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In a bar around Timur Square, a Punjabi man in a turban suddenly began to throw banknotes to the sky. Though a note of som was only worth 80 cents yuan, this was the first time I had ever seen such an extravagant scene. Uzbek dance girls were wearing sequin skirts as if they had nothing on, and kept grinding their body around the Punjabi man.

The rhythm of Russian pop music added to the lavish and decadent atmosphere. At first, the Punjabi man only threw one note at a time. As the girls started to scream, he finally decided to throw a whole stack of banknotes into the sky. A cash rain fell. Under laser nights, notes flew everywhere. A barman could not help but pick up a few notes that were blown to his feet. He was tall, skinny, and still a child. Azama belted down the vodka in his glass, and flipped back his brown hair from his forehead that swept past his defined face.

There was a flagon on the table with a half-liter vodka, but now it ended up in our bellies. The Uzbek reality! I had met Azama at another bar earlier.

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It was a glamorous international bar. There was a band, but no dance girls. The clients were mostly young people, and foreigners stationed in Tashkent. At the time, the businessman-like Azama was sitting at the bar. He was wearing a beige suit, chino pants, and boat shoes. He was drinking with a bald fat guy. Obviously vodka had help to increase his interest in strangers, so we started to talk. At the moment, I was still more or less sober, and I had tried to figure out the long reflex arc between the Lehman Brothers and his Uzbek dried fruits business, but to no avail.

By now, he has had seven or eight apartments that were scattered around Tashkent. With rents from these apartments, he was able to live a carefree life. Then Azama asked me whether I would like to share some vodka with him. I looked at my watch, and it was almost midnight. I was alone, and did not really know him. However, these good excuses were not enough to stop me from accepting his invitation.

Later, I would comfort myself: this was to help maintain the newly established friendship between China and Uzbekistan, and to contribute to the dialogue, and make it go on more smoothly. Azama took the flagon, and poured me a full glass of vodka. We belted it down. He happily poured me another glass, and then another.

According to Uzbek tradition, one could not just have only one drink of vodka. In the direction where Azama pointed, I saw an Uzbek girl dancing ecstatically. She had a nice figure, and was wearing a shoulder straps dress, and hot pants. Mimicking giving heads, she was obviously already in a state of hallucination.

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On the dance floor, be it the way people were dressed, or what the music was, it was no different than any international bar. Azama asked me whether I was bored. He said, he did not like the pretentious international flair of this bar, and had a better place to go to. After paying the bills, we took an illegal cab, and drove along empty boulevards. A few years before, as I had first come to Tashkent, I was shocked by the openness of this Islamic country.

History of Fine Arts in Uzbekistan

I once walked accidentally into a bar named Diplomat. Seeing the shameless atmosphere, I thought it satirical to have Diplomat as its name. The illegal cab drove through the empty Timur Square. The gigantic Hotel Uzbekistan looked like a nest. Then I realized where we were going was close to the government buildings. The bar had no signs. A few bouncers stood at the door.

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After nightfall, the temperature in Tashkent suddenly dropped, but these guys were wearing skin-tight T-shirts, and were not at all bothered by the chill. We went into the dimly lit bar. Dance girls with long hair were everywhere. Without exception, they had very little on but were all very pretty. The price of a lap dance was only two US dollars. In the middle of the dance floor, a topless dance girl hung upside down on a pole, like an avant-garde installation piece.

This was not Diplomat, but was just as good, if not better. We continued drinking our vodka. Yes, but they are well worth the price. He was the British ambassador to Uzbekistan.

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His greatest achievement during his term was that he fell in love with a dance girl from Tashkent. The girl was seeing three men simultaneously, which made the ambassador very depressed, and he was close to committing suicide quite a few times. I asked Azama whether what we were seeing made him sad. Because of alcohol, his eyes looked blurry, and there was a flash of red upon his cheekbones.

At this moment, the Punjabi man started to throw banknotes into the sky. At first just a few notes, then he threw a whole stack of notes all over the place. It felt unreal in the bar. Azama and I parted ways in front of the bar. As he cranked down the window of an illegal cab, he shouted something to me. In a second, I was a bit sober, and realized I was in a foreign country. My travels, they started right here. Tashkent is the largest city in Central Asia with a population of more than two million.

I loved its wide, tidy boulevards, chestnut trees and French sycamores along them. The heart of the city was Timur Square.

There, quite a few boulevards, like rays of the sun, lead to all directions of the city. However, it would not be difficult for historians to see the paradox here: Timur was not Uzbek, but Turkic. In the 19th century, these three isolated, feeble regional forces could not resist the artilleries from the Tsar of Russia.

The general Chernyayev acted against the direct orders of the Tsar out of vanity and his crave for wealth. He led soldiers—mostly fugitives, opportunists and bankrupt serfs—against defenders. In the end, this troop occupied Tashkent at a minimal cost of 19 casualties. Since then, the Russians had occupied the bridgehead of the entire Central Asia.

In an old photo, I discovered where the Timur statue was there had been a statue of General von Kaufman. When I first came to Tashkent, I had strolled the streets, trying to trace the age of the Tsar, but found nothing instead. In , an earthquake rocked the city to pieces. Earlier than that, there had been the Bolshevik hammer and sickle.

The statue of von Kaufman had been soon pushed down, and a Lenin bust was erected in its place. In the summer of , the British travel writer Colin Thubron came to Tashkent upon the dissolution of the Soviet Union. He saw that the Marx statue was still there, and not far from there, there was the largest Lenin statue in the world. There were vendors selling kebab and pilaf, but they had little business. As if it had caught a cold between summer and fall, Tashkent had lost itself.

At the time, people knew clearly that both statues of Marx and Lenin would be pushed down, but nobody knew who would replace them. It was not until that Amir Timur stumbled out of the fog of materialism, replacing the Germans and the Russians, and became the spiritual leader of Uzbekistan.

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