KHUJAND, TAJIKISTAN: A MARKET (THE 99%) AND A PALACE (THE 1%)

Our final two stops in Khujand were a contrast in economics. 

The first stop was a good representation of the Tajik masses, the 99%. We were dropped off in front of this huge city square:

Like lace on the hem of a dress, these delicate mosques edged the broad expanse. Unfortunately, we did not have time to explore them:

There were lots of children in tow, and we noticed something here we had seen in Kazakhstan: child-sized motorized cars for rent, like a carnival ride but without any tracks or fencing. It looked like a young kid's dream:


This square serves as the entrance to Panjshanbe Market, Khujand's main shopping area:

Just about everything you can imagine, and just about everything a local resident needs, is found at this market, from cumin seed to lingerie. The (mostly) tantalizing smells, the cacophonous bustling, the flavorful dishes, and the crowded stalls created a bit of sensory overload.

Khujand was a major stop on the ancient Silk Road, so a market has existed here for centuries. In the mid-20th century, however, a dome-covered pavilion was built to shield some of the vendors from the relentless sun:

A tree trunk is used as a chopping block in a butcher's stall:

Flies were feasting, unmolested by the stall tenders, on vegetable salads that had been sitting out all day--and maybe longer--in plastic bowls. This is not food for tourists:

However, I was okay with sampling the dried fruits and nuts, a staple of every market in the Middle East and Asia that we've ever been to:

Flat disks of bread being carted around in what looked like rusty wheelbarrows seemed like a safe option too, but by this time in the trip, we were not remotely tempted by their dry, flavorless bread:

I thought this woman had a creative way to sell her candied apples: from an old baby buggy:

People pictures are always my favorite pictures, and the next few are my best from the market. I gestured with my camera to ask this woman if I could take her picture. She nodded and obligingly held up her wares for a photo. I love her eclectic combination of clothing:

Up close, she is very beautiful. I wish I knew what she was thinking--or even just a little more about her life:

This old man pointed to Bob's hair and to his own beard, and then insisted on posing for a picture. Perhaps he saw Bob as a kindred spirit, or maybe he was suggesting Bob grow a beard. Who knows?

There is something for everyone in the market. It was interesting to see the the Fidget craze has hit even the markets of Tajikistan:

The West has definitely stretched its sticky fingers into Central Asia:

We went from the market, teeming with humanity from all walks of life, to the Arbob Cultural Palace, a refined site that caters to the upper echelons of Tajik society--the 1%. It was a pretty dramatic contrast. The palace was modeled after Peterhof in St. Petersburg, Russia:

The approach to the palace includes extravagant fountains and elaborate gardens:

It was at this building that the Tajik Soviet declared independence from the Soviet Union in 1992. The new symbol of Tajikistan gets its own monument (shown to us here by our guide Yulia):

The well-groomed grounds are a popular place for wedding photos:

Looking down on the grounds from the entrance to the palace:

The entrance is flanked by large pictures of Ismail Somoni, the father of Tajikistan, and Emomali Rahmon, the current president of the country (since 1992):

This building was constructed in the 1950s to be (ironically) the headquarters of a Soviet collective farm. This is not what I would have guessed the purpose of the building was, and I'm assuming not too many farmers entered this splendorous main lobby:

A grand theater that seats 800 is the centerpiece of the palace. The light blue and white color scheme looks like Wedgwood pottery:

My favorite things in the palace were the bright, ornately-patterned ceilings that were in almost every room:

Part of the Palace has been turned into a museum that reflects nostalgically on the Soviet "period" (never called "rule" or "occupation"). These dioramas depict a "typical" collectivist home, but it looks like a pretty romanticized version to me::

Many exhibits pay homage to the happy days of Soviet rule. The cheerful faces below must be some of the Soviet leadership in the area. I asked the museum guide who the one woman in the center was. She said something about women who picked cotton or who had 10-15 children getting awards. Is this women one of them? It didn't seem like a probable answer to me . . . 

. . . because the man at the top, whose name is Urukhojaev, was the provincial governor who had this palace built. Apparently he weighed in at 390 pounds or so, a sizable weight to throw around, right?

Here is The Big Guy's office. Based on the photo behind the desk, it looks like the palace used to be a rose color:

Every country has its propaganda, including the United States (check out any Presidential Library), but the Soviet propaganda is especially fun, and there was plenty to be seen in the Arbob Palace:

And that ended our single day in Tajikistan. It was time to head back to the train for a return trip to Uzbekistan.

I took some pictures from the train window of the endless cotton fields. Tajikistan is a very poor country and industrial machinery is not commonly available. Most of the fieldwork, including harvesting the cotton, is done by hand. In fact, our guide told us that 85-90% of the cotton is hand-picked. A third of the population lives below the poverty level, and many, if not most, of those are agricultural workers.

These scenes remind me of paintings of slaves picking cotton in the South:

Their work results in this massive pile of cotton:

It's a very different life for these people who live alongside the train tracks than the life of relative luxury that I live. It's humbling to be reminded of that.