![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Pan-stan chaykhana
Aug. 1st, 2007 12:36 pmEvery day, these rainy days, I'm going down to "visit Sadako" (our term for going to the cellar) and rummaging about in boxes. It's a sort of lucky dip, but I have certain things I'm hoping to find. Amongst the VHS tapes I'm particularly hoping to discover a BBC documentary series called Storm From The East, about Genghis Khan's nomad empire.
I haven't opened that particular box yet, but in the meantime here's Ryszard Kapuscinski's description of a town square in Bukhara, Uzbekistan, during the Soviet years (from Imperium):
"It is noon. I go out of the fortress onto a large, dusty square. On the opposite side is a chaykhana. At this time of day the chaykhanas are full of Uzbeks. They squat, colorful skullcaps on their heads, drinking green tea. They drink like this for hours, often all day. It's a pleasant life, spent in the shadow of a tree, on a little carpet, among close friends. I sat down on the grass and ordered a pot of tea...
"Blinding sun fell on the square. Dogs wandered about. Tour groups were coming out of the fortress... Between the fortress-turned-museum and the mosque-turned-billiards hall sat Uzbeks drinking tea. They sat in silence, facing the mosque, in accordance with the ways of the fathers. There was a kind of dignity in the silent presence of these people, and despite their worn gray smocks, they looked distinguished. I had the urge to walk up to them and shake their hands. I wanted to express my respect in some way, but I didn't know how. In these men, in their bearing, in their wise calm, was something that aroused my spontaneous and genuine admiration. They have sat for generations in this chaykhana, which is old, perhaps older than the fortress and the mosque. Many things are different now -- many, but not all. One can say that the world is changing, but it is not changing completely; in any case it is not changing to the degree that an Uzbek cannot sit in a chaykhana and drink tea even during working hours."
And here's a little video installation of Bukhara. You can play these simultaneously. The first is a French tour of the town, the second an Italian film of an Uzbek market, the third an odd anthem for an as-yet-unfounded -- and sinisterly utopian -- pan-stan nation.
[Error: unknown template video]
[Error: unknown template video]
[Error: unknown template video]
To compound the oddness, I'll leave you with a few lines of my own, a sketch set in Samarkand. Cup of tea, pet?
In Samarkand, Uzbekistan, the Vietnamese chiropodist
Extracted a glass of clear green tea from his samovar
Extracted green tea from his samovar
A ghost tended two moss gardens, one marshmallow, one ectoplasm
Something to do with the free bamboo, something to do with the snow
Green plants, folk and fairy tales from German Africa
Swamp leg, an inner lightbulb, tragedy on stilts
An inner lightbulb, tragedy on stilts...
I haven't opened that particular box yet, but in the meantime here's Ryszard Kapuscinski's description of a town square in Bukhara, Uzbekistan, during the Soviet years (from Imperium):
"It is noon. I go out of the fortress onto a large, dusty square. On the opposite side is a chaykhana. At this time of day the chaykhanas are full of Uzbeks. They squat, colorful skullcaps on their heads, drinking green tea. They drink like this for hours, often all day. It's a pleasant life, spent in the shadow of a tree, on a little carpet, among close friends. I sat down on the grass and ordered a pot of tea...
"Blinding sun fell on the square. Dogs wandered about. Tour groups were coming out of the fortress... Between the fortress-turned-museum and the mosque-turned-billiards hall sat Uzbeks drinking tea. They sat in silence, facing the mosque, in accordance with the ways of the fathers. There was a kind of dignity in the silent presence of these people, and despite their worn gray smocks, they looked distinguished. I had the urge to walk up to them and shake their hands. I wanted to express my respect in some way, but I didn't know how. In these men, in their bearing, in their wise calm, was something that aroused my spontaneous and genuine admiration. They have sat for generations in this chaykhana, which is old, perhaps older than the fortress and the mosque. Many things are different now -- many, but not all. One can say that the world is changing, but it is not changing completely; in any case it is not changing to the degree that an Uzbek cannot sit in a chaykhana and drink tea even during working hours."
And here's a little video installation of Bukhara. You can play these simultaneously. The first is a French tour of the town, the second an Italian film of an Uzbek market, the third an odd anthem for an as-yet-unfounded -- and sinisterly utopian -- pan-stan nation.
[Error: unknown template video]
[Error: unknown template video]
[Error: unknown template video]
To compound the oddness, I'll leave you with a few lines of my own, a sketch set in Samarkand. Cup of tea, pet?
In Samarkand, Uzbekistan, the Vietnamese chiropodist
Extracted a glass of clear green tea from his samovar
Extracted green tea from his samovar
A ghost tended two moss gardens, one marshmallow, one ectoplasm
Something to do with the free bamboo, something to do with the snow
Green plants, folk and fairy tales from German Africa
Swamp leg, an inner lightbulb, tragedy on stilts
An inner lightbulb, tragedy on stilts...