A Carpet Ride to Khiva: Seven Years on the Silk Road by Christopher Aslan Alexander Page B
Authors: Christopher Aslan Alexander
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brother drew out the arabesque designs neededfor each item, and the apprentices and younger brothers did the actual carving. They started on cutting-boards, which were easiest, and worked up to ornate boxes, Koran-stands and larger items of furniture. The patterns were transferred from paper to wood by making hundreds of pin-pricks along the contours and then pouring black powder through the holes onto the wood.
The brothers demonstratedhow different tools created different effects and offered to let me try. I declined, anxious not to destroy anything, but wanting to learn more, keen to explore other products that they could also sell to tourists. Had they considered collapsible coffee-tables that tourists could take home with them? Or carved plate mats, napkin rings, bookends, framed mirrors?
Zafar watched politely asI scrawled down a design for interlocking coffee-table legs while enthusing about the possibility of carved wooden chess-sets. Helping artisans develop their products for a tourist market, and acting as a bridge between the two cultures, seemed a perfect blend of creativity and business – and a lot more appealing than spending my days writing up a guidebook. I left my table design with Zafar, suggestingthat he might like to experiment with it.
I asked him about the collapsible coffee-table the next time we met up, and he smiled awkwardly. I realised that there was no incentive to experiment with something new that might not sell when he already conducted a brisk trade in chopping boards and boxes. Instead I offered to sell some of his stuff in Tashkent next time I was there, as I knewlots of foreigners who would appreciate his work.
An English lady in Tashkent bought several boxes and a cutting board and enquired whether Zafar produced anything else. Well, I explained, he was considering a range of collapsible carved coffee-tables, and was she interested in being his first customer? Back in Khiva, I handed Zafar his money and the few items I hadn’t sold, and told himthat there was an order for a coffee-table and drew out what it should look like. I’d discussed a price with Liz, the English lady, and it was a lot more than Zafar made on boxes and book-stands. Soon the coffee-table was completed and orders came in for more, as Liz’s friends all wanted one. Next came ornate shelves with pegs, mirrors and telephone-stands. Zafar’s brothers were kept busy and nowhad a lucrative sideline for the winter months when few tourists visited Khiva.
Lukas noted my new ‘hobby’, which he approved of as long as it didn’t interfere with writing the guidebook. We had originally hoped to finish the book within six months, but it seemed to expand continually as we discovered more information that could be included.
* * *
My language improved, with plentyof practice answering the same stock questions, whether in a shared taxi, at the barbers or in the bazaar. Where was I from? How old was I? How much did I earn? What was I doing in Khiva? Where was my wife? Why wasn’t I married? At this point, if the questioner was young and male, there was more probing. Was I circumcised? Did I prefer Manchester United or Newcastle? Did I like Uzbek ‘bad girls’,and which was my favourite brothel? Inevitably all questions returned to the subject of money. How much was a teacher paid in England? What was the price of a loaf of bread, a kilo of meat, a car? Was life better there or here?
At first I answered this last question as diplomatically as possible, explaining that some things were better in England, such as higher wages and less corruption,while other things were better in Uzbekistan, such as the importance of family and hospitality. Later, tired of an oppressive government and unremitting propaganda, I simply explained that life was much better in England as no one had to pay a bribe for a job, or worry about arrest for what they believed. This naturally led to questions regarding the best way to get into the UK
The brothers demonstratedhow different tools created different effects and offered to let me try. I declined, anxious not to destroy anything, but wanting to learn more, keen to explore other products that they could also sell to tourists. Had they considered collapsible coffee-tables that tourists could take home with them? Or carved plate mats, napkin rings, bookends, framed mirrors?
Zafar watched politely asI scrawled down a design for interlocking coffee-table legs while enthusing about the possibility of carved wooden chess-sets. Helping artisans develop their products for a tourist market, and acting as a bridge between the two cultures, seemed a perfect blend of creativity and business – and a lot more appealing than spending my days writing up a guidebook. I left my table design with Zafar, suggestingthat he might like to experiment with it.
I asked him about the collapsible coffee-table the next time we met up, and he smiled awkwardly. I realised that there was no incentive to experiment with something new that might not sell when he already conducted a brisk trade in chopping boards and boxes. Instead I offered to sell some of his stuff in Tashkent next time I was there, as I knewlots of foreigners who would appreciate his work.
An English lady in Tashkent bought several boxes and a cutting board and enquired whether Zafar produced anything else. Well, I explained, he was considering a range of collapsible carved coffee-tables, and was she interested in being his first customer? Back in Khiva, I handed Zafar his money and the few items I hadn’t sold, and told himthat there was an order for a coffee-table and drew out what it should look like. I’d discussed a price with Liz, the English lady, and it was a lot more than Zafar made on boxes and book-stands. Soon the coffee-table was completed and orders came in for more, as Liz’s friends all wanted one. Next came ornate shelves with pegs, mirrors and telephone-stands. Zafar’s brothers were kept busy and nowhad a lucrative sideline for the winter months when few tourists visited Khiva.
Lukas noted my new ‘hobby’, which he approved of as long as it didn’t interfere with writing the guidebook. We had originally hoped to finish the book within six months, but it seemed to expand continually as we discovered more information that could be included.
* * *
My language improved, with plentyof practice answering the same stock questions, whether in a shared taxi, at the barbers or in the bazaar. Where was I from? How old was I? How much did I earn? What was I doing in Khiva? Where was my wife? Why wasn’t I married? At this point, if the questioner was young and male, there was more probing. Was I circumcised? Did I prefer Manchester United or Newcastle? Did I like Uzbek ‘bad girls’,and which was my favourite brothel? Inevitably all questions returned to the subject of money. How much was a teacher paid in England? What was the price of a loaf of bread, a kilo of meat, a car? Was life better there or here?
At first I answered this last question as diplomatically as possible, explaining that some things were better in England, such as higher wages and less corruption,while other things were better in Uzbekistan, such as the importance of family and hospitality. Later, tired of an oppressive government and unremitting propaganda, I simply explained that life was much better in England as no one had to pay a bribe for a job, or worry about arrest for what they believed. This naturally led to questions regarding the best way to get into the UK
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