Going it Solo

The holiday season is already accenting that I’m here alone, but Uzbek society and abandoned Soviet towns do a pretty good job of reminding one at every opportunity. Do I deserve pity, though?

When you move abroad and decide you won’t be going back for Christmas, you accept that this will be one of those times that make you realise you’re far from home, like missed birthdays or get-togethers with friends. I tried to prepare myself for it, and it would have been naïve to have expected otherwise.

With work so busy and everyday presenting something memorable, it’s fairly easy to be distracted from these things. Every Uzbek person I meet, though, brings me straight back down to earth.

“So, when are you going home for the holidays?”

“I’m not”

“…”

There are plenty of ways I can explain it rationally- I’ve only just got here, flights are expensive, high carbon footprint, and I don’t get the time off anyway. Redemption only comes when I say I’m saving the holiday and money so that I can show my parents Uzbekistan, and indeed anyone else who might want to visit.

Having to admit that I’ll be alone for the festive season just adds to the mix of pity, surprise and “we wouldn’t accept that in our family” I’m already greeted with constantly. The fact I’m travelling on my own, living in Uzbekistan alone, and spending Christmas alone, seems to be treated as a sign of isolation, of fleetingness and a serious cause of concern.

The concept of being anywhere without a close family member or friend is almost unfathomable in this society built on family ties and big occasions. The Uzbek calendar has an occasion the size of Christmas almost every month. These are interspersed by 1000+ person weddings, all-day funerals and the unbreakable rules of hospitability (that call for hour long visitations even for unannounced or unknown guests). As many younger locals complain to me, you’re left with very little time to yourself.

At the other end of the spectrum, you have the transient cosmopolitan society that I seem to spend a lot of my social time with, made up partly of expats, “freer” younger locals, and international students who leave to study a few times every year.

In circles like these, most get togethers are also goodbyes. You have none of the stability or reliability that the close Uzbek family and friendships provide. I have an active social life here, but never with the same people. Groups mix, people come and go, either temporarily on trips home or permanently to other parts of the world, when placements and tours of duty come to an end.

Even of the handful of Christmas parties I have been invited to, at least two of them have had a “goodbye” element, which throws the whole “festive” dynamic a bit.

This isn’t a cry for help, I promise. As you’ve probably guessed by now, writing these newsletters is pretty much the only time I do get to stop and reflect, and so I tend to stay philosophical rather than morose about it all (sorry about that!).

It was during my “adventure” in the mountains last week that I realised how solo I am here, in more than one sense of the word. Being stuck in an empty hotel in an abandoned Soviet uranium-mining village probably does that to you.

It was indeed a frustrating time (and I appreciate everyone checking in on me after reading the email last week!), and I am sure that is in part because it wasn’t shared. When alone, it is much easier to dwell on what could have been, and your personal responsibility for it, instead of what is.

This is linked to the deeper point about “what is”. When we travel, and indeed when we live, we always want it to have meant something. When you’re with someone, most moments are usually, at least, social, and for that, meaningful. You feel at least a sense of connection. Even when arguing with a travel companion (which we have all done), at least you’re there with them, arguing.

When you’re travelling alone, it’s much harder to feel that presence. There’s nobody to point it out to you or draw your attention back to the moment.

I would agree that in the moment, being solo will rarely bring as much happiness as being with someone. Sure, the freedom is great, but the novelty of eating and drinking alone, and sharing views only with your camera, does wear off. So does only being able to see family over Whatsapp. That’s what the Uzbek grandmas are trying to tell me, I think.

The memories, however, have the same power. They are very different- one filled with rosy families, the other with novelty, freedom, and “wow, I did that alone”. So in those quieter moments, remember that they are just as meaningful.

I have a feeling that as well as living and working here, spending the 25^th of December sat at my desk instead of a Christmas dinner, surrounded by Uzbek civil servants instead of family, may be a bit like that.

I hope you’re enjoying this time, no matter who you’re spending it with- even if it is just yourself.