Picnic UZ Style
Monday is a national holiday in Uzbekistan called Remembrance Day. It is similar to Memorial Day, in the USA. As a result, we had a rare 3 day weekend. On Saturday we went to the plant for a bit anyway. Sunday was the day filled with new experiences. We had been invited to a picnic by one of the top executives in Asaka. It was at his vacation home, in the hills. As we were driving there, we turned through a gate, onto a very small road. It seemed like we were entering a park. The road was curving around the hills. There were some structures on top of the hill. One guy said is that an oil derrick? Another guessed that it was a communication tower. I said, I know it sounds a little crazy but it looks like a ferris wheel to me. When we arrived we saw the table set up and grand fashion under an archway covered in grapevines. There was a tiny pool, a garden full of potato plants, a small out house and a house which had an outdoor cooking area. We were advised that our picnic was to begin at a different location. We all got back into the cars and continued up the hill. When we arrived at our destination we could see some traditional Uzbek tables and some awnings. It was a park, complete with pavilions. As we pulled into a parking spot everyone in the car gasped. The view was breath taking. It was the most incredible we had seen, in the Farghana Valley. The drop off next to the pavilions was nearly straight down, for a thousand feet. It overlooked the Osh Road, which goes to Kyrgyzstan. In the distance were more mountains, the Tien Shan range. We were told that on the other side of those mountains lies western China. There was a beautiful breeze, not strong but very refreshing. When I asked, one of our hosts explained that the place is called bag a samal (all a's sound like ahh). It means garden of wind. It was at some point in the very distant past owned by Babur, the great grandson of Timur on his father's side and a descendant of Genghis Khan on his Mother's side. This is the same Babur who's descendant built the Taj Mahal. As we walked further up the hill, the mechanism we had seen from the road below was revealed. It was a ferris wheel. One of the Uzbeks and I took it for a ride. From the top we could see snow capped mountains in the distance to our right. These I was told were the ones separating Uzbekistan from Tajikistan to the south. They are also the ones we traverse to get to Tashkent.
After our ferris wheel ride we went back down to the pavilions. Salads of fresh tomato and cucumbers had arrived as had the first couple of bottles of vodka. I was warned that vodka was served very early at these type of events. The report was not wrong, it was 10:30 AM and everyone was being poured a glass. After enjoying the scenery and the salad, we headed back to our hosts cottage. The table was being set with creamy dressed salads, a deli tray with meats and cheese and beautiful fresh strawberries. They are so sweet here that they require no sugar. They deli tray had a meat with which I was not familiar. I put one on my plate to try. It was a fatty meat, a little tough but with a good taste. The man to my left, at the head of the table, asked me if I knew what I was eating. I told him I did not so he revealed to me that it was horse. It went well on this deli tray of sausages and cheeses. I told the Chinese lady to my right that I had never had it before. She told me about how common horse as well as dog and cat are, in her country. She said she never ate any of them.
The next course was boiled chicken. It fell of the bone and was intended to be eaten with the other fresh vegetables and herbs, which included dill, cilantro and jalapeno. After the chicken came the soup. It was a chicken broth with onions and carrots. Really delicious. One of the Uzbeks told the table that it did not matter the temperature, soup is traditional. He then told a story of an Uzbek who visited a friend in Siberia, in the winter. When he got there the man served him a cold beverage. The Uzbek advised his host that he had hoped for something warm. The host's retort was that when he was in Uzbekistan, in the summer and it was over 40C (104F), he was served hot soup, so he was returning the same hospitality. The Uzbeks all laughed, then when the translation was complete, the rest of us laughed in turn. Truth is, there have been very few days since I have been here that I have not eaten soup. Even when it was 100 degrees outside.
About this time the chief executive officer, for the holding company that owns 75% of GMUz and a very high government official, arrived. His face is weathered and chiseled. His demeanor gracious. He is a man small in stature but not in respect. He is responsible for all of the joint ventures in Uzbekistan which supply auto parts to GMUz. It was clear that those who knew him held him in high regard. On occasion he stays in the cottage next to mine, however I had never seen him before this picnic.
After the soup came the lamb. It was a lamb rib stew with carrots, onions and potatoes. The meat was as tender as you can imagine. The juices were wonderful to dip the bread. This had finally been the main course. The final dishes to come to the table were filled with fruit. Plates piled high with fresh cherries, other plates with fresh mulberries and apricots and the usual bowls of almonds and pistachios. At dinner some changed from vodka to cognac. Still others drank traditional Uzbek wine or Russian beer. During dinner everyone gave at least one toast. Most had to do with health and financial success. My toast was more contrite. I simply toasted to the hospitality of the Uzbek people.
The party broke up in the late afternoon. We rode back to the cottages and relaxed the evening away watching movies. Needless to say, we sent word to the cooks not to make us dinner. We certainly had consumed our share, for the day.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
A Real Honor
An Uzbek Home Vist!
I've been back in the UZ for a couple of weeks. Some interesting things have happened. One of the English speakers at the plant had asked me to bring back some blue jeans for him when I returned. While I was gone he had undergone an emergency appendectomy. This took him away from work for about three weeks. One of our mutual friends and I made a date to go to his house, to deliver the jeans. On that evening, after work, we walked from the plant to the center of Asaka. There we caught a Damas. For those who have seen my photo album on FB, those are the small vans. They are used in many places as mass transportation. The Damas took us to the end of the street my guide believed was correct. He called our friend who emerged from a door, so we went to greet him.
When we went through the external gate, the house was in front of us. Built on one level, elevated by a couple of feet, doors to the rooms all face the courtyard, bounded by the wall through which we had just passed. I met his mother and grandmother, as they came from what I imagine was the kitchen, to greet us. My friend lead us to the room he had prepared for us. We took off our shoes, as is the custom, and entered. The room was recently completed as the paint looked fresh and the wood work very clean. In the corner near some book shelves were some large colorful cushions. Some flat on the floor and in some places up against the wall. In the midst of the cushions was a low table. It was set with nuts, fruits, candy and juices. My friend had asked his mother to prepare a meal for us. First came a salad which contained fruit, nuts, vegetables and meat in a white creamy dressing. It was quite delicious. Then came the soup. Soup is traditional regardless of the weather. I suspect it is because the leftovers from yesterday can easily turn into a wonderful soup today. Since we lunch nearly everyday, he knows I am a soup lover, so he requested it. The meal was served to us by his two sisters. One speaks English but is very shy, the other does not. Both are lovely young ladies and perfect hostesses. When his father returned from the hospital, where he works as a surgeon, he and a family friend joined us. There were now five men at the table with occasional visits, to serve the next course or refresh the tea, by the two girls. Dessert was served. It was cake that had been purchased from a local bakery. It was both beautiful and decadent. The Uzbeks make some of the most beautiful cakes you will ever see and they enjoy them for many occasions.
The man of the house seemed very happy to have us in their company that night. He does not speak English nor does the friend he brought home. We did fine because his son and the man I traveled with, are both excellent English speakers and Uzbek is their native tongue. It was an enjoyable time. I believe I will be invited back to their home, before I leave the country. There was talk of having a bigger party and most likely some Osh, possibly from the Choyxana.
It is not unusual for groups to begin eating at different times. At restaurants there is no thought given to serving everyone simultaneously. The important part in this culture is to end together. No one leaves the table until everyone is done. The natural leader will then hold his hands plams up. This is the beginning of the Duo (pronounced doo wa). It is the silent prayer everyone says as they move their hands to their eyes and sweep them down their face, without actually touching their face. On this night, my friends father begun the Duo, after confirming that everyone had received enough to eat.
On the way out I thought my guide and I were going to catch a Damas to the center of Asaka, where he would ensure I got into the correct Damas to get back to the cottages, then he would go the opposite direction to his home. Our friend's father had a different plan. The family friend actually owned a Damas, so when we got to the street we were instructed to get into the van. Four of us including my guide, my friends father and the family friend proceeded towards the center of Asaka. At the first point where a Damas can be caught, my guide exited the vehicle, to get a ride to his own home. The rest of us drove a ways further. I was not completely clear on the plan but had no reason not to trust these two fine gentlemen with whom I had just dined. They stopped at a small store for one to make a purchase, then we continued to, what was in effect, a taxi stand. My friend's father got out of the Damas and negotiated a rate to return me, to the cottages. He motioned for me to get into the taxi. Then he called his son, explained the arrangement and handed the phone to me. My friend told me that the car I was in would return me to the cottages but the driver needed to wait for additional fares, headed to Andijon. I asked him how much I would owe. He said not to worry about that, his father had already taken care of it.
In very short order a man with two large parcels made a deal with my new driver. This was all the tiny car would handle, so off we went. It is only about a 10 kilometer ride so I was soon back to where I stay. I sent a text to my friend thanking him for the hospitality. I also asked him to tell his father that I said he has a beautiful family and thank him for being so kind to me.
Email from Hillary's folks
This week the U.S citizens here all got an email from the US Department of State. It indicated that there was an imminent threat to soft targets, especially places where U.S. citizens live, work and socialize, in Uzbekistan. Apparently there are some extremeist groups making some waves. The day before that the guards at the plant were wearing body armour. The next morning on the way to work we were delayed by a convoy of tanks. All of this has been a little scary. We have not really changed anything we do. We went to the market and out to dinner multiple times this week. If I get evacuated I'll make sure to write about it.
Please understand, the people I know here are wonderful, hospitable and generally good people. The area is quite religious. We talk about it all the time. The people I know believe like most of us that hurting or killing another person is wrong and against God. The fact that they call God Allah makes no difference. Whether Jew, Christian or Muslim, we all worship the same God. We have different customs and that is all. Today, be grateful for the ability to be tolerant and to learn from others, then be sure to practice the tolerance in your own life.
Until next time...
I've been back in the UZ for a couple of weeks. Some interesting things have happened. One of the English speakers at the plant had asked me to bring back some blue jeans for him when I returned. While I was gone he had undergone an emergency appendectomy. This took him away from work for about three weeks. One of our mutual friends and I made a date to go to his house, to deliver the jeans. On that evening, after work, we walked from the plant to the center of Asaka. There we caught a Damas. For those who have seen my photo album on FB, those are the small vans. They are used in many places as mass transportation. The Damas took us to the end of the street my guide believed was correct. He called our friend who emerged from a door, so we went to greet him.
When we went through the external gate, the house was in front of us. Built on one level, elevated by a couple of feet, doors to the rooms all face the courtyard, bounded by the wall through which we had just passed. I met his mother and grandmother, as they came from what I imagine was the kitchen, to greet us. My friend lead us to the room he had prepared for us. We took off our shoes, as is the custom, and entered. The room was recently completed as the paint looked fresh and the wood work very clean. In the corner near some book shelves were some large colorful cushions. Some flat on the floor and in some places up against the wall. In the midst of the cushions was a low table. It was set with nuts, fruits, candy and juices. My friend had asked his mother to prepare a meal for us. First came a salad which contained fruit, nuts, vegetables and meat in a white creamy dressing. It was quite delicious. Then came the soup. Soup is traditional regardless of the weather. I suspect it is because the leftovers from yesterday can easily turn into a wonderful soup today. Since we lunch nearly everyday, he knows I am a soup lover, so he requested it. The meal was served to us by his two sisters. One speaks English but is very shy, the other does not. Both are lovely young ladies and perfect hostesses. When his father returned from the hospital, where he works as a surgeon, he and a family friend joined us. There were now five men at the table with occasional visits, to serve the next course or refresh the tea, by the two girls. Dessert was served. It was cake that had been purchased from a local bakery. It was both beautiful and decadent. The Uzbeks make some of the most beautiful cakes you will ever see and they enjoy them for many occasions.
The man of the house seemed very happy to have us in their company that night. He does not speak English nor does the friend he brought home. We did fine because his son and the man I traveled with, are both excellent English speakers and Uzbek is their native tongue. It was an enjoyable time. I believe I will be invited back to their home, before I leave the country. There was talk of having a bigger party and most likely some Osh, possibly from the Choyxana.
It is not unusual for groups to begin eating at different times. At restaurants there is no thought given to serving everyone simultaneously. The important part in this culture is to end together. No one leaves the table until everyone is done. The natural leader will then hold his hands plams up. This is the beginning of the Duo (pronounced doo wa). It is the silent prayer everyone says as they move their hands to their eyes and sweep them down their face, without actually touching their face. On this night, my friends father begun the Duo, after confirming that everyone had received enough to eat.
On the way out I thought my guide and I were going to catch a Damas to the center of Asaka, where he would ensure I got into the correct Damas to get back to the cottages, then he would go the opposite direction to his home. Our friend's father had a different plan. The family friend actually owned a Damas, so when we got to the street we were instructed to get into the van. Four of us including my guide, my friends father and the family friend proceeded towards the center of Asaka. At the first point where a Damas can be caught, my guide exited the vehicle, to get a ride to his own home. The rest of us drove a ways further. I was not completely clear on the plan but had no reason not to trust these two fine gentlemen with whom I had just dined. They stopped at a small store for one to make a purchase, then we continued to, what was in effect, a taxi stand. My friend's father got out of the Damas and negotiated a rate to return me, to the cottages. He motioned for me to get into the taxi. Then he called his son, explained the arrangement and handed the phone to me. My friend told me that the car I was in would return me to the cottages but the driver needed to wait for additional fares, headed to Andijon. I asked him how much I would owe. He said not to worry about that, his father had already taken care of it.
In very short order a man with two large parcels made a deal with my new driver. This was all the tiny car would handle, so off we went. It is only about a 10 kilometer ride so I was soon back to where I stay. I sent a text to my friend thanking him for the hospitality. I also asked him to tell his father that I said he has a beautiful family and thank him for being so kind to me.
Email from Hillary's folks
This week the U.S citizens here all got an email from the US Department of State. It indicated that there was an imminent threat to soft targets, especially places where U.S. citizens live, work and socialize, in Uzbekistan. Apparently there are some extremeist groups making some waves. The day before that the guards at the plant were wearing body armour. The next morning on the way to work we were delayed by a convoy of tanks. All of this has been a little scary. We have not really changed anything we do. We went to the market and out to dinner multiple times this week. If I get evacuated I'll make sure to write about it.
Please understand, the people I know here are wonderful, hospitable and generally good people. The area is quite religious. We talk about it all the time. The people I know believe like most of us that hurting or killing another person is wrong and against God. The fact that they call God Allah makes no difference. Whether Jew, Christian or Muslim, we all worship the same God. We have different customs and that is all. Today, be grateful for the ability to be tolerant and to learn from others, then be sure to practice the tolerance in your own life.
Until next time...
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