Tashkent City Park
If there’s something my genes have not equipped me for, it’s sitting on my bum for long periods. I knew that enduring ‘9 to 5’ seminars and workshops organized by our school in Tashkent for a week and a half was going to be hard. And it was. So, I was more than ready to enjoy a Saturday off, before we were to resume our scintillating sessions on Sunday. Poor Dave was not so lucky. All the STEM (Science, Tech, Engineering and Maths) teachers were required to attend workshops even on Saturday. I felt sorry for him, but reasoned that I still deserved to treat myself to something nice.
One of my colleagues told me about a place called Tashkent City Park that she had visited and enjoyed some of its attractions. “The best one was seeing Tashkent from above, like you are on a plane,” she smiled at the memory. I thought at that time, maybe Virtual Reality? I was definitely interested. I had attended a full-blown VR session only once before. It was in Prague two summers earlier and, from several themes offered, Dave and I chose to visit Medieval Prague. I have a fond memory of shooing a bunch of escaped chickens back to the yard of one of the dirty small houses of the 16th century Prague. It was fun!
Before I could enjoy again the VR sensation, I had to find my way to it. I knew that Tashkent City Park was within walking distance from our hotel. But I needed details. I am a cheapskate and don’t like using my mobile data if I can avoid it. So, without access to Google Maps, I rely on the kindness of strangers to tell me where I got lost and how I should get un-lost. I have even been known to use old fashioned paper maps, just like the one a receptionist pressed into my hand when I asked how far the place was. On my way out of our hotel, I approached the doorman, a youngish looking guy whose name according to his name tag was Timur. “Please, which direction to Tashkent City Park?” I needed to get oriented, so for emphasis, I pointed left and then right. Timur, facing the exit door, started by pointing to the left. “Then walk main street, then go in Amir Timur park. He is on a horse.” At the mentioning of Amir Timur, Uzbek’s most revered historical figure, I pointed to his nametag with a smile, “Nice name!”
The directions seemed simple enough. I walked out, turned left and continued for a while around one side of our extensive hotel, and then turned left onto a leafy side street. One more turn and I was able to exclaim, “I know this here. The tree with the lights hanging from it. I have seen this already during my evening walk. And there’s the main street. Why did the guy send me this way?” I had effectively ended up circling the hotel and its surroundings. Apparently one of us was confused over the meaning of left and right. Once I reached the main road, Timur’s directions played out. I cheered up when I spotted a horse’s rump, and took a picture of Amir Timur adorned with the ubiquitous pigeon droppings, and was on my way again.
Tashkent has inordinate amount of greenery, with Hibiscus blossoming next to huge oak and chestnut trees. To me, it seems an unexpected combination, but they seem happy. The Russians did a good job designing the city. The avenues are wide, some with five lanes in one direction, and all bordered by wide strips of green grass with mature trees. There are even bike paths with the sidewalks! I was envious looking at all that greenery and comparing it to the dusty and stunted trees of Nukus. It’s hard to go all lush with limited water. Not Nukus’ fault it got shortchanged when Mother Earth distributed her gifts, I reminded myself. Having lived in Nukus for a while, I felt the parental need to make excuses for the less attractive child. I was brought back to reality by an acorn hitting my head, with the morning breeze unleashing a whole salvo of them.
It took me an hour to reach my goal. I glimpsed in the distance something that looked promising but first I had to get around one more obstacle. I stood in front of a huge glass building, its size riveling the Toronto Convention Centre, with a uniformed guy eyeing me suspiciously. After I took my bearing, I started heading down a shortcut path leading to the road that I hoped would take me to my destination. “Stop, you can’t go there!” the guy waved his arm to accompany his words. I was too tired and hot to put up with any nonsense. “Why not? This is a path. It’s not barred.” I insisted and continued walking the path towards the road. He ran around the lawn from the other side, but I was already on the road. What was he going to do? Send me back? Make me walk around so I could reach the same spot I was at? I used my perfected pigeon Russian, “I want Tashkent City. It is there? Yes?” He realized that I was a foreigner, shook his head sadly, probably considering his unenviable position guarding a perfectly serviceable path that all uninitiated foreigners would be happy to take. “Yes. It’s there,” he waved expansively to indicate I was headed in the right direction. He didn’t look so stern anymore so I asked, “What’s this building and why can’t I walk here?” It was my turn to use body language, pointing to the disputed path. He said something about the Congress being in session and I let it be at that.
When I finally reached the desired area I was baffled. There were at least 10 cranes looming behind and to the left of the place that proclaimed in big letters Tashkent City Park. The cranes serviced five tall buildings still under construction. One of them had a sign on the top of it boasting that one day when it’s all grown up, ready to stand on its own, all independent with its own income, it will have 51 floors. I paid my entrance fee and looked around noticing more cranes on the other side. So, double the number of cranes working this place. It was obvious that this place had big ambitions, but what was on offer presently?
I went through the turnstile and entered the ‘park.’ Two giraffes sculptured in Edward Scissorhands manner welcomed me. I took a winding path flanked by more manicured animals and started my exploration. Walking amongst the green lawns had a dreamy quality as very few people were around at that time and the soft music only added to the whole mellow atmosphere. The path was winding around the extensive curvy pool designed to look like a natural pond. But there were no people enjoying the scenery. The buildings overlooking the pond reminded me of Dubai. Probably because they were so searing white, with ornate Arabic style balconies. The buildings were only five stories high adding to the feel of exclusivity. The whole place was exuding money. This is an enclave-in-the-making for rich people, but it is nice that the park is available to mere plebs like me, I concluded.
At the time of my first lonely visit, I had no idea that the numerous spouts sticking out from the water could bring so much joy and beauty. I discovered their purpose two days later, when I returned to the park with Dave, dragging him all the way from our hotel on foot. He was not a happy camper by the time we arrived. It was a Tuesday evening, our last day in Tashkent, concluding eight long tiring days. And it was a long walk to get us there. Longer than I expected. We could have easily taken a subway or a taxi, but the evening was so balmy, and I really wanted to do something nice on our last night in Tashkent. I urged Dave on, hoping he would become grateful later. Sometimes it even works. He cheered up somewhat after we settled in the café, overlooking the pond. But the best part was the unexpected light show that started even before our refreshment arrived. The entire pond turned into a giant fountain with water shooting up at different heights, lit by different colors, the whole light show accompanied by music. I am a sucker for visuals. I was happy. Add to it a dessert I treated myself to, after all, it was our last day of a grueling week, and I could happily have stayed forever.
But we were on a mission. I wanted to take us to the place that offered the VR. As it turned out, it was not VR that my colleague had described. And I couldn’t be upset with her for her poor misleading description, as I too would have trouble describing this particular attraction. It is called Flying Theater because the sensation it wants to emulate is the one we feel when looking out from a really high and fast chairlift … or jetpack! After we got strapped into seats, the theater went dark, the seats lifted using some powerful hydraulic system and we were treated to an aerial view of Tashkent. We were ‘flying.’ We visited several Tashkent landmarks this way, swooping up and down, and then headed to outlying regions. I caught again a glimpse of history in Bukhara and Samarkand. And then we flew over the mountainous areas east of Tashkent, the waterfalls promising some respite from the summer heat, the treetops in the breeze beckoning for us to come. If any of that Flying Theater attraction was meant to be promotional, it worked. That scenery certainly whetted our appetite to see more of Uzbekistan’s nature.