Tuesday, July 11, 2006
The Conspiracy
It was the middle of the summer and the Tashkent heat was unbearable. There are 40 days of the year in Uzbekistan called “chilla,” the hottest days of the summer. You are constantly dehydrated by the dry heat and one feels tempted to walk around carrying a parasol, since it’s a lot more bearable in the shade.
Every day, I’d go to the swimming pool during my lunch breaks. Those who either couldn’t afford the pool or didn’t have the time, would simply strip down and take a dunk in the public fountains all around the city.
Only at night is it bearable to be outside, but still it is hot. My air conditioner was on the fritz and so I went outside to the square downstairs to have a cigarette.
The square rather lively for a city that feels a bit desolate or sleepy, where the streets are for the most part quiet, lifeless, with little traffice, rarely a crowed.
It was a nice change to be around life and activity. I hadn't yet been told the significance of the square, but I knew in my heart that this was where gay people would congregate, if they existed in Uzbekistan.
The square, dense with trees and growth was poorly illuminated and I found an empty bench to smoke, watch people pass, watch boys and girls sitting together on other benches.
Soon, I wasn’t alone at my bench – three young men joined. Two sat, one stood. The one who stood seemed to be holding court before the other two and looked over at me imperiously. He looked Russian and spoke with his cohorts animatedly, loudly, rather effeminately. The whole party eyed me.
As always now, I was accustomed to all the attention I attracted. Though my Russian language skills weren't very good, I sensed that they were talking about me in front of my face. The standing one asked me for a light and smiled flirtatiously. He said, “can I ask you a question? Do you like men or women?”
“That’s a rather personal question,” I responded,”isn’t it? Which do you like?”
“Men, of course.”
“Well, I suppose that’s obvious.”
He threw me a catty look as his friends giggled. Of course, they asked where I was from. From the accent, it was obvious that I was a foreigner. Was I a tourist, they asked. I said no, that I lived here, that I'd been here for about one year.
“A year? And how come we haven’t seen you before?” Why should they have seen me before? I asked them Tashkent was a city of over 2 million people. Nonetheless, it did have the feel of a small village.
“Well, we haven’t seen you on the square, or at the banya or at the café…”
I told them I didn’t know about these places.
“Well, you are on the square right now.” He pointed at the restaurant with the blue domes across the park,”the café is right there.”
“And the banya?” I asked.
“It’s on Piyonerskaya street.”
“Don’t know about it.”
“Well, we can take you there on Saturday, if you like. But still you didn’t answer the question – do you prefer men or women?”
I smiled him a knowing smile and we all laughed, and formally introduced ourselves to each other. The one standing was Kiril. Timur, sitting down, was his cousin, and beside him, Oleg, was Timur's boyfriend. We would meet by the Cosmonaut metro station at 2pm on Saturday. I asked Kirill what he did for a living – and, can you guess what he was?
A hairdresser. Go figure… ¶ 6:48 PM
It was the middle of the summer and the Tashkent heat was unbearable. There are 40 days of the year in Uzbekistan called “chilla,” the hottest days of the summer. You are constantly dehydrated by the dry heat and one feels tempted to walk around carrying a parasol, since it’s a lot more bearable in the shade.
Every day, I’d go to the swimming pool during my lunch breaks. Those who either couldn’t afford the pool or didn’t have the time, would simply strip down and take a dunk in the public fountains all around the city.
Only at night is it bearable to be outside, but still it is hot. My air conditioner was on the fritz and so I went outside to the square downstairs to have a cigarette.
The square rather lively for a city that feels a bit desolate or sleepy, where the streets are for the most part quiet, lifeless, with little traffice, rarely a crowed.
It was a nice change to be around life and activity. I hadn't yet been told the significance of the square, but I knew in my heart that this was where gay people would congregate, if they existed in Uzbekistan.
The square, dense with trees and growth was poorly illuminated and I found an empty bench to smoke, watch people pass, watch boys and girls sitting together on other benches.
Soon, I wasn’t alone at my bench – three young men joined. Two sat, one stood. The one who stood seemed to be holding court before the other two and looked over at me imperiously. He looked Russian and spoke with his cohorts animatedly, loudly, rather effeminately. The whole party eyed me.
As always now, I was accustomed to all the attention I attracted. Though my Russian language skills weren't very good, I sensed that they were talking about me in front of my face. The standing one asked me for a light and smiled flirtatiously. He said, “can I ask you a question? Do you like men or women?”
“That’s a rather personal question,” I responded,”isn’t it? Which do you like?”
“Men, of course.”
“Well, I suppose that’s obvious.”
He threw me a catty look as his friends giggled. Of course, they asked where I was from. From the accent, it was obvious that I was a foreigner. Was I a tourist, they asked. I said no, that I lived here, that I'd been here for about one year.
“A year? And how come we haven’t seen you before?” Why should they have seen me before? I asked them Tashkent was a city of over 2 million people. Nonetheless, it did have the feel of a small village.
“Well, we haven’t seen you on the square, or at the banya or at the café…”
I told them I didn’t know about these places.
“Well, you are on the square right now.” He pointed at the restaurant with the blue domes across the park,”the café is right there.”
“And the banya?” I asked.
“It’s on Piyonerskaya street.”
“Don’t know about it.”
“Well, we can take you there on Saturday, if you like. But still you didn’t answer the question – do you prefer men or women?”
I smiled him a knowing smile and we all laughed, and formally introduced ourselves to each other. The one standing was Kiril. Timur, sitting down, was his cousin, and beside him, Oleg, was Timur's boyfriend. We would meet by the Cosmonaut metro station at 2pm on Saturday. I asked Kirill what he did for a living – and, can you guess what he was?
A hairdresser. Go figure… ¶ 6:48 PM
