Plov lunch get-together at the Tashkent bazaar. Hungry cyclists really appreciate this oily dish topped with flavourful mouton meat typical for this part of the world.
Jeppe, James and I accompanied Giorgio and Laura to the Chinese embassy to pick up their visas a day before we got ours. What a celebration!
That same night Jeppe joined us at our couchsurf host's apartment. Since we were a bit paranoid about getting noticed for illegaly staying at a local's house we agreed to have Jeppe arrive half hour after us. Since he too is blond and blue eyed like James I went to meet him by the little store around the corner, gave him James' hat to wear and return back to the apartment together. The idea was to make it look like it was just James and I returning from a walk and not a third foreigner moving in.
We prepared a little meal and chatted about various things. One topic was "what to do in case the police knocked on the door". Giving in to our paranoia we discussed this scenario and agreed that James and I would hide in the back room while Jeppe would open the door because if he was asked to show any documents he could produce more registration slips than James and I. A few moments later the door bell rang. O No!! That's impossible!!
We did what we had agreed to do. The man at the door wore a suit and asked Jeppe if he was a guest in Uzbekistan. Jeppe said no and then quickly closed the door. As this unrolled we stood in the back room with pounding hearts. Who was this guy?
When we opened the door again he was gone so Jeppe decided to go try and find him and maybe figure out who he is. No luck.
All we could think about was the secret police. We took our valuables and left the apartment immediately. From a small store several streets away we called our host who was quite puzzled why anyone would come to the door. She asked all her friends but it was neither of them nor did the guys description fit any of her neighbours. Shoot!!
Jeppe went back near the building a few times to see if there was any police activity. None. We then weighed the options whether they would do it like during the Soviet times and come at night. After another phone call to Tanya we eventually decided to carefully return to the apartment and quietly wait for her to come at 8 as she said. Afraid to turn the lights on we sat there in the dark, whispering, scared of what might happen, waiting for another knock at the door. Eventually we got hungry and I was eager to distract myself from our situation so I very quietly prepared the squash-buckwheat stew we had promised Jeppe. Of course no lights were turned on for that either, only a small flashlight.
At eight, the door bell rang. We all jumped. O right, it's just Tanya. We let her in and when we described our last few hours to her she laughed. She said that if the police were after us they would have come a long time ago and she had also realized that the guy who had come to the door was the meter reader from the gas company. We were so relieved and had a good laugh with her. She ensured us that it would be perfectly safe to sleep here one more night.
It turned into a very lovely evening. Jeppe was singing and playing the quitar, we ate stew, drank beer, drew on Tanya's decorated walls and continually celebrated our "escape" from the authorities. The apartment walls which had trapped us like prisoners became a comforting shelter. Thank you Lord for our safety.
In hindsight it was an interesting experience. We have read about oppressive governments before but never felt this sense of utter powerlessness and gripping fear they create among cititzens. Communist Russia must have been such a terrible place.
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