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| Repas sur le tapchane à la gastinitsa avec Bakhtyior, Sobir et Shukrat. |
Wednesday, August 29th. After having spent a few days in Tashkent, I am this time in the night train to Denau, in the South of the country. With me, in the passenger space, a woman and a little child. Bad pick. Certainly, the child is going to cry all night long and prevent me sleeping.
I wake up the following morning at six a.m. after a good night's sleep set to the rhythm of the repeated clatters of the train pulled by two locomotives diesel, one ahead, one behind. Small Bakthyior did not cry. We cross slowly a narrow, steep-sided gorge, through dry mountains, forming an impressive canyon. Is it there the famous Iron gates of the Hissar range, near whiches stayed in a rich caravanserail Ruy Gonzáles de Clavijo, sent in 1403 by king of Castile in embassy to Tamerlan ? In its Narrative of the Embassy of Ruy Gonzalez de Clavijo to the Court of Timour at Samarcand, Clavijo evokes an oral tradition according to which the wall would have been covered with iron and claims that these gates formed a border with a customs post of which Tamerlan made a kind of toll. The fact remains it will not be long before we arrive in Derbent, whose etymology of the name is linked to the notion of barrier. The mother and the child wake up as well and we share our meagre provisions, hard-boiled eggs, bread, biscuits. We drink some tea with hot water from the samovar. Uniform landscapes. Steppe vegetation. Sometimes some basic houses, a village, herds of goats. In what lost village, full of dust and burning stones, have you sent me, Nargiza ? As if he wanted to show me that the choice of my friend is appropriate, the train travels now a green valley where a village grew up following the whim of a stream. The ticket inspector make me understand that I have to go out there. Nargiza had told me that the manager of the gastinitsa would come and pick me up. We are few on the platform. Two men just got off another car come to join me. Natives of Samarcande where they teach German, they go to the gastinitsa whose the boss is a friend. A third man will soon appears. Sobir is the brother of the manager who is away for several days, and so he himself drives us to the great house situated in an unsurfaced street which rises the mountain. Four tapschans awaits us in the garden. The rooms are Spartan but pleasant. Thin mattresses on the floor act as beds. We are immediately invited to sit on one the tapshans for tea.
The men who arrived with me, Shukrat and Bakhtyior, came to help for the construction of the new house for Suhrob, another brother of the manager. Everyone shows kind and gentl to me. After noon, the young Sharizob, the last one with red hair of the brothers in this black-capped siblings, leads us, the two professors and I, for a visit in the village. The walls of houses in cob or adobe blend well with the mountainous landscape. During a long time, we follow a road which penetrates in the mountain by accompanying the river up to a small gaseous geyser which shakes the water. The aquatic plants around the spring are covered with a whitish foam. I am invited to drink of this water because my health is at stake. Bénéficial or not, it has a mephitic taste. Farther, children are swimming. Here, apple trees and a whole luxuriant vegetation bring some freshness. Shukrat sings with a soft and harmonious voice, sometimes slightly guttural. We meet women accompanying donkeys loaded with wood and greenfeed. The red color of the rock cuts a contrast with the blue of the sky.
I wake up the following morning at six a.m. after a good night's sleep set to the rhythm of the repeated clatters of the train pulled by two locomotives diesel, one ahead, one behind. Small Bakthyior did not cry. We cross slowly a narrow, steep-sided gorge, through dry mountains, forming an impressive canyon. Is it there the famous Iron gates of the Hissar range, near whiches stayed in a rich caravanserail Ruy Gonzáles de Clavijo, sent in 1403 by king of Castile in embassy to Tamerlan ? In its Narrative of the Embassy of Ruy Gonzalez de Clavijo to the Court of Timour at Samarcand, Clavijo evokes an oral tradition according to which the wall would have been covered with iron and claims that these gates formed a border with a customs post of which Tamerlan made a kind of toll. The fact remains it will not be long before we arrive in Derbent, whose etymology of the name is linked to the notion of barrier. The mother and the child wake up as well and we share our meagre provisions, hard-boiled eggs, bread, biscuits. We drink some tea with hot water from the samovar. Uniform landscapes. Steppe vegetation. Sometimes some basic houses, a village, herds of goats. In what lost village, full of dust and burning stones, have you sent me, Nargiza ? As if he wanted to show me that the choice of my friend is appropriate, the train travels now a green valley where a village grew up following the whim of a stream. The ticket inspector make me understand that I have to go out there. Nargiza had told me that the manager of the gastinitsa would come and pick me up. We are few on the platform. Two men just got off another car come to join me. Natives of Samarcande where they teach German, they go to the gastinitsa whose the boss is a friend. A third man will soon appears. Sobir is the brother of the manager who is away for several days, and so he himself drives us to the great house situated in an unsurfaced street which rises the mountain. Four tapschans awaits us in the garden. The rooms are Spartan but pleasant. Thin mattresses on the floor act as beds. We are immediately invited to sit on one the tapshans for tea.
The men who arrived with me, Shukrat and Bakhtyior, came to help for the construction of the new house for Suhrob, another brother of the manager. Everyone shows kind and gentl to me. After noon, the young Sharizob, the last one with red hair of the brothers in this black-capped siblings, leads us, the two professors and I, for a visit in the village. The walls of houses in cob or adobe blend well with the mountainous landscape. During a long time, we follow a road which penetrates in the mountain by accompanying the river up to a small gaseous geyser which shakes the water. The aquatic plants around the spring are covered with a whitish foam. I am invited to drink of this water because my health is at stake. Bénéficial or not, it has a mephitic taste. Farther, children are swimming. Here, apple trees and a whole luxuriant vegetation bring some freshness. Shukrat sings with a soft and harmonious voice, sometimes slightly guttural. We meet women accompanying donkeys loaded with wood and greenfeed. The red color of the rock cuts a contrast with the blue of the sky.
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| Petit matin sur le tapchane de la gastinitsa de Shavkat à Derbent. |
After coming back at the gastinitsa, we have a dinner with plov and chachliks accompanied with tea and vodka.
- "Chista", outlines Shukrat.
Thus, pure is the vodka, which means that it is not always the case. The brothers are in mourning for their father, died recently, and that is why they do not drink alcohol. Sobir wears the skullcap of the deceased. The women have dinner with each other with an old man, a servant. One of them, the woman of Suhrob, is a young mom who breast-feeds a baby. Tall, a fine and perfect face, wearing a long dark dress, she is so pretty.
Saturday morning. Birdsongs, distant barks, donkeys braying, sighs of Shukrat who sleeps next to me. The entire household except the young couple sleeps on tapchanes. That of the women and the children is protected by a white opaque canvas. Sweetness of the air. In the wee hours of morning, everybody wakes up in the yard. The first up is the mother of the siblings. She pads along the paths of the garden. The young woman takes care of children, throws buckets of water on the concrete terrace, sweeps the dirt floor. It is also her who will put down, in our intention, a teapot on the nearby tapshan. The tradition forbids her to approach the foreigners. Today is the Independence day. I am invited to the school party where the children look at me with curiosity. The most fearlesses shake my hand me and strut in front of me as if I was a local star. They dressed their small three-piece suit of a glossed dark, a white shirt, and polished shoes. The girls wear furbelow dresses, bows in the hair, ankle-socks and small patent shoes. A sound system was installed, fed by a generator because the electricity is not continuously guaranteed. Speech of the director, music, dances.
Sobir takes me to the place where he wants to build his own house. It is a pleasant garden, along the river. There are apple trees, walnuts and a donkey. At the branches of a tall votive tree are tied some pieces of children's clothes.
- This tree is two centuries old, explains me Sobir. When a child cries too much, we bring him here, the mullah says some verses of the Koran and the child stops crying. We tie then a new piece of cloth from the child's garment to a branch.
He pulls me towards the part of the village situated in the valley, where is the road to Denau and the railroad. Few shops, a small grocery, some stalls. Two old men are discussing on a tapchane into what might be called a river-side chaikhana. We head up to the mountain for climbing in a deeply scarped gorget where water cascades. The rock is shaped by erosion. We climb a rock face by helping us with a cable firmly fixed to the rock and with a doubtful ladder but which stands on. Sobir was born in Derbent. When he was a child, he came to graze goats in the mountain. He knows all the tracks. By getting back to the village, he pulls me to a friend who builds himself too a new house with big concrete blocks. A girl rocks a newborn in her arms.
A new night on the tapshan. Paris, New Year. By car with a couple of friends. My friend's wife prefers to wait in the car near Barbes while he and I go where things happen. But the party already ends and it is only possible to drink one glass of champagne at the Architectes House. My friend would like to continue the party elsewhere but I am not very keen on. I go away for a moment and when I return, he is in lively talks with individuals whom he seems to know. These, apparently irritated, load him in the trunk of their car and disappear. I do not know what to do. I have to warn my friend's wife but I do not know how to contact her. I would have to call somebody who knows somebody who knows. Nargiza knows Nafisa who knows Gulya who knows Gisele but I have problems getting connected to the Nargiza's number, because telephone links, here, in Derbent are really too bad.
- "Chista", outlines Shukrat.
Thus, pure is the vodka, which means that it is not always the case. The brothers are in mourning for their father, died recently, and that is why they do not drink alcohol. Sobir wears the skullcap of the deceased. The women have dinner with each other with an old man, a servant. One of them, the woman of Suhrob, is a young mom who breast-feeds a baby. Tall, a fine and perfect face, wearing a long dark dress, she is so pretty.
Saturday morning. Birdsongs, distant barks, donkeys braying, sighs of Shukrat who sleeps next to me. The entire household except the young couple sleeps on tapchanes. That of the women and the children is protected by a white opaque canvas. Sweetness of the air. In the wee hours of morning, everybody wakes up in the yard. The first up is the mother of the siblings. She pads along the paths of the garden. The young woman takes care of children, throws buckets of water on the concrete terrace, sweeps the dirt floor. It is also her who will put down, in our intention, a teapot on the nearby tapshan. The tradition forbids her to approach the foreigners. Today is the Independence day. I am invited to the school party where the children look at me with curiosity. The most fearlesses shake my hand me and strut in front of me as if I was a local star. They dressed their small three-piece suit of a glossed dark, a white shirt, and polished shoes. The girls wear furbelow dresses, bows in the hair, ankle-socks and small patent shoes. A sound system was installed, fed by a generator because the electricity is not continuously guaranteed. Speech of the director, music, dances.
Sobir takes me to the place where he wants to build his own house. It is a pleasant garden, along the river. There are apple trees, walnuts and a donkey. At the branches of a tall votive tree are tied some pieces of children's clothes.
- This tree is two centuries old, explains me Sobir. When a child cries too much, we bring him here, the mullah says some verses of the Koran and the child stops crying. We tie then a new piece of cloth from the child's garment to a branch.
He pulls me towards the part of the village situated in the valley, where is the road to Denau and the railroad. Few shops, a small grocery, some stalls. Two old men are discussing on a tapchane into what might be called a river-side chaikhana. We head up to the mountain for climbing in a deeply scarped gorget where water cascades. The rock is shaped by erosion. We climb a rock face by helping us with a cable firmly fixed to the rock and with a doubtful ladder but which stands on. Sobir was born in Derbent. When he was a child, he came to graze goats in the mountain. He knows all the tracks. By getting back to the village, he pulls me to a friend who builds himself too a new house with big concrete blocks. A girl rocks a newborn in her arms.
A new night on the tapshan. Paris, New Year. By car with a couple of friends. My friend's wife prefers to wait in the car near Barbes while he and I go where things happen. But the party already ends and it is only possible to drink one glass of champagne at the Architectes House. My friend would like to continue the party elsewhere but I am not very keen on. I go away for a moment and when I return, he is in lively talks with individuals whom he seems to know. These, apparently irritated, load him in the trunk of their car and disappear. I do not know what to do. I have to warn my friend's wife but I do not know how to contact her. I would have to call somebody who knows somebody who knows. Nargiza knows Nafisa who knows Gulya who knows Gisele but I have problems getting connected to the Nargiza's number, because telephone links, here, in Derbent are really too bad.
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| Jeune fille et enfant dans son berceau dans la maison d'un ami de Sobir. |
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| Deux aksakals sur un tapchane. |
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| Tapchane dans une maison isolée à la sortie de Derbent. |
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| Femmes et enfants rassemblés pour la fête de l'Indépendance. |
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