All the marketplaces, bazaars, in major cities including the capital city of Tashkent (Joint Hearing, 112th Congress)

In my previous post, I implied that Tashkent is a pretty dozy city, which is how I felt until I got my eyes opened by its markets, which are quite wakeful places. If you're just sleepwalking through orderly Oloy Bazaar -- whether it be the outdoor produce section (top left) or the indoor meat section (top right) -- vendors will break you out of your daze with shouts about free samples and good deals. The markets are definitely the community centers of the city where, as Mirabad Bazaar proved, nearly everything under the sun can be found (bottom).

Some markets are more animated than others. The decorations and delicacies in the grill section of the expansive Chorsu Bazaar were quite dizzying (top). Inside, the sheer volume of onions was equally overwhelming (bottom left). But nothing compared to the amount of fur and feathers to be found at the Saturday morning pet market (bottom right). I had to fight the crowd to find my way out without fish nor finch.

At a stall in Chorsu, we couldn't resist the smell of fresh somsa wafting out of their pottery pit ovens (left). TJ and I shared two types of Uzbekistan's version of a pasty: potato and meat. The somsa oven reminded me of the those used to cook naan in Pakistan. But the Uzbek bread called non is cooked in a structure more like a pizza oven (right).

Our somsa snack didn't fully satisfy us, so later, we headed over to the Central Asian Plov Center, where vats of the national dish are whipped up in woks heated by fires in stone cauldrons below (left). In the reception hall-style dining room, we ordered two dishes of plov, a rice dish that gets its name from the same etymology as pilaf, with a side of tomato-cucumber salad and green tea (right).

During a future lunch at Han Kuk Kwan, I had a second helping of tea. My teapot was only one of the many dishes placed on our table, which were full of small salads to accompany my bibimbap and TJ's bulgogi with rice (top). That spread was impressive, but by far, our best meal was dinner at Bagratione, a Georgian restaurant (bottom left). I definitely picked the better main dish, a traditional lamb stew called chanakhi, compared to TJ's stuffed pork chops, but he had the genius idea to order imeruli khachapuri, stuffed cheese bread (bottom right).

 

Lots of Tashkent establishments have themes based on countries, but many come off much less authentic. Although it served up reasonably priced and suitably tasty mugs of beer, Bier Regen lacked the oompah of a a true German beer garden (top left). The English pub atmosphere at Ye Olde Chelsea Arms was over the top, as were the prices of its beer (top right). But the least successful mix of expenses and environs was at Docker Pub, which seemed to be confused about how to saddle on a Western style; the overdone neon lights and tequila display made the empty dance floor seem extra sad (bottom).

I guess it's no surprise that we felt most welcome at the expat favorite Elvis Bar, which seemed like a comfortable college bar, especially because people were smoking inside (top). Another night, we got some fresh air over some Sarbasts, the Carlsberg brand produced in Uzbekistan, at a gazebo bar (bottom left). After it closed, we had one more beer and some pide at a bar that had a Turkish bent but not theme. The friendly waitress offered us some kurt, or fermented yogurt balls, to taste. I thought the salty-sour flavor went well with beer, like peanuts; in case you can't tell from the look on TJ's face, he did not concur (bottom right). Overall, my taste of Tashkent made me want more -- of the city, not kurt, that is.

If we wanted to do something out at the capital city of Tashkent (S.Hrg.108-450)

After an overnight flight spent restlessly tossing on the worn padding of an Uzbekistan Airways flight to Tashkent, I knew I would need some excitement to get me through the day. The Uzbek capital is no London and lacks the lights of Las Vegas, and unlike New York, the city definitely sleeps. But we found plenty to do to keep me awake.

Generally, I wouldn't pick a tennis match as the best offense against jet lag, but I didn't want to pass up the chance to see the Davis Cup, the World Cup of tennis (left). After all, it's not every day you get front-row seats to watch two national teams face off. Americans Steve Johnson and Steve Querrey defeated Uzbeks Denis Istomin and Farrukh Dustov in three straight sets: 6-3, 6-2, 6-2 (right).

 

It was fun to hear some shouts of "U-S-A," but in the end, I didn't fly six hours to revel in American culture, so we struck out to see the achievements of Uzbekistan. A main source of Uzbek pride is Tashkent's TV Tower, the highest in Central Asia (left). From its observation deck, we could see -- but not photograph -- the entire city, including the old Muslim quarter. Right at the entrance to the quarter sits Kukeldash Madrassah, next to the Khodja Akhrar Mosque (right). Within the quarter lies Mui-Mubarak Madrassah, which houses the world's oldest Koran; unfortunately, we didn't stumble across the right madrassah to catch sight of the holy text.

Uzbeks are also proud of their national hero, perhaps best known as Tamerlane. The Mongol conqueror was born near Samarkand, but many cities pay homage to him, such as the statue in Amir Temur Square, adjacent to the Palace of International Forums, or International Congress Hall of Uzbekistan (top). From the square a promenade extends to one of the many well-maintained parks in the city (bottom left). It's difficult to decide which are more impressive: the carefully tended roses or the colorfully illuminated fountains, especially the one in front of Navoi Opera and Ballet Theater (bottom right).

The city gives off a good impression, but the countryside has its charms as well, as we saw on our way to Ugam-Chatkal National Park. When we weren't waiting for sheep herds to cross the road (left), we were steering clear of overloaded sedans (right).

Despite all the obstacles, eventually we made it to the mountains. Our car took us halfway up the heights, then we rode the rest of the way on Beldersay Cable Car (top left). At the end of the line, we got a great view of Mount Chimgan (top right). We were rewarded with an even more expansive vista after we hiked up Kumbel Mountain (bottom).

From the top of our hike we also could see Charvak Reservoir (left), which looked so serene that we decided to drive down and find a place to picnic beside it (right). Our meal consisted of some meat and cheese that I brought in from London, along with some fresh bread bought at one of the many local markets, which I discuss in an another post.

Necessary to ensure our ability to recover and to move forward (Serial No. 110-110)

After his race, it was easier for TJ to return home via Milan, so we decided to spend the rest of the weekend lazing in Italy. We didn't want to recuperate in Milan itself, so I looked at cities along the train routes there and picked the Piedmont town of Domodossola. To get there we had to take the Mont-Blanc Express (left), whose observatory windows provided great views of the steep slopes the train clung to as it chugged along (right).

In Martigny, we had to change trains, so we decided to take a short break to explore the French city, which had a surprisingly Italian feel because of its Roman ruins. Without the altitude of Chamonix, the sun was quite searing, so when we passed by the tepidarium, I fleetingly wished it were still in operation (left). At the amphitheater, I found a spot in the shade while TJ ventured into the center of the gladiator circle (right).

Next door to the arena that once housed lions now sits the Musée et Chiens du Saint Bernard. I happened to spy a few of the beasts housed there, including Barry, named after a famous mountain dog (left). Another guardian of the mountain, Chateau de la Batiaz, can be spied from many spots downtown, high on its outpost above the city (right). 

Before boarding the train for the second leg of our trip, we got off our feet for a snack at Cafe du Commerce. Through the window from the patio, we watched the one-woman proprietor prepare our meat and cheese tasting board in a small kitchen (left). If not for the branded coasters and glasses, I could've thought we were escaping the heat in the back yard of someone's home (right).

The homey atmosphere continued once we found our hotel in Domodossola. We did have to stop for directions once, but only because our hotel, the Locanda Piemonte da Sciolla, was tucked away in a hidden little plaza, where at night it seats guests of its acclaimed restaurant (left). Our room overlooked the plaza, and when we arrived, daily life was still going on in Domodossola, with our neighbors using a pulley system to lift groceries up to their third-story home (right).

 

Our little plaza, Piazza Convenzione, was just a narrow walkway from the main square of the old city, Piazza del Mercato. While wandering around the old city, we stumbled upon Osteria Via Briona, which was offering some salty snacks during apertivo hour (left). From there, our explorations spiraled out from the center, but as night set in, we ended up back in the main square, for a nightcap of some Birrificio Balabiòtt craft beer at Sali e Pistacchi; TJ tried the Rabelott IPA, while I had the Sciura amber ale (right). 

The next morning, we started our day with breakfast at the hotel, which had a spread bigger than I have ever seen for an included meal: local cheese, warm bread, cured meat, fresh fruit, and homemade pastry (top left). Perhaps some of the ingredients were bought from stands set up right outside the hotel's front door (top right). The Saturday market spread throughout the streets, old and new, of the city, with different sections focusing on different goods, from housewares to haberdashery (bottom).

We wound through the market crowds on our way to Riserva Speciale Sacro Monte, a national park that contains the Sacro Monte Calvario, one of nine "sacred mountains" in the Piedmont and Lombardy regions listed on the UNESCO World Heritage List. The 17th-century sanctuary consists of a series of chapels dedicated to the 14 stations of the cross along a path winding up Mattarella Hill (left). At the top, through the ruins of the medieval Mattarella castle, one gets a stunning of view of the town within its mountain valley (right).

After a slow walk back down due to TJ's overworked knees, we found a seat at Nuova Bar del Corso, where we joined the locals in having some late-afternoon refreshment (left). We had planned to take off for Milan already, but we couldn't resist one last bit of leisure, with the omnipresent Aperol spritz, at a table on the bricks of the Piazza del Mercato at the entrance to Via Briona (right). 

I rode with TJ to Garibaldi station in Milan, where I dropped him off for his train to the airport, then I doubled back to Domodossola for one more night in Italy before I headed home myself. I treated myself to a romantic dinner for one at Trattoria la Motta, starting with an appetizer of ricotta with river trout essence (left). My main dish of the regional version of gnocchi was served up with a side of Spanish guitar (right). My meal ended with a pineapple sorbet, which left a pleasant taste in my mouth, just like Italy always does.