After arriving at Moynaq the night before and not a bad night’s sleep in the worst hotel we had
ever stayed at- a relic of the times where Moynaq was a booming fishing town-
we headed out in search of the ship cemetery. By the time we got up at 8 30 am
the Frenchman had left the hotel to explore what he regarded as his highlight
of Uzbekistan, a bunch of rusted out fishing boats stuck in the middle of a
desert. Which leftus to our own devices to find these ships. After an hour,
walking along Moynaq’s road and then hanging a right to somewhere into the
desert it was fair to say we were lost so Harris took it upon himself to ask a
local that may give us the directions- he decided he’d choose the village
drunk. So under the guidance of the village drunk we were soon at the ship
cemetery. We headed down the sandy hill and explored the ships in all
their glory taking photos as if we were
the captain of the magnificent fishing trawlers delivering fish to the multi
storey cannery. But in reality we were sitting in rusted out boats in the middle
of a desert in Uzbekistan- fun times.
After a few hours there, maybe 2 hours
too long- we headed back to the hotel to grab our belongings so we would not
miss the bus to our next destination- Nukus. Hitting the road with the
Frenchman, who had rejoined NLA, we set off on a 2km walk to the bus station.
But it wasn’t long before we had a small problem. Walking with touch ball in
hand had attracted attention from the kids of the village so soon enough Harro
was swarm by 3 of them fighting over the ball. As he let go, like we had done
many times before, the kid legged it, down the road and through a gate into a
compound. As we looked at each other we were of the realisation that this may
be the last we see of caity pooz as it found a new home on the edge of the Aral
Sea/Desert. But it wasn’t long before the kid emerged through the dame gate he
had entered and legged it back to us to hand the ball back. A close call
however it only took us walking another 500m before we were confronted by
another group of similar ratty kids, this time 10 of them, again interested in
the ball in our hands. While they continued to practice their English we
continued to be sceptical of them after our most recent ball experience so we
pushed on in the hope that theyd get bored and leave us. But they were
persistent until a girl in her mid teens with near perfect English told them to
piss off in Uzbek- it worked! We arrived at the bus station, dumped our stuff
and then went in search of food. Our first meal in Uzbekistan were samsas-
essentially samosas filled with meat and onion and geez they were good. Then we
were approached by Oscar, a tall, wiry man, with a total of 3 teeth aged in his
late 80s, who was interested in our appearance and more interested in our
ability to speak a little Russian. But as he spoke, the smell of vodka took our
breath away so as we talked we tried to end the conversation ASAP because of
the fear of getting drunk on the mere fumes he was exuding. However, that
didn’t work and our conversation turned to football where we discussed all
things Adelaide United (known because of the Asian Champions League battles
between the top Uzbek team and the A league champions), Harry Kewell and Mark
Viduka. And then relief.. the bus arrived and we packed on it for the 3 hour
journey to Nukus. With Raphael and I standing, and Harro sitting after being
forced to sit by Oscar’s similarly drunk friend.
Soon, we arrived at the bus station in Nukus while the sun
set, and we found a taxi to our accommodation, the appropriately titled Hotel
Nukus. Arriving we were greeted by the receptionist, familiar with Australians
on this route North-South through Uzbekistan, where we got a triple room for
$12 a head with gratis, running water, a toilet and premier league on Uzbek TV.
But first on the agenda was a feed and with the guidance of the receptionist,
obsessed with kangaroo meat we were taken to a restaurant round the corner
where he then guided us through the Russian menu and we settled on a Laghman
and couple of Golupci. Afraid we were going to be burnt by the bill, we soon
asked for it, and were surprised at the inexpensive bill but shocked that we
were charged for being forced to hear Boney M’s greatest hits on repaeat,
played by the restaurant dj providing entertainment for the middle aged Uzbeks
on their Saturday night. But bargaining away the musika charge we headed back
to the hotel for some shut eye before some serious cultural immersion the next
day.
21/10
After reading the previous day that in fact the museum,
which provided the only reason for us going to Nukus, may be closed on a
Sunday, we set off from the hotel in the hope that today would be a lucky day
and it would open. 15 minutes walking at a good pace led us to the museum, a
large marble and concrete structure, in the middle of a fairly average park
next to an effectively abandoned amusement park. As we walked up the steps to
the door we were stoked to find out the museum was open. This meant buying a
ticket with a wad of soms and proceeding upstairs to the first level. Then
after an hour and a half we had finished the first floor and were onto the
second. Our conclusion: no journey to Uzbekistan is complete without a visit to
the Savitzky Museum of Art. This place is truly amazing. As Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nukus_Museum_of_Art
says the museum is a collection of approximately 85000 pieces of previously
illegal realist art painted and drawn by Soviet artists during Stalin’s reign.
Following
3 hours at the museum, a lot of time for not the greatest of art tragics in the
world (which says even more for the quality of the museum), we headed back to
the hotel to grab our bags and rock down to the bus station to find a way to
Khiva, the museum city of Uzbekistan. A taxi to the bus station left us
searching for a bus to take us to the nearby Urgench, but as we arrived we were
promptly told that the rumours of a bus to Urgench were wrong and the only
transport option to our desired location was in a taxi. So after haggling a
taxi driver to take us even further, all the way to Khiva, for the initial
asking price, we were on our way. But payment posed a problem as we were only
left with dollars and a lack of soms. So as we used our best Russian and body
language we were soon understood by the taxi driver who agreed to take us to
the black market bazaar to change some money. Our first blackmarket changing
experience was tense but after a quick interaction we left the bazaar 530,000
soms in 1000 som notes in our bags feeling like Barksdale’s dealers in the
projects hiding from the 5-0. However,
the bazaar also acted as the transfer point for our taxi journey as we jumped
out of our existing taxi and into a new one for the remaining km’s to Khiva.
A half hour taxi ride was all it took to get to our new
destination, and with the previous taxi driver already paying the second taxi
all it took was to grab our things and walk through the front gate and we were
soon in one of the most well preserved ancient cities in the world. After
finding our B&B within the old city we dumped our stuff and headed out to
explore the amazing buildings at dusk. A quick walk took us to dinner time
where we returned to the B&B to be served plov, salad, a beer and even
fruit for dessert. After a solid day of travel we were only ready for an
episode of Treme before bed.
22/10
We awoke the next day keen to get out and about as we
thought that we would smash out Khiva’s sights all in a couple of hours and
then jump on the bus onward to Bukhara. But with the words of the B&B
owner’s son in our heads, telling us that we were worse than the Japanese
tourists that often frequented these parts, we decided over breakfast (a great
breakfast full of uzbek sweets), that we would stay another night, giving us
the whole day to explore the city properly and simply not just pass through. So
as I handed Harro the Lonely Planet I was treated to a guided tour of Khiva
given by the man himself through every possible museum, up every minaret,
through every mosque and around every medressa to which we had access. I was also
treated to the brutal stories for which Khiva, particularly the bloody stories
of war and enslavement but also the stories of mismanaged British conquest in
the story of Stoddart and Connolly. The tour also took us outside the walls of
the city, to places where tourists hopping on and off their tour bus do not
dare to go. We headed out to the real Khiva where there exists a bus station
and bazaar and locals indulge in local reasonably priced food and furry hats
are not for sale. There we picked up samosas for lunch before heading back to
the B&B where we were to tens of
wedding processions flowing through the city. Heading inside we then had a
freakout- where was the Lonely Planet? It was not in a our room so where could
it be. As the last holder of the book, Harris retraced his steps in search of
what was already the 3rd copy of the book this trip. After retracing
our steps through Khiva, Harris returned empty handed. But with a dejected look
on his face, the B&B owners could see there was something wrong. Enquiring
as to what was wrong, Tristan explained that we had in fact lost the book and
after the family exchanged some words in Uzbek the book soon appeared- relief
for all of us. With the LP in hand we were back out on the street looking for a
night feed and on the recommendation of the book itself we headed to a
restaurant within the old city set up by the German Government Office of
International Development. Ordering some delicious dumpling, new to our Uzbek
ordering repertoire, and some plov we were soon full up. A strangely quiet
atmosphere in the restaurant left us looking for something more. So we decided
to head out the east gate and back into the bazaar in search of some dessert.
But we encountered the similar strangely quiet atmosphere, with the addition
with no street lights and strange sounds coming from a dark alley. At this
point we though better of an ice cream and headed back to the accom to smash
out an episode of Treme. After an episode we were interrupted by the B&B
owners son offering us a 50,000 som ride back in a totally vacant bus with one
of his friends who was heading back to Tashkent after finishing a tour in
Khiva. At a price comparable to public transport we thought this would be an
extremely easy way to get to our next destination so we obliged and readied
ourselves for the 10 hour trip to Bukhara the next day departing at 7 am.
But before bed we thought a tea would be nice so we headed
out to the common area where our man was sitting. As we sat and sipped tea he
began to explain to us Uzbek social norms; particularly as they relate to
marriage and relationships. He proceeded to tell us that he was waiting for a
call from his girlfriend to go and root the night away; but was just waiting
until her parents went to sleep. Then he went on to tell us that his parents
were disapproving of this relationship because at 25, he was old not to be
married. And furthermore, his girlfriend was getting married next week with her
parents and future husband under the impression she was a virgin. Enough
awkwardness over tea for a lifetime!
23/10
Rising at 6 am we were packed, showered, fed and ready to
depart by 7am. It wasnt long after 7 that the driver rocked up, and showed us
to his bus outside the city walls. We chucked our stuff under the bus, and took
our seats in the uncomfortably empty bus and were on our way, albeit at a
fairly slow pace as we were confronted by endless police checkpoints, ever
larger potholes and then eventually, no road. For a 300 km journey between two
of the most important cities along the Silk Road, a route frequented by many
thousands of tourists each year, it took 10 hours. This left us many hours to
amuse ourselves on an empty bus with a bus driver who spoke no English. Smartphone
Backgammon, reading, sleeping and listening to music were some pastimes
revisitied but one of the greatest contributions from the long journey,
prompted by some experiences on the long drive, was the No Longer Anchored
Toilet Rating System. The NLATRS was to be utilised to assess both future
toilet experiences for the remainder of the rip but for toilets retrospectively
in countries visited along the way. The system is defined by several criteria
including,
·
Toilet Paper (TP)
·
Door or Wall installations
·
Squat vs Western Style
·
Flush or Drop
·
Hand washing facility- tap, hose etc
·
Electronics- esp. for the latter countries of
the trip
By Bukhara we had decided that no toilet along the way could
be rated above a 1 but with that in mind we had good vibes in our new city. As
we were dropped right in the centre of the city, we grabbed our bags, thanked
our driver and headed to a B&B, one that was recommended to us by our
friends at LP for having toothsome breakfasts which was really a deal maker.
Settling into our 4-bed dorm, of which we were the only residents, we asked our
host for a recommended and cheap place to eat. So we rocked around the corner
to a small local kitchen where the significantly sized woman showed us the
kitchen options where we decided on some dolma, plov and some salad. We then
thought a stroll was in order and seemingly like every Uzbek city, the city
stopped after 8 pm. This left us with more tv series and bed.
 |
| Harro's fascination with the Uzbek fixie culture! |
24/10
A good nights sleep, left us ready to face the city. The LP
was then in use again, providing a walking tour itinerary for the city that
would take in all the major sights. But it wasn’t before we demolished an Uzbek
version of rice cream that we were out and about and lost in the back streets
of the old city. We soon got ourselves back on the route after going through
the Jewish Cemetery and into an ancient mausoleum. Then we were through the
Registan and then to the picturesque Juma Mosque, the highlight of Bukhara. The
mosque also provided the food highlight of Bukhara, vegetarian samosas in two
varieties- spinach and onion and pumpkin. 8 samosas later we were back on the
road and heading back to the B&B. But before we decided to settle in for a
drink on the B&B balcony we headed to get some internet to connect with the
world and send some emails. Then it was time to have a drink at sundown with
our new English- Bulgarian friend Emma and head to the trusty local kitchen
before some more plov and a bit of kebab.
25/10
More rice cream confronted us in the morning before we
packed our bags and started making our way to our next destination,
Yangikazgan. This would be the location where we would tick off one of our
Central Asian must-do’s- staying in a Yurt camp. To get to this village required
us to get a shared taxi to the bazaar where we would find a mashrutka to a
place called Navoi, another mashrutka to Nurata and then an unknown form of
transport to one of three yurt camps out of Nurata. Thanking our man at
Sarrafon we walked over to Lyabi Hauz jumped in our shared taxi to the Bazaar.
Step 1 complete. Then it was into a mashrutka to Navoi which we soon discovered
would only take us halfway before we would have to jump in a bus to take us the
rest of the way. This bus ride included, like many an uzbek bus ride, the whole
bus load of people staring at us for the duration of the trip. Then as we
arrived at Navoi bus station, we were ushered into a mashrutka, a ford transit
van with seats, that seemingly expanded to hold 25 adults for the journey to
Nurata. Then we got to Nurata and we found a taxi that to the best of our
knowledge would take us to Yangikazgan. After cutting the price to half of the
original offer we were off into the deep desert in a Daewoo matiz with a driver
that we thought at any moment could drop either kill us or leave us in the
dessert to be eaten by a camel. But after an hour we eventually arrived in
Yangikazgan but as we enquired to the location of the yurt camp we were told
that it was somewhere over there into the desert. With the camp not visible we
thought we had been well and truly screwed. A phone call was made and soon a
1950’s lada pulled over and offered to take us to the yurt camp. With our
fingers crossed we packed our bag into the rusted out boot and started driving
into the desert. The shrubbery soon cleared and we were at a yurt camp, Who
knew which one but we were at one regardless! Huge win. It was then that we
were introduced to our man Radek, the owner of the Yurt camp. In his limited
English, with the help of his son, we were shown to our very own yurt. Soon
after, we told it was camel trekking time- a rotund Kazakh man chewing tobacco
told us to come with him and over the hill to a small clearing and it was there
we launched ourselves onto our two camels. ‘Shitting a brick’ (see video) on
launch, we were up and away and led through the desert while reminiscing on the
crazy day we just had. In the 30n minutes we were on the camel we came to know
them very well- well enough to name them. Ie. Mine was Harros based on his
farting tendencies. Then it was back to the yurt camp to prepare for dinner and
meet our fellow yurt residents, 5 French statisticians from Paris girls: Claire
1, Claire 2, Annabelle, Helen, marie. They had also travled from Bukhara today
but decided against the mashrutka-bus-mashrutka-car route instead opting to get
picked up. Dinner then consisted of various types of salad, a steppe pizza- a
kind of frittata- and most importantly vodka, Radek’s favourite drink. As Harro
chose his chair at Radek’s end of the table, I opted for the other end which
worked out nicely. After Radek affectionaly named both of us Bin Laden he
continued to tell us to drink; after a couple of shots I had done my dash and
so proceeded to pour halves and quarters but for Harris there was no escaping.
Dinner finished and the drinking continued leaving Harris ready for bed as the
clock struck 10.
26/10
The Frenchies and Raddick convinced us to stay an extra
night than we had planned, so we were ready, if not a little hungover for a day
of trekking. Pointing in the direction of Yangikazgan, Raddick used his
favourite word “da-vey” meaning go/drink/eat/lets go and we started walking off
into the desert. Just before we reached the town a donkey came towards us with
two small children on its back. After some inquisitive looks from the children
the front kid hit the donkey with a switch and it farted loudly and promptly
galloped around. We all found this hysterical and so they kids kept whipping
the donkey when it stopped and it seemingly would fart upon contact and gallop.
Gas powered donkey.
Raddick met us in Yangikazgan with his ex-soviet van and drove
10km from lake Aidar-Kol where he dropped us off and we set out again on foot.
European people love using the word “steppes” to describe landscape and Finn
and I really didn’t understand what this was so we questioned the Frenchies.
Apparently it is used to describe a cold desert landscape such as in Russia or
Siberia. They all love it because in Europe you don’t have open space with
nothing to see for kilometres in every direction. For us Australians we don’t
really find it that interesting; it’s a desert. Reaching lake Ida-Kol we ate
some lunch before trekking some more to meet Raddick and his UAZ Jeep a few
kilometres away.
That night our Yurt camp became very lively as a large
Spanish tour group turned up. We even got a taste of traditional Uzbek music as
our multi talented taxi driver appeared and played a traditional two string
guitar and sang songs around a camp fire under the stars, amazing! One Spanish
couple were very interested in Uzbek politics and asked their Uzbek tourguide
who spoke very good English what he thought of the current leadership with
which he responded “we know what we have with this government, so why would we
want to vote in another party? we won’t know what we will get with them.” This
was a very sobering insight into a relatively educated locals mindset… After a
tough days trekking it was time to rest the legs and prepare for another big
day of travel tomorrow.
27/10
Today we were off to Samarkand and so were the Frenchies. We
wanted to go in their Jeep to save money but the driver wouldn’t let us as
there was no space/he wanted his taxi driver mate to make some money. We took
the taxi to Nurata, then found a marshutka to Navoi. By this stage of the trip
we well versed in the workings of Uzbek bus stations where taxi drivers tell
you there is no bus going to the place you want and try to charge you out the
ass, but we would not fall for this! Navigating the taxis we found a bus and
set off to Smarkand, one of the key cities on the famous Silk Road. We were recommended
a B&B which turned out to be great, mainly because we both hadn’t had a
shower in three days and it had hot water! It was also one of the first true
backpacker hangouts on our Central Asian journey and had a couple of
interesting characters. A few people we met were;
·
Two French guys riding bicycles across Europe to
Asia. One of which who initially started walking from France hoping to end up
in New Zealand until he met the other dude and thought he too would buy a bike.
·
A late 50’s Austrian couple who had a fully
decked out land rover. They were driving from Austria to Central Asia then down
to Oman for the summer and then back up though Iran to Europe and back home.
Some truly brave people!
Samarkand is famous for its Registran and although exhausted
we thought we better see it so we walked into the square with all the crazy
blue tiled medressas. Turned out that although they were all very beautiful,
the medressas were full of Uzbek ladies trying to sell scarves, which was
fairly uninteresting. Returning to the B&B we were greeted by the Frenchies
who had finally made it about 4 hours after us. Their jeep had broken down,
lucky for us we took the bus! Thankfully the B&B cooked a delicious Lagman
for dinner and we all sat down to exchange travel stories.
The B&B had a wall which was covered with postcards,
letters, stickers and other items from travellers passing though. Finn and I
noticed some travellers had their own custom stickers made up for their long
journeys with names, blog info and other pictures. We thought this was a great
idea and started designing a logo for our NLA sticker.
28/10
Leaving Samarkand we heard was easy so we headed to the bus
station and soon found a bus that would take us. Taking our seats on the back
seat we were not bothered for the majority trip until we became a novelty for
the packed bus of new army recruits. But a good ball signing was enough to
amuse them for a bit before one non-army recruit decided they would use the
opportunity of foreigners on their bus to practice their English. But rather
than coming to chat they wrote phrases in a book and handed it 2 rows back with
a pen for us to reply. After 5 questions we called them out to come and talk
and after a brief chat we had reached a roadblock. However, our new friends
came in handy as our bus soon stopped and we were told to get off and then on
another bus- this we found was because the previous bus was not going to
Tashkent at all but rather going onwards to the Fergana Valley. With only
standing room left, we packed on the new bus and pushed through the last 2
hours to Tashkent. As we jumped off the bus, we were confronted by the usual
predatory taxi drivers but we were more interested in finding our Frenchman
Raphael who agreed to meet us at the bus station to show us the way into the
centre of town. After a couple of message and no luck in finding him, we out in
a phone call. After asking the usual question like ‘what you can see from where
you are standing?’ we soon concluded that Raphael was at a bus station very
different ot the one we were at. This left us needing a taxi to some form of
accommodation. We were ready for a treat so we decided we would hotel it so
after haggling through the tourist price to a price similar to what a local
would pay we were off through the bumper to bumper traffic to our hotel. A few
hiccups along the way, including not finding the right hotel, led us to get out
at the next hotel we arrived at- the3 Uzbek start Hotel Viardo. Walking inside
to the lobby after nearly getting extorted by the young taxi driver we were
greeted by a 6”2’ blond haired Russian lady that was determined to get us to
stay there. Showing us the room, we were sold already and were soon making full
use of the wall-to-wall wifi, long white bathrobes and premier league on the
TV. A dish of plov, salad, bread and soup left us full and ready to make use of
the soft beds that we had paid more than usual for. A long sleep was necessary as well given that
tomorrow was another visa day- this time Tajikistan.
29/10
Search for money at Grand Mir hotel. Out of cash; come back
at 2pm. Trying to call pamir travel lady but no luck to help with Tajikistan
visa wrong number. Back to hotel and again success with yet another hot Russian
lady who found the correct number and success!! Meet lady at the embassy at
4pm. Meet Raphael at Grand Mir, USD bang, lunch and beers back to Tajik embassy
and cant find the lady. Finn calls her and she is in disguise and secretly
calls us to her office around the corner Visa ready on Thursday, sorted. Check
out of hotel and go to Oscar our new couch surfers house. Meet him and Merlin
his dog. Dinner at a chez pub with us plus girl who had a amazing portrait of
herself. Back to Oscar and two girls come over Kate Sushi and drink wine
watered down with cherry juice.
Today we had two jobs; find USD and submit our application
for the Tajik visa through Pamir Travel both of which seemed very easy. We had
about five different numbers for Pamir Travel all of which did not work, so a
bit dejected we headed to the Grand Mir hotel to find some USD, but on arrival
they were fresh out and told us to call back at 2pm. So far no good, until I
got a call from some lady who didn’t speak much English but from what we
gathered worked at pamir travel! So we decided to run back to our hotel and ask
our Russian Reception Girl (RRG) to call this lady back. However this lady was
not even from Pramir Travel, wtf! But we did notice there was one number left
that we hadn’t tried and so the RRG called and bingo! Pamir Travel, all we had
to do was meet a lady outside of the Tajik embassy at 4pm today and she would
submit our application which would be ready on Thursday! Seemingly attractive
speaking Russian girls were always out to help NLA. We got a call from Raphael
and decided to meet him at the Grand Mir which now had money so we celebrated
with some lunch and a few beers.
Arriving at the Tajikistan Embassy 4pm hit and there was no
lady in sight, plus we stick out like sore thumbs so we expected her to find
us! Finn called her and the lady and we said “im the lady 20metres away in the
black jacket, follow me.” This seemed awfully strange but this is central asia.
So we followed her down an alley to an unmarked door which she opened and then
once inside she greeted us. Handing over our forms she said come back Thursday
morning to hand your passport in and you will have the visa in the afternoon.
As we were shunted out the door we both scratched our heads at the strange
encounter.
Meeting back up with Raphael we checked out of our hotel and
thanked RRG before we headed off to Oscar’s house, our new couch surfing host.
Oscar lived with his dog Merlin that loved nuzzling Finns groin and he worked
for his family’s safe manufacturing business. He was very hospitable and took
us all out to a Check beer hall for beers and dinner. His friend Anja joined us
who is a photographer/painter for the UNDP. She showed us a few pictures on her
phone, one of which was a strange naked self portrait in which she assumed what
can only be described as power position. This oil painting fascinated Raphael
(a fellow artist) who zoomed in and continually stared at one part on the
painting, her knee. After dinner we headed back to Oscars house and were joined
by a couple of his other friends who brought some wine cut with cherry juice,
mmmm.
30/10
In Uzbekistan as a tourist you must get a registration slip
for every night you stay in the country and therefore stay in a registered
hotel. If you do not have registration slips for every night it is rumoured
that when leaving the country the border police can make you pay lots of money.
Because we were couch surfing with Oscar he couldn’t provide us with the
registration slips which meant we had to pay someone to doctor them up for us.
Raphael took us to this dodgy train station hotel which all the backpackers say
makes rego slips for you. The old Russian reception lady was not very happy
with us upon our request and refused to make the rego slips and eventually
called her boss. After 10mins or so a crazy boiler appeared who spoke English and
helped us out. The boiler said we must go see immigration first; a little hesitant
at first we followed her hoping that we wouldn’t get deported and or extorted. The
Boiler chatted to the immigration lady and after a while things seemed ok and
we were back at the station hotel with the reception lady reluctantly making us
our registration slips, for a fee of course. Chatting to the Boiler about how
stupid the registration system is and she replied very aggressively/funnily, “registration
fucks your mind!” we all agreed that it did and then she asked us for a cigarette
and when we said that none of us smoke she said “yeah, cigarettes they fuck
your mind.” This was such a hassle that we decided to move out of Oscars and
into a B&B for tomorrow.
Finlay found in the Lonely Planet guide an Indonesian buffet
at the Indonesian Embassy so we headed off there but when we go there they said
it had apparently been closed for 2 years, bummer. Instead we had some lunch in
a park and then skyped home. Back at Oscars we were keen for a quite night so
we taught him OG and then watched the King’s Speech.
31/10
Saying our goodbyes to Oscar and Merlin we took off to our
new accommodation Gulnara B&B via the famous Tashkent Metro. If it is one
thing the soviets did do well in Central Asia it was construct excellent metro
systems. Each station is decked out with different tiled mosaics in traditional
soviet style, which looks amazing except photography is banned so I can’t show
you any photos. If the police men catch you taking photos they check your
camera and make you delete them or just smash your phone/camera on the ground.
Arriving at our new accommodation we were served up a big
breakfast and endless amounts of chai and left to get acquainted with our new
friends. Notably there was:
Blaise from France who is riding his bicycle to China/India/whatever country
will let him in
Max and Sophie a English couple who were writing travel guides for Bradt and had
been to Afghanistan which excited John to no end.
There was a huge bazaar (Chorsu) conveniently placed right
next to our B&B so we wandered around tasting all the persimmons, apples,
plov, walnuts and cake that we could find. We both agreed that this was indeed
ten times better and cheaper than the fabled Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. After a
feed we sat down with our new friends and discussed all things travel in
Central Asia. Telling of our disappointment at not being able to travel the
Pamir Hwy due to its recent closure when the Tajik military moved in, Max surprised
us both when he said that it had been reopened just under a month ago! Super
stoked this changed the game and Finn and I both started to replan our Tajik
tour and how NLA could dominate the Pamir’s!
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| Our friends around the infamous Gulnara Tea bed! |
01/11
Another serve of fried eggs for breakfast, left us ready to
run our errands. First on our list was to drop our passports off with our lady,
Ilmira in order for her to get our tajik visa pasted in them and enable us to
move onwards and upwards to our next destination. Then it was an hour trip back
to our guesthouse to chill out for the day. After the last few days without
wifi, we were also hanging out for some wifi, but this would only happen if the
owner went and bought some more wifi credit as last month’s credit had expired.
Arriving back at the hostel, we still had no wifi so instead we passed the time
to chatting to our new friends and then heading down to the bazaar again to
grab a bite to eat and stock up on supplied for the day of travel the next day.
As they say, time flies when your having fun and so it did- 4pm rolled around
and it was time to head back to the Tajik embassy to collect our passports.
Ilmira had delivered and within 5 minutes we had passport and visa in hand and
were back to the guesthouse with a bag of potato samsas for dinner. After
demolishing our samsas we then took some time to reflect on our last 2 weeks in
Uzbekistan- an amazing 2 weeks seeing some of the most important cities of the
Silk Road. But it wasn’t long before all our hostel crew was back on the tea
bed, chatting- as we did for most of the last 2 days. Then Max decided this was
an opportune moment to crack open 1 of 4 bottles of Georgian wine that they had
collected for free whilst working in Georgia that are often sold at some of the
world’s greatest restaurants including Heston Blumenthal’s Fat Duck. Drinking a 50 euro upwards bottle of red from
Central Asian tea cups on a Central Asian tea bed was a great way to spend our
last night in Uzbekistan.
02/11
Today was the day we were off to a new country- while it
sounds cool saying it, it is starting to seem very normal to us now. Tajikistan
was our destination and today we were aiming to get from Tashkent to Tajikistan’s
capital Dushanbe in the one day. So we were up, about and ready fairly early to
set off with John, who had decided to join us for the journey, down to Kuyluk bazaar
where we hoped we would find a taxi willing to take us the journey to the Oybek
border crossing about 120 km from Tashkent. But as we were about to leave, the owner
enquired as to where we were going and when we said Oybek he said he had a
friend that could drive us there for $50/car. We decided to take him up on the
offer as it would mean considerably less hassle but also time saving- all
important things if we were going to try and get to Dushanbe. Within half an
hour we were off in the man’s small Daewoo Matiz down to the Oybek border. Arriving at the border we unloaded our stuff,
thanked our man for the lift, changed some money and then proceeded to the
border. As now experienced border negotiators it wasn’t long before we were
being greeted and assisted by the notoriously unhelpful Uzbek border officials.
Not long after that we were through the border and making the journey across no
man’s land to the Tajik entrance. Here we joined the long queue of Tajik and
Uzbek people waiting not to be admitted to Tajikistan but simply waiting for a
customs form to be handed out by the border official. Not used to waiting at
borders, given that we are almost always fast tracked, we made ourselves known
as tourists to the border guards in order to be moved on to the invisible
express line. And it worked! Within 15 minutes of being noticed we were through
the border and negotiating with predatory taxi drivers to take us the short
trip to Khojand. With the experienced John in our group, we had soon halved the
price and were in the taxi on the way to Khojand.
Like many of our Central Asian taxi rides, we were relieved
to 1) arrive at our destination and 2) be charged the amount we had agreed to
at the beginning. Then if the border taxi haggling wasn’t enough we now had to
haggle for a price for the upcoming 17 hour car ride over multiple mountain
passes to Dushanbe. Starting at 200 USD for the taxi ride, through peer
pressure from 2 guys with beards and another blonde haired, pale skinned
finnish-english dude we had brought the price down to 75 USD and were off and
racing. And we were literally racing- out and around winding roads through
newly built Chinese tunnels and then through not so newly built Iranian tunnels
where our lives flashed before our eyes. But with the three of us packed in the
back we made it through and with the help of our tajik rally driver we were in
Dushanbe, the capital of Tajikistan.
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