Uzbekistan – May 2014

This has been a common response throughout Central Asia. Looking for some relief from the heat and ask in a restaurant if they have air conditioning: “Yes, we have it, but it doesn’t work.” Surprised there’s no hot water in the hotel’s shower, so you call the front desk to inquire about the hot water: “Yes, we have it, but it doesn’t work.”

In Tashkent, we’re staying the Hotel Uzbekistan, a 17-story monolith of a hotel built in a classic Soviet style. It was once a grand hotel that has fallen into some disrepair, though renovations are underway, and our room is fortunately one of the few that have been renovated. Its reception area is still grand and full service, so I figure this will not be a phrase we come across here. I am correct, though other issues arise.

First, when I head to the hotel’s money exchange, the woman assisting me asks, “Are you sure you can spend it all? You can’t use it outside of the country.” I assure the concerned woman I am traveling with my wife, so I’m spending for two. “But are you sure? You can’t spend it outside of the country.” I assure her again before she reluctantly hands me a large stack of bills.

It should be noted that at the time, the largest bill in circulation is the 1000 Uzbekistani so’m note, which is worth about 25 cents in U.S. dollars. There is a new 5000 so’m note, worth $1.25, but they are rare. This means that nearly every transaction involves stacks of bills. If you’ve just exchanged $100 as I have, you end up with four-hundred 1000 so’m notes, which are then divided among several envelopes and assorted hiding places. Every meal has involved at least three currency counts: one by myself, a second count by my wife, and one last count by the waiter or waitress.

The front of the hotel is lined with taxi drivers who don’t seem to want to go anywhere. Give them a destination and they either tell you they don’t go there or quote an extortionate price and don’t seem too upset when you turn them down. This situation is not unique to the hotel. When trying to return from an outing to a distant madrasa, not one taxi stops for us as we try to flag them from the street. Fortunately, a local pulls over and asks where we’re headed and quotes a reasonable price back to our hotel.

At the airport, I point to rows of Russian “Coke” behind the shopkeeper and ask for a cola. “No cola, only tea or water,” I am told. The year before, Coca-Cola disappeared from the shelves in Uzbekistan due to a scandal involving a company linked to the president’s daughter, though Russian substitutes can be found. I then head to a bar where I can grab a Pepsi and use up some remaining Uzbekistani so’m and am told: “Sorry, no so’m. Only euros or dollars.” Don’t tell the woman at the hotel I’m going to be leaving the country with a few so’m left over or she make not give any to the next guest looking to exchange money.

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A version of this travel tale was included in my collection, Can’t Get Here from There: Fifty Tales of Travel. Buy it on Amazon.

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