This is what I see in the streets of Ashgabat, the capital of Turkmenistan. Women in long, velvety dresses, flowery imposing headdresses, pale faces with either no make up or lots of it. The women are thin yet curvy, shy, modest, kind. I've seen a few dark-skin people, most likely with Mongolian ancestors but other than that, the population is very Turkish-looking, very white and the Russian influence is undeniable, both in their physique and their attitude. Because most women cover their heads with impressive looking head gear, I haven't been able to ascertain if they have as much hair as the men. Men are hairy, they have lots and lots of hair on their heads. So much so that some of them look as though they wear furry hats.
Now this is what my husband looks like: British, white, blue-eyed, ashy hair. And now this is what I look like: Brown, curly hair, very, umm, latina. Now put my husband and I holding hands in the streets of Ashgabat. Quite a sight. Wherever we go, people stare at us. I'm not sure what goes through their minds but I'm sure that it's not my husband's reputation that's a stake. The other day we were walking hand in hand through the pristine Russian Bazaar and a couple of vendors who couldn't take their eyes off us asked us if we were married. Thank goodness for wedding bands. Just like those t-shirts that read "I'm With The Band," I should wear one that reads, "I'm His Wife," and an arrow pointing to the right.