There are moments in life when everything seems to go wrong.
At the time, we call it bad luck.
Looking back, I have learned that sometimes it is simply life introducing us to someone we were meant to meet and that happened to me in Bukhara, Uzbekistan.
Whenever I join a group tour, I almost always arrive early or stay longer. It's my way of seeing the places the itinerary leaves behind. In Uzbekistan, I arrived three days before the tour and stayed another three after it ended. Once the tour began, I assumed my independent adventures were over. Then, while we were in Bukhara, I learned we would have a free morning. That was all the invitation I needed. I immediately found a local guide to help me follow the city's Jewish history. It turned out to be one of the best decisions of the entire trip.
There was only one problem, Money.
Uzbekistan is very much a cash society, and I was having one headache after another. My American bank had blocked my ATM card after a withdrawal, and my credit cards kept asking for a PIN I didn’t even know existed. Every attempt to get cash seemed to end in frustration. On the way back to my hotel, I asked my guide if she knew where I might find another ATM. “Of course,” she said. “There is one near my husband’s workshop.”
Then she smiled and added, “He is a master craftsman.”
The ATM was immediately forgotten. “What does your husband make?” I asked.
A few minutes later we were standing inside his workshop, surrounded by magnificent hand-chased copper plates, bowls, and trays. His name was Anvar Kurbanov, and even to my untrained eye I could see that his work was extraordinary. He explained that each piece passed through his hands several times, every detail refined until he was completely satisfied.
I chose a beautiful plate.
Then reality returned.
My credit card failed.
My ATM card failed.
I looked at Anvar and apologized. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I simply can’t buy it.”
He looked at me for a moment, wrapped the plate, placed it in my hands and quietly said,
“Take it. You can wire me the money.”
He didn’t ask for my passport. He didn’t ask where I lived. He didn’t ask me to sign anything.
He simply trusted me.
The first thing I did when I returned home was wire him the money. Not because he asked.
Because trust deserves to be honored.
Sometimes I look at that beautiful copper plate hanging in my home. People admire the craftsmanship. I admire something else.
A broken ATM that never worked…
…and the remarkable man I would never have met if it had.