The mission in Tajikistan was, let's say, resizing.
Because of Olaf.
Olaf is not a handsome viking guy asking for raw meat for dinner, is the European Anti-Fraud Office, and sometimes, even if you are clean like a baby butt, it comes like a ride of Valkyries, scaring everybody to hell.
Anyway, there was this car which supposed to move from the Tajik to the new opened Afghan mission.
We drove up to the border. the Amu Darya river. A full day driving. We were in two cars, one to come back.
The border was crossed by a barge, active only up to 5 p.m.
We arrived at quarter to five, but the queue was long, so we found a place to stay in the night. In Dusti.
Dusti means 'friend'. How romantic.Recalling other times, when USSR was a powerful and then vociferous speaker of global brotherhood.
In fact there was a huge and decadent hotel, named 'Dusti', after the city or the ideology.
Completely empty and freezing. Not only for the winter Tajik climate average temperature.
Huge buildings, that Russians were not able to build bohemian flats, whit golden decoration and crumbling proletarian massive frescoes in the shadows, whit no more water in the copper pipes and only an arranged hanging yellow bulb to watch your steps.
Lysis and washed carpets, unpredictable roofs.
I remember a salon in the first floor so huge that the two person playing snooker so far there in the corner, under a exhausted bulb, looked small and indefinable like a dream of other times.
in the whole building, was only one room left for hospitality purposes. Filled with couches and sofas of different ages, styles and dimensions. So filled that you had no space to walk in it. You just left your shoes at the door and then started climbing and dodging though a soft sloppy cushion to a hard wood chip filled one.
That was our room.
An old woman brought us two blankets each, without feeling the necessity of a word, and plugged a old electrical stove.
It was freezing.
Some of the pillow were icy crunchy. The windows were so frozen that ready to break for a blow.
We were tired. So tired. and we just picked up a couch each and though the blankets over us.
Uh-oh! I have to pee.
Ok, let's think about something else.
Oh-no, I really have to pee.
And the latrine was outside in the courtyard. and the stairs were dark and more: abandoned. And the soil outside was so frozen that the steps were noising like a cicada in a grass field, and the latrine was...full.
Full. So full that the frozen poo mountain was almost collapsing all around like a Tim Burton sculpture. So full that I was wondering what will be of this people living there. Were they were going to poo in the next months.
I pee outside in courtyard. Was nobody, anyway, around. Russian emptiness. The one described in the Dostoevsky novels.
And then back to the room.
The head under the blankets, to not waste your human warmth, and trying to sleep.
Ah, my breath is worm. My feet are not shaking anymore. I feel better. I feel relaxed. Finally in bed.
Oh! I'm still shaking...wait! That's not me! What the hell! INTRUDERS!
A huge malnourished five KG rat was disturbed by my presence in HIS bed.
Holy Jez...but he decided to run away and find another place.
What the hell...but let's try to forget and sleep, let's think about a warn room, whit soft sofas and pillows, a good book and a glass of good red wine, classical music and a crackling fireplace...too smoky. Far to smoky. I can't breath!
The electrical stove, proved by the effort being plugged, was in fire.
What a terrible night in Dusti.
Because of Olaf.
Olaf is not a handsome viking guy asking for raw meat for dinner, is the European Anti-Fraud Office, and sometimes, even if you are clean like a baby butt, it comes like a ride of Valkyries, scaring everybody to hell.
Anyway, there was this car which supposed to move from the Tajik to the new opened Afghan mission.
We drove up to the border. the Amu Darya river. A full day driving. We were in two cars, one to come back.
The border was crossed by a barge, active only up to 5 p.m.
We arrived at quarter to five, but the queue was long, so we found a place to stay in the night. In Dusti.
Dusti means 'friend'. How romantic.Recalling other times, when USSR was a powerful and then vociferous speaker of global brotherhood.
In fact there was a huge and decadent hotel, named 'Dusti', after the city or the ideology.
Completely empty and freezing. Not only for the winter Tajik climate average temperature.
Huge buildings, that Russians were not able to build bohemian flats, whit golden decoration and crumbling proletarian massive frescoes in the shadows, whit no more water in the copper pipes and only an arranged hanging yellow bulb to watch your steps.
Lysis and washed carpets, unpredictable roofs.
I remember a salon in the first floor so huge that the two person playing snooker so far there in the corner, under a exhausted bulb, looked small and indefinable like a dream of other times.
in the whole building, was only one room left for hospitality purposes. Filled with couches and sofas of different ages, styles and dimensions. So filled that you had no space to walk in it. You just left your shoes at the door and then started climbing and dodging though a soft sloppy cushion to a hard wood chip filled one.
That was our room.
An old woman brought us two blankets each, without feeling the necessity of a word, and plugged a old electrical stove.
It was freezing.
Some of the pillow were icy crunchy. The windows were so frozen that ready to break for a blow.
We were tired. So tired. and we just picked up a couch each and though the blankets over us.
Uh-oh! I have to pee.
Ok, let's think about something else.
Oh-no, I really have to pee.
And the latrine was outside in the courtyard. and the stairs were dark and more: abandoned. And the soil outside was so frozen that the steps were noising like a cicada in a grass field, and the latrine was...full.
Full. So full that the frozen poo mountain was almost collapsing all around like a Tim Burton sculpture. So full that I was wondering what will be of this people living there. Were they were going to poo in the next months.
I pee outside in courtyard. Was nobody, anyway, around. Russian emptiness. The one described in the Dostoevsky novels.
And then back to the room.
The head under the blankets, to not waste your human warmth, and trying to sleep.
Ah, my breath is worm. My feet are not shaking anymore. I feel better. I feel relaxed. Finally in bed.
Oh! I'm still shaking...wait! That's not me! What the hell! INTRUDERS!
A huge malnourished five KG rat was disturbed by my presence in HIS bed.
Holy Jez...but he decided to run away and find another place.
What the hell...but let's try to forget and sleep, let's think about a warn room, whit soft sofas and pillows, a good book and a glass of good red wine, classical music and a crackling fireplace...too smoky. Far to smoky. I can't breath!
The electrical stove, proved by the effort being plugged, was in fire.
What a terrible night in Dusti.
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| building large mosaic on the way. I think the subject is justin bieber |
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