Uzbekistan Pt 7

Uzbekistani people

No ... These ain't Uzbek's. This is Alvaro & Salva, my two Spanish overland cyclist buddies, as seen in Urgut market.

I like it here in Uzbekistan. I really do ... It's the people ya see. Friendly, but without being 'in yer face', as has been encountered during previous travels. An encouraging percentage of unsolicited approaches by the locals seemed to be without agenda, apart from genuine interest in who you are or an excuse for them to practice their spoken English. There was one interview with a lady on a bus, when we were coming back from the Urgut market near Samarqand, that left me wondering though.

The direction of the conversation seemed initially to be going well, but soon began heading up what for me was a dead-end creek. It began when the lady I was sat next-to started off with the usual 'What country do you come from, what's your job, and what do you think of our country?” interrogation, which was just fine by me. But things soon deteriorated as the subject turned to my marital status. Once discovering I'd left my wife somewhere along the rough road of life, she started speculating on possible scenarios for my future. It wasn't certain whether she was offering herself or her sister in marriage. Or simply perhaps expressing the idea that Uzbek' wives are as good as they come. A sort of 9/10 on the perfect-wife scale perhaps? She aired her thoughts further, venturing that I could become a rich man, if I were to have my pension* paid to me while living here. My proffered replies indicating I had no ambitions to be either rich or be married, did little to deter her. The 40 minute ride allowed a wide range of topics to be covered, but was pleased to eventually drift on to more mundane things, like comparing the cost of living in our respective countries. It turned out she was a teacher and from that did consider while talking with her that I could probably be of help by sending her some books when I finally finished my peregrinations. I might add that no rash offers were made, but chose instead to file it all away into a spare EPROM brain cell for possible future reference. We parted exchanging contact details and me saying to her that if she wanted to keep in touch, she should send me an email. Getting off the bus close to one of the main tourist attractions Registan Square, I watched as she crossed the busy road. My fellow compadres were gathered ready to walk back to the guest-house by that time. As I turned to walk back with the others, wondered if I'd ever receive an email from her**.

*What in the world gave her the idea that I could either be, or soon to be retired? F'goshsakes, I know that I've got white hair and a permanent five-day growth of whiskers on my chinny-chin-chin, but this was the first time I'd been mistaken for being old enough to be retired. Cheeky bloody cow ... Maybe I should've just told her to piss-off?

** To date and over 2 months on, haven't received an email from her ...

That same day I had more chance encounters with females. One was while I was sat on a park bench, watching the sun go down over Registan Square. But this time she was mid-teens and no threat whatsoever. It gave me chance to get some idea of what the 'up and coming' adult generation might expect from living a life here in Uzbekistan. To put it simply, she told me that once she's in her late teens to early twenties, society deemed she should marry. I asked whether she would prefer to have a career? She didn't understand the word, so tried my best to explain further in terms of her going out to work in a job of her choice. The conversation faltered, until she made it clear to me she did not relish the prospect of getting married when she was so young. I considered: Was she a lone deviant, or just maybe she was giving me an insight into the thinking of 'modern' Uzbek women? One more short encounter with a delightfully friendly young lady that evening, helped with my early conclusions. “I worked as a translator” she volunteered. “But my husband didn't like it, so I had to stop”. Patriarchy it seems, is alive and well in Uzbekistan.