Greetings from Tashkent! Well, I made it to Tashkent mostly intact, despite a comedy of errors at both the Moscow and Frankfurt airports—to go into detail would be too infuriating—let’s just say it was a “typical” Moscow departure scenario... My attempts to reach out and touch the world via bad phone lines in Moscow resulted in almost $300 in phone charges for nothing. I don’t intend to pay that bill—I’m ready to battle the Radisson! I’m going to try to send this tomorrow, which may be my one and only chance to visit an office with a satellite line clear enough to send and receive information. Fingers and toes are crossed. I arrived in Tashkent at 11 this evening. The airport in Tashkent is small and crowded, and with two planes full of sweaty folks adjusting to the heat, it was no party. I had to stand in a slow-moving line to receive my visa—I was in the midst of a group of anxious Czech businessmen in flashy fish-skinny suits, fearful that their invitation letters had not been received by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. In their nervousness, they began chain smoking, until the small room was filled with bluish smoke which burned my eyes and turned my stomach, already upset by lack of sleep. I was trapped in that room for almost two hours, and when at last I could bolt for my luggage, I did so with great speed. I had to climb over huge plastic bags of cheap goods brought in from Dubai in order to get through the customs line—no mean feat with two huge suitcases and numerous small bags. Fortunately, my colleague (another Melissa) was patiently waiting on the other side, her Uzbek driver ready to grab my bags and knock a pathway for us through the crowded hallway to the exit. I hate fighting my way through “soviet” airports. There is no understanding of personal space, and you have to literally push people out of the way—sometimes you can’t breathe and those few moments are enough to make you dizzy, as you feel strange hands touching you, shoving you, covering you in an intimate, frightening way. I am always happy to see the open sky at the end of that gauntlet. I’m staying at the apartment of my colleague, Melissa. When I visit, she becomes “Melissa 2” and I am “Melissa 1.” Melissa’s apartment is on a dusty road that leads into the heart of Tashkent. Even at one in the morning, there are traders hawking Coca-Cola, mineral water, and packaged pasta at ill-lit kiosks and street tables outside her building. Melissa is renting a large apartment from a woman who lives in a neighboring building. Melissa has a reluctant cleaning lady who seems to have a selective nature when it comes to what she cleans—there are enough spider webs and dust cattle (to call them bunnies would be to deny them their due) to fill a house! Melissa lives on the third floor of this prefab Soviet building, with an enclosed balcony attached to a wider roof that shelters an abandoned pharmacy below. Neighbors above casually dump trash down onto the eaves outside Melissa’s balcony, and, as a result, a small colony of rats has moved in. Melissa tells me that, so far, she has seen three rats—two large and one small one. I gave Melissa the bad news that, for every rat you see, there are probably five or ten more. She was not too thrilled. As I looked out the balcony window late last night, I heard furtive shuffling just a few inches from my hand (protected only by thin mosquito netting and widely spaced iron bars)and looked down to see a big, well-fed rat staring up at me. Needless to say, I made tracks away from the window in a split second. Don’t think I’ll be spending much time on the balcony for the rest of the visit. Finally got to exhausted sleep at about 3 this morning—slept ’til ten, and was very glad of a few hours nap. Our driver has just arrived to take us to our local office—I have to go now, but, hopefully, I’ll get a chance to send more later in this trip—Uzbek phone lines willing. <<Previous chapter | Next chapter>> main | lamps | clothing | Uzbek fans | about | sizing links | feedback/ordering info | travel stories Copyright © 1998 Compass Rose Studios Site design and HTML by Qdesign of Bethesda, Maryland. If you experience any problems with this site, please let us know.