NONFICTION       

"Uzbekistan emerged from the clutches of the Soviet Union in 1991."
                                      Photo by Weebly.com                                    

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An Unusual Taxi Ride
on the Silk Road in Uzbekistan
by  Mary Noel Pepys

​Have you ever taken a taxi ride and before reaching your destination, the driver invites you to dinner at his home? If you’re shaking your head in disbelief, I understand. I would have reacted the same way. That’s until I worked in Uzbekistan. Uzbekistan is a country of hospitality. Uzbeks honor guests and treat foreigners like family members.
 
Uzbekistan lies just north of Afghanistan and is within the five-country cluster known as the Central Asian Republics, the others being Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Turkmenistan. Uzbekistan, like the other four “Stans,” as they are commonly known, emerged from the clutches of the Soviet Union as one of its former 15 republics in 1991.
 
Among the “Stans,” Uzbekistan is a must-see for those whose quest is to visit the world’s magnificent sites. It is a historically fascinating and culturally diverse country with Uzbeks, Kazakhs, Tajiks, Russians and Jews peacefully coexisting with their own traditions. Recognized as the medieval intellectual center of the Muslim world, Uzbekistan’s cities are filled with mosques, madrasas (Islamic religious schools) and mausoleums covered with exquisite mosaics.
 
Uzbekistan’s Silk Road was the 14th century superhighway through the country. Its architectural legacy is breathtaking. Today, the magnificent towns of Samarkand, Bukhara and Khiva along the Silk Road are treated as outdoor museums. The jewel of the Silk Road is the Registan in Samarkand, a set of majestic buildings that glisten, even in the fog, with glazed mosaics of varying hues of blue.
 
It took me just one trip on the Silk Road to feel as if I were a descendent of Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan and Tamerlane (Timur the Lame) all rolled into one.
 
I worked in Uzbekistan to help develop the rule of law on behalf of the American Bar Association (ABA), funded by the U.S. Government. As an ABA Rule of Law Liaison from 1993-1998, I lived in Bulgaria, Latvia, Slovakia, Ukraine, Kazakhstan and Croatia and worked in numerous other former communist countries, including Uzbekistan, to provide legal assistance to strengthen the independence of the judiciary, enhance the role and responsibilities of the bar association, and improve legal education. During the five years with the ABA, my work focused on building a consensus with senior governmental officials, judges, attorneys, and law professors on reforms that would help these countries transition to democracy. 

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​Uzbekistan, as with all former Soviet republics, as well as those countries within Central and Eastern Europe, was yearning to build a democratic society based on a market-based economic system. Every one of these former communist countries was faced with the daunting task of drafting new constitutions to reflect their recently-obtained independence, creating new legal systems, and writing a myriad of laws that embraced democratic principles and private commerce.
 
The 1990s was an exciting time to live and work in former communist countries. Euphoria filled the air. Citizens were free from oppression and eager to pursue democratic reforms. Although some citizens were more eager than others. Former communist governmental leaders surreptitiously resisted the transition. Some of them refused to meet with me, feigning a busy schedule. In silent protest, they watched their power and governmental benefits dwindle as the authoritarian regime, under which they had served, slowly dissolved. But there were scores of highly-educated, reform-minded and committed workhorses in the legal and judicial communities who sought to become ABA’s equal partners in pursuing democracy.
 
In 1997 while I was living in Kazakhstan, the ABA asked me to work for two weeks in neighboring Uzbekistan to assist in creating an independent judicial association. For me, it was a routine request, an assignment I had often been given in other countries where I worked. Even though it was a short assignment, it was memorable one.
 
The Uzbeks captivated me. It was not just the judges, attorneys and law professors whom I met, but also the hotel clerks, restaurant waiters, shopkeepers, even street cleaners who warmly greeted me. They would often touch their right hand over their heart as a sign of showing their respect.
 
Six years later in 2003 I was asked to return to Uzbekistan to continue the work that ABA had initiated. I was curious to observe the level of democratic and economic growth of Uzbekistan since 1997. Free from the restraints of Moscow after its independence in 1991, Uzbekistan had quickly built modern hotels and restaurants in its capital, Tashkent. When I returned, I was looking forward to a robust economy. To my dismay, remnants of communism still lingered.
 
Judges were poorly paid, less than $50 monthly, and worked under dismal conditions. Their courthouses had outhouses. Judges were exceeded in their power by the police—and the police were everywhere, keeping watchful eyes on citizens. Each town had its border police. Before exiting one town and entering another, I, like everyone else, had my identification checked and car searched by the police.

Mary Noel Pepys with Judges who are developing the rule of law in Uzbekistan

With an economy still under state control in 2003, Uzbekistan remained a poor country. The most common paper note was 200 Soum, which amounted, at that time, to twenty cents. When I changed one $100 bill and received five hundred bills of twenty cents each, I had to buy an extra purse just for my wad of cash. ​

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​Cotton was Uzbekistan’s most prolific crop, and its fields continued to be owned by the state. During harvesting, billboards dotted the countryside exhorting the public to pick cotton for the good of the country. Even judges were required to pick cotton.
 
To begin my assignment of assessing the educational and training needs of the Uzbek judiciary, I needed to meet the impressive, reform-minded judges of Samarkand. They were instrumental in my work in 1997. I knew they would have a keen understanding of the country’s needs to develop a competent judiciary.
 
In order to see the splendid towns along the Silk Road again, I decided to take a five-hour taxi ride from Tashkent to Samarkand. Knowing the propensity of low-wage workers to overcharge foreigners, I spent an hour bargaining with numerous taxi drivers who were surprised by my stubbornness. It’s a trait I developed after years of negotiating abroad. Bargaining is not easy in any language and it’s time-consuming. But I refuse to be taken advantage of as a woman.
 
Finally, a taxi driver offered a reasonable price, admitting that he had always wanted to talk with an American. Being exposed to people from other countries was more important to him than making money.
 
That’s a first, I thought. I’ve taken hundreds of taxi rides abroad and have encountered an assortment of drivers trying to collect as much money from me as possible. In cities where I did not know the location of the courthouse, bar association or law school, I was invariably overcharged by the driver who took the road less traveled. I expected that.
 
But there were times when the cost was so outrageous after reaching my destination that I would refuse to pay until the person I was meeting would confirm the cost. One taxi driver in Bulgaria became belligerent when I questioned his rate after we arrived. He spit in my face. I was disgusted. I jumped out of the taxi leaving him empty-handed and swearing at me.
 
To meet a taxi driver in Tashkent who was more interested in talking with me than with his pocketbook was refreshing. He looked to be in his late 30s, fairly handsome and poorly dressed, but had a big smile. I agreed to his rate and settled into the back seat of his taxi, relaxed and looking forward to a five-hour respite while soaking up the visual wonders of the Silk Road.
 
The taxi driver, however, had other plans. After leaving the outskirts of Tashkent, he turned back to me, inviting me to meet his family. Oh, so this is his trick, I thought. An ingenious way to make more money by extending the time it takes to get to Samarkand. I wasn’t concerned about sexual harassment. It was a rare occurrence with foreigners. 

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More important, the police state under the Soviet Union which had control over civil society’s behavior continued to be durable. It would take years after the fall of communism before excessive policing slowly dissipated. As a single woman working throughout former communist countries, I enjoyed the benefits of a police state. It made me feel protected wherever and whenever I walked. For instance, in Ukraine I could safely walk home alone after a concert that ended at 11:00 p.m. During the midsummer in Latvia, I had no compunction walking a mile home alone at 4:30 a.m. from the Riga bus station.
 
Even though I wasn’t fearful of the taxi driver in Uzbekistan, I wanted to arrive in Samarkand as soon as possible and had little desire to delay it by meeting his family. But I felt rude rejecting his invitation. During years of international travel, I’ve grown accustomed to foreigners inviting me to home-cooked meals, to social engagements, even to weddings. Because of my experience, trust rears its head more often than skepticism. I accepted the driver’s invitation but was able to elicit a promise that it would be a quick diversion.
 
About fifteen minutes later, we drove off the highway down a darkened, dirt road lined with mud and brick homes. I was worried and thought I had been naïve. I could not jump out of the taxi and seek help as I had no idea where I was. After slowly driving the long dirt road, we finally stopped in front of an old, battered building. The driver proudly told me that we had arrived at his home. The exterior of the building looked more like a warehouse than a home. I could feel my heart pounding. What was I getting myself into to? My head and heart were clashing. Obviously, I knew the extent to which men will take advantage of women, but I also knew how incredibly welcoming Uzbeks are.
 
I followed him down the dirt walkway of the building—gingerly—and we entered together. What I saw stunned me. The interior of his home was gorgeous. The floors were covered with Uzbek carpets. The walls were decorated with them. Some of the carpets were immense; others quite small overlapping each other. All of them were multicolored in deep blues and golden browns, reds, greens and blacks, lilacs and whites. Their bright geometric designs were a jolt to the dreary surroundings I had just left.
 
His wife, dressed in Uzbek silk, greeted me warmly. She was not fazed by my spontaneous arrival. It did not matter that her husband had not forewarned her about bringing an American woman to their home. Hospitality is thick in the blood of Uzbeks. After a brisk conversation with her husband, she retreated to the kitchen.
 
My taxi driver and children invited me into their living room while we awaited his wife. In many Uzbek homes, carpets replace furniture, serving the functional purpose for eating, sleeping and conversing. The only furniture in their living room was a low table. We gathered around it and sat on the floor. 
  

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Fifteen minutes later his wife emerged with a feast and joined us. I had only eaten in restaurants in Uzbekistan and was used to being served what I ordered, one or two dishes. But in an Uzbek home, a dining table is covered with multiple dishes. True to tradition, his wife brought ten plates bursting with nuts, grapes, apples and figs, eggplants, tomatoes, and peppers, and a wide array of flat breads, some prepared with onions or meat in the dough. There was no silverware, as there rarely is, so we ate with our hands. Was I worried about germs? Not at all. I was accustomed to accommodating local eating habits. Although I wasn’t very hungry, not one delicious dish escaped my fingers.
 
We spent more time gesturing and laughing than conversing since they spoke broken English and I did not speak Uzbek or Russian, the required language under the Soviet Union. Even though I was thoroughly enjoying myself, I was ready to leave after an hour.
 
The taxi driver, however, had other plans. “My mother would be so disappointed if she didn’t meet you,” said the driver. I was stunned. I could not believe what I had just heard. Samarkand was becoming a distant dream. The genuine way he looked convinced me that I had no choice but to accept his invitation. I was a visitor in his country. What is more important—a foreign city or someone’s mother?
 
My decades of travel have taught me that without a heavy dose of adaptability, unexpected wonders will be missed. On all my trips, I carry a detailed itinerary mapping out my daily schedule. It’s written in pencil. I’ve learned there is no better time to go with the flow than when traveling.
 
Off we trekked to see his mother, who lived in the same neighborhood with a similar home décor. She had been forewarned that the two of us were coming so when we arrived, a delicious smell was emanating from the kitchen. I knew that smell. It was of my favorite Uzbek dish, Plov.

When cooked just right with the essential ingredients of rice, lamb, carrots and raisins, eating Plov is like eating potato chips. Once you start, you cannot stop. I was stuffed at this point but honored to be served Plov. It is presented with fanfare on special family occasions, before sunrise on wedding days where only men in the bride’s neighborhood are invited, and every Thursday at a makeshift restaurant in front of the Uzbek Supreme Court in Tashkent, where I often went for lunch. 

Selling Uzbekistan's signature dish, Plov, in front of the Supreme Court

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​Since his mother, also dressed in Uzbek silk, spoke no English, our conversation was limited. But that was of no concern to her. She burst with pride watching me devour her Plov.
 
Another hour passed before my driver, fully fed, announced that he was ready to drive me to Samarkand. I was ready for a nap.
 
By the time we were on the road again, the sun had slowly descended and the visual wonders of the Silk Road were blurred. Although I was looking forward to seeing them, I was not disappointed. The historic sites will always be there. They’ve been there for centuries.
 
We arrived in Samarkand long after midnight. I had never hugged a taxi driver before, but this time I felt compelled to embrace him warmly. Two strangers who could barely communicate with each other becoming family friends.
 
After only three hours of sleep, I had to begin my work. I was looking forward to meeting my Uzbek colleagues and learning how their lives as judges had changed under the democratic reforms initiated by the ABA the previous decade. But I was exhausted. I had no energy and rescheduled the meetings for the following day.
 
While languishing in my hotel room, I berated myself for being a professional wimp. Why didn’t I insist on being driven directly to Samarkand? I was in Uzbekistan to work; pleasure was secondary and only when there was time for it.
 
Yet, as I reflected upon the taxi ride, I realized I made the right decision. It was the unexpected journey of meeting my taxi driver’s family that confirmed one of my deepest beliefs developed over years of travel. The taxi driver, his wife, children and mother demonstrated that we are all alike regardless of where we were born, what beliefs we hold, or traditions we follow. Without many spoken words, we shared our humanity. My serendipitous encounter with them enhanced my life and they will, forever, be in my heart. 

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​​Mary Noel Pepys is a senior attorney with a specialization in the rule of law, specifically international legal and judicial reform, and corruption within the judiciary. Since 1993 she has helped emerging democracies develop justice systems that ensure the protection of citizens’ human rights, equal treatment of all individuals before the law, and a predictable legal structure with fair, transparent and effective government institutions. Mary Noel has worked in over 45 countries, lived five years in six former communist countries, and 20 months in Afghanistan as the Justice Advisor for the Bureau of International Narcotics and Law Enforcement of the U.S. Department of State. While in Afghanistan, Mary Noel focused on strengthening the criminal justice system and the correctional system.

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