddles of two swift camels Uand~
stuffed pepper in their behinds so that the infuriated animals dashed out into
the desert dragging the body of the hundredfold murderer after them. A few days
later his skeleton was found, picked clean by the vultures.
Kind of takes your breath away, doesn t it? Believe me, I will do nothing to
rile the locals in the CIS. Likewise the local KGB (secret police) who are
still in control and eager to catch foreigners without the proper paperwork!
Copyright (c) 1995 Jet City JimBo
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