Okay so I actually did have a reason to leave Dushanbe. I decided I needed to go back to Bishkek early was I was actually interested in meeting with some expats who worked for a publication there and they were hosting an open house night at a Southern Style barbecue in south Bishkek to celebrate Guy Fawkes Day. So obviously I had to go for that, because if there is anything I love more than clubbing in Dushanbe, it’s…actually not Southern Barbecue, journalism, or Bishkek at all. I’m really not sure what the urgency was about but I did it. I bought a ticket on Tajik Air which is prestigiously known as being one of the airlines that is banned from the European Union over “safety concerns” or whatever. Ugh, nanny state, am I right?
For my final night in Dushanbe I met up with Ashley, the Brit who was working for some UN detachment doing whatever. No idea what people actually do, you know? He had a ballin' pad in downtown Dushanbe and I was to sleep on his couch. We were going to head to another British expat's place where we had shot after shot of revoltingly vile vodka chased down with a massive 5L jar of fruit juice from the market. There were two Americans who worked at the embassy teaching English and wanted to move to Canada to take advantage of all the sexual freedoms and Tegan and Sarah concerts. They loved Tegan and Sarah. I told them how crazy it was when I found out that Tegan and Sarah were—at this point they were expecting me to say “lesbians” but instead I said—“Canadian.” I was actually really surprised when I found out they were from Vancouver.
Anyway, we hit the cluuuub hard. Like, so hard. We arrived at one of two clubs in Dushanbe and we danced our faces off. Well, at least I did. You see, the young expat community was so small that they all kind of had a bit of drama with each other as they did additional shots the drama escalated and they all sort of faded away. I, on the other hand, only cared about the Tajikistan Top 40 selection that the DJ was playing, and when Pitbull's "Give Me Everything Tonight" came on, it was me in my trout t-shirt (from Canadian Tire) and hiking boots, Ashley, and the two American girls on the dance floor dancing and I got so caught up that I screamed "This is it! This is the best night of my life! This is where my life peaks!" and it's true because everything has been kind of a depressing gradual decline ever since. Meanwhile, of course, the local Tajik elite were sitting in their booths smoking shisha and abstaining from drinking and lethargically watching with jaded eyes this exotic foreign entertainment that existed solely to please them. Best. Night. Ever.
Rather than go on to the next club, I knew when to bow out when I was riding high so I hitched a ride home with an Egyptian perfume salesman in a Mercedes SUV. Ashley had given me a key so I was completely in control of my own person, though evidently walking at night alone often meant getting extorted by the local police, and as much as I love that, I wasn’t about to compromise my $150 flight the next morning. Did I mention I paid for it in cash in an aviabillet office? I just reached into my bag and pulled out $150 and handed it to a lady who handed me a ticket. I don’t trust cash transactions one bit. How on earth was that an acceptable way of reserving my ticket? How did she know how many seats were available on the plane? How could I confirm that the ticket was even for a real plane? Was her Apple II computer even plugged in? So many questions.
Everything about this video sums up the night. I have no idea what that 5L jar of fruit juice was, but I have never felt more comfortable describing something as "sizzzurp."
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