Today, after writing from 6 am till 11 am, I went to a communal farm called the Palace Arbob that built in the 1950’s and fashioned after the Winter Palace in Saint Petersburg. It in fact used
to be called the Moscow farm until 1967 when its visionary owner passed away. It is one of the USSR’s exemplary farms, not only for its productivity but for the splendor of its communal halls that blend 19th century neo-classical Soviet architecture with traditional Tajik decorative arts. I had been studying the Silk Road but hadn’t yet seen what silk worms look like; here at Arbob they had elaborate diaramas explicating the process and extolling the farm’s agricultural achievements.
Afterwards, Mirzo took me to Lake Kairakkum, an artificial lake that resulted from a dam built 50 years ago to provide hydroelectric power. Everyone on the minibus proclaimed that it was much too cold and dirty during this month to swim in; I took a look the beaches were in finer conditions that those in New York. Nor was it cold.
Across from a bowl of borsht at dinner, a young Tajik student who’d studied English in highschool spoke to me. He taught me a few more Russian words so that I can expand by palette to meat dishes as well. He was a salesman and pulled out a laptop and I sat through three whole powerpoint demos about the absolutely ridiculous new age products he was trying to sell. Biodiscs that rectify the scattered molecules of so-called dirty water, tennis bracelets for the missus, briefcases, titanium gold clubs (in Tajikistan? It’s a 70% mountainous terrain and the average income is $7000 a year). I wondered if he’d actually ever sold anything. Maybe he figured me, the American, as his big break.
When I yawned, to further demonstrate disinterest and to get out of the conversation, he began telling me about the Chi pendant, which he was wearing. As he said, “You are tired? The Chipendant (he blurred the words together) makes it so that you will have more energy. With the Chipendent you can by yourself move a 150 kilo person with two of your fingers.”
I couldn’t believe this was actually happening — that I was being approached as a potential customer. Would that he knew that the only thing I am good at buying is books. Or maybe he was just practicing his sales pitch in English to an overly patient random. He continued, “Look at me. I am full of energy and I have been praying all night without sleep.”
Indeed, last night was the night in Ramadan where people prayed all night. Below are pictures of the morning announcing the end of Ramadan when 50,000 people fill the main square in Khojand to pray; I had been worried that the minibus drivers had not slept and I certainly did not want to die in a minibus collision in Khojand’s main highway.
I told the young man that I wasn’t in fact tired but anxious to get more word done; I made a mental note to learn politce excuses to save myself from future new age product demos.
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