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| Le marché couvert Eski à Andijan. |
I head to Andijan with a collective taxi and I settle in the first hotel I see. The Villa Ellegant Hostel is the best possible in his medium range. Recent, solid wood furnitures, two big beds, impeccable toilets, WIFI and all the DTT channels. The hotel looks like the avenue in which it is located. An architecture following the example of what is being built now in Uzbekistan, on a larger scale because Fergana is the richest region in the country and Andijan an important industrial area. Avenues with 3x2 lanes separated by unbridgeable railings shape the city. The new buildings have purple facades topped with crenels or with sharp windows. They house furniture, mobile, household appliances and clothes stores. Some luxurious buildings with big steps and Doric columns. Architecture of pastiche. Pastiche of Gothic, imitations of imitations, Greek temples and railroad stations. At the end of the avenue, a small bazar is more alive. Beyond this nouveau riche facade, is the real city, the one which has warped streets, aryks, pipes and houses where the people is living. At night, the avenues become ghostly because the brand new lampposts remain off.
Andijan, the city where was born Babour, descendant of Gengis-Khan and Tamerlan and father of the "Great Moghuls" which installed their sovereignty on the Indian subcontinent for two centuries. Like its neighbor Och, it knew bloody days in years recently. It was in May 2005 and the circumstances remain badly known. It began, as it was said, with demonstrations organized by a terrorist sect in order to demand the liberation of business managers imprisoned for radical Islamism. A few days later, prison of Andijan was attacked by a commando which released several hundred prisoners. Governmental buildings were also attacked. The disorders have continued. Special troops sent by Tashkent found themselves facing the demonstrators. The soldiers fired on the crowd with heavy machine guns. According to Amnesty International, there would have been several hundred victims including women and children. This version is defeated by Uzbek authorities which declare that no unarmed civilian was injured.
There are not many people in the big Navoy Park except some women sweeping tirelessly the pathes. Some merry-go-rounds in a corner, two chaykhanas, stopped water jets. In the old bazaar, which is on the other side of the big crossroads situated in the junction of Babour Avenue and Cholpon Avenue, I discover a small bike fair where mechanics are repairing old machines. That is amazing, in a country where the only cyclists that I saw were European tourists a bit crazy. Tourist is not the right word for these braves who cross on bicycle or on foot the dry territories of Turkey, Iran and Turkmenistan under a blazing sun. What could be more vulnerable than a young cyclist exhausted on a deserted road ? Far for arousing hostile attitudes, on the contrary, this vulnerability protects them and the autochthon people are generally hospitable. They bring a little bit of freshness and of escapist in the isolated villages where they halt.
In a storefront, enormous oxen heads cut close the neckline are exhibited. A way of giving the desire to become vegetarian. A man offers me pumpkin mantis. The weather is moderated and the sky is veiled. The women also. The Babour Literary Museum (the Moghul emperor was also a writer and a poet) is in works. In this district, there are lots of constructional works in progress. Whole streets are under construction and the workers are busy everywhere as if they have to build a new Babylon. The Literary Museum is housed in a classic medersa, built in the 18th century on the site of the royal residence, with its cells, its central yard and its pond. A man is cooking the plov for the workers.
My crop of tapshans is poor. I sometimes see them, I guess them, when I walk in the real city. Doors are often half-opened but a curtain is drawn across the entrance so that the yard stays out of sight of the passers-
Andijan, the city where was born Babour, descendant of Gengis-Khan and Tamerlan and father of the "Great Moghuls" which installed their sovereignty on the Indian subcontinent for two centuries. Like its neighbor Och, it knew bloody days in years recently. It was in May 2005 and the circumstances remain badly known. It began, as it was said, with demonstrations organized by a terrorist sect in order to demand the liberation of business managers imprisoned for radical Islamism. A few days later, prison of Andijan was attacked by a commando which released several hundred prisoners. Governmental buildings were also attacked. The disorders have continued. Special troops sent by Tashkent found themselves facing the demonstrators. The soldiers fired on the crowd with heavy machine guns. According to Amnesty International, there would have been several hundred victims including women and children. This version is defeated by Uzbek authorities which declare that no unarmed civilian was injured.
There are not many people in the big Navoy Park except some women sweeping tirelessly the pathes. Some merry-go-rounds in a corner, two chaykhanas, stopped water jets. In the old bazaar, which is on the other side of the big crossroads situated in the junction of Babour Avenue and Cholpon Avenue, I discover a small bike fair where mechanics are repairing old machines. That is amazing, in a country where the only cyclists that I saw were European tourists a bit crazy. Tourist is not the right word for these braves who cross on bicycle or on foot the dry territories of Turkey, Iran and Turkmenistan under a blazing sun. What could be more vulnerable than a young cyclist exhausted on a deserted road ? Far for arousing hostile attitudes, on the contrary, this vulnerability protects them and the autochthon people are generally hospitable. They bring a little bit of freshness and of escapist in the isolated villages where they halt.
In a storefront, enormous oxen heads cut close the neckline are exhibited. A way of giving the desire to become vegetarian. A man offers me pumpkin mantis. The weather is moderated and the sky is veiled. The women also. The Babour Literary Museum (the Moghul emperor was also a writer and a poet) is in works. In this district, there are lots of constructional works in progress. Whole streets are under construction and the workers are busy everywhere as if they have to build a new Babylon. The Literary Museum is housed in a classic medersa, built in the 18th century on the site of the royal residence, with its cells, its central yard and its pond. A man is cooking the plov for the workers.
My crop of tapshans is poor. I sometimes see them, I guess them, when I walk in the real city. Doors are often half-opened but a curtain is drawn across the entrance so that the yard stays out of sight of the passers-
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| Dans le parc Navoï. |
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| Chaïkhana dans le parc Navoï. |
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| Homme préparant le plov dans la cour du musée littéraire Babour, ancienne médersa de la résidence royale de Babour, rue Bazernaya. |
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| Maison à proximité de la mosquée Jumi. |
More photos Fergana
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