As an introduction, please consider the following brief record of Poul Jahn’s career up to his time in Uzbekistan, found through internet search:

Poul Jahn has been called by many the Danish pioneer of the Soviet Union and China, as he was the first to open up trade in consumer goods between the two countries and Denmark as early as 1958. The trade began with textile goods, but in a short time was also expanded to export Danish textile fabrics to the Soviet Union, which became a significant business, and with Danish food, and it was the company C. Jahn A/S that sold the first Carlsberg/Tuborg beer, chewing gum from Dandy, Lego and many other products to the then various foreign trade companies. When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991 and the Soviet National Bank went bankrupt, Poul Jahn had just established his own company, first in Kiev, Ukraine, and almost simultaneously in Tallinn, Estonia, for the Baltic Republics, and then in Tashkent in Uzbekistan, from where the other Central Asian countries were supplied with Carlsberg beer, Dandy chewing gum and Lego through the offices in Almaty and Bishkek.

Entrepreneur Poul Jahn was, above all, a hard worker. He demanded the same of his team. If you could match his expectations, he was a most friendly and generous employer. A constant source of business expansion ideas and plans, he rewarded those who supported him in achieving his goals. Things did not always go well for him, but experience showed how he maintained a pragmatic approach in meeting setbacks head on. There were plenty of obstacles to overcome throughout his business life – including unfortunately his eventual failure in Uzbekistan, as indicated below in an article published in the New York Times in 2002: 

"New U.S. Allies, the Uzbeks: Mired in the Past

Two years ago, Poul Jahn employed 140 people as an importer of products like candy from Germany and Legos from Denmark.

Today, he is all but out of business, because the government stopped allowing him to convert his sales revenue from Uzbek soum into dollars.

His difficulties are just one example of how hard it is to foster economic or other development in Uzbekistan and other Central Asian states that have become the newest United States allies because of their proximity to Afghanistan and the usefulness of their bases to American troops.

Under President Islam Karimov, a Soviet-era ruler here who has just extended his term until 2007, Uzbekistan has displayed little appetite for either democracy or open markets. Political repression is intense, corruption is widespread and economic policy owes more to Stalin than George W. Bush.

American leaders are eager to pump economic and military aid into Central Asian states, but the sort of bureaucratic thicket and isolationism encountered by Mr. Jahn makes it difficult to see how the World Bank will dispense the $1 billion earmarked for the region over the next three years.

Yet without economic reform to improve the prospects for people here, the attraction of radical Islamic movements to the poor and disaffected may continue to grow. Mr. Karimov has used the existence of such movements as the pretext for an often brutal clampdown on any expression of Islam, jailing thousands of people in sweeps across the country that have been repeatedly criticized by rights groups.

Every economy in Central Asia is smaller today than it was before the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1990. Poverty is intense, with average annual income of about $610 here and less than half that in neighbouring Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan.

Although leaders like President Karimov have vowed to support economic and administrative reform, the progress is at best uneven.

''Leaders are finding that they are getting a very different reception now than they got on Sept. 10,'' said James D. Wolfensohn, president of the World Bank, who himself made his first trip to the region only after the Sept. 11 terror attacks transformed the geopolitical realities of formerly forgotten Central Asia.

But, Mr. Wolfensohn added, ''If they are going to take advantage of this opportunity for funds and support, then change will be necessary.''

Uzbekistan illustrates how hard that change will be. Despite heavy pressure from the International Monetary Fund, it has yet to abandon its currency restrictions. Policy often seems to be set mainly to buttress Mr. Karimov's hold on power.

Meanwhile, a crazy quilt of new borders has disrupted trade and routine travel throughout the region.

Many people are trapped in enclaves, a few square miles of Uzbek or Tajik territory surrounded by Kyrgyzstan. Traders who once roamed freely across borders now need to wait in long lines, show visas and often pay bribes.

''People are trapped,'' said Natalia Ablova, director of the Bureau on Human Rights and Rule of Law, in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan. ''They cannot travel, cannot trade, cannot create business. Just travel through the region, and you will see the intolerable conditions that each country has created for its own citizens.''

Uzbekistan is hardly alone. Turkmenistan, which has big oil and gas reserves, has become so autocratic and isolated that World Bank officials have all but stopped offering aid.

Tajikistan, ravaged by civil war through much of the 1990's, remains plagued by organized crime, heroin smuggling and violence. Few foreign companies venture to do business there, and the average yearly income is only about $200.

The new isolationism has greatly increased tensions throughout Central Asia. Uzbekistan is critically short of water, and constantly accuses Kyrgyzstan of hoarding it upstream. Kyrgyzstan says it needs to store water for hydroelectric power, because its neighbors will not supply it with enough electricity.

''You have this shadow play going on between leaders, whether it is about problems in the Aral Sea or about trade,'' Mr. Wolfensohn said.

The difficulties become abundantly clear on a trip through the Fergana Valley, a region that is just 200 miles long but is home to 10 million people and a big share of Central Asia's industry and agriculture.

A one-hour trip between the Kyrgyz cities of Osh, an ancient trading post, and Jalalabad now takes four hours -- the main road cuts through Uzbek territory, and side roads are winding and small.

The enclave of Sokh, claimed by Uzbekistan but surrounded by Kyrgyz territory, is virtually fenced off from the outside world. Uzbek leaders argue that strong borders are essential to preventing attacks by militant Islamic groups, notably the Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan, which has roots in the Fergana Valley and launched several attacks from Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan in 1999 and 2000.

Economics is also partly a factor in the Uzbek behaviour -- to keep prices for basic commodities like flour, cotton and gasoline artificially low, the government has imposed a mind-numbingly complex scheme of currency and trade controls.

At a checkpoint near the Uzbek city of Kuvasai, border police put the finishing touches last month on a massive new station that looks like the entrance to a palace.

The new station has multiple rooms for interrogation and searches; animal pens for the guard dogs; the latest in X-ray and bomb-sniffing equipment, and a canteen and recreation room for off-duty guards. Police officials boast that the ''Welcome to Uzbekistan'' sign can be seen from Kyrgyz mountainsides 50 miles away.

''You can see that there is nothing like this in Kyrgyzstan or even Kazakhstan,'' boasted the station's director, Col. Alisher Amanbaev. ''This has everything you need for a really civilized process.''

But not necessarily an easy one. There are no buses or trains that go straight across the border. Anyone driving a car from Kyrgyzstan will have to pay $45 for insurance, prohibitive for people in a country where the average annual income is $270.

''It would be good if we could just drive across,'' said Micha, a Kyrgyz hairstylist who waited along the railroad for a ride to Kuvasai. ''Before, we would just go up to the border, stop and then drive through.''

Economic life has been disrupted in scores of places. At a brick factory in Kuvasai, managers were told they would have to pay steep new tariffs on clay from a quarry just over the border in Kyrgyzstan. Factory managers located another source on their side of the border, but the land belonged to a collective farm. Local Uzbek authorities then ordered the farm collective to hand over the quarry land on a 50-year lease at no cost.

Although factory managers say they are selling more bricks than before, they are not selling any at all in Kyrgyzstan. A rival Kyrgyz brick factory is not selling anything here, either.

Uzbek attempts to control exchange rates have created an even bigger set of barriers. A handful of privileged companies, like the Daewoo automobile assembly plant, are allowed to purchase dollars at about 700 soum to the dollar. Individuals are allowed to change limited amounts of money at 1,450 soum to the dollar. The real exchange rate, available on the black market, is about 1,500 soum to the dollar.

The effect is to wreak havoc in trade, swamping neighbouring countries with artificially cheap Uzbek products and making most exports to Uzbekistan artificially expensive.

''We are a country with a majority of the population living below the poverty line,'' complained one top Kyrgyz official. ''But trade with our Eurasian neighbours dropped 20 percent last year.''

Mr. Jahn, owner of an importing company called Jahn International, built a thriving business here through much of the 1990's. But then the Uzbek government cut in half the amount of Uzbek soum he could convert to dollars.

Then it reduced him to a quarter, and then it cut off his ''allocation'' entirely.

To stop him from changing money on the black market, Uzbek authorities limited bank withdrawals to little more than the amount needed for wages. To make sure Mr. Jahn did not cheat by selling products out the back door, they sent inspectors to check his warehouse inventories.

''I don't want to do business illegally,'' Mr. Jahn said. ''Right now, I am basically out of business.''

Under pressure from the International Monetary Fund, change may be under way. Last month, Uzbek authorities announced that citizens would no longer have to show them airline tickets and travel documents in order to exchange Uzbek soum for dollars. It was a limited offer -- no more than $1,000 per person every three months.

By Uzbek standards, it is a major reform."

However, it gives me great pleasure to alert you here that he achieved eventual lasting success in his final business venture in Ukraine. In 2004, already in his 70s, Paul had started a franchise partnership with the Danish furniture company Jysk. By the time of his retirement in 2014, Poul had established ten Jysk stores in the country, which were then bought out by the retail giant.

Information about Poul’s life after Uzbekistan only came to me through much later internet searches. [See ‘Remarkable 2025 Notes’ at the end of this section].  Poul was never one for seeking the limelight, so it was not easy for me to find relevant material. Nevertheless, knowing his indefatigable spirit, it was not a surprise for me when I uncovered his latter-day success. He deserved it. Hopefully, Poul’s influence on me will shine through the following record of the year of working for his company, Jahn International A/S.

·      The main office

I spent my first couple of weeks living in the Hotel Uzbekistan. Only a few minutes’ walk away across the road was the building which contained the Jahn International A/S offices on the second floor. Poul had his large living accommodation and office on one side of the stairs, whilst the expansive flat opposite provided extra office space and catering facilities. My desk, telephone and computer were set up in a side room there. The detached building was constructed on three sides around a central courtyard, with an entrance wide enough to accept vehicle access. 

In a setup which I was to discover was not unusual for the area, the rear edge of the courtyard was occupied by a self-built shack where the female janitor of the building lived. Raisa Ivanevna (the use of her patronymic indicated her age) was a survivor of the 1966 earthquake which had destroyed much of the centre of Tashkent and, as I was to find out, a most inquisitive lady. This turned out to be a benefit, as she was able to provide me with local assistance and information in many matters. The only time I recall her not knowing what to do was when we had a severe mid-afternoon earthquake in 1998. On her initial advice, we all congregated outside in the courtyard. Then she decided that we’d all be safer inside, as “the building was constructed after 1966 to be earthquake-proof”. By the time a consensus opinion was reached to go back inside, the tremors had receded, thank goodness.

·      The Lithuanian on the 3^rd Floor

Although hotel living suited me, Poul made it clear very soon that I must take up rented accommodation. Through word of mouth – the most effective method of advertising in the area – it was made known that I was seeking a place to live. Responses were immediate, as the prospect of having a foreign tenant was most attractive for landlords. I sound found out that this meant that any rental agreement for me would consist of two parts: an official document, legally affirmed, for a peppercorn rent to be paid in Uzbek Soums via the bank, plus an unwritten separate payment made personally in US dollars. (US dollars could be exchanged on the flourishing black market for Soums at higher than official rates). I was initially astounded to realise that such agreements were commonplace in this inherently corrupt society but soon realised that everyone knew that agreeing to this was the only way that foreigners could secure non-hotel accommodation. No one questioned (or complained about) the arrangement. Such corruption from Soviet times remained an integral way of life. To be fair to Poul, apart from this, he refused to get involved with any direct forms of corruption and expected us to do the same. If a small ‘bonus’ had to paid to get an immediate response from a plumber for example, then so be it, but any more overt form of bribery was refused. This meant that from time to time we were made to wait for hours in corridors outside civic offices, when a financial consideration would have guaranteed early attention to us from a representative, but Poul’s stubbornness won through in the end. Jahn International A/S became respected as an honest and trustworthy partner, a rare commodity in Central Asia.

Poul had a couple of female assistants working for him in his office. He nominated one of them – Gulnara –to assist in my search for accommodation. With her help I reduced the acceptable area to one within a fifteen minutes’ walk of the Jahn International office. We soon narrowed down the choice to the “Ts 1” [=“Tsentralny 1”] central district of the city, a large estate of 3-storey blocks erected after the 1966 earthquake to house governmental employees. This part of the city had been totally rebuilt by parties of volunteers brought in from all republics of the Soviet Union in the late 60s.  After looking at a few, we eventually found a large three bedroomed flat on the third floor in a quiet location. It was too large in many ways for my needs, but I wasn’t going to complain. A legal rental agreement was quickly organised and signed with a local notary who obviously knew that the document wasn’t the complete arrangement but he wasn’t going to comment. Anyway, he had probably been paid a consideration. That’s how corruption continues to flourish.

I had met the landlord – a large individual of retirement age – and had come to an agreement to pay his wife (in Soums!) to come in weekly to clean around and change the bedding. It was only later that I discovered that he and his family were the original occupants of this flat and that this block had been used to house employees of the KGB security service during Soviet times. The landlord had bought the accommodation when the USSR broke up and moved his family to their out-of-town dacha. In retrospect, I think that the former KGB connection to the building helped to preserve my privacy. My neighbours, although respectfully friendly, kept themselves to themselves. I heard of other foreigners in the city who were sometimes bothered by unwanted attentions from locals; that didn’t happen to me. Besides – as confirmed when a visitor arrived at the building asking for the Englishman – a neighbour replied that there was no Englishman here, only the Lithuanian in the top flat. I assume that my neighbours judged me thus from my accent when speaking Russian.

I soon settled into the flat. Immediately noticeable on entry was the substantial gas oven in the side kitchen which was probably new when the estate was built post 1966. It continued to defy expectations by refusing to give up the ghost, even with a gas pressure which fluctuated daily. I eventually managed to master the preparation of lasagne in it, although my odd attempts to roast a beef joint were doomed to failure from the off. Thank goodness for the breakfast routine insisted upon by Poul Jahn.

·      The smell of bacon…

During my year with Jahn International A/S, the company was run by four expatriate directors: Poul, Kristian, me, and a young American Jeff. Kristian was the Commercial Director, I was nominated as Project Director, whilst I believe Jeff was given a Sales Director title. Poul, of course, was the Managing Director (CEO). And we had Casper with us for around six months. Jeff – whose surname I have since forgotten – first came to Uzbekistan as a youthful member of the US Peace Corps. Within a couple of years, he had mastered Russian from zero and soon found a position with the management of the local Coca Cola plant.  He was married to a local girl who he had first met as a stewardess aboard an Uzbek Air flight. Poul headhunted Jeff, making him responsible for looking after communications with local trade customers, in a society where Russian remained the language of business, a hangover from Soviet times.

We would come together around 7am each day, an hour before local staff arrived for work, when Poul and Kristian would bring us up to date with happenings and plans. Jeff and I would also contribute where necessary. The major advantage of this arrangement – Poul’s breakfasts.

After a leisurely quarter of an hour’s walk across parkland to the office building, I still recall with pleasure the aroma of fresh coffee as I ascended the stairs to his first floor flat. If I was lucky, this would be supplemented with the unmistakable smell of bacon cooking. Early riser Poul would lay out a breakfast table for us all. In an action typical of his business acumen, he arranged that regular supplies of Danish bacon were express delivered to Tashkent, which he then delighted in cooking on occasion for guests from our small expat community. It was a great way to start a long working day. Even to this time, whenever I see packs of Danish bacon in supermarkets, I think back fondly to Poul’s culinary hosting skills.

It's a fair judgement, unaffected I hope by selective memory, that his staff all enjoyed working for Poul. If the chance arose, locals would flock to work for a foreign company, a fact I was to confirm a year later when I personally had to recruit personnel there for a separate new venture. Poul demanded good timekeeping and concentrated effort from all but rewarded his team generously.  For example, he employed a cook to prepare a midday lunch for all, whilst arranging a monthly bonus paid in US dollars. 

His personal assistant was Ukrainian national Tamara, a secretary who had moved from Poul’s previous office in Kiev. She had her own flat in the building. Acting chiefly as his interpreter, Tamara also functioned in a human resources role. Should Poul decide to reprimand or fire an employee, it was the formidable presence of Tamara at his side who would deliver the verdict. However, Tamara was popular and respected by all, an empathetic bridge between local and foreign practices.

·      A birthday at the warehouse

As well as the city centre main office, Jahn International A/S had a secure warehouse a couple of miles away. It was in a suburban converted detached house which also provided office and cooking facilities. Security for the site was provided by a young man from the south of Uzbekistan who literally slept on the warehouse floor. His Russian was very limited (his first language was Pashtu, I think, an Afghan tongue) but his story fascinating for me. He came from such poor circumstances that he sent the majority of his pay – a relatively low sum – to his parents back home. He knew that, if he could work there for a year and the warehouse stock was kept safe over the period, he would receive a bonus from Poul. And he believed that he was extremely lucky to pick up this work opportunity. I assume that he received his bonus – I don’t recall any untoward warehouse problems – but his casual acceptance of his wretched situation was an eye opener for me. Oh, and he was a most helpful, pleasant lad.

The following photographs were taken on my 49^th Birthday at the warehouse location and show some of the Jahn International team: