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EURASIA EUROPEAN UNION
June 23, 2007
carpetblogger
Ask Carpetblogger: How do you clean your
carpets?
Until this week, my answer has been, "I don't."
The likelihood an elective activity like carpetwashing gets done is inversely
proportional to the number of linguistic and logistical obstacles that stand in
its way. Not only must I identify a qualified carpet cleaning professional, that
person has to come get the carpets. Furthermore, moving stinky carpets around is
a royal pain in the ass any time of the year, more so when it is 100 degrees and
you are on your own. These are all significant obstacles.
On the other hand, I have carpetdogs, so my carpets are pretty damn dirty.
Smelly too. That workhorse 6' x 5' Dagestan sumac that was in the dining room in
Baku and Kyiv absorbed prodigious amounts of food and alcohol from Sunday
dinners and parties. These factors make carpetwashing less elective and more
imperative.
Most importantly, however, if you're moving into a new apartment with
Ottoman-era wood floors that appear to be designed for your favorite carpets
(or, looking at it another way, if you made your second real estate purchase
based on how good your carpets will look), you cannot have dirty carpets.
So what to do?
One thing you'll notice about Istanbul is that there are a lot of carwashes.
Because Turks are enterprising, rare is the carwash that is only used for
washing cars. For example, because they can be hosed down, carwashes are ideal
places for a bayram sacrifice -- a ritual slaughter of sheep and cows and a
right bloody mess. More frequently, however, carwash guys are as likely to be
aiming their high pressure hoses and soap brushes at carpets hanging from wires
as Anadolu sedans.
"No carpet of mine is going to a skanky carwash!" I sniffed.
Turns out, that's pretty much wrong. A few weeks ago, I called a carpet dealer
and he came to get three of them. They came home all shiny and reptilian,
smelling of clean wool rather than dirty dog. I fell in love with them all over
again.
Apparently, they went to a carwash. According to my sources, that's standard
Istanbul carpetwashing procedure.
If this is the case, I thought, why not just cut out the middleman and go talk
to the guys at the carwash near my house?
Fortunately, my Turkish has progressed to the point where I can negotiate such a
transaction. I hopped into the guy's 1967 green jeep Cherokee and we sped up the
street to my house. He threw them in the back and took off. Receipt? Hells no.
I've been able to track their progress as I pass by with the carpetdogs. They've
been drying on the roof of the carwash in the scorching June sun.
I was only going to get a couple carpets washed, but why stop with six? I've got
another eight ready to go. The remaining eight might wait, or I might send them
to the car wash too.
carpetblogger
but
at least in Vienna you could get a decent requiem mass
April 03, 2007
No Shit! Actually, That's Not The Case
Baku is the shittiest city in the world. No, really! Now there's objective
proof, in the form of Mercer Human Resources Consulting's annual quality of
living survey.
The lowest-ranking city for health and sanitation is Baku in Azerbaijan, which
scores just 27.6. Other low-scoring cities include Dhaka in Bangladesh,
Antananarivo in Madagascar and Port Au Prince in Haiti, which score 29.6, 30.1
and 34 respectively.
How bad does a city's sanitation have to be to be worse than Dhaka's and Port Au
Prince's? You've really got to put some effort into it to be that bad. Congrats
to Baku! I hope this doesn't hurt Azerbaijan's shot at the 2016 summer Olympics.
And you people thought the term Crapistan was just a term of endearment.
In other keen-grasp-of-the-obvious-findings, Baghdad is the worst city in the
world to live in while Zurich, Geneva, Vienna, Dusseldorf and Frankfurt are the
best. Yah, the best if you're dead. What snoozers those five are. You should get
a boredom differential if you're forced to live there.
 Antique
Armenian Karabagh rug
February 07, 2007
Ask Carpetblogger! Why do you not buy
carpets in Turkey?
carpetblogger
The carpetmonkey jumped on my back on our first visit to Turkey in 1991
and was emboldened when we returned in 1996. I bought my fare share of Anatolian
kilims and they satisfied me.
suzani
buyingin shakhrisabzmsall
 A
decade later, I find little satisfaction in carpet shopping in Istanbul. It's
hard to find the dowry/folk art pieces I prefer at prices I can afford. Mostly,
I object to Turkey's carpet-industrial complex, in which kilims and carpets are
mass produced in Turkish and Iranian factories and vomited up in the alleys of
the Grand Bazaar. They're of decent quality but they lack soul. As Ruslan would
say, "they aren't made with love!"
My reservations were justified yesterday as I walked down my own street.
I had always heard rumors that carpets in Turkey were "aged" by leaving in them
in the road for cars to run over. No longer a rumor! A hotly colored "Bukhara"
kilim was lying in my street, getting "aged," right in front of the basement
sweatshop where "genuine" Uzbek suzanis are made and sold in the Grand Bazaar
for $300
In Samarkand, paying $25 for a suzani is getting ripped off.
How to Buy Carpets in Kabul
carpetblogger
A wise person once asked, “is it worth it to get your ass shot at to buy carpets
in Kabul?”
This is the wrong question. How in the world can you come to Kabul and not buy
carpets?
Indeed, everyone knows getting your ass shot at in pursuit of carpets in Kabul
is completely legit. But taking a few precautions to reduce the risks somewhat
might be advisable.
Like bringing a driver and armed guard with you.
True, having an edgy, hungry, Afghan armed with a Kalashnikov guarding the door
of your carpet dealer diminishes the quality of the casual chit chat and
increases the general level of tension in the shop. Ramadan complicates things,
since you can’t have tea and snacks and everyone is crabbier than usual.
Even so, negotiations still take place. Foreigners still get ripped off. There’s
no point in waiting until things calm down.
‘Cause the place is a basket case and “calm” is not something that’s likely to
appear anytime soon.
Buildings are low and mud colored. A thick layer of dust sucks out what little
color the broken trees and bushes lend to the city. Any buiding of any
importance, from an office to a health clinic to an Embassy to a goverment
building is surrounded by blast walls and concertina wire, and heavily guarded.
All are unmarked, to reduce the probability of becoming a target
Kabul, and Afghanistan, is a tragedy. Things are getting
worse,
not better but this is not not news to Afghans.
The situation in the regions has been bad for months, and it’s only since the
suicide bombers started hitting Kabul did anyone outside of Afghanistan start
paying much attention. People are edgy, dour and pessimistic about the future.
Suicide bombers in Kabul are new; their randomness disrupts the carefully
constructed wall of willful ignorance and intentional focus on other activities
that makes it possible for foreigners and locals alike to function.
Predictably, the Taliban is gaining ground in some areas. People are sick of the
lack of security and the fact that five years after the fall of the Taliban
(still widely hailed) and something like 70 billion dollars spent, downtown
Kabul doesn’t have electricity most of the time and schools operate out of
tents. And
bicycles
are being
remotely detonated as buses of police rumble by.
Kabul is probably the most fucked-up place I’ve ever been. True, I was only here
for a few days and was strictly limited to traveling between my office and
UN-security approved guesthouse. But the work I was doing exposed me to the
views of many Kabulis on a wide variety of current political issues. It was
fascinating and so very depressing.
I
did my part to contribute to the local economy—eight hastily purchased prayer
rugs and bags. They are gorgeous—shiny and reptilian, just the way I like them.
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