Eastward to Tartary, Robert Kaplan Takes Us

Eastward to Tartary, Robert Kaplan takes us on a journey through the wreckage of empires: Soviet, Ottoman, and Hellenistic. His path winds from Hungary through Romania and Bulgaria and then on to Turkey, Syria, Azerbaijan and Turkmenistan. He introduces us to the social and political climates of countries that were shrouded in mystery under communism or largely ignored due to American unfamiliarity with the region. Unlike Paul Thoureaux and other American writers, Kaplan seems to have an interest in the political and demographic situation of the region, and we see these countries portrayed through the eyes of a student of socio-political environments.

Kaplan starts off in Hungary, the most western of the countries he visits, both geographically and psychologically. The Hungarians, Magyar misfits in mostly-Slavic Eastern Europe, have ramped up their economy since the fall of communism. Hungary is eager to join the new Europe and considers itself central European rather than in the East. Budapest is portrayed as a modernized yet ancient city that is hard to believe emerged from the staid wreckage of socialism. Kaplan notes that Hungarian politicians are driven by both desire to merge with Europe and nationalist instincts: Hungarian leaders are quick in their rhetoric to remind Eastern Europe that the government stands for the interests of Hungarians living in surrounding countries. Their ethnicity has been a presence in these countries for centuries dating back to the Hapsburg Empire.

He makes his way to Romania and later Bulgaria, whose juxtaposition of new wealth and ubiquitous poverty jar his sensibilities. These countries see themselves as on the cusp of the next wave of Euro-expansion that follows the 2004 round. As of yet, their governments have yet to meet the deficit spending requirements and other financial considerations required for membership. He notes the pettiness of the people in scrounging for seeming trifles of money.

The country's new rich dominate the center of Bucharest, which contains one of the biggest buildings of the world as Ceausescu's last symbol of communist grandiosity.

In place of the terrified urban peasantry I remembered from my visits in the 1980s, I found a downtown comprised of the latest Italian fashions and hairstyles, cell phones, casinos, private exchange dealers and sidewalk stands selling books and compact disks -- everything from Mein Kampf in Romanian to Israeli pop music, with an emphasis on computer and management books.

The rest of the country is portrayed as a dilapidated hovel, overlooked by foreign aide dollars but not by the unscrupulous influence peddlers of the mafia. These he claims are a new phenomenon, and compares them to the bandits and highwaymen of folk legend. He reminds the reader that Bucharest was once an inexpensive alternative to Paris for the Bohemians of the earlier part of the 20th century and sold its agricultural produce to the markets of the west. He hints could happen again if the European Union gives Romania and Bulgaria a second look.

In Turkey, Kaplan portrays a modernizing west, a traditionalist east, and an anarchist Kurdish fronteir, all underscored by the omnipresence of the secular, nationalist military. He speaks at length of the interplay between the regiments quick to preserve the legacy of Ataturk and the parliamentary government; noting that members of the latter group are never immune to the threat of imprisonment. He describes cities like Istanbul and Antioch in the context of their fabled histories.

Syria's oppressive regime, headed by president Hafez al-Assad, is also contrasted with its vast history and the nature of its people. Kaplan describes the ruins of a Roman cemetery that he finds while eating a lunch of goat cheese and olives in the Syrian desert: "The carved faces of the dead emerged from the canyon's soft volcanic rock in all the earthen tones of a rich palette." The interplay between Israel and the region, and perspectives of the United States and the West never escape him. As he treks to Azerbaijan and on to Turkmenistan, the omnipresence of the oil industry is what captures his attention. In Turkmenistan, the Russian population deposited by the Soviet Union is fading as the nation discovers nationalism. Despite the efforts of a popular president, Armenia faces ethnic tension and the discrimination of its Islamic neighbors and Russia to the north. In Baku, at the Caspian terminus of the trans-Caucasian oil pipeline, Kaplan describes a boom-town such as could be found in the old west.

His writings are a careful mix of personal anecdote and policy briefing and serve as a readable primer for people who wish to familiarize themselves with the political climates of oil exporter countries or the emerging markets of Eastern Europe. His audience ranges from the casual "Lonely Planet" reader to Bill Clinton and the policy analysts of Cambridge Energy Research Associates or Eurasia Group. His book he considers a sequel to Balkan Ghosts and deals expressly with the legacies of countries that were once in the Ottoman Empire that stretched at one time from the gates of Vienna to the Silk Road through Asia and south along the coast of Africa to Morocco. In the Caucasus, Kaplan introduces western audiences to a region already known in Russia for being a battleground for ideologies and natural resources. The book predates the Afghanistan conflict, but remains a haunting preview of the stage for future conflicts in the region.

Kaplan often makes the mistake of offering the same blanket solutions that characterize American foreign policy: create democracy, lend military advisors, and encourage states to join military and economic alliances. These solutions echo the policies that have defined the role of the State Department over the last fifty years, policies that have often caused America to be seen as an interloper quick to prostheletize democracy to ancient and foreign cultures. In assuming that America's role in such countries would be seen as a friendly gift would be to further Balkanize the region.

As a travel narrative, the book is excellent. Kaplan is aware of the context of his surroundings to an extent that allows the observer to make sense of the imagery he purveys. This is probably why Kaplan's works are so popular. In a way, his is the thinking man's travel narrative: when he comes across an interesting character, situation or city, he puts it in perspective for the reader. This one can assume is the result of a careful analysis of the history of the region. He refers to the work of other travel narrators that have covered the region in years past, which complements the sense of a continuum; something that is a running theme of this book.