Along the Pamir Highway

On my way to Khorog and back to Dushanbe I traveled over the Pamir Highway. It is a roadway that extends from Afghanistan to Uzbekistan to Tajikistan to Kyrgyzstan. It is an ancient route that has been in use for centuries.

The roadway is narrow and not well-maintained and is usually a gravel surface with perpetual bumps and potholes. Much of the problem with the highway is that the rocky slopes lining the roadway are predisposed to landslides. Along almost every kilometer a passenger can notice a place where a landslide has taken place in the not-too-distant past.

Perhaps the most fun presented by the Pamir Highway is the drop-off into the river that one must avoid while driving. Seldom is there a guardrail present and much of my entertainment on the trip consisted of peering out my back seat window over the cliffs we were avoiding by mere centimeters. Our trip from Khorog to Dushanbe was made during the day, but our journey in the reverse direction happened in the night. The evening we traveled was dark--as I gazed out my window toward the river I could see nothing but a black void as I looked down. It is unsettling to know that the void exists, but cannot be perceived.

Safely back in Kyrgyzstan. To commemorate my successful journey across the Pamir Highway, I have been researching the road and learning more about it on a cheery website I discovered tonight: dangerousroads.org.

What Afghanistan looks like

This past week I was in Khorog, Tajikistan visiting our new campus there. To get there you have drive 12 hours from the capital city of Dushanbe. Half of the trip is on the Pamir Highway which runs adjacent to the Panj River. Across the river during this 6-hour stretch of the journey is the country of Afghanistan. At some points in the trip, the distance betwen Tajikistan and Afghanistan was so small, a person with average athleticism could toss a rock across the river and hit the other country.

Americans tend to shiver with anxiety when they hear the word Afghanistan and, while I didn't ever cross the border, I gazed at the Afghan landscape for several hours while bounding down the Pamir Highway. Nothing to fear particularly, beyond the treacherous nature of the road itself. The more troublesome regions of the country are situated hundreds of kilometers away.

I guess it proves that lines on maps have meaning, but sometimes this meaning isn't always what we think it is. And it also demonstrates that the names of countries, their boundaries, and their geography aren't the complete essence of a land. While I enjoyed the stunning landscape of Afghanistan from across the river, these views will still not be what I immediately think of when I hear the name Afghanistan. Rather, it will remain the precious students I know from this troubled land who will always be what I carry in my heart when I consider that which is Afghan.

Searching for authenticity in Dubai

One of the secret, subtle joys of traveling alone is sitting, eating meals in restaurants and eavesdropping on the conversations of one's surrounding diners. I have heard the desperate promises of those attempting seduction, ridiculous business scams promoted that I could not believe weren't being seen through, political discourse of varying degrees of illogic, and when unlucky, of course, the most mundane talk ever uttered in the world. ("I like Coke Zero better than diet Coke, I don't know why, I think it's because it has more bubbles" for example.)

At one meal in Dubai, I overhead an American telling his companions he was insulted that they had insisted upon having their meal in the Dubai Mall. He was telling them they were not experiencing the authentic Dubai and accusing them, therefore, of being inauthentic themselves.

While I did not like his haughty tone, my overheard conversation got me thinking. Where was the authentic Dubai and was I like this man's friends, an inauthentic fraud, unable to find that in the universe that is true and genuine?

I was eating this meal in Eataly, the oh-so-clever name of an establishment in the Mall that is owned by the Illy Company, a purveyor of excellent Italian coffees. As I ate my impeccable spinach salad laced with the highest quality balsamic vinegar of Modena and hand-crafted gorgonzola cheese, I realized that this was certainly not authentic Dubai. Yet, having lived twice in Italy for over three years cumulatively, I also realized I was having a more authentic Italian meal than I often would consume when eating in the restaurants in the tourist sections of my Florentine home where foreigners were exploited by being served frozen pizzas made in Germany. Inauthentic culinary experiences in Florence mere meters from the grand statue of David, but authentic ones in Dubai thousands of kilometers away. This search for authenticity is not as straightforward as my haughty American lecturer on authenticity would have us believe.

As I sat eating, I realized that my gnocchi with veal ragu was startlingly authentic Italian cuisine as well. And I also realized that authenticity might not always be the ideal. When I lived in Arkansas, I experienced a whole range of Arkansan authenticity, from the rants of my racist barber to the cruel poverty I witnessed when visiting a family living in misery deep in the mountains. Were these experiences better, because they were more authentic, than the lovely handmade tacos I purchased from the kind Mexican man at the food truck near the apartment where I lived?

I decided that I must leave the mall to find the authentic Dubai that the haughty American claimed was ready to be discovered if only one would try.

Where else could authenticity be found but in the old town of Dubai? I took a taxi there the next day and found a place that wasn't gleaming and modern and where no spinach salads with gorgonzola were served. The gold market and the spice market and the perfume market were interesting, yet tourists were crawling all over the place there too. If I was there, how could the place be authentic after all? Besides, when I thought about it, although it was far less glitzy than the Dubai Mall, wasn't this part of town devoted to exactly what the mall was? Commerce and selling! How many dozen watches did people try to sell me in the authentic old town? About as many as in the mall. Just not as much air conditioning.

I also considered the possibility that what is authentic can be difficult to determine. Which is the authentic experience I have had in the current town where I live: the kind welcome I have received from much of the populace or other, more unsettling, reactions to my existence there? Or both?

Discouraged by my lack of authentic experience, I returned to my hotel, a trendy place, fantastically comfortable and pleasant, yet authentic to what I did not know, except the perfected and crafted world of marketers and MBAs. I entered my room and stared for a time at the zen-ish slogan painted on the wall above my bed: THIS IS WHERE I AM.

That's when I realized where authenticity resides: where one is. What one experiences at any specific place during that moment in time is what is authentic.

There is no place in Dubai that is authentic, yet every inch I saw of Dubai was totally authentic in that moment. Rather than searching for what is authentic as the haughty American would have us do, instead it might be best to be more concerned about our personal response to the places where we find ourselves in the world and the people we encounter. It is in how we interact with our surroundings that defines our authenticity as humans and it is our capacity to be real and to be compassionate and to be empathetic that is the authentic response to what the universe presents us. It is a search for that form of authenticity that should occupy our minds, whether we are eating an Italian meal in Dubai, or conducting German Club on a Kyrgyz campus, or eating tacos in Arkansas. Because THIS IS WHERE WE ARE.

A desire to touch the heavens

Humans are creatures not content with keeping their feet on the ground. The heavens are what we strive to touch. This striving is often manifested by the need to build ever-taller buildings than have ever been built before.

This desire has reached its current culmination in Dubai in the form of Burj Khalifa, the tallest man-made structure in the world at 828 meters (2,717 feet). I took the elevator that travels at 10 meters per second to the highest observation deck in the world at almost 600 meters. A startling view of the surrounding city was what I was treated to as well as a gaggle of tourists taking selfies at a rate that might also qualify as a world record. What desire that fulfills I am still trying to determine.

What we take for granted

One might be tempted to exclusively sing the praises of the urban area with the shining lights and almost infinite opportunities for entertainment and consumption. However, when I looked out my hotel window in Dubai one morning, that which I take for granted in my home in Naryn came to mind. Like clean air.

The most frightening demon I have ever been on Halloween

I had warned students and colleagues that I would I have the most frightening Halloween costume ever. And I wasn't kidding, though everyone thought I was, as sometimes I have been know to do a little bit of joking, though not often.

When I finally unveiled my costume, most everyone understood that indeed I had chosen to depict the most horrible goblin one could imagine. One of my co-workers, even shielded her face every time I walked by as the sight of me caused her great horror.

One person though, did say that they didn't understand and didn't find me particularly scary. They said I would have been more frightening if I had been dressed as a vampire or other monster.

Hmmm, I thought to myself, then replied.

*How many monsters do you know who are responsible for taking away the health care (CHIP program) of hundreds of thousands of poor children, some of whom will die because of they no longer have access to health care? Dracula himself never sucked the blood out of so many people.

*And how many ghosts have access to the nuclear codes and could wipe out millions with a single entry into a keypad? And this person I was depicting had even blithely suggested he might want to use these nuclear weapons and do exactly that.

*And what evil Halloween monsters openly brag about doing horrible things to women like grabbing...well, we all know about that.

*And have you ever met a goblin who mocked the disabled, constantly attacked people with foul words, who defrauded thousands of their money with a fake university, and who cheated hundreds and hundreds of small, honest business people by refusing to pay them for their work and services, just so he could line his own pockets?

Soon, the person understood, that I had indeed chosen to depict one of the most dreadful and frightening demons imaginable on this Halloween. But, what they couldn't understand was why any nation on the planet would choose to elect such a ghoul to be its leader.

A miracle has happened!

Those who live in proximity to me know that one of my ongoing crusades has been to get English-language satellite TV on our campus.

It all started almost two years ago when I first moved here, when one of the junior administrators asked me to come up with a list of stations that we would want to have on our satellite system. "You name it. The sky's the limit," he told me.

What an amazing list I created of entertaining and educational stations.

Little did I know at the time that indeed the sky was the limit, as satellites operate out in space well beyond the sky, for when we arrived on campus, no satellite TV at all.

The weeks went by and finally satellite TV came flickering across my screen. 40 Russian stations, 25 Turkish stations, and two English stations. Not just any English stations, mind you, but two of the worst English language stations known to humankind. In our secular university, we received two Christian Evangelical stations that, among other offenses, engaged in persistent attacks on Islam, here on our campus where probably 90% of the community can claim Islamic heritage. Cool! And even better, no Kyrgyz stations on our televisions, in this land of Kyrgyzstan.

I will spare everyone the list of harangues and strategies and actions and growling and grumbling I engaged in over the next 13 months in my efforts to get some sort of satellite TV installed. The problem, I was told was sub-contractors who couldn't deliver, the angle of satellites, the height of the mountains, the hardness of the rocky soil where no fiber optic cable could be installed, the phases of the moon, the general condition of human existence. "People will be walking the surface of the planet Mars before we get satellite TV," was my common response to these explanations.

To make a long story short, I returned from an extremely brief vacation yesterday to find that finally we have satellite TV. With English language stations. And no tele-evangelism on our strictly secular campus.

Only one downside. I had promised the ever-intrepid operations manager, Kuban-baike, that I would do a Kyrgyz dance and buy the staff pizza the day that English satellite tv arrived to campus. Not ever expecting such an eventuality, I now have to get out my Kyrgyz dancing shoes and pizza money. But, in the end, it is all worth it, as last night, after watching the news on BBC World Service and viewing the end of a scintillating NBA match-up, I got to watch game 5 of the World Series, where the Astros beat the Dodgers in one of the most exciting baseball games I have ever witnessed. All good things come to those who wait?

It's Otterly difficult to reconcile it all

The Dubai Mall is more than a place for selling goods, it is an establishment that also endeavors to sell experiences. The Dubai Aquarium inside the mall has all the traditional exhibits, but a visitor can also purchase the opportunity to have close interactions with the creatures contained within.

You can have an encounter with a giant crocodile, be lowered into a shark tank inside a cage to witness these mysterious creatures more closely, and I think I also saw on offer the opportunity to cavort with large aquatic rays, charming and personable creatures that they are.

None of these exotic encounters appealed to me all that much, but there was one I decided to purchase...the chance to be one of eight people to have an interaction with a family of otters. I've always found them to be interesting creatures, so I decided to purchase a ticket to the Otter Encounter.

The eight of us were led, at our appointed time, to the room in the aquarium complex where the small-clawed Asian otters were housed. We got to sit on benches in the back of the house where the babies lived and where the animals were trained and given special care.

The Otter Encounter started off well as we were able to watch the Otter Trainer feed the baby otters. But things quickly turned chaotic when the adults were introduced to our little room. The male otter, for some reason, found a young German woman to be highly objectionable and he leaped over the barrier and tried to attack her. Luckily she wasn't bitten, but the otter managed to shred the hem of her dress rather comprehensively with his razor-sharp teeth. It has been a theme of my life this year it seems: trapped in rooms I can't escape with highly agitated beings.

Luckily the trainer, using her clickers and a large supply of fish and clams, was able to lure the feisty otter back over the barrier to continue the Encounter. The rest of the event was as scripted, the otters did little tricks and played basketball and even were lured into posing with each and every one of us.

Then came the grand finale of the encounter, where the otters are lured to put their little claws through the holes near where we were sitting, so that we could touch their soft, yet lethal, little claws. Everyone seemed quite pleased to touch the otters; even the German woman, shredded dress and all, seemed satisfied that the Otter Encounter had been everything she had hoped it would be.

As much as like I otters, I left the Otter Encounter feeling less than overjoyed. Is a life in captivity, where one has to work quite intensely playing basketball and posing with tourists, somehow not more than a little bit exploitive of these spunky creatures? Can't we just leave them where they are in their natural homes? Must my fondness for otters be indulged so completely that I am entitled to touch their little claws, as long as I have enough money to pay for the encounter? Should I believe the Otter Trainer when she tells us that having the otters in captivity and the money that's raised by these activities is crucial toward preserving the entire species?

Somehow, the truth felt to me that it was contained in the shredded hem of the German woman's dress. I would rather we keep otters where they belong, and maybe we don't need to touch their claws, and perhaps we humans might be able to muster the resources and energy to preserve all the greatness of nature and the creatures contained within it, without having to force them to play basketball with us. Yes, it is hypocritical for me to make this pronouncement after I got to have my little Otter Encounter. But after having my Otter Encounter, I realized that the concept of empathy applies to all the beings we encounter and that we must consider how we respond to every creature of the Earth.

The view from my table at the Dubai Cheesecake Factory

This past weekend I made a fast trek to visit Dubai for the weekend, just for a must-needed change of pace. I'm not much of a mall rat, but I must say that the Dubai Mall is the most gigantic and impressive monument to consumerism that I have ever visited. However, perhaps the most impressive thing I witnessed at the Dubai Mall had nothing to do with shopping, but instead was the gigantic dinosaur I admired as I ate my cheesecake.

The diplodocus on display is the most intact and well-preserved diplodocus in the world. This particular diplodocus was unearthed in Wyoming in 2008 and virtually all of its bones are perfectly intact. The diplodocus was a vegetarian almost 80 feet in length and 25 feet high that mercilessly shredded the vegetation from tree-tops in a relentless search to satisfy its endless desires and appetites. Sounds like some of the shoppers I encountered in the Dubai Mall, come to think of it. Of course, this pea-brained creature could not have imagined 150 million years ago, when she met her death in a Wyoming quarry, that her afterlife would consist of having her remains grace the world's most opulent shopping center for the satisfaction of those us who think it might be a fine idea to munch down a piece of cheesecake at three in the afternoon. It just goes to show that anyone can be a late-bloomer and attain fame and notoriety even millions of years after one thinks their best days are in the rear-view window, with bones proudly on display in the atrium outside The Cheesecake Factory.

Connected by Biryani

Tonight some of our student life staff and Pakistani students made chicken biryani and a sweet carrot dish, the name of which was told to me several times, but as yet the name has not left a lasting imprint on my brain.

Each of our senses brings us pleasure, but perhaps no sense brings us greater joy on a daily basis than the sense of taste.

Taste is intricately tied to that which means much to us. What we taste can take us home more quickly than the fastest jet. Taste is celebration and it is memory. It can serve as a connection to people we love. It is ceremony and it is much of what sustains us. It is life itself.

I only had chicken biryani a few times in my life before I moved to Kyrgyzstan--it had been a dish with no more meaning than butterscotch pudding or kale salad or countless other dishes of no consequence to me. But since I've been here, I've eaten biryani several times. Each time I've had biryani here it has been made by people who I've shared my life with in this isolated place. Not only have the biryanis been delicious, but they also have been crafted with love and care. For those with whom I've shared biryani it's been remembrance of a faraway life and a link to what's held dear. For me, biryani has become special too as it will always remind me of a time and place and will, from now on, serve as a point of connection to people I've come to care about.

Rice. Chicken. Spice. That is the core of what biryani is. Yet, in my life now, it has become so much more.

My zenful vespers of the day

It is only a strainer filled with green leaf lettuce that has just been washed, dirt and grime scrubbed gently away from each smooth leaf. Green, slightly crisp, yet delicate. Added olive oil, vinegar, some spices, and carrot shavings. Nothing else. By December, meals like this will only be a memory, a desire, a dream. In my prior lives I thought nothing of a strainer filled with green leaf lettuce. But now as I savor each small leaf that passes my lips, I think of nothing more.