åœå¢ç·ã®åããåŽãŒãŒãŠãºããã¹ã¿ã³ãã©ãããåœã ãããããªããªã£ãŠããæ ã17
ç§ã¯ãããã»ããŠãºã»ã¢ã¹ã¯ã®éè·¯ãæž¡ã£ãå察åŽã«ããã¢ã«ã¯åã®å éšãæ©ããåè²ã®è¡ãèŠæž¡ãã
ãããŠãããã©ã®è¡ãæ©ããããã©ã®è¡ã¯ãæŽå²ç建é ç©ãç«ã¡äžŠã¶ãšãªã¢ã«ãæäœãã¢ã¯ã»ãµãªãŒãè¡£æãåžœåãçµµããã€ããªã©ã売ãã·ã§ããã飲é£åºãçµã¿èŸŒãŸããŠãããããããæŒå°ã®å£ãåããè·¯å°ãä»ããŠãæŽå²çãšãªã¢ãäœå® å°ãŸã§ãªã ããã«ã€ãªãã£ãŠãããç§ãèŠããã£ããŠãºããã¹ã¿ã³ã®è¡ããããã«ããã
ç§ã¯ããã®ã€ã©ã³äººã®èšèãæãåºãã
ãã€ã©ã³äººã®ç§ã«ãšã£ãŠã¯ããŠãºããã¹ã¿ã³ã«ã¯ã€ã©ã³ãšåãæåããã£ãŠããããã¿ããããã
ããããã°ãããã©é§ ããç§ãä¹ããããã®éœæ°ãªã¡ããŽãã¿ã¯ã·ãŒé転æã¯ããŠãºãã¯èªãšãã·ã¢èªãšãã¡ã«ã·ã話ããšèšã£ãŠãããç§ã¯ãã¡ã«ã·ãšããèšèããç¥ããªãã£ããåŸã«ç¥ã£ãããšã«ã¯ãã€ã©ã³ã§ã¯ãã«ã·ã¢èªãã¢ãã¬ãã¹ã¿ã³ã§ã¯ããªãŒèªãã¿ãžãã¹ã¿ã³ã§ã¯ã¿ãžã¯èªãšåŒã°ãããç§ã«ã¯ãããããã©ã®ããã«ã€ãªãã£ãŠããã®ãããããããããªãããã ããã®ç·ãäžã€ã®èšèªãåœããåã®ããã«å£ã«ããŠããããšã ãã¯èŠããŠããã
ããã©ã®è·¯å°ãæ©ããŠãããšãç§ã¯å°ããã€ãã€ã©ã³äººã®èšã£ãŠããããšãèããããã«ãªã£ãã
ããã¯ãã®å€ãè¡ãæ©ããããã©ã³ãã·ãŒã©ãŒãºã®è·¯å°ãæãåºãã®ã ãããããã£ãšããæ®å¿µãªããç§ã«ã¯ããã©ã³ãã·ãŒã©ãŒãºããã ã®èšèã«ãããªãããã©ã
ããã§ããããã©ã®åå£ãã¢ãŒããäžåºãããŠãºããã³ãçŒãåããèŠããå ãã ããåäŸãã¡ãç¬é¡ã§ç§ã«åŒã³ããããHello! ãã«åå¿ãããããŠãããšãããã«ã¯ç§ã®ç¥ããªããããã²ãšã€ã®ã¢ãžã¢ãã€ãªãã£ãŠãããããªæ°ãããŠããã
ãµãã«ã«ã³ãã§ã¯ãç§ã¯ã¢ã¹ã¯ãèŠãã
ããã€ãèŠããšãããã¢ã¹ã¯ã¯ååã ããšããæã£ãã
ãããããã®å°ããã©ã®ããã»ããŠãºã»ã¢ã¹ã¯ã¯ç§ãé
äºããã
ãããããã«ã©ã¯èгå
客ã®ããã«åãåãããè¡ã§ã¯ãªãããããçæŽ»ã®ãªãã«æŽå²ç建é ç©ãæ®ã£ãŠããã®ã ãç§ã¯ããããããããã
ãããŠããã®ã€ã©ã³äººã®èšèãããäžåºŠæãåºãã
ãã§ããã»ãšãã©ã®ã€ã©ã³äººã¯äžå€®ã¢ãžã¢ã«ã€ããŠãªã«ãç¥ããŸãããã
ç§ã¯å°ãé©ããã
ããããç§ã ãã§ã¯ãªãã£ãã®ã ã
èããŠã¿ãã°ãã€ã©ã³ãšäžå€®ã¢ãžã¢ã¯ãåœå¢ãæãã§å¥ã ã®åœã«ãªã£ãŠããããœãŽã£ãšãæä»£ã«ã¯ããã®å¢çã¯ããã«é ããã®ã«ãªã£ãã®ã ããã
ããã©ã人éãåœå¢ãåŒãããããšãã£ãŠãèšèãæçã建ç¯ãèšæ¶ãŸã§ããããã«åœå¢ã®ãã¡ãåŽãšãã¡ãåŽã«åããããããã§ã¯ãªãããããªåœããåã®ããšããç§ã¯ããã©ã«æ¥ãŠãããããå°ãã ã宿ããã
ããã«ããŠããããŸã€ã©ã³ã§ã¯ããšãã§ããªãããšãèµ·ããŠãããããã¯ããŸãã€ã©ã³ã§ã©ããªçŸå®ãçããŠããã ãããã©ããªæ°æã¡ã§ããŠãºããã¹ã¿ã³ã蚪ããŠããã®ã ãããç§ã«ãšã£ãŠã¯åæ²¹äŸ¡æ Œã®é«éš°ã«ããåå®ãå°ããšããããšã ããã©ããããã€ã©ã³ã«ã¯ãªãŸãªãŸããçŸå®ãããããããŠãã®çŸå®ãç§ã¯ç¥ããªãã
A Journey in Which I Gradually Lose Track of What Uzbekistan Is
Chapter 17 â When Politics Divides Culture
Walking through Bukhara, I begin to imagine the cultural connections that existed across the borders now separating Uzbekistan from Iran and Afghanistan.
The Iranian travelerâs words return to me. Shared cultural traditions can survive political borders, but political systems can make those connections difficult to see.
I think about the Soviet period and the boundaries it imposed between societies that had once been connected through language, religion, trade, migration, and culture.
Then I think about Iran today.
The Iranian man I met has returned to a country undergoing realities that I know only from afar. For me, rising oil prices and the resulting weakness of the yen are immediate concerns. For him, Iran is not a headline or an economic variable. It is home.
The distance between these two realities suddenly feels enormous.
I realize again how little I know.
And that ignorance is not an abstract problem. It has human faces.
ã€ã¥ã
#ãŠãºããã¹ã¿ã³
#äžå€®ã¢ãžã¢
#æ
è¡èš
#æ
#Uzbekistan
#Bukhara
#CentralAsia
#PersianCulture