Friday Night in Tashkent

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Monday, October 29, 2001

It's Friday night, and in Tashkent, capital of Uzbekistan, the must-have invitation is to the national day celebrations at the Czech embassy. Every diplomat, military attaché fixer, schemer and spook in town will be descending on the tables of ghoulash, boiled ham and Pilsner to chew over the latest developments south of the border in Afghanistan. For journalists, this is the best chance to date to track down some loose tongues and unwise asides in a war that, at least in government circles, is being fought in almost total silence.

MORE STORIES Kabul: Eking out an Existence Baghran: Into Taliban Country Taliban: Why the bad guys get away More Stories >>> PHOTO ESSAYS Burden of Sanctuary Afghanistan's Women A Country Divided More Photos >>> CNN.com Asia Latest news on the War on Terror IN THIS WEEK'S ISSUE Inside Tora Bora Jan. 14, 2002 Past Issues Person of the Year Dec. 31, 2001 ----------------- Inside Tora Bora Dec. 24, 2001 ----------------- The Manhunt Dec. 17, 2001 ----------------- Qala-i-Jangi Dec. 10, 2001 ----------------- Unveiled at Last Dec. 3, 2001 ----------------- Hunting bin Laden Nov. 26, 2001 ----------------- First Blood Nov. 19, 2001 ----------------- Al-Qaeda's Reach Nov. 12, 2001 ----------------- War On   Two Fronts Nov. 5, 2001 ----------------- The Fear Factor Oct. 29, 2001 ----------------- The War   on Terror Oct. 22, 2001 ----------------- Facing the Fury Oct. 15, 2001 ----------------- Preparing   for Battle Oct. 8, 2001 ----------------- Target: Bin Laden Oct. 1, 2001 ----------------- America United Sept. 24, 2001 ----------------- Day of Infamy Sept. 14, 2001   INTERACTIVE GRAPHICS The World of Al-Qaeda Ramping Up the Ground War Mission Into Afghanistan More Graphics Workplace Safety Afghan Targets Anthrax Pathogen A Ground War An Uneasy Ally Targets Hit Search & Destroy Firepower & Food Frozen Assets Safety Guide Middle East Leaders Agents of Death Afghanistan Military Buildup Terrorist Cells Our Weapons Paths of Destruction Twin Terrors

Defacing a Czech colleague's crested invitation to include "... and friends," an Indian leader writer, a British freelance cameraman and I stride past the black-flagged limousines and smile away the security goons on the door. The reception is in a vast hangar and for some reason it's a space theme: two walls are covered in cosmoscapes of the galaxy, great Saturns, toy rockets and shooting stars. The huge assembled crowd is similarly universal. There's Chinese, Japanese and Scots. Fat Italians, slick Indians and vast Central Asian propaganda chiefs. Hungarian democracy activists, Slav security gorillas rubbing their fists and murmuring sweet beatings in each others' ears and a Greek Orthodox priest. But at first, we're disappointed. The Americans, still refusing even to confirm what everybody knows -- that they've taken over a former Soviet airbase a short hop from the frontier -- are, typically, no shows. Even worse, their enforcers, the bullying Brits, are out in force. Over the last month, the men from London have reduced a usually chatty diplomatic corps to knock-kneed mutes. "Ha ha, you arr vurry fanny," says the French ambassador when asked if he can brief us, glancing nervously at the burly British party in a distinctly unamused manner. On the far side of the room Czech ambassador Jaroslav Ludva is carefully avoiding us. A few days ago, he found himself having to explain to his American counterpart a few rash comments he made in confidence to a Czech newspaper reporter that, in this war of no words, found themselves translated into five languages and flashed around the world.

The Pakistani ambassador, however, a tiny man with towering indiscretion, is talking to anyone who will listen, unfortunately about anything under the sun. But he seems to encourage our friend from Paris -- or maybe it's the departure of the Brits after a last sweeping scowl -- who begins to pour forth venomous disdain for the "owful Amairicains" and their idiot war. The Hungarian democracy activists perk up too, railing against long-standing Russian imperialist arrogance in Central Asia. Even the normal poodling local media are feeling playful, decrying the censorship strangling their work with an arresting excitement. We're doing our bit too, passing buckets of booze along a sort of reverse fire line of grasping hands to keep the flames of outrage burning. Dark rumors begin to circulate of a second and, this time, truly secret American air base in some desolate place that seems to be called "Dead Duck." The Czech ambassador's wife, a blonde show stealer in a ball gown and off-the-shoulder silk wrap, is giggling in conspiratorial Spanish. A husband and wife German teacher team in a till-death-do-us-part smoking and drinking match are slamming CNN and American anthrax-cure policies and eulogizing Algeria. And we are getting nothing but drunk. As the crowd thins, I grab our ambassador host and, after indulging his enthusiastic detour on the delights of Singapore, Macanese casinos and how space has inspired young Uzbek artists to such spectacular effect, declare that his reformist democrat credentials demand he tells me what the hell's going on down south. "Call me," he says, shoving his card into my top pocket. "Next year."