Heat and Dust and Beer

As a heat wave sweeps Britain one’s thoughts naturally turn to the English country pub. Long sunny afternoons sitting on sticky wooden benches in an overgrown garden, cradling a pint of warm, flat beer and eating defrosted scampi and chips. Bliss.

Over 3,000 miles away in downtown Dushanbe, temperatures over 40°C all week produce a similar sort of yearning. The government has warned of probable disasters due to the melting of glaciers and high river water. Trucks are prohibited from moving from 8:00 am to 10:00 pm. People are advised to stay indoors (exceptions for mad dogs and Englishmen). Streets are being hosed down to prevent the dust suffocating everyone. But no mention yet of emergency supplies of warm, flat beer.

Unfortunately, despite 3,000 years of recorded civilization, the English country pub is something that has still not been properly developed in central Asia. Instead we have the choikhona, or tea house. These are everywhere and can be of all shapes and sizes.

Choikhona at Penjikent

In fact, consistent with Tajikistan’s dominance of the race to have the world’s tallest flag pole, we are soon to have the world’s biggest choikhona. It will have a shopping mall, bowling alley and cinema - so perhaps stretching the definition of tea house a bit far – in a grand and airy new building.

The tea house traditionally serves black or green tea - choi siyoh or choi kabud (kabud actually means blue tea, but we shan’t go into that) - and taking tea is not just about being given a cup of hot water and a tea bag. First of all you probably have to clamber aboard a tapchan. This is the raised platform with rails on three sides, cushions and a small table in the middle last featured when I was  breakfasting in Penjikent. Everyone sitting cross-legged round the table certainly adds an air of conviviality and, for those of us with arthritis, a feeling of permanence. Once in place and the bones are locked it’s difficult to imagine getting out without a winch.

Tapchan

Tea is served from the pot into small bowls and ritual demands an initial pouring from pot to bowl and back to pot three times before dishing out all round. I’ve absolutely no idea why.

In a choikhona you can obviously choose from the menu what you would like with your tea. When receiving private hospitality, it can turn into a full blown meal. There will be non, flat bread which is almost sacred to Tajiks – don’t leave it upside down, don’t be seen throwing it away, don’t! don’t! don’t! throw breadcrumbs for the birds – and some selection from a baffling range of yoghurts. Then possibly shourbo or borscht soup, some chicken or mutton, dried fruit and nuts, fresh fruit, biscuits and more. A bit like afternoon tea at the Balmoral Hotel if Marco Polo was staying.

The Choikhona Rohat, pictured below, specialises in shashliks – kebabs – freshly barbecued and served on long skewers which could also serve as a means of defence should Genghis Khan or one of his successors suddenly turn up again. To be fair, you can miss the tea all together and - as seen in the picture - go straight to beer and kebab. Unfortunately the lager is chilled, costs 50p a pint and you have to wait while the meat is cooked to order. It’s not the real thing, it’s not my English idyll, but I’m determined to make the best of it never the less. Nobody said this was going to be easy…

Choikhona Rohat

Shashliks