By Tom Wheeler, Ankara, Turkey
The camel caravans have moved back and forth several times along the Silk Road since we were last heard
Kyrgyzstan
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| Tom was received in the Birch Room, which is dominated by a gigantic painting of a Kyrgyz yurt |
Last time we clocked in with Meintjeskop Ditaba. Nowetu Luti and I were waiting with our camels ready at the starting line to head for Bishkek in Kyrgyzstan for the presentation of credentials.
The call came in November last year. We spent three hectic days in a city, which changed from mild and dry to snow-bedecked overnight.
The credentials ceremony was memorable for the true warmth of the reception from President Asker Akaev, known as the most democratically inclined of the Central Asian presidents.
We were received in the Birch Room, which is dominated by a gigantic painting of a Kyrgyz yurt, the family tent of Central Asia's nomadic herdsmen and on the opposite wall another with a breathtaking view of the Tien Shan mountain range
Of Human Relations
The rather routine visit was livened up by two events. Firstly when we arrived back at our hotel I discovered that I must have put my room key in the overcoat of the American Ambassador, a feminist of fearsome reputation. Secondly I received the following letter by express courier after my return to Ankara
"Greetings from Bishkek!!!!!!!! How do you do Mr Whiller? How is your day going on? Very busy? Do you remember that lady whom you met at the embassy in Bishkek, that's me, Svetlana. Briefly Sveta. I'm writing because I have a great desire to meet you, just to sit and look at your eyes. Is it possible or not? When I met you at our embassy you seemed to be the true person who will understand my perceptive, delicate heart and soul. Will you visit Bishkek again?"
Not surprisingly I am not hurrying back to Bishkek
Other impressions
The event that has stuck in Nowetu's mind related to the fact that President Demirel of Turkey was in Bishkek at the same time, tending his Turkic flock.
Not surprisingly the only reasonable (Turkish constructed) hotel was running alive with Turkish Ministers, businessmen' and, of course, security officers. All this proved. too much for the hotel elevators and we found from out in the deserts of Central Asia ourselves suspended-stuck in the lift shaft. For once I was happy some one in close proximity had a cellphone.
A security official in our intimate group barked into his cellphone and after a while we were laboriously lowered to the basement where technicians released us from our claustrophobic confinement.
Unlike the Uzbeks, the Kyrgyz have not removed the visible traces of their colonial history. The National Museum is still dominated by gigantic idealised statues of the happy Soviet Worker, while the gifts of world leaders to Asker Akaev are displayed in a modest side gallery. Also there are no portraits of Akaev on the streets, unlike the Turkmenistan case.
There is still much to explore in Kyrgyzstan, like Lake Issyk-Kyl, a mountain lake which never freezes and is rivaled in size only by Lake Titikaka in Bolivia. But sadly, at the time of writing, this poor, remote but well run country, is faced with violent invasion by Uzbek Islamic fundamentalist rebels from Tajikistan.
But that is another post-Soviet story too complex to explain here.
Uzbekistan
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| Tom Wheeler .... yes, that is a real gold bar |
A question of Personal Space
Even the arrival in Tashkent was eventful. You must understand that the camel (Turkish Airlines flight from Istanbul) arrives at 5h30 local time after a night lost and a hotel bed charge saved for the Department.
The airport systems are rapidly being brought up to current international standards except that in the VIP/Business Class arrival hall, the baggage takes hours-literally-to arrive.
To keep our spirits up we engaged in some lively talk. And if you know Michael Timcke, our Man in Tashkent, when I say lively I mean lively - loud. Suddenly we were confronted by an irate gentleman, who was not taking the delay as calmly as we were. "Ambassador",
he exploded "You are intruding on my space. Please be quiet". Instead there was even more noise as everybody burst into laughter speculating on who he was.
Over the next few days we found ourselves constantly in the company of the non-resident Finnish Ambassador to the Central Asian States (the gentleman who silenced us at the VIP Lounge), in the hotel lobby, at the commemoration ceremonies- and hastily turned the other way. We did learn that the Uzbeks had taken him to the grandstand at 14hOO for an event that started at 18hOO. They must have been on our side.
After a spectacular performance featuring aspects of national culture and tableaux recording the history from time immemorial, we departed for Khiva, an ancient seat of one of the Emirs deposed in 1873 by Imperial Russia when the Czar's armies swept through Central Asia.
Today it is a monument city restored with the help of UNESCO, but it is a lifeless place, just a museum to its previous blood- soaked former glory.
The real activity is in nearby Urgench, administrative seat of Khorezm Province.
When the Governor learnt of our presence at the local festivities we became instant guests of honour at his Independence Day Banquet.
After several toasts in vodka to everlasting and sincere friendship and several performances by troupes of local traditional dancers, the Governor declared that it was time for the South African Ambassador and his party to entertain his guests. So we found ourselves inside the horseshoe table engaged in a bit of hands-on diplomacy, doing the Dance of the Bashful Bride with the local lovelies.
But such liberties could not continue and the next stop was at the biggest hole in the world. No, the Big Hole at Kimberley no longer rates that epithet. The opencast mine six kilometres across at Zarafshan in the Kyzylkum Desert now claims that doubtful accolade. Zarafshan was a secret city, which served the Soviet uranium and gold mines in the desert. It is told that shortly after independence even the new Uzbek President, Islam Karimov was denied access.
At the clanking, kilometre long ancient ore-processing works, Michael Timcke and I were allowed into the treasury and I had my photo taken holding a gold bar worth several million dollars. Within a very short time I was presented with a 1999 calendar with my own image on it weighed down by the gold and the responsibility. Antiquated and leading technology functioning unconsciously side by side. Down the road Newmont Mining was extracting the gold the kilometre-Iong plant had missed and making a good profit. Much of what has been erected was done by South African engineers and technicians with South African equipment.
Tajikistan
From the time I arrived in Ankara, Andre de Munnik told me that Tajikistan was a good place to keep away from. Violence and mayhem are the daily diet. The American Ambassador to Dunshanbe lives hundreds of kilometres away in Almaty in Kazakhstan.
But things changed when we were told by Michael Timcke that a South African owned and operated (but British registered) mine had started up at Penjikent in Northwest Tajikistan. The South African families at the mine site, called Zerafshan, were having difficulties moving between the mine and the outside world through Samarkand and Tashkent in Uzbekistan.
There was nothing for it but to pay them a visit to lift their morale and show to the Uzbek and Tajik authorities our interest in the matter and did so in May this year. The mine lies on the northern slopes of the western end of the Tien Shan range, cut off by 3000 metre mountain passes from the capital Dushanbe and from Khojand (formerly Leninabad) region, South of Tashkent. So, also presumably from Islamist violent insurrection against the government.
The area contained some of the most incredible mountain and lake scenery (see the photo). Nowetu also got a taste. of what the gold mine she aspires so much to manage, would really be like.
Tashkent
But it was time to go back to the sophistication of Tashkent for the opening at the Uzbekistan National Gallery of Art of the SANTAM International Children's Art Exhibition.
That night was the biggest event in town, with a string quartet from the State Symphony Orchestra in attendance, South African wines flowing and the worthies from the Academy of Arts all there to make long speeches.
Somi Nkonyeni liked the place so much she declared in favour of moving the Embassy from Ankara to Tashkent. I must say she looked smashing in her multicoloured Uzbek silk dress, off the shelf from the local GUM-SUM store.
The High Speed Camel
Having hardly got over the shock of the earthquake in Turkey which rattled the heavy mirror on the wall of my bedroom and shook the bed under me in my 15th floor official residence, but did no further damage, we learnt that the first high-level official visit to Turkey from Pretoria in two years was about to take place at the end August.
Only six and a half days, including a week-end were available. The programme planned and executed called for visits to six cities and four countries that time. Full programmes by day and some travel by night took Gert Grobler as leader, Henri Raubenheimer and Ismael Esau of DTI and myself through this high speed chase with grace and dignity: Istanbul and two lunches with the ever wise and urbane Ishak Alaton, high-profile Honorary Consul; Izmir with little sleep and an early morning visit to ancient Ephesus before the day's business, shepherded around by dedicated and efficient Tamir Tashkin, well established Honorary Consul; Ankara for lunch under the trees in the garden of the historic Ankara
Palas; a wreathlaying at the Ataturk Mausoleum and talks at the Foreign and Foreign Trade Ministries; overnight to Tashkent - no Finnish Ambassador in sight.
A hectic Saturday of non-stop appointments ended in the other -worldly environment of an Uzbek banquet in a gazebo on an island in the grounds of a 50 hectare glasshouse orangerie, where all the lemons used in Uzbekistan are produced. Among the delicacies served was smoked horsemeat, which is said to be good for the virility. Who partook remains shrouded in secrecy.
Eight or more toasts later, the party returned for a short night in their hotel beds for a seven-thirty departure to Moscow. This incredible deviation to the next destination, Baku -check map- had to be worked into the itinerary when IMAIR decided unexpectedly and without prior notice to move their flight from Tashkent to Baku from Sunday afternoon to Saturday afternoon.
So we travelled to Domdedova (domestic) airport in Moscow on an ancient but solidly airworthy craft of Domodedova Airlines. Except that we left 70 minutes late due to a dispute about whether some of the passengers could join the flight and battled for 45 minutes to get through passport control just in time to see our onward connection to Baku pull away from the loading gate, it would have been an uneventful trip.
With no Russian and great resourcefulness Henri got us seats on Azerbaijan Airlines' next flight to Baku six hours later. After a few more hiccups, including bad weather which delayed take off, we reached Baku near to midnight-16 hours after boarding in Tashkent. Whether we flew over Chechnya or Dagestan remains clouded in mystery. But at least no tracer bullets passed the cabin window.
The next day consisted of a non-stop, no-lunch programme of top -level visits around Baku with just enough time to take a photo from the citadel across the bay on the Caspian to remind Tony Mongalo of his years there.
At 8 o'clock that night we were back in Istanbul and going our respective ways home, wiser in the ways of the modern day Silk Route and hopefully having created new trade and business opportunities for private enterprise in South Africa. Gert remarked "This has turned out to be a memorable trip" to which I responded, "I knew it would be memorable, but I did not know in advance in what respect."
But it is not over yet. There is still an exhibition of the Usiko handicrafts to ferry round the same route next month. And after our new-found enthusiasm for Tajikistan, we are waiting with a set of credentials for a date, so that we can move Dushanbe from our list of must-visit centres of excitement to our been-there-done-that list. I am not sure whether Nowetu will·go with me. She did not seem enthusiastic when she heard about the non-existent hotels at Dushanbe. Perhaps she will delegate Shoes Mtilwa this time.
And we haven't even been to Ashgabad and Bishkek this year. I hope there is a new American Ambassador in Bishkek by the time I pluck up enough courage to go. Let you know next time.
Footnote: The ancient Silk Route came to a sudden end in 1856 when the Suez Canal was opened. For a period before that the eastern Black Sea city of Trebizond (present- day Trabzon), a city which was the last redoubt of the Byzantine Empire, flourished as the western end of the Silk Route. But that is another story
PUBLISHED IN MEINTJESKOP DITABA No III/1999
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