Time Keeps On Passing, Passing. . .

Ah, boredom. 

Laying on a bed in a hotel is not my forte, nor is sitting in the hotel's garden, as nice as it is.  This not being able to stand or walk (if I want to heal properly and as promptly as possible) is more limiting than I imagined. It reminds me of when I was confined to the hospital for three weeks, but at least there I could go for walks. 

But I am faithfully refraining from standing and walking. My feet are still swollen and tender. I keep them warm, dry, and exposed to the air. I only wear sandals when I must walk, and then immediately remove them to avoid allowing any moisture to form between sandal and skin. Naught else can be done except to watch for any signs of cracks or infections, which I do. 

I would like to get out and see more of Dushanbe. The parts I have seen, which are really just the major arterials, are nicely shaded boulevards. Most of the people are very friendly, and young men stop when they see me to practice their English, or to offer their help. 

Also, while riding the moto, they express their proposed friendship in a variety of ways. Usually, they blow their horn as soon as they see the moto, and start waving and yelling. Sometimes, however, they sneak right up on me, kind of in stealth mode, and only when right beside me or right behind me do they start leaning on the horn and yelling. That has startled me so badly, so many times, that I am quite exhausted by it. Another expression of friendship and the utter joy of beholding such a moto, is to start to pass, then slow down to match my pace, roll down their window, and then initiate a conversation at 80 kmh in a language I have no hope of hearing while wearing a helmet, much less understanding. And finally, sometimes they just want a good long look, so they will get right in the same lane with me. Once again, this can be disconcerting, as they are often looking at me while describing what they are seeing to someone on the cellphone in their other hand, and not looking at the road in front of them. I am reduced to smiling (which they can't see) and nodding my head at them. This lets them know I have seen them, and that I am acknowledging their interest and sharing their joy that we are together, in one lane, traveling too fast on a bad road, and that neither of us is looking where we are going. But they are really friendly. 

In the country, the little boys and pre-teen boys and girls run to the side of the road to wave as soon as they hear it. Teenage boys vary in their response, because their primary concern is to remain cool. If there is a small group of them, they often wave and start uttering the Central Asian (common to all countries I have visited so far) equivalent of "Hey!"  It seems to be a mash-up of noises, most akin to the British colloquial "Oy!" but with more of a grunt. There is a lot of belly used in making the noise. It sure is an attention getter, and therefore a very efficient means of communication. 

To change things up just a little, I think I will order my supper early tonight. Last night I had doner/donar kebab. Tonight I am going back to "Southern Fried Chicken" which is like KFC without Colonel Sander's blessing. If you catch my drift. I actually like the chicken better than KFC, although the fries aren't as good. Since it is not too hot, I will take my Kindle and sit outside, and when my chicken delight arrives, dine al fresco at the table next to this humongous what I call a day bed. 

In fact, I will sit in the chair, the top of which you can see in the photo, while I dine. And salad. I will have some salad too, as grease + roughage = 😎.