Advice on Visiting Tajikistan

I started to write a long email to my friend on what he should expect when he arrives next Monday, and then decided to share it here for anyone Googling "Travel Tajikistan." Of course there is infinitely more to say, and there are websites with much more, but this is the very short what you need to know upon arrival in Tajikistan:

You are now able to get a 2-week tourist visa on arrival at the airport in Dushanbe, but I had a friend who was lucky enough to arrive in a week when there were "technical malfunctions" and so he had to stay in Istanbul for three days to get a visa there and wait for the next flight. (On the bright side, when you get a visa in Istanbul, you get a sweet tourist map and postcards of Tajikistan). [more visa details written by my friend at the bottom of the page] You don't have to register if you are staying less than 30 days (be grateful - this is an un-fun post-Soviet habit). On the other hand, the U.S. government would advise U.S. citizens to register online with their Smart Traveller Enrollment Program.

Most people from the west fly Turkish Air through Istanbul. The flight goes twice a week, Sunday and Wednesday nights, and arrives in Dushanbe at 3:45 am the next morning. Don't worry - things will be open by the time you get out of the airport at 5 or 6 a.m. 

Mosque in Istaravshan.

Why does it take so long? It is a small airport. Because the mass of people shoving towards passport control is chaotic and suffocating and there are no lines. As a foreigner, you need to grab two forms on the right when you come in. One of these is a long rectangle with the same information on the right and the left. There is a colorful advertisement for one of the phone companies on the back. At passport control they will rip the paper and keep one half and give you the other. You must not lose this paper - they will ask for it when you leave the country. I staple it in my passport. The other piece of paper you need to remember is the baggage-check slip that they gave you when you checked your bag wherever you originated - after you have perhaps waited a long time for the luggage to appear, on your way out of the airport they will collect your luggage tag. 

You will emerge into a swarm of people waiting in the morning sun. If you are lucky a friend will meet you - if not there are plenty of taxi drivers ready to relieve you of your bag. 

You probably want money - I find it is easiest to withdraw from the Bankomat (ATM). You can withdraw somoni everywhere and USD in some places (I use USD only to pay my rent).  There are also many money exchange places on the street. Credit cards are useless.

Finding things like bankomats is easiest if you take some time to learn the Cyrillic alphabet - or at least a few minutes to look it over (Learn in 5 minutes for Russian or this chart for Tajik/Latin/Persian comparison).

If you need to bring a gift for an American, coffee is appreciated (this is another way of saying: prepare to drink Nescafe for the duration of your stay). 

Хуш омадед!

Tajikistan culture visible: курта (kurta - national dress; mine is made from атлас (atlas - national fabric), дастархон (dartarkhan - table cloth/spread), кӯрпача ( kurpаcha - mattresses/beds), general guest-ing

For more:

This guy seems to have very helpful and up-to-date information: http://caravanistan.com/travel/tajikistan/

I know someone working on this website, which is trying to become a more helpful guide to Dushanbe (if you're coming for longer, read this post on everyday Tajik customs: http://menu.tj/en/posts/culture-un-shock/)

More visa info from said friend who just got his visa in Istanbul: 

1-All the Tajikistan government web stuff says that if you are coming in from a nation that has a Embassy or Consular office you need your visa prior to entry. The guy I talked to in Istanbul at the consulate said the same. 

2-You can get 30, 60, or 90 day tourist visas. The 30 day is 50 USD (only USD accepted). Perhaps the 2 week visa is still availabe at the airport. 

3-If you are trying to do this in Istanbul it is hard to find the consulate. The train station/neighborhood it is in is called Florya. But there is no train station working right now  - it looks like it is under renovation. I can put togeather a google map+street view if you want. 

4-Bring your passport and a couple photo copies and a few passport-sized photos of yourself. It also helps to print out and fill out two copys of the visa application available online after some searching.

Formality and Faux Pas; or Manners and Mistakes

Sughd, this northern region of Tajikistan, is known for being more formal. Everyone here always uses шумо (shumo), the formal "you" (think usted in Spanish), whereas in the south, in Khatlon, people use ту (tu) frequently. I knew this before coming, like I knew that Tajikistan is renowned for its guest culture, but I didn't realize the many other ways in which that politeness would manifest itself in daily life, and I certainly didn't anticipate that it would take me months to figure out.

When someone invites you to his or her house, they repeat "хуш омадед" (khush omaded - welcome) many times. I used to put my hand on my chest and repeat "thank you," unable to think of anything else to say. Only six months into my time here did someone tell me that the customary thing to respond - especially to older hosts - is "хушбахт бошед" (khushbakht boshed - be happy). It was both relieving to hear that there is a ritual and frustrating - how did I not know this sooner!

Similarly, I was aware from the moment I arrived that hosts tell you to eat many times. "Гиритон, гиритон, гиритон" they repeat ("take," literally, or "help yourself"). Knowing how important the guest culture is here, I would studiously take food, and figured out to pace my eating and time big bites for when the host returned. What is on the dastarkhan at the beginning is just that, the beginning, and there is always more food coming. I joke that people do not know the meaning of the word "full" - when I say that "ман сеур шудам" (I am full), people bring me more food! People laugh appreciatively, because of course that is the job of the host - to give you more.

But only after living here seven months did I realize the other half of this Tajik courtesy. They say "гиретон" three times - and the guest is not supposed to accept the first few times. There is a dance of offering and demurring until people finally eat. Oops. Luckily, I have probably not offended anyone too badly - I just seem like an impolite pig. Since realizing this, I have heard countless stories from people in Sughd who have traveled to the United States and suffered their own cultural misunderstandings. "Do you want ice cream?" an American hostess asked a teacher friend. "No," the teacher replied, and then, as she told us, "the whole table ate ice cream and I sat there with none! I really wanted some, but I couldn't ask!" Another friend who said it took him a week of being hungry to realize that Americans were not going to ask again, and he would have to say yes the first time.

And I only realized a week ago that one does not talk while eating. Parents here teach their children not to do so. In the United States, parents also tell their children not to talk with their mouths full, but we also expect dinner to be a time for conversation, and people schedule lunch meetings in order to talk. I tried to think back to the many times I have been a guest: have I spent it chattering to fill silence? I think mostly I am quiet and try to let the host take the lead - remembering not to be uncomfortable in the silence (thank you, Sidwell).

Unfortunately I cannot regale you with tales of the hilarious faux pas I have made that people laughed at or judged or ignored and otherwise never pointed out to me. You will have to apply to my friends and acquaintances here for more details.

A table filled for Navruz at the library.

Баҳор омад. Spring comes.

This past week was Tajikistan's most important national holiday, Navruz. It literally means "new day" but is the Persian New Year and marks the spring equinox. When I wrote this to my Grandmother, she replied,

The people over there certainly have the right idea – new year beginning in the spring.  How sensible.  

I have to agree.

It means almost a week off school for concerts and parties. Everyone wears national dress. There is much dancing. There is much poetry, much of which involves the phrase баҳор омад (bahor omad, spring comes).

Here, people are eager to say that it is an International holiday, which someone declared a few years ago, since today people celebrate Navruz in Iran, Afghanistan, Tajikistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan, Turkey, parts of China and probably elsewhere I am forgetting. Sarah and I were interviewed to discover our thoughts on Navruz as foreigners, but we didn't see the TV special when it aired. Several of our students and neighbors did, though, and some have approached me since to excitedly, "You speak Tajik!"

At the library, the celebration on the 20th included: a competition of who has the most beautiful table of food (scores could be augmented by poetry recitation), poetry recitation, dancing, a holiday tableau, the arrival of girl in white as "spring", who showed off the haft seen and haft sheen, a poetry contest, a humorous skit, displays of national dress, and speeches. I was encouraged to stand up and congratulate everyone on Navruz in Farsi and English, and later a representative from the Iranian embassy's ministry of culture presented me with a gift. It ended with everyone dancing as the women cleaned and put everything away.

Navruz (21st) in Khujand seemed to be an excuse for kids to run off and play with their friends. Two of the volunteers from the American Corner showed me around the crowded park, where people were selling shashlik every three yards. We went on the Ferris wheel, on a boat ride, and talked as we walked past everyone in their finest clothes.

Sarah and I missed the official Khujand celebration on the 22nd, because we were guest-ing in different parts of Sughd for the rest of the weekend. On the 21st we went to Mangit village in Ghonchi, where one of Sarah's students lives. He took us immediately taken to the village party and we danced. I chose the 11-year-old girls as my partners instead of the teenage boys. 

 

We stayed two nights, and went to many other family members' houses to be guests, which means introducing ourselves and drinking tea and eating food. Both nights included dance parties with all of the neighbor kids outside of the house. Sarah and I apologize for being poor representatives of our country when they put on a J-Lo song and told us to "dance American".

 

We also visited some women making сумалак (sumalak), the traditional Navruz dish. I was only told the story of sumalak the next day, but it is beautiful and goes something like this: Once, long ago, a widow had nothing to feed her children. The children cried to their mother that they were hungry, but she had nothing to give them. One night, the mother threw seven stones into a pot with wheat and some flour and fell asleep with despair. While she slept, thirty angels (see malak) came and stirred the pot. When she woke up in the morning, the woman tried the dish and found that it was delicious.

  

Now people make sumalak in the spring, when the shoots of wheat are young. It must be cooked from 12-24 hours, and women stay up all night, adding wood to the fire and water to the cauldron as they stir and sing to keep themselves awake. If you make a wish while stirring sumalak, it will come true. Sarah and I did not stay so long, but we visited for a little while.

Later that night, I got my hair braided in the traditional style: many little braids finished by cotton tassels at the end of each braid. It took less than two hours, and it is usual for everyone to ask how many braids you have. I ended up with 24 - traditionally one should have 40 braids.

The next day I went to Shahristan. The first night, instead of staying with an English teacher we know, I ended up being the excuse for five 16-year-old girls to have a sleepover. They giggled and talked all night and in the morning we all beautified ourselves with усма (usma). Now, to most Westerners, this is not beautiful. I have plucked my eyebrows at least since I was thirteen. But with usma, you draw your eyebrows thicker, darker, longer, and they are supposed to meet in the middle. It is a green plant that they make into a juice. You paint it on three times, letting it dry some between each application, and then you wash it off - gently! the girls told me, alarmed as I splashed my face.

There is also a story behind usma, which again I learned only after the fact: people believe that on judgment day, all of your body parts will be forced to tell their sins from your life. Your hands, for example, will say that you stole, and your eyes will say that you looked on something covetously. But if you put usma on your eyebrows, they will be so grateful for your care of them that they will lie for you, saying that they are above all and can see everything and that you did good deeds. In conservative villages where fathers will not allow their daughters cosmetics, usma is still encouraged (and some girls sneakily put it on their eyelids as well to simulate the makeup they're not allowed to wear).

My makeover was made complete with либоси мелли (lebosi melli), which literally translates as "national dress." When I mentioned that Sarah had an adras dress (made of this particular fabric and pattern) and I did not, they secretly went to the bazaar, bought some fabric, and brought one student's sister over to measure me "for no reason." In the morning, she arrived with the dress she had worked on all night and took no money for. It might be the most thoughtful gift I have ever received.

This was all for the Navruz celebration that the students had prepared in Shahristan, which involved everyone in national dress, poetry, songs, a skit, and more dancing. Sarah and I were forced to have a dance competition. We walked, played a game, and the reward when I won was that I had to dance for all of them.

 

Photo credit to Sarah and her iPhone.

When we stayed with the teacher that night many more people came to see us, but more exciting was that I finally learned how to make osh-e plov, the national dish of Tajikistan. In the morning we helped bake the bread in the tandur (outdoor oven).

Then we came home and still had a day and a half to sleep before the library opened again.  I tried to answer some emails. I showed my colleague how to make chocolate chip cookies. I welcomed spring.

A Five-Paragraph Essay in Response to the Question I am Asked Everywhere in Tajikistan

Dedicated to the people I am teaching to write essays. (Universities here focus on translation and oral exams rather than writing, so thesis statements and topic sentences are mostly new ideas.) 

Whether in a taxi or at a university, whenever I meet people in Tajikistan, they are invariably eager to ask questions. Most have never met an American in person, and want to find out whether their ideas about America are correct, and what my corresponding ideas about Tajikistan are. They are particularly excited that I can speak Tajik, although at times the conversation gets confusing when I do not understand what they have asked, and instead answer from my mental list of expected queries. These interactions, I sometimes think, are more important than my formal teaching here. So this is my response to the most important question: yes, I do like Tajikistan, because of the great natural beauty, the hospitable people, and the opportunities to learn.

Outline, on ХГУ notepaper.

My first impression of Tajikistan was from photos of the mountains and rivers, and I thought that it was beautiful and that I wanted to go. Since arriving in the summer of 2011 and again in the fall of 2012, those pictures have been surpassed by my own awe at the 93% mountainous country, both in Badakhshan and in Sughd. I admire the peaks of the mountains that frame Khujand, as well as the valley's water features: the Syr Darya ("Secret River") and the Kairakkum Reservoir (the "Tajik Sea"). I cannot wait for the spring, when the mountains will spring up in green and the trees will blossom. The fruits of those flowers are sweet, juicy, and endless: apricots, peaches, figs, mulberries, apples, pears, pomegranates, persimmons, and more. These delicious fruits take over my kitchen and fill my stomach in many forms. Whether in tasting or viewing, in Khujand or Khorog, the natural wonders of Tajikistan make every short trip a chance to see and taste something amazing.

Not only is Tajikistan's nature worth experiencing, but also the kindness and generosity of its people. Tajik people treat me not as a foreigner, but as a guest. The questions about my well-being are underscored by concern that I have been treated as a guest ought to be. "Come to my house for tea," they say. "I will make you plov." "Thank you, thank you," I reply, and even though I do not go to most of those houses, it is the earnest offer that is special. Every culture has a parable about welcoming guests, but Tajik culture fulfills this universal value in a way that is not universal. In America we are taught to think about our own grades, our own profession, our own close circle. Tajik culture teaches people to be more generous, and to spread that care beyond yourself to others, whether as a host or as a guest. This teaches me to think more about others, and also makes my time here so pleasant, since everyone is always eager to welcome me. 

Draft, with edits.

The people in Tajikistan welcome me enthusiastically, and also make every interaction a source of new information about history, culture, or language. I talk with people around a dastarkhan and they tell me about the three-day invasion of Khujand just after the Civil War. I teach an English class about Halloween and trick-or-treating in America, and I learn about Navruz and boichechak. I think that "archa" means "New Year's Tree," and then I learn from following a six-year-old around a park that it actually means "evergreen." Though I can read about history, culture and the Tajik language in books, it is through meeting people that I learn. 

My experience in Tajikistan is the sum of more than learning, people, and nature, but together they provide a good beginning to answer what I most appreciate about this place. And once I have begun, they can continue: "Do you like plov?" "Are you married?" "I will find you a Tajik husband." "What is your work?" I reply with invitations to the American Corner and my own questions: "How many children do you have?" "When did he leave for Russia?" "What is that called?".  The conversation ends with one or both of the pleasantries that do not mean goodbye, exactly, but well wishing. The first is хуш омадед (khosh omaded), which literally means "(your) good coming,"and is translated in dictionaries as "welcome," though they say it both when you arrive and when you leave. The other is саломат бошед (salomat boshed), which means "be healthy," and is added at the end of any store interaction or conversation. So: хуш омадед, саломат бошед.