The thing you notice as you drive around Dushanbe is how well people are generally dressed. Far more suits and ties here than you will ever see back home, although I suppose my small city on the Canadian prairies is not a good basis for comparison.

The traffic is what I would call chaotic, but not verging on anarchy as you would find in other parts of the world. Small buses called mashrutkas in varying states of repair - from ancient to brand new - swarm about the city taking passengers where they need to go. In the midst of them all are some larger buses and private vehicles. I've seen just about every brand of car you can think of, including Ladas, Nissans, Fords, GM, Audi, Mercedes, VW, BMW, Toyotas, Mazdas, Skodas, Volgas, Volvos, and some yet to be determined brands of Russian built equipment.

Now I wouldn't want to call the traffic heavy, just unpredictable. I don't think Dushanbe really experiences what we would think of as a traffic jam, or even the equivalent of traffic around a hockey arena in Canada after a hockey game.
 

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But in the midst of all this, there are people on foot diving in and out of traffic to get across the streets. This is when the closer calls seem to take place, although we have fortunately left everyone standing so far.

We started the day with some chaos at a training for women in politics, a training session whose manual had just been translated into Tajik the night before. This meant that the photocopying had been delayed, which involved a search by cell phone to find them. After some delays, things worked themselves out, and we made our way into the restaurant where the training was taking place.

Eventually, I made it to the office, where I got right down to the task of forgetting everyone's name and feeling bewildered. (Remember - none of these people has a name like anyone you've ever known, unless you're Russian. It felt kind of like being on the set of Lord of the Rings - movie studio, mountains in the background, funny names in the foreground. Now if I could only remember which one is Legolas.)

After a few hours, jet lag took over. The only trouble was that I had no idea where I lived, or how to get there, so I kept working. Around 8 pm, someone came along and said my ride was ready to go, so I went with them, grateful. We stopped at a shopping area swarming with taxis and randomly parked cars. There were people selling traditional bread on the street, along with roasted chickens on rotisseries.

I managed to buy some Coke (did I tell you I like it here), apple juice (tetra pak is everywhere), chicken noodles soup (just add water) and some bread.

A Few Days Later

Another day at the office, interrupted by a trip to the market. One of my colleagues is from a tropical country and needed to buy a coat. Perfectly nice morning temperatures of minus five seem cold to him, so we grabbed a car and driver and set off, along with the boss' assistant as our guide and translator.