Tajikistan

There was considerable confusion among travelers in the region, because in a few days Samarkand was set to host the SCO summit, where Putin, Modi, and Pooh Bear, among others, would convene. We heard that the entire city was about to be locked down and that the Tajik border had already been shut. Balls.

Jan zigged and I zagged. I tried my luck at the border, and was allowed to proceed with the warning that I would not be able to return anytime soon. That was fine by me. Hard to say why, but I didn't particularly enjoy Uzbekistan. Sadly, against my wishes, it would not be my last time there. 

After more Uzbek ball busting, I was through to the Tajik side. At passport control, a praying mantis and a moth rested on the camera tripod, seemingly unaware of each other’s presence. Two soldiers cracked jokes as they copied my documents with a scanner held together by tape and necessity. An open door wafted back and forth in the breeze. There was a lightness about this place, and nobody cared to inspect my bags. At the gate, a soldier chuckled when he saw that my speedometer reached 200km/h. He opened the gate and wished me what felt like a truly heartfelt welcome.

The transition was instantaneous, and I was enamored. Immaculate pavement, beautiful mountains, lush vegetation, salubrious weather, and hundreds of schoolchildren walking along the road in dapper uniforms. Within seconds I began receiving waves, thumbs up, whistles, shouts, and tractor honks. Only the dogs ignored me, for which I was thankful. I kept my music off for the rest of the day so that I could hear this mellifluent country. 

I enjoy it when borders coincide with something real, be it geography, climate, language, ethnicity, or demeanor. It’s like stepping between worlds, and I find it both revitalizing and quizzical. I noticed that here, for the first time ever, women joined in the salutations.

As more and more children stretched out their hands, curiosity got the best of me. And that’s when I learned that 50km/h makes for a rather potent high five. I took two in a row, which left quite a sting, but I chuckled at the thought of those kids nursing their sore palms. Never meet your heroes, kids.