Watermelon (and Men of) in Uzbekistan

Tis nearly the end of melon season and nobody is as regretful about it than I am. Every September, I find myself in an angsty teenage phase where I am unable to appreciate the next round of late-summer fruits, like plums and figs. Though delicious, these purple-hued mini treats don't hold a candle to the mouth feel or sweetness of watermelon, and it makes me feel like Sadness.

The roadside vendors don't have the same draw either. Melon men: they cradle their giant fruits, bending over in denim jeans, stacking melons into tidy piles. Some like to knock on the rind when choosing the perfect one, others prefer to shine them with cotton towels, like Jesus Quintana before presenting them for inspection and purchase. Glistening with sweat and effort, they sell these Hulked-out pieces of sweet, chin-dripping flesh like it's going out of fashion.

We tried twice to grow watermelon from seed in our patch of grass at home, but to no avail. We just don't have the touch, so I will impatiently wait for their return next summer and I can horrify my children again with my nightly rendition of eating the famous Great Outdoors 96-ounce steak - but with watermelon.

 

Yangiobod Flea Market

I am glad to report that both of my kids take Halloween planning very seriously. They enjoy being creepy and scary as much as I do, so when Deets asked if we could find a gas mask as part of his costume, I eagerly agreed. It gave me an excuse to return to the Yangiobod Flea Market, one of my favorite jaunts in the city. It's rowdy, dusty, and always stuffed with people on the weekends. Most of the market is divided into reasonable sections. One alley is specifically for selling only gas stoves, another for doors and windows. Rotors live in one section and wires/cables are in another. Antiques, clothing, and cell phone stalls are in between the food stalls selling drums of sunflower oil, shashleek grilled on aluminum spears, somsa, and plov. Above the melee, faded signs of good looking white people warning others to wear masks and stand 2 meters apart are totally ignored - Margo commented how this could be useful information for archeologists to discern human behaviors and value systems several hundred years from now. 

We cruised the aisles, eyes scanning for anything resembling military and found all the camouflage and lace up boots one could want. Rubber gas masks galore too. In a matter of minutes, Deets found what he was looking for. In a matter of minutes, Deets found that wearing a gas mask might not have the best "breathing material" for his Halloween costume. Braving the bargaining process on his own, he bought one anyway and opted to create a different costume for next month's holiday to avoid suffocating himself. Retro gas masks are about 5 USD these days, and he also bought an army issued aluminum canteen for the same price. He was pretty darn pleased with himself. Me too, actually.

On the way out, I stopped in my tracks to peruse the table selling surgical instruments. It was all I could do to not buy a box of expired suture, a glass syringe, metal tongue depressor, or a tenaculum clamp. You never know when you might need to perform emergency GYN surgery... for various... reasons...

Lenin items everywhere. 
EVERYWHERE.

Cable district.

Accordions, cameras, and clocks.

Antique hall.

Historic newspapers and fabrics.

Surgical delight.

Food court.

Face rugs and oil paintings.