Tuesday, 6 October 2026

 

Start: Hotel Dushanbe (TJ) 13:00

Arrival: Hotel Dushanbe (TJ) 16:00

 

Total: 6 km on foot

 

 

Tajikistan is the only country in Central Asia that we visited that does not have YandexGo. They have their own taxi company, Jura, whose white-and-green cars are everywhere. Just wait for the next one to come by, flag it down, and off you go. Which is exactly what we did today.

 

 

"Hm, Rudaki Park", the elderly cab driver repeated after me, frowning over my online map. "Yes, the south end of it", I repeated patiently. "Rudaki Park..." he said again, thoughtfully. It was only Dushanbe's most visited area, did this guy arrive only yesterday? We set off. "Tennis stadion", the driver pointed at two huge halls. Then: "Bolshoi nationalny teatr. Big wooden doors", he added in Russian. I nodded. Impressive indeed. "Does he know where we want to go?" Sonia asked in Luxembourgish from the back seat. "I'm not sure. I think I know my way around better than he does. I don't think he can read a map." It's terrific to have a secret language. "Vy iz Germania", the driver noted. Oh, he had recognized the accent. "Yes, do you speak German?" I asked politely. He smiled. "A bit." Oops, better be careful when you're talking bad about people to their face. From then on, we bonded. He played tourist guide, pointing out the presidential palace and other grand buildings.

 

 

He let us out at the south end of Rudaki Park, as requested. The sun was brightly shining, a perfect day to hide among trees. To our left, a monument to the independence of Tajikistan. "Istiqlol" is the Tajik (and Arabic, for that matter) word for independence. Tunnels (like the Tunnel of Death yesterday), town squares, streets, restaurants and much more are named thus. You cannot be in Tajikistan for more than two days and not know their word for independence. I took a pic of Sonia in front of the Istiqlol monument (pic 1), then we headed right towards another huge statue. Flowers everywhere. Like the Persians of Iran, Tajiks are crazy about flowers. I posed amid an arrangements of Tajik flags and orange petals (pic 2).

 

 

To our right, a grand white building in the New Classical Style. What could it be? A ministry? A 4-star hotel? "Kitobhonai milli", Sonia deciphered the inscription above the main entrance. The National Library! How I would love to go to work every day in such a majestic building! "No, you wouldn't", Sonia quipped, "not in this heat. You'd bitch about it just as much as you do at home." Well, they visibly had air conditioning. But I guess my sister had a point.

 

 

We reached the statue that we had spotted from the Istiqlol monument. Ismail Somoni, the bloke after whom they named their money! He was a local 9th-century Persian ruler, a wise and fair patron of the arts who presided over a golden age for this region. The Tajik see him as a founding father of their state. A bit as if the British pound were called "alfred", or the euro "charlemagne". 10 somoni are 1 charlemagne. It has a certain ring to it.

 

There was a ring. An actual ring. My phone. The employee from our hotel with news about the car insurance. He had arranged everything for us, even paid in advance and was printing out the certificate as we whatsapped. What a wonderful, proactive man! The polar opposite of the lethargic, disinterested Kyrgyz and Uzbek hotel personnel we'd had to deal with more than once. Have I mentioned that I love the Tajik people?

 

 

But now I really needed to get out of the sun, so we made a beeline for a bench in Rudaki park. "Wow, look at that." Sonia pointed to a building across the street. The Tajik White House? Indeed, the word "parlumoni" sounded suspiciously like parliament. What a beautiful architectural work of art, and all in white. Have I mentioned that I'm a sucker for architecture in the Neoclassical style? I wish Luxembourg's movers and shakers could get behind this and beautify our country, get rid of the errances of the 60s and 70s. Everyone makes mistakes. That's ok. As long as you don't call them national heritage.

 

 

Now, that bench. I flopped down on it. "You're hovering over an abyss." Sonia eyed the make-shift situation with suspicion. Two slabs of concrete over a canal. I wasn't in a hurry to get up. "It seems stable enough." I will never understand why the Central Asians are so fond of putting these canals everywhere. They hardly ever carry water, and sadly seem to get used as trash cans. An unnecessary accident waiting to happen. Maybe the local town architects have all weekend jobs as foot surgeons? Talk about creating your own patients.

 

After a while, we walked on. From somewhere in the trees, a voice was broadcast. Sounded like an interview. A woman's voice asking questions, and a man explaining his point of view. "I'm sure it's Rahmon", Sonia said. Considering that she'd never even heard of the Tajik president before yesterday evening, she seemed to have him all figured out now. In any case, the monotone talk was slightly marring the quiet peacefulness of the park.

 

 

We reached a beautiful monument next to a fountain. Silk Road feeling! A beturbaned Persian amid rose bushes, a blue and white universe of the Sun and stars as a backdrop. A Mediaeval scientist? An ancient writer? Yes! It was Rudaki, the man after whom the park was named. Called "the father of Tajik literature", he lived during the golden age of the Samanid Empire, at the court of Ismail Somoni. Sadly, only 1000 verses of his large corpus have survived the centuries. As we speak, they have made it onto my to-read list. Those quiet winter evenings, you know.

 

"You look like a Tajik woman selling grapes at the wayside", Sonia said. There are worse things your sister can compare you to. "It's meant to be a compliment." I nodded. "I know."

 

 

The park-wide broadcasted interview was still droning on. Was this a live thing? Or the same story repeated every day ad nauseam? We fled onto the street and found yet another White House lookalike. This time, it was indeed the Presidential Palace. We took a picture from afar, but the building didn't really seem to be open to tourists.

 

"You still good to go?" Sonia asked with a look at my leg. Yep, I was feeling fine. Too hot, but fit. Unfortunately, the area north of the park was less beatific. A huge construction site, dirty, dusty and loud. A brand new Radisson greeted us amid the stench of newly processed tar. The doors were wide open, a huge chandelier in the foyer, in the restaurant the tables were laid. "That hotel can't be open, there are bags of cement in the hallway!" I shook my head. I'll never understand the logic behind these constructions. Like a movie played in reverse. Just odd.

 

 

Our last destination was the Istiqlol Monument. Not the one from picture 1, there was another one north of Rudaki Park. We'd seen it yesterday evening from our hotel window and it had looked great, all lit up. The way there was one ginormous construction site. Apartment buildings with fancy cafés and shops on the ground floor, if the billboards next to it were to be trusted. Entirely in white, New Classical all the way. The work seemed to be progressing swiftly. "This will be so cool in a few years," I sighed. "But in the here and now, we're still dying of thirst", Sonia remarked drily. True. The sun was pitiless, and no shade to be found. We had reached the entrance to the Istiqlol Park. A sprawling rose garden next to an equally huge concrete square, fit for parades of Soviet proportions.

 

 

We hurried towards the Independence dildo. Wonderful mosaic detailing a scene from Tajik history. A large wooden door. Closed. The monument housed a museum which was supposed to be open. We walked around. Second mosaic, second door. Closed. Third's the charm. Or not. Finally we reached the fourth and probably last door and it was wide open. We had found the entrance to the museum!

 

 

But life's a journey, not a destination. I've always enjoyed the hunt more than the have. "I don't really feel like going in", I said. "I'm tired and hot and my feet hurt." Totally fine with my sis. "Cab, hotel, feet up?" I nodded. We rushed to the end of the humongous empty square, hailed a green-and-white cab and, in no time, were on our way to the hotel.

 

 

About a mile before we reached the hotel, the sprawling white-and-blue domes of the Friday mosque came into view. Such a cool building. We'd first seen it when we had arrived in Dushanbe yesterday. "Stop here, please", I quickly told our driver. 20 somoni changed hands, and we hopped out. The mosque was built in a distinctly different style from the Silk Road monuments of Uzbekistan. Both sported the region's iconic dazzling blue and white colours, but instead of the myriad details and ciselations of the Samarkand style, this one reflected the features of the New Classical architecture that defined the Dushanbe of the 21st century. As a nod to its Silk Road heritage, the Samarkand-like ornaments were used sparingly as highlights. The result was a convincing well-rounded harmonious ensemble. I loved it.

 

 

The Islamic Centre next to it bridged the architectural gap between the religious site and the secular buildings near Rudaki Park masterfully. When all the construction sites are finished, this northern part of Dushanbe will be the capital's delightfully cohesive showcase district. I freely admit, before coming, I had expected a sleepy, grey post-Soviet backwater, not this dynamic, airy, generous hub. After Astana, this is the only town in Central Asia where I could see myself living for a while. The urban design, the open friendly people, the energy. What's not to like.

 

 

We strolled through yet another small park back to our hotel. Enough seen for one day. At check-in, they had given us a voucher for a free cocktail at their Cosmo bar. With a name like that, there was no question what drink they had on offer. Sex and the City juice, here I come.

 

The food at the Cosmo was heavenly. I had pineapple fried rice served in one half of a real pineapple. Uber yummy. Sadly, they did not have a Cosmo on their list of cocktails. But the Vodka and lime brew they suggested was just as delish. Perfect concoction to end a perfect day.