They Eat Horses, Don't They?

Why, yes, they do, in Uzbekistan. A random stroll around a market area in Namangan shows the equine goods.

The butcher, ready to carve. Smoke 'em if you've got 'em.

Displaying today's cuts.

Stillife.

Big bones. The butcher insisted James take the shot. Done. More hanging horse.

Back to the shop, roping in the next generation of butchers.

Details Of Namangan

Random things from a walk around the Fergana Valley city of Namangan in Uzbekistan.

At the market, things for the home. Maybe you're picking up a sponge, some thread and a giant rat trap.

Blooms in the park, looking a little like the movie Blue Velvet. Car repair, definitely DIY.

The dead fountain.

The flour shop, a bounty of branded bags. The gown shop, a little fantasy on the street.

The playing boys stop for a portrait. Mostly.

Now baking In Your Neighborhood, Non Bread

The most ubiquitous thing in Uzbekistan is the traditional bread called "non" or in Russian, "lepeshka." Life in the country can't exist without a constant flow of the delectable, circular stuff. Uzbeks eat it everyday with every meal. Since it's eaten fresh, it's best to pick up a loaf on the way home. 

Non is a local, handmade bread, not mass produced and sitting next to Twinkies and Tastykakes. Some offense to those chemical delivery devices. Where to find non? Let's check out a typical "factory."

Start at your neighborhood flour seller, plenty of varieties with colorful graphics on their bags.

The recipe is basic, the usual flour, water, salt, yeast. Divide into balls and let rise. The non gets its unique shape in the roll out. Turn into a disk and then use an iconic stamp that features a dot pattern produced by nails.

Prepped loafs.

The final touches before a slap into the oven. Another, outer ring stamp, an egg wash and then black sesame seeds. Now we're cooking. The bread is baked in a tandir, thrown against the hot walls for just minutes.

The master baker uses a special metal canister to pluck a loaf off the tandir wall and onto a cooling rack. Done.

Mmmm, fresh non. Time for distribution. Forget big trucks, round up small kids and a cart. Load 'em up.

And off they go. Your factory's reach is as far as that little cart will wander. Staying traditional and local. 

Snow Day! In Tashkent

Starting last July, when it was 105º without any rain for months, it was impossible to imagine a blanket of snow in Tashkent. Yesterday, the blanket dropped.

A winter wonderland in the neighborhood.

Keeping ahead of the blanket to keep the shops open. Covering the clothing. Not much traffic.

Hot water piping for radiators, hope they're delivering.

Leave the vehicle option, use the feet instead.

Limb down! Limb down! People avoiding the disaster zone.

Wipers up to avoid freezing. Spoiler alert, it's 45º today and melting. Can't wait for your sweet ride? An optimistic Uzbek gets a jump on washing the car.

Squint and you're in Switzerland. For a day. 

Historic Muslim Sites In Namangan

A classic madrasa and a classic mausoleum are tucked into an old neighborhood of Namangan in the Fergana Valley of Uzbekistan. Well worth a look.

Here's the pretty facade of the Mullah Kyrgyz madrasa, named after its architect, Usto Kyrgyz. Its classic lines belie its age. Built in 1910.

The Soviets closed it during their occupation. It's been recently restored and is now used as a museum, cultural center and crafts area. Care for a small chair or long tunic? Past the entrance gate, an open, octagonal courtyard. Relaxing.

Down the road from the madrasa sits the big cube mausoleum of Khodjamni Kabri. This structure is a bit older than the madrasa, built around 1720.

Inside, intricate painting, Arabic calligraphy and a dome. 

The mausoleum sits next to an active mosque, quiet before services.

Old Neighborhoods In The Fergana Valley

A lot of the cities in Uzbekistan have an old Soviet vibe of huge avenues bounded by endless apartment blocks. Centralized blah. Old, winding, dense neighborhoods still exist in small pockets, especially in some of the towns in the Fergana Valley.

In Namangan and Kokand, the old areas feel a little Middle East, North African in layout, walled streets in a random pattern with courtyard compounds beyond the door.

The street is the playground.

Construction/reconstruction. Courtyard, parking area, square, street, whatever purpose is needed.

Utility poles, placed wherever.

More views, alleys, streets, trees, sunsets.

A typical door, leading to another, private world.

A Massive Dust Storm Rolls Into Tashkent

"The biggest storm in 150 years, since records started," wrote the news outlets. "Never in my 60 years!" said the pool guy. A few days ago, a nasty wind blew from the Urals, across the Kyzylkum Desert, picking up tons of dust and blew it all over Tashkent. Sarah and James were left wondering if the event was an annual dirt slap. Nope, an unusual occurrence. They'll settle for once every five or so years, after they're at another post.

Out the front door, footprints in the brown snow.

The neighborhood was pure haze, looking like detritus from far away fires. Just dust. Turning fall color sepia and bland.

Seeing a few blocks proved difficult.

Forget about eating outside at the KFC, unless you brought a brush. Or having an ice cream from an outside cooler.

The little amusement park is closed until a good cleaning. Come back in April.

More trees, doused in dust. This building usually is glinting with shiny tile work. Now, The Day The Earth Stood Still.

So much dust, our street looked like it was plowed.