Tag Uzbekistan

Before leaving Tashkent I spent several hours pouring over countless maps of Kazakhstan and Russia, trying to work out the best route to Mongolia. Since we rested a week in Tashkent, we had the added benefit of being able to read other team’s reports online, and the reports on road conditions in Kazakhstan were not favorable. One report in particular, from a team called Yak to the Future, told us that the roads straight North-East from Uzbekistan were so bad that it was actually easier and better for the car to just drive off-road. With some 1,500k to cover in Kazakhstan, our little Saxo would not be able to handle the abuse. Already, the car’s frame was cracking, the back tires rubbed noisily on the wheel wells, and the gear linkage popped out freely over big bumps. Our car simply carried too much weight over imperfect roads. We couldn’t take that risk. So, I continued to look at maps.

Eventually an alternative plan emerged. I decided to take our team some 700k out of the way on good roads, which would save the car and only cost us the additional gas money. Since fuel in Kazakhstan is relatively cheap, it was a good trade off. We would avoid Almaty and head towards Astana, cutting east before the city and bearing south-east and then north to Russia. It was a hell of a long way out of the way, but after hours of online research about the road conditions, I discovered that in 2007 the road I had chosen was refinished, making it a much, much smarter bet than the ancient panel-style cement roads that cut straight towards Russia.

We set off on our new route on the morning of the 23rd, with plans to make the Mongolian border in less than 5 days, with over 2,000k to travel across rough terrain with three border crossings. We were feeling optimistic. The road we chose turned out to be a good decision. We were essentially on highway for three days, with only intermittent dinosaur-sized pot holes. The worn ridges from semis on the roads remained, so that you were driving on the crest of two cement waves for the duration of Kazakhstan.

We easily crossed into Russia after a few days of non-stop driving, camping at night, and eating limited camp food at night. It was more work than play to cover that kind of distance. The Russian border, though we had heard it would be difficult and the guards had already acquired a reputation for demanding bribes, turned out to be a breeze for us. The only snag was that with his beard, the guards did not think Mike was the same boy from his passport pictures. After several minutes of laughing with them and threatening to shave on the spot, they let us pass. We looked at the map and made a snap decision. It was still early and we had made it through the border, we stopped in the first town to eat and take a short break, refill on groceries and water, and hit the road. We ran into another team that was aiming for the Mongolian border some 1000k away by nightfall.

The Mongolian border closes on weekends. We suddenly realized it was Thursday. If we drove until we arrived at the border we might, just might, make it through before closing time on Friday. We revved up the 1.1 liter engine and drove through the night, arriving at the Russian border at 4am. A team from Belfast was in front of us in line, we slept in the car for a few hours and at ten am we again greeted Russian border guards, but this would be the last time we’d see Russians in a long while, so we endeavored to enjoy the experience.

It is an amazing thing to meet up with one’s parents in the middle of nowhere. We met my folks in Tashkent for a week of R&R at little more than the half-way point of the Mongol Rally. In previous years of traveling we’ve met them in several other odd places around the world and always we’ve had great adventures and a lot of fun. This time, in Tashkent, we stayed at a lovely place with an indoor pool, dart board, ping-pong table and in-house cinema. My folks provided copious amounts of beer and booze , as well as amazing Western food, and we provided a horrifyingly bad aroma from our dirty clothing and dusty car.

We started off by washing everything, the car included and scrubbing our skin. We all thought we had tans but it turned out that after a few showers the darker skin went down the drain, must have been dirt so ingrained into our pores it became part of us. That first night we stayed up until 3am talking, playing games and catching up. My sister made an amazing Mexican-inspired meal, and the three of us disgusted everyone by digging into the food like starving animals.

We were wined and dined in real style with American food and snacks, something we hadn’t seen since we left the States more than two months ago. We even had Doritos and Bill and Mike split a box of Mac & Cheese. My folks even went through the trouble of locating Captain Morgan and Jack Daniels in the middle of Ramadan in Uzbekistan to have it ready for our arrival. My sister made a chocolate cake that mysteriously disappeared when she left it alone in the kitchen.

Later in the week, my dad hired a local man to make plov, a national dish of rice, carrots, lamb and spices, and kebabs of lamb and chicken in local spices. They arrived, set up a wood fire and cooked everything in the yard over the course of a few short hours. We sat outside on the traditional Uzbek tables (it looks like a wooden bed with a small coffee table in the middle, you sit crossed legged under it to eat) and watched the sun go down as we ate. Later, we had a dart tournament (Dad won, naturally) and tried out the in-house cinema. I jumped in the indoor pool daily. It had been so hot and so muggy the last several days that any chance to feel cool and clean was a welcomed treat.

It was extremely difficult to leave after only a week seeing my family. We had an amazing time going to bazaars in Tashkent, out to dinner and drinks, and just spending time playing games and talking. Our final night arrived and my parents took us to the best steak joint this side of New York. City Grill, in Tashkent, is a place I’ve raved about before, but this time was even better. My filet mignon was perfectly cooked, and the side dishes we so good that it was a shame to actually eat them. We had a great time, and the taste of that steak kept us happy for several days afterward, just thinking about it.

They drove with us to the Kazakh border and watched as we crossed into no-man’s land between Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan. It was hard to say goodbye, as it always is, but we had an unbelievable week of stress-free relaxation and great food and drink that literally was an oasis in the middle of our Mongol Rally journey.

There is something very strange about the way humans approach booze, and how each nation address alcohol both politically and culturally in extremely unique ways. For example, in America we make it illegal for anyone under 21 to buy alcohol. However, when you do reach that age there is a massive party wherein your first introduction to the drink is compounded by the fact that everyone you know comes out to the bar to get you intoxicated. It is a right of passage, a coming of age ritual and a test of one’s man or womanhood. After that fateful night, drinking in America takes on a purely social atmosphere, and no real gathering is complete without it and every gathering with liquor is somewhat more casual because of the addition. Our time in Europe showed the same to be true, though with a bit less of an adherence to drinking ages. Not so elsewhere.

In China, where we’ve spent quite a bit of time, there seems to be no legal age (although officially it is 18-19). You can often find youths drinking at the bars who appear to be quite young. And in fact no one is ever ‘carded’ in China. Contrary to what most people might assume, this does not breed an atmosphere ripe for degradation. Chinese youths hardly ever take their lax drinking rules for granted, nor do they abuse the booze at a young age, as would be expected if we suddenly made the drinking age 18 in the USA. There is, however, a similar ‘right of passage’ for most Chinese males that involves alcohol. At banquets (which are the preferred method of congregation) everyone sits around a round table, and the person of honor goes around the table and does a small glass of beer  or rice wine with every guest. This makes the guest of honor extremely drunk, and this is something to be quite proud of and admired (on special occasions, only). This often prompts Chinese men to approach Mike and ask, “How many beers can you drink?” Which, of course, Mike did not know the answer to at first. Now it appears this is a staple of maleness, though I cannot stress enough that it seems to happen only in large groups. By the way, the Chinese way of saying ‘cheers’ is “gan-bei” which literally means ’empty glass’ or ‘bottoms up.’ which they take literally when drinking beer. Another interesting bit of drinking culture in China– the person of more status should always have their glass slightly higher when clinking it with someone glasses. So, if you are not the guest of honor, your goal is to touch the top of your glass with the bottom of theirs. This results in fun games where people try to show honor to each other by putting their glasses lower. I saw one group of men putting their glasses on the floor to clink them, showing no one was higher than the other. Here is an example from a Chinese TV show:

In Central Asia we found drinking to be somewhat deplorable. Even worse than a man drinking is a woman drinking, and on the rare occasions I ordered a beer in public I could sense eyes judging me. However, we did notice quite a few drunk people on the streets at night, which means it is an underbelly sort of activity reserved for underbelly types. This obviously wasn’t the case in the major cities we visited in Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan, but definitely in smaller towns drinking seemed to be a big no-no!

In Mongolia, drinking is a large part of life. We stayed with a family in their ger for three days and nights, and the husband attempted to get us intoxicated on a nightly basis. He would drink after dinner and smoke Pal Mall unfiltered outside his ger as he looked up at the stars. This cowboy lifestyle works well for them and they are extremely happy. Meanwhile, their drinking culture is very inclusive, they pull in everyone and the goal is to have as much fun as possible. There was little segregation because of my gender, and contrary to what I assumed, they welcomed me into their poker game almost immediately. When we left to get on the bus on our final day, our host bought us a round of beers which we all chugged before climbing aboard for a 3 hour ride (big mistake!). Alcohol is used as a social tool to make people happy, include more people into the gathering, and draw everyone into one ger for warmth, entertainment (no TVs out on the steppe) and hours of story telling and card playing.

We’re not experts on these cultures or their drinking habits, but that is what we observed while traveling around from place to place and trying to experience these cultures in the ways they exist when no one is watching.

It’s official! We’ve finally ironed out our route details to the finest detail. We have decided to head from London to Paris, and from Paris to Luxembourg. After a break, we’ll head to Nuremberg and the Prague for the 2010 Czech Out Party, which we’re all very excited about. From there we head south to Bratislava and Budapest before entering Romania for a few castle tours and vampire stalking. We then head to Chisinau and then into Ukraine to the famous port city of Odessa. From this point on the trip gets really interesting. We head due east through Russia, hugging the Black Sea coast until we enter Kazakhstan. We’ll cut inland and aim directly for the Aral Sea inside the Uzbek border. We’ll cut across Uzbekistan and then re-enter Kazakhstan heading north into the mountains. Back into Russia for a moment before entering Mongolia and racing across the open Steppe to Ulaanbataar. Yup, that’s what we’ll be doing this summer, driving across 1/3rd of the distance around the trodden earth. If none of this made sense, check out the nifty map we made (yeah, I should have led with that!):

View Central Asia Route Map created by ATC for the 2010 Mongol Rally

This map is awesome, and really shows the distance and scale of the land we’ll be covering. Some 8-10,000km through 13 countries in a car that even Mickey Mouse would say is too small– a 1.5l engine auto. Below is a picture of a rally car from 2009, ours will be very similar.

If you are more interested in the car, aka- how to buy, register and insure one in Europe, or even cooler (if that is possible) a post on all our awesome media coverage, or possibly the list of woe-is-me updates we made when we were feeling down, then check out these other posts or head to the Mongol Rally and Sponsorship pages, which explain it all.

Snow

From the Beijing Train Station to the corrupt police on the far Eastern route of the Russian Trans-Siberian Railroad, the 2008 movie Transsiberian was enjoyable to watch having dealt with many of the same problems…ok minus the kidnapping part.  Not so much for the plot as for the accuracy the movie portrayed when depicting a couples ride on a Chinese train and problems with Russian police.  Although we did not go on the Trans-Siberian…yet, the movie was thrilling to watch as an American couple from Iowa, Woody Harrelson and Emily Mortimer, left the Beijing Zhan (station) headed for Moscow via a 6 day journey on the Trans-Siberian Railway.  The train-station, gray colored everything, sleeper cars, and food carriages, were right on and I would believe it was filmed on location.

Emily Mortimer’s character was always planning a new route or travel adventure and walked around with a Cannon Digital camera around her neck throughout the whole film – which reminded me a lot of Lauren.  The broken sleeper-car knobs that wouldn’t turn off terrible Russian music, the shared cars with strangers, the rude and short tempered train attendants, drug smugglers, and corrupt cops were a direct parallel to our experiences en route from China through Kazakhstan to Uzbekistan.  Although the plot got extremely more creepy in comparison to the things that happened to Lauren and I, if you have traveled throughout the former Soviet Union, Russia, China by train, or are interested to see what it looks like, I think people would find certain aspects of this couple’s travel accurate.

Going through Kazakhstan we were hiding from the police as their boarded our train trying to avoid paying bribes, watching all the drug smugglers hide taped packages to their stomachs or under their beds, and arguing with the grumpy train attendants. Our train travel in China was pretty easy going and we had no problems, but the movie gave a good atmosphere to some of the fears you develop as you go into less safe areas ruled by corrupt cops and officials.

For a more detailed clip go to:  Transsiberian Part I – watch from 4:10 to about 9:00 to see a little bit of what it was like.

As we depart Central Asia, we’re hit with a bittersweet feeling partially of relief and partly of sadness. Central Asia is like no other place on earth. Check logic at the door, and reason as well sometimes. The people are so vastly different from one another between the Stans that each place is like stepping into an entire new continent. Some are friendly, helpful and kind while others are greedy, rude and unethical. Its a region that will test even the most tried of travelers, and will cause even the most devout to swear. At the same time, it houses some of the world’s most cherished relics, a complex and interesting history and some of nature’s most comical and magnificent structures. While in Central Asia we composed a few top ten lists, here they are, as we say adieu:

Top Ten Illegal Things We Saw in Central Asia:

• Illegal money changers with counterfeit bills
• Marijuana growing on the curb in Tashkent
• Drug deal exchanges in Bukhara
• Transporting illegal substances across borders
• Prostitutes all over Central Asia
• Bribing guards on trains, border crossings
• Dangerous driving, with no regard for safety
• Hassling tourists, foreigners
• Cops patting down travelers for money
• Camping on protected ruins

Top Five Things you Don’t Want to Hear while on rusted, Soviet Chairlift:

• “Is that a broken chair down there?”
• “I think the two seater in front of us is seating four.”
• “Are you wearing Birkenstocks?”
• “Thats definitely wreckage of a chair lift down there.”
• “…and now we have to get back down the same way.”

10 Most Difficult Things to Achieve in Central Asia:

• Getting a napkin out of the booby-trapped holders
• Crossing the street without losing a limb
• Hailing a cabby who will charge in local currency
• Avoiding food poisoning
• Conversing with anyone about Russia
• Mentioning America without getting a response of “George Bush, Michael Jackson or Michael Jordon” in return
• Finding a road without potholes
• Avoiding manty (meat dumplings)
• Changing money across currencies
• Finding shoes in any size above women’s 8

Top Five Strange Things We Heard at a Restaurant in Central Asia:

• “That guy is playing with his belly button.”
• “Last time we ate here, we didn’t get sick!”
• “Try the tongue.”
• “That guy is combing his stomach hair….”
• “Even the waitress looks like shes about to throw up.”

Top Five Strange Menu Items in Central Asia:

• Lamp Shish
• Banana Spleen
• Corn and Cancer
• Language Beef
• Two Generations
• Frog Paws
• Cinnamon of my Youth
• Seafood pizza with Fruit
• Beer: The Goner
• Fish on a Shish

Top Ten Strange Sites We Visited:

• Flaming crater called the “Gates of Hell”
• Sarcophagus of Daniel (13m long)
• The nodding donkey monument
• Mosque honoring Turkmen Dictator, not Allah
• Russian Orthodox Church in the desert with skull and bones
• Downed MiG plane on display in someone’s yard
• Snake infested section of Caspian Sea
• Torture chamber and bug pit where condemned lived for years
• “Big Mac” restaurant on top of a mountain (lamb burgers)
• Petrified dinosaur eggs in the desert

Top Five Things We’ll Miss About Central Asia:

• Friends
• Bazaars (Push-Push in particular)
• Camels, EVERYWHERE!
• 2000 year old ruins…everywhere
• Constant oddities making you shrug and say, “its CA!”

Yup, Central Asia is a strange and mysterious place! We loved our time in the region, despite a few down times (being shaken down by cops, bad border guards and dishonest cabbys). We were lucky to be able to spend over three months in the Stans!

Arrival in Ashgabat

Originally, the trip was planned as a Shanghai to Ashgabat adventure. Well, we have an announcement to make—we have decided to keep on going. Since this was our original destination, here are some updates on the stats so far.

Total miles by land: 13,136 miles by land
Number of countries visited: 4
Total amount spent: $882 per person
Number of days on the road: 43
Amount spend per day based on total amount and days on the road: $20.50
Total number of currencies used/traded: 6 (RMB, KZT, USD, UZS, TMM, AZM)
Number of lost items: 3 (Mike’s sandals, Mike USB, Lauren cell phone (later recovered!)
Number of mosquito bites: Lauren 14 and two bee stings, Mike 6
Number of bouts of food poisoning: Lauren two, Mike one
Bribes paid: Two (Kazakhstan)
Number of trains taken: 7
Number of border checks: 6
Number of crappy batteries gone through: 6
Number of cities seen: 10
Number of buses taken: 5
Number of pictures taken: 3,800 (14.3 GB), 95 in Shanghai, 56 + 77 + 43 on the rail, 259 in Urumqi, 422 in Kashgar, 96 in Yarkand, 307 at Lake Karakul and Tashkurgan, 100 in Almaty, 394 in Tashkent, 142 Chorsu Lake, 661 in Samarkand, 647 in Bukhara, 523 in Khiva, 378 at Urgench Fortresses
Number of cars taken: 29 (cabs, mostly)
Number of guesthouses/hostels: 10
Number of hotels: 1
Number of other American travelers we’ve met: 3 (two traveling male friends starting law school soon and one very interesting woman traveling solo for over a year

The rest of the day, including two long walks through no-mans-land between customs in Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan seemed easy after dealing with the cab driver mentioned previously. Walking a few kilometers in the middle of the desert in June with backpacking gear on was tough, but actually enjoyable after dealing with the Uzbekistan cab drivers. We passed several truckers waiting for customs clearance at the boarder and approached two smiling Uzbek guards at the customs fence. They were very friendly and we completely unaware at what had just happened at the barbed wire fence just 20 minutes earlier. After some idle talk about America where we were from, enough for them to practice their English, they let us through the gate. I think that this was related directly to their liking of Lauren as I had heard horror stories about people waiting at the gate in the sun for hours before being allowed through. Luckily they really liked Lauren and opened the gates right away. We matched up our customs forms from when we entered, walked to another building, did a simple baggage check with another guard and were on our way down the pedestrian walk out of Uzbekistan.

The last Uzbek guard checked our passports and visas and opened another gate that led down a dirt road to nowhere. There was an unending line of trucks carrying shipping containers waiting to get through Uzbek customs and into Uzbekistan. This walk was even longer than the first. There were several women with young children walking down the road as well so we followed them. After about 20 minutes and a liter of water weight later, we arrived at a wooden guard tower with two Turkmen guards at the bottom. They checked out documents and on we went to Turkmen customs – which consisted of a simple concrete building with an exposed exterior hallway. This crossing was surprisingly easy. We basically walked right through after some minor paperwork and buying our registration cards ($10 for the card and $2 for the banking fee). This is real, as we needed them later to register at our friends house in Ashgabat. We negotiated a shared cab for $5 to Turkmenabat which took about 30 minutes and were then dropped of at the train station.

We had been told that there was a 4:00 PM train to Ashgabat from Turkmenibat daily. This was true when we arrived, but were told that familiar Central Asian (Russian) phase that tickets were HET or Finish. We were also told that we could not purchase train tickets for tomorrows train until 9:00 AM the next day. It was only 1:00 so if train tickets were already HET for the day, we figured they would be HET for tomorrow too after a $50 a night hotel stay. Instead, after a little bit of negotiation, we found a car to drive us to Ashgabat in 8 hours for $18 a person. This seemed much better than paying for a hotel in the off chance that we would actually get tickets the next day. The shared taxi was a very nice Accura with leather seats and air conditioning. We were a little shocked and thought that perhaps we overpaid. However, upon arrival in the outskirts of Ashgabat only 7 hours later, the other man who shared the cab ride with us paid close to the same fare. Even better, he spoke a little English and agreed to help us find where we needed to go.

There is not much to say about the car ride to Ashgabat as the back windows were tinted. Lauren got a lot of sleep and I read a book. I will say, that Turkmen hospitality and friendlyness has been amazing so far. This was a much needed releif after our month in Uzbekistan. There were no hidden fees or any scams, we simply exchanged money with the driver, shook hands with our left hand over our hearts (a Central Asia custom I’ve noticed so far) and said Rackmet (sp) which means thank you from Kashgar to Ashgabat apparently. Our friend’s place was easy to find as our jaws were dropped driving through Ashgabat, Turkmentistan – also called Absurdistan by many who visit – and it does not take long to understand why. White marbel palaces, streets filled with countless fountains, and absolutly ridiculous monuments erected by the notorious Turkmenbashi and his predecessors. Navigating by famous landmarks like 40 legs, the Ruhnama Monument – a monument in the image of the book which Turmenbashi wrote, and independence square. Needless to say, we showed up on our friends doorstep about 12 hours earlier than expected and were welcomed by surprised faces.

Strange sign

After recovering the cell phone in Bukhara, we decided it was time to move on as we had been in Uzbekistan for almost 25 days and in Bukhara for 7. We checked out of our hotel and we were not surprised when they tried to add on several different expenses that we had never agreed upon. After renegotiating what had already previously been negotiated and saying a farewell to Bukhara, we strapped on our packs and headed for the local bazaar to catch a marshutka (shared mini-bus) to Alat and then from Alat, to Farap – the border crossing into Turkmenistan.

We were immediately hassled by several taxi drivers saying they would take us all the way to Farap for 30, 40, and 50 USD. Eventually we found someone who offered 3000 SUM per person, which is what the cost should be for a shared cab. (This is equivalent to about 2 USD per person.) Multiple guide books confirmed this, as well as personal experiences earlier. To clarify we asked the driver to write it down and re-stated that this was for each person all the way to the border crossing. He nodded his head and wrote down 3000 SUM. This was a fair price for this ride as we paid the same for a ride to the bus station in Urgench from Khiva and the ride lasted the same amount of time. After about a half hour, we approached a road block with several soldiers sporting machine guns and a barbed wire blocking the way. Our driver crossed his arms together in the air making a giant “X” and said HET, pronounced “Knee-Yet”, which means no.

Immediately as we got out a huge group of people surrounded us trying to get us to take their cab for God knows what reason because it is a 1 km walk through the desert to get to the customs center from that location and cars are not allowed through. I handed the driver the 6000 SUM for the two of us and, just like I had expected – then came the scam.

Now before I go any further, I want to mentioned that I really enjoyed the sights and traveling in Uzbekistan. We have tried not to use our blog as a means of complaining or grumbling about the difficulties of travel. However, it is also necessary to give a fair account of our impressions as well. That said, Uzbekistan is one of the few places I have been in which I would recommend going with a tour group for one reason: money. Everything you do, comes down to it and it is exhausting to deal with in this country. You literally have to go through an entire menu, if they have one, and ask the price of everything before you order. Otherwise the bill will be outrageous. If you forget to ask the price of, lets say peanuts, you will have a bill that states 3 dollars for the meal and $10 peanuts. Moreover, you shake hands on a deal at a certain price and then get in the car 5 miles up the road the driver will ask for more money and then insinuate that if you don’t agree he will kick you out in the middle of nowhere. After 25 days of this bickering over every meal and ticket, I was a little burnt out and was not in the mood.

So as I handed the 6000 SUM to the driver, a puppy dog look came over his eyes, which was speaking, “Oh, no! What a terrible mistake has been made. I meant 30,000 not 3,000 sorry I left off a zero. Moreover, I mean 30,000 per person.” My patience was 100% gone. In a barrage of madness, in front of border security guards with automatic weapons, I threw down my bag and pulled out the notebook in which the driver had scribbled 3,000 SUM. He grabbed it out of my hands before the circle of other taxi drivers could see what he had written, took the pen, and added a zero to the end. After about 5 minutes of him yelling and kicking in the sand that he wanted 60,000 SUM. We grabbed our bags and headed for the border guards – who do not get involved in these sorts of squabbles. They visibly did not know what to do. Only about 18 years old, the guards looked at Lauren’s visa and passport and completely forgot to look at mine. Then we walked through the crossing.

By now, the mod of taxi drivers had dissipated but our cab driver pushed through the guards and followed us through the crossing. He started pulling at my pack to hold me back and yelling and screaming. I took out the rest of the SUM I had in my pocket, which I shouldn’t have, and offered him the remaining 12,000. At first he refused, but then he took it. Now, still grossly overpaid for the ride, he continued to follow us. He even stepped in front of me, glared, and then pushed me in the chest as hard as he could. I flew back a few feet, as I had about 80 pounds of gear strapped to my back. That was it. I turned around, stared at him. Unclipped my bag and let it drop to the ground. I walked right up to him nose to nose and treating him like an infant, pointed back to the barbed wire fence. As I stood there staring him in the face, three of the boarder guards raised their weapons and yelled at the man. He shrugged his shoulders and walked away laughing.

Mike

Somewhere in the ruins of the Urgench fortresses the cell phone dropped out of my side bag and into the hot, desert sand. It was not until we were half way back to Khiva in the car that I reached down in a panic and noticed the phone was gone. It could have fallen out anywhere! I grabbed my camera and flipped through the pictures, pausing at each picture of me wearing the side bag and then zooming in to see if the phone was still a black bulge in the side pocket. With this method, I managed to narrow down the area where the phone was probably lost to two giant fortresses and a long dirt road path leading to a lake, an area covering several miles, at the least, and several hours in the opposite direction.

I sat back in the seat as the car bounced across uneven roads toward Khiva, and after a while whispered to Mike that the phone was gone. Strangely enough, the girl next to me, Olga, was going through her bag in a rising panic and eventually announced that her mobile phone was missing! We tore through the car, reaching under the back seat (I think something is living down there!) and under the front seats, shoving empty water bottles around as we peered underneath—neither phone was located.

Back in Khiva, Olga and I sauntered off with our heads hung low and waved goodbye at the driver, whose puzzled look Mike tried to quell with an explanation and a good-natured shrug. While Olga later found her phone in her room, I was not so lucky. Here is what became of the phone after it was deposited unknowingly in the sand.

Back in Bukhara two days later I got word that someone had found the phone and pushed redial: which directed them to a friend of ours in Tashkent. I heard all this via email, where my friend eagerly explained that they were waiting in Khiva with the phone for us! Khiva is 5 hours away and we had just come from that direction, luckily the finders of the cell phone were coming to Bukhara in a few days. I tried to call the phone but the call would not go through, I tried from various phones in Bukhara and ran around the city pouring sweat until one fluent local explained that I was trying to call an in-network phone from an out-network number—“Impossible!” So, I located an in network phone (which, incidentally, is a bee-line cell phone) then called only to get the message, translated to me, “Your phone is power off. Have a nice day!”

Before the phone mysteriously went to power off I had sent a few messages through to my friend in Tashkent about the tentative plant to exchange the phone, he had, in turn, passed parts of the message on the finders of the cell phone in Khiva. Long story short, we did not know if or when they would be in Bukhara, but Mike and I waited by Lyabi-Hauz pool from 5:30 until 9:00pm for two nights in a row wearing the clothes described to the finders, and running around to every British face asking if they had an excess of cell phones. We now have a reputation as crazies in Bukhara who wear the same clothing multiple days on end and rush around to every occupied table with wide, hopeful eyes.
It was heartbreaking to lose the phone and then the brief, glimmer of hope that had us running around in 90 degree weather and waiting anxiously by the pool for hours on end has left us even more defeated and cell phone-less.

This story, miraculously, has a happy ending. The British girl called in one final attempt as she was leaving Bukhara and left the phone at her hotel’s front desk. She even paid for that phone call since the battery on the cell phone had died. What a nice lady! And now we have the cell phone back and a great saga to tell of our first lost and found item.

Lauren

Shopping in old town Bukhara is an expensive endeavor. A meter of fabric is $8 USD, “hand made! Very beautiful!” while a T-shirt is $20USD and a carpet over $1000. Looking around in the souvenir bazaars there was nothing I could afford other than overpriced postcards. We decided to walk to the local’s market to see what locals paid for things and to stock up on snacks for the long train ride to Ashgabat.

The local market, the Kolkhozny Bazaar, is located on the extreme west side of town down several long, narrow roads closed to thru-traffic. We hiked down there one afternoon in sweltering heat, on the off chance that we could afford a token of our travels from this gathering of merchandise.

Walking into the bazaar from the eastern side we were shocked by the smell of rotting flesh. It was thick in the area and palpable—it is a smell unlike any other and one that will stay with you once you encounter it. We pushed through the smell and emerged on the other side in a matrix of alleyway shops all made of white plastic with snickers advertisements in the windows.

Walking through the matrix we came to an exit and walked out into a vast courtyard with the longest strip mall we’d ever seen in the distance. This strip mall housed food, clothing, shoes, household supplies and baby toys: everything you could imagine. It extended from one horizon to the other as far as we could see. We picked a direction and walked until our feet were sore, Mike bought a pair of 6000CYM plastic sandals and I was ecstatic to find that 2 meters of rich, patterned fabric cost 2,400CYM ($1.20USD). I bought some fabric and we picked out snacks for the border crossing and headed back to the hotel with our arms loaded down.

Back in old town prices for escalated the closer to the town center you got, and we smiled with the knowledge of our secret bazaar on the western fringes of Bukhara.

Bukhara market

For those of you who got the reference above to Tolkien, I salute you. (and for those of you who got the ‘I salute you’ reference from Gladiator, I…. well, awesome.) Having travelled from Bukhara to Khiva, we decided after several days in the walled city to return to Bukhara before making our grand entrance into Turkmenistan.

The route from Khiva to Bukhara, which we had done not a week earlier, was easier on the return as we knew quite well what to expect: cramped conditions, sweltering heat, screeching Islamic music, a driver screaming on his cell phone, and multiple security stops. We bargained for quite a while with various drivers until finally one agreed, the largest and most intimidating of the lot, to take us for $18 USD a piece. We had heard others bargain for $15 a person, but standing in the 90 degree heat with all of our bags on did not inspire me to drag out the process. We later found out that the average price is $20 a seat, so we had done well to get $18 for a 5 hour cab drive across the desert.

You may be curious as to why I’m quoting in US dollars. Believe it or not, Uzbekistan runs nearly entirely on US currency. Everything in Samarkand, Bukhara and Khiva is quoted in US prices and you negotiate in dollars, even if you end up paying in CYM (the Uzbek currency). We wrote before that there were two rates of exchange in Uzbekistan, the official rate (1,400 CYM to the dollar) and the black market rate (1,800 CYM to the USD). Everyone uses the black market rate when talking about USD. It is amazing to me that everyone in this country uses the dollar. It’s a testament to how stable they think the US is in comparison to the limited faith they have in their own economy. You’d think the government here would focus on stamping out the USD in the country, as it’s a bit embarrassing for them as well. However, at a restaurant owned by the president’s daughter, prices are in Euros, not CYM—not a very good sign.

This time we were ready for the ride to Bukhara from Khiva, and I had taken a Dramamine in preparation for the bouncing (the cars have no shocks) and jolting that would occur for the next 5 hours. What I wasn’t ready for was a neon-yellow bee to fly into the window, into my shirt and sting me in the ribs. This neon buzzing machine scared the hell out of me for its intimidating color and twitching buttocks. Luckily, I’m not allergic to bees, having been stung literally hundreds of times in my life—twice already on this trip. We arrived without other incident and met up, accidently, with the German-Russians (whom we had met on the fortress adventure in Khiva) at Lyabi-Hauz, where they told us that Olga was popped on by a bird as the car sped through the desert (which is considered good luck in Russia!) while the window was mostly rolled up.

Khiva was once renowned for its exotic and plentiful slave trade along the silk route. Slaves were captured in distant lands and marched across the harsh desert to Khiva, where they were put on display and sold. The slaves were usually from neighboring countries (in modern lingo) or from opposition regions, but generally from within Central Asia. As you enter the city from the east gate you are reminded of its ancient trade. The east gate is a long tunnel with prison cells on both sides that could hold up to seventy people per cell. To enter the market people had to pass through this tunnel of slaves, where sellers would shout out bargain deals on humans. Once in the east gate you were routed to the main bazaar area (although today there is a restaurant blocking the direct path) where you could buy vegetables and fruits, but also livestock and handicrafts.

If you were to enter the city from the west gate you might have a totally different experience in Khiva. This is where grand entrances are made, as this is the largest and most stately entryway into Khiva. The west gate enters near the Khiva Ark, which is where the ruling family lived. The multi-story complex they occupied boasts some of the most fascinating architecture in Central Asia. At the base of the Ark was the prison (of which we took a modern-day tour). The prisons in Khiva were never full for long, the reason being that the rulers employed professionals to do away with the prison’s inhabitants in ever more gruesome and creative ways. For example, a woman and man found to be in an unmarried relationship were killed, naturally, but here is the ‘Khiva catch’: The man is slowly hung from a platform in the city square while the woman is buried in the square up to her head and then slowly sawed in half while the dying man watched. In another twisted punishment, a woman who commits a crime is put in a bag full of cats (Mike thought they were snakes) and then the bag is hit with a bat. Finally, men are buried alive vertically, with their feet sticking up into the city square as a reminder. In Khiva, they were on the one strike system.

If you enter from the south gate, as we did, you will have a rather simple experience as that is where many locals chose to put their modest dwellings. Once inside the rather non-descript gate you will be greeted by local stray dogs and cats, and can peruse the alleys talking with the children. If you head west you’ll find the city’s graveyard, which is a cemetery that scales up the side of the city wall, the city’s oldest locally used mosques and medrassas are here. If you head east from the south gate you’ll find a long winding road that leads to more housing.

Finally, the north gate. In modern times this is the transportation hub, with buses to and from neighboring cities. There is little of interest other than a small restaurant outside the walls. In ancient times this gate served a different purpose: sanitation. The city was once fueled by a canal system bringing water in and sewage out: this was the out. There was also a pool outside the north gate where people could bathe and cleanse themselves as well as take a short-cut to the bazaar. This was the most lively and active gate for locals still living in the city and tourists trying to get out. From here you can also climb up on the twenty foot wall of the city and take a semi-circular tour of the city from above.

Khiva is a must-see on the silk road for its absurdities, its amazing architecture and the extreme dichotomy of the walled city. Owing much to its importance as a trade center until recent times, and then to the Soviet preservation of the city, Khiva has remained relatively unscathed by the 21st century (though you can find internet near the minaret by the west gate).

Khiva Shared Taxi Ride

Having decided to leave Bukhara, we endeavored to find a way to Khiva, a city on the western side of Uzbekistan. There was a train, but it took 24 hours and would depart from a city an hour from Bukhara at 3:00am. If one wanted to jump a bus to Khiva, you should wait on the side of the street and wave down passing busses and inquire if they were headed towards the west. The third and final option was to hire a shared taxi, which is to say that one driver will sell seats in his car and leave when all the seats are full. Our B&B owner knew a man who was leaving for Khiva that afternoon at 5:00pm, so we said we’d tag along for $18 USD. It would be a five hour ride.

The driver arrived and was a giant man with a square jaw and veins protruding from his forearms. HE had already found another local man heading to Urgench, a city near Khiva, and suggested we either pay for the empty seat or wait at the bus station to find a fourth person. We opted for the later. The car itself was a tiny Nissan with no seat belts and back windows that did not budge. There were no head rests and the air conditioner had been removed to make way for a large CD player, which jiggled around in the dash board while we drove. At the bus station we picked up a scrawny fourth traveler, who looked sickly and slightly drunk. We peeled out of the bus station, sending rocks flying up behind us. The driver and the two local passengers then did a short prayer together using the phrase, “inshallah” which means, “God willing.” This did not seem like something a driver should say about a straightforward drive to another city, they all bowed together and did the traditional prayer gestures (note that we had not stopped the car and now the driver was closed-eyed doing 100kph).

What should have been a straightforward ride turned out to be a test of my inner most patience. We were stopped by cops seeking bribes as well as several internal customs and border checks (regional rather than national). Before and behind our car people were crying as the seats were ripped out and their baggage overturned. For some reason, perhaps the fact that our driver knew every guard along the route, our car was sparred.

After 4.5 hours in the car we stopped and the driver told us we were then in Urgench. He told us to get out and threatened to leave us where we had stopped, which was in the middle of nowhere at a local family’s home and diner. We got on the phone right away with the lady from the B&B in Bukhara. She saved the day and negotiated for the driver to take us from where we were directly to the front door of the hotel we indicated for $5 USD. Seeing little alternative we agreed, though the extra $5 was pure robbery. Once at the hotel in Khiva, though, he demanded $5 a person, not $5 all together, and made an ugly grimace with his misshapen head as he continued to stick out his fist for more money. It was at this point that I lost it and barked out a stream of unintelligible information to this man and demanded that he get in his rickety little car and drive off before I really got angry. He thought this was cute, but seeing as veins were now popping out of my forehead he got in his car and left. The owner of the hotel demanded a ridiculous sum to spend the night, and I also snapped on her and told her I thought that the money grubbing was getting out of hand. We ended up paying $10 USD for the night at the hotel.

In all, it was a great test of patience for me, while Mike’s mid-western charm was turning from charming to placating.

Bukhara

We arrived in Bukhara this afternoon and were a bit shocked by the strange reception we received. Having met the owner of a B&B on the street in Samarkand, we decided to accompany her to her place in Bukhara.  We were going to the city anyway and she was very friendly. This morning she drove past us in a cab, waved when she recognized us and then jumped out and offered to share her taxi to the station.  We were in the middle of negotiating a fare with another cabbie but decided it was wise to just go with her, as it would be quicker.  She talked with the various cabbies on the street a moment and then hurriedly got in the cab.  Once we drove off, she looked over at us and said, “that man said he would kill me.”  We asked what she was talking about and she said, “he said if I took his tourists away (meaning us) he would come to the hotel and kill me.”  It was an odd thing to hear so suddenly so we, naturally, agreed when she followed this up with, “perhaps he crazy. I don’t know. I hope he no follow us to the train station.”  And that was all it took to have me death gripping my bags and looking out the window behind us the whole way to the station.
After arriving in Bukhara safe and un-murdered, we decided to stay with her one night and explore the city. As we were leaving her yard, she ran up and gave us a series of tips that effectively scared us off walking around at night.  Essentially, she told us not to talk to any man in Bukhara because they could not be trusted. Especially a man named Niecco down at Lyabi-Hauz, who had pot marks on his face. Niecco was fond of taking tourists to his house for tea and dinner and then robbing them and beating them silly. Our hostess also explained to us that if we wanted to take a cab anywhere we should use one of her neighbors because every other cabbie was corrupt and would either fight us and steal our money or else cause a scene until we agreed to pay a ridiculous sum to shut him up.  We were informed that the police would be of no help. As she walked us out the door she told us a story of how she had to hide from a murderous cab driver behind a dumpster so he wouldn’t find out where she lived. Fun.   Before you start to wonder where we booked ourselves for the night, her hostel is in the guidebooks and came highly recommended by other backpackers, its full of letters previous visitors have sent her and her young children were climbing the mulberry tree in the courtyard when we walked in. As we set of through the courtyard she yelled after us a final reminder, “Remember, don’t talk to anyone! And, don’t let anyone follow you here!”

Out for the afternoon we encountered no problems and were not particularly worried about running into Niecco or his friends. However, as we walked around The Ark we found that the backside of the building is the hottest spot in Bukhara for junkies. The area is littered with needles and, strangely, lice combs. We also walked past the hood of a car overturned behind this world famous monument completely engulfed in flames. It started to get dark so we set off in the direction of our B&B when I started to notice that all the street lamps were off, looking at the base I noticed that the wires had all been pulled from the poles. It was ‘Uzbekistan’s Children’s Day’ so the streets were teeming with children and ice-cream wrappers, yet the city had an eerie abandoned look because there were no adults, it was as if the children from The Lord of the Flies had built up a massive castle in the desert and were now running around the alleys playing games.

Did I mention that Bukhara is world famous for its torture, prisons and public executions—but that’s another story. Needless to reiterate, our first night in Bukhara was a bit strange.

Ulugh Beg’s Observatory

After taking a walking tour of several mausoleums and the ruins of Ulugh Beg’s (the famous Central Asian astronomer) observatory, we decided to search for the tomb of Daniel as well as an archeological museum around Samarkand. Walking in front of Timur’s family mausoleum, we saw a vast cemetery on the outskirts of Samarkand. Tombstones with engraved images of those buried below stared back at us during the long walk through the desert between Samarkand and the observatory. On the way, we saw caves and holes in the cliffs upholding the cemetery. It was easy to imagine people being put to rest all over the surrounding valleys hundreds of years ago. Long funeral processions probably carried bodies to these ledges by cart or human and paid enormous sums of money to have their loved ones placed on the hill overlooking Samarkand.

After a long walk in the sweltering heat, we arrived at an oasis of sorts, full of trees and shade. At the top of a long row of steps was the remaining wall of Ulugh Beg’s three story observatory, unearthed in 1908. A small museum with records and information about Ulugh Beg and other Central Asian / Middle Eastern mathematicians and astronomers stood on the north end of the hilltop. The only thing remaining of the observatory was the rail upon which the telescope rolled. It was quite impressive, standing at the top observing the curved stone rail with notches of grooves from the top, as well as the ancient stairs leading down into the chamber.

After a while spent admiring the observatory, we took the wrong road north after the observatory and walked an additional 3 km. Once we found the right road, we walked down a nice lane with tree rows planted on the sides and cotton fields spanning out into the distance. On the corner stood the Hazrat-Hizr Mosque, which was built in the 8th century and mistakenly was not facing Mecca. Later, an architect corrected this mistake and has since, been deemed a prophet. Ghenghis Khan burned the mosque, along with several of the cities’ inhabitance, to the ground in the early 13th century as the Mongol hordes made their way West. Down the road, Lauren noticed a small sign marked “mausoleum” in Uzbek. We walked down the long winding road along the banks of the river and discovered a tomb on top of the hill and a natural spring at the base. Several people were washing in the spring and drinking the water. Now, I would have considered taking a drink from Daniel’s spring if I was 100% sure that it was Daniels tomb – I enjoy taking a leap of faith occasionally. However, there are a reported six tombs of Daniel spread throughout the Middle East and Central Asia.

The Bible places Daniel from Daniel and the Lion’s Den, in Babylon – modern day Iraq – at the time of his death. Similar accounts also state that the location of his body is in Susa, as well as two other purported locations in Iraq, and one in Iran. Uzbekistan claims to have the real body of Daniel because a legend states that Timur (Tamerlane), unable to conquer modern day Syria, believed that the body of Daniel was preventing his success. After a successful battle, Timur apparently ordered the body exhumed and brought back to Samarkand for good luck. After burial a natural spring sprouted, which locals claim has healing powers. However, this is simply local lore and I grew even more suspicious as we viewed the tomb marker.  I ducked my head under a doorway and entered an elongated room that contained a 90-foot burial marker. My jaw dropped. The guard then explained that each year the body grows “x” amount. One person told us, 2 inches a year. If this were the case, the body would be more than 2000 inches long, which would be much longer than the marker. I have attached the picture of the tomb and I am curious to hear comments on peoples’ belief or non-belief of this miracle or mockery, depending on your perspective.

Across Central Asia we’ve noticed that plastic bottles play an important role in everyday life once drained of their liquid contents. Here are a few uses we’ve witnessed.

1.  As a scooper for rice, spices, or any other scoop-able commodity in the old town street vendors. Witnessed: Tashkent Old Town, Uzbekistan

Plastic Bottle Scooper

2.  Cut in half and used as a vase for flowers. Witnessed: Almaty, Kazakhstan

3.  Used as a stopper for an automatic watering system. Witnesses, Tashkent, Timur Park, Uzbekistan.

Sprinkler System Water Bottle

4.  Snugly fit over a dripping air conditioner pipe to collect condensation. Witnessed: Old Town, Tashkent, Uzbekistan

5.  Cut in half, using the top half turned upside down as a mini green house for seeds to germinate. Witnessed, Almaty, Kazakhstan

6.  Cut into strips and painted to make noiseless wind chimes. Witnessed: Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan

7.  Cut off the bottom, then cut the remainder diagonally and use the top end as a handle, use the sharp diagonal opposing end to scrape gum off the street. Witnessed: Urumqi, Xinjiang

8.  Save bottles, strip labels and reuse when selling curded milk, yoghurt, pomegranate juice or other local favorites. Witnessed: Tashkent, Uzbekistan

Reused Bottles in Uzbekistan

9.  Cut the entire bottle away except the plastic screw-on lid and about an inch of plastic down from there. Turn upside down and use to hold toothpicks at the restaurant. Witnessed: Samarkand, Uzbekistan

10.  Cut off end of bottle neck, affix entire plump bottom end to long stick. Use stick with bottle taped to the end to smack on donkey’s ass to make him go faster. Louder than a stick but injures the animal less. Witnessed: Tashkurgan, Xinjiang

When traveling you get to met people from every walk of life with all kinds of beliefs ranging from the mundane to the insane.  In Samarkand one evening, Mike and I were sitting on the benches in front of the Registan people watching. We watched dozens of people try to sneak in without paying, all but two were caught by the guards. While we were watching an eight year old boy and his two friends walked by, the most flamboyant of them walked past, stared at me and said, “hello, baby!” We burst out laughing, but the boy was not amused, he took a seat next to Mike and proceeded to talk to him in Jar-Jar Binks tones, not saying anything but rather making noise, all the while he winked and nodded his chin at me.

In Kashgar, Xinjiang we were sitting in the courtyard enjoying the local tea when a very sick looking French man approached us and reported that he was recently quarantined in a hospital for people with suspicious illnesses. He then stuck out his hand for us to shake.

In the tomb of Tamerlane in Samarkand I was sitting alone in the corner trying to ease drop on a local woman giving a guided tour to an elderly man in English. A young girl came up to the old man and asked where he was from, whereupon he launched into the following: “I’m from a tiny island called Britian. We are a monarchy, our queen is the only queen and she rules many countries.” The little girl walked away and I burst out laughing again while the Uzbek guide glared at me.

In Urumqi we were taking a break in the hostel one rainy afternoon and put in a DVD while we were doing some writing. A young man traveling from Israel sat down to watch with us. We were watching, ‘Charlie Wilson’s War.’ At the end the man asked what we thought of American policy back then.

In Kashgar we were sitting at John’s Café after arriving, having starved on the train for want of variety. We encountered two Australians eating alone who invited us to join them. Conversation twisted and turned, but throughout we discovered that the two Aussies had travelled the globe in the 40 years on the planet, including 3 separate excursions to Antarctica.

Walking down the streets of Samarkand a local with all gold teeth approached us and said, “hey guys, where ya from?” We were so shocked to hear English with an African American accent come from this man that we stopped dead in our tracks. He looked straight at Mike and said, “yeah man, I used to live in New York, I drove a Cadillac. P.I.M.P, man…. Yeah, I had lots of black friends.” He actually spelled out pimp. Here is the clincher- he is the city’s foremost English instructor. Perhaps he taught the eight year old to greet women with a feisty “hello baby!” and a wink.
Also in Samarkand we met two Spaniards biking from Spain to south-east Asia by land. These interesting folks had really seen the countryside, the cities and were doing an A-rate, year-long trip. There is no funny story here, but this folks were just plain fun to talk to and hang out with. They had met an Italian economist who we spent dinner with the following night, another very interesting fellow.

Sitting at the hostel for breakfast one morning we met a man of about 27-29 who was living in Samarkand for a year cataloging the archives at the regional museum. He spoke Uzbek, Russian, English and could read Arabic and Persian. He was the most quintessentially British person I’d ever met, because although it was 90 degrees outside he was wearing a button-down shirt and a sweater vest.

We have met several other, very interesting people on the trip so far, this is just a taste of the type of people one encounters when traveling the world. Its amazing the stories we hear and the lives some people lead and these are the moments that make one realize that our lives are so much more than everybody’s quest for life insurance and a good job.

Scarab

Since arriving in Uzbekistan we have seen an inordinate about of insects of every shape, variety and color. In Tashkent, upon walking into the hotel, Mike was greeted by the most horrible sounds of my loudest shrieks. I had, naturally, found a large, black spider crawling across an otherwise white wall. This spider was no ordinary creature, for it looked up at me as if to say, “hold down the noise, lady!” and then blinked.

In Samarkand I was shocked to discover a distant cousin of the creature in Tashkent. Think back to your childhood and the conclusion to the epic tale “Charlotte’s Web” when Charlotte’s millions of children climb up a wooden fence post, shoot a string of web and then fly off into the sunset to propagate. This is a common occurrence in Samarkand. Not once, but on three separate occasions I saw a spider fly past me with a death grip on a bit of web. One stuck out its fury leg and waved as it flew past my head. Mike thinks I exaggerate, but I’m happy to live in my little world of hyperbole. Regardless, it is not inaccurate to say that Samarkand has flying spiders.

After a scorching walk through the ruins of Afrosiab we decided to rest for a while at the Hazrat-Hizr Mosque overlooking the city. From here you can see the ruins of the Registan, as well as those of Bibi-Khanym’s Mosque and mausoleum. It is, without a doubt, the best view in Samarkand, but I was distracted by giant, spider-like ants. Since you’ll think I’m exaggerating, I’ll provide you with pictorial evidence. These giant ant’s back legs would shoot out like a spiders, allowing them to propel themselves at incredible speed and survive jumps of up to 1000 times its height. I know because I kicked one off a step and it landed, looked back at me to stick up its middle leg and then ran off down the steps leaping off each one and landing mid step, ready to leap again.

After the mosque we walked to the burial site of the Old Testament prophet Daniel (who was unfortunate enough to be thrown to the lions in Babylon at one point). Supposedly Daniel’s body grows at a rate of two inches a year, so the kindly Uzbeks have provided him with a sarcophagus that is about 9 yards long and one yard across. But I digress, at the ridiculously long sarcophagus I saw one of the most exciting/disgusting things on the planet. We had just come out from measuring the resting place of Daniel when we found a rock path leading up into the hills, we followed it to see what there was to be seen from the top. Here is what lies at the top of this holy hill, readers beware that the faint should not read on:

I saw something resembling a trilobite resting in a tiny hole in the side of a bank. I went to poke it with a pen, thinking, “Oh my God, I found a fossil!” But, when I poked it and turned it over I discovered it was a giant, recently deceased beetle being devoured from the inside out by the crazy ant-spiders I mentioned above. I did a “Gross! Gross! Gross!” dance before taking a few pictures for you. Does this beetle not look like the scarabs from ‘The Mummy’ that ate humans alive? Because when my face was 5 inches away to take these pictures that was the only thought coursing through my brain.

After a long day of adventuring around Samarkand we returned to the hotel where Mike reported to me that he had found a daddy long legs in the bathroom and was watching him hang out under the sink. Perhaps all these bugs are only interesting to me because in one year of living in Shanghai I now realize I did not see a single insect other than flies and mosquitoes- as it should be!

The Registan

Our first day in Samarkand left us spell bound and awe-struck. There is no exaggerating this place, because exaggerations are impossible here. Our train from Tashkent left at 7:00:01 on the spot and arrived in Samarkand at exactly 10:30:19am. This was the shortest train ride we’d had on the trip so far, but the one that yielded the most drastic difference from departure to arrival. At the Samarkand station we easily found a local driver to take us to the B&B we picked online called Bahodir B&B, Bahodir himself met us at the door and, after a round of handshakes and bows, directed us to his nicest room for $20USD a day including breakfast and all the tea we could consume. Our room had a double bed and two single beds, a small wooden table, perhaps built by Jesus himself it is so old, and a tiled bathroom with a toilet and a sink which has an extension so you can hold out a rod and shower under it. It is much more than we expected and when we discovered the grape-vine shaded courtyard we were ecstatic about the find. The Lonely Planet does not recommend this place, but we beg to differ. For starters, it is located within spitting distance of the Registan, Samarkand’s biggest attraction and, according to locals, the only reason people come to Central Asia.

The Registan is a three building complex which was built between 1417 and 1660. The Ulugbek Medressa is the oldest of the three structures and was completed in 1420 as a school where Ulugbek himself was rumored to have taught mathematics. In 1636 the Emir Yalangtush completed the Lion Medressa, which is opposite Ulugbek’s and world renowned for the lion image on the front façade. In between these two is the Tilla-Karri Medressa completed in 1660 and famous for its gold-topped mosque.

We walked around the Registan in awe, not only because of the amazing architecture, creative and dazzling designs and unending variety, but because of when it was built and how well it has stood the test of time. A woman selling tickets told us it was 7,000 CYM a person to enter, but for locals the price is 600 CYM. We decided not to go in, as it was crowded and, we thought, a bit pricy. Instead, we strolled all around the complex. A guard came up to us and offered to take us to the summit of one of the mighty pillars if we returned at 6pm for 3000 CYM.

We left the Registan without entering, and decided to grab a bite with a view nearby. At a highly recommended eatery we had lamb kebab and bread. Afterwards we walked in 90 degree heat with no itinerary in mind. We strolled aimlessly past the art museum and down Tashkent Road, which ended up being the best place to be. We went into a mosque and then into a bazaar, afterwards we strolled down a large hill to the Shah-I-Zinda Mausoleums. This was the second most astonishing thing I’d seen on the entire trip, after the Registan that is. While the whole complex was rebuilt very controversially in 2005, I found it a delight to see. Here is why I do not disagree with their renovation. For starters, if things were not maintained or renovated they would deteriorate entirely, and though a history major and a history buff, I feel that preservation in the West means alienating a thing and trying to protect it from the natural decays caused by gravity and weather. Out here, history is still alive. The restorations done in 2005 are no different than repairs made to the Coliseum while it was still in use. Locals respect and adore their history and culture and want to keep it alive, lively and worthy of the fame it already has. The restoration artists retained before and after pictures of the complex and, for the most part, stayed true to the original designs, structure layout and floor plan.
We walked up adobe stairs and into several mausoleums with markers for where the tombs are located. The exterior of the mausoleums are covered in intricate patterns using blue, teal and white tiles forming designs, flowers, and images of the sun. The interior was usually simple brick with an even more simple white marker bearing no script or indication of who lies beneath. Each mausoleum had its own collection of pigeons jealously guarding their territory. One would think that such beauty and intricacy would become dull over time, but this is not true. My eyes watered from strain, but could not look away. We went in every room, climbed every set of stairs and even walked behind every structure. The complex is set on a hillside where thousands of others are buried with simple marble markers overlooking the complex. Each tombstone of black shiny marble in the surrounding cemetery has an etched carving of the person beneath it wearing their finest clothing, and it is a bit eerie to walk around seeing faces you know are beneath your feet.

The complex houses one of the most religious places in Sunni Islam, the burial site of the Living King, the grave of Qusam ibn-Abbas, a cousin of Muhammad who supposedly brought Islam to the area in the 7th century. While there, we watched a local woman prostrate herself in his attached prayer hall. At 5:00pm we were still in the complex and heard the men chanting their prayers and watched them gather in the entry halls.
While we were advised to dress conservatively and for me to wear a head covering, once in the complex we discovered none of the locals cared. My head was uncovered and no one glared or gave strange sidelong glances. In fact, as we were leaving several Muslim women approached and asked if we would take a picture with them. Three women crowded around me and held my arms so tight they left white knuckle prints on my sun burnt skin. They were incredibly friendly. Unfortunately my camera is like Blade’s sword, only I know how to use it, so I could not get their friend to take a picture with my camera. Nevertheless, it is a happy memory I’ll retain just as vividly in my mind.

Back at the B&B we chatted with two men from Barcelona (the day after the Manchester United – Barcelona game on the 28th of May) who were riding their bikes around the world. They left four months ago and have eight more months before they return home. They were an interesting duo. As they were headed for China and we are headed, eventually, to Azerbaijan, we did a quick money transfer with them at the B&B, which proved to be much easier than getting rid of RMB anywhere else in Central Asia.

Medrassa bazaar

We were fortunate enough to spend seven full days in Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan, staying at the Grand Orzu hotel near the center of activity. Within walking distance to the train station as well as the metro, we were in the prime location to experience the city. While we saw and experienced many things in and around Tashkent, here are the highlights:

The regional museum. Shaped like a giant crown, this museum located on the fringes of Amir Timur park is well worth a visit. After buying your ticket (3,000 CYM) head up the stairs into the main room for a fantastic view of a three story mural, a tiled ceiling and giant chandelier and a Koran from 7^th (Islamic) century. From here you can climb two more floors of relics from around the country, maps, pictures, gifts from foreign dignitaries and models of all of Uzbekistan’s major buildings. After the museum, check out the giant statue of Amir Timur on horseback. Some time ago someone stole his horses’ family jewels, check this out.

Seattle Peace Park. Here you can go to the tiny zoo (rabbits, turtles and a misplaced ostrich) or ride bumper cars, shoot counter-strike guns full of tennis balls or ride a row boat. Don’t skip it because it sounds cheesy, that’s all the more reason to go!

Broadway. This used to be a lively and active street until the president visited and disliked what he saw. Now it is calmer, but in the afternoon heat stroll down to see the artists put their finest canvas on display.

Medrassa bazaar.

A converted former medrassa now houses craftsmen as they work their trades in woodwork, tile work, silks and especially tiny jewelry boxes hand painted in gold and bright Central Asian colors and designs.

Old Town. We walked around the bazaar and then back behind the main selling area before coming to a building resembling a small leaning tower of Pisa. Behind the bazaar we met two boys throwing bits of carcass into the back of a van.

Nipon park. This Japanese park near the Inter Continental hotel looked amazing, but it was closed when we showed up so we simply played with some nearby mallards before jumping the subway. Looks like a classy place, but its 4,000 CYM to get in.

Metro. The Tashkent metro is well known because each station is different and it was original designed as a series of conveniently placed bomb shelters. While the place is swarming with guards and we hear photography is forbidden, it was still fun to ride around (we used it to tour the city on two separate occasions) and easy to use.

Having lived in Shanghai for over a year, I thought I had experienced a truly versatile and adept cuisine culture. While Shanghai has a bit more to offer in the way of bulk variety, Tashkent is a city seething with diverse foods at affordable prices that far exceed international expectations. If you are ever so lucky as to find yourself in Tashkent, here are some of the wonderful restaurants we were introduced to by an expat who had spent considerable time living in the city and knew all the best places to dine.

Bistro

: This tasty pizzeria is nestled away from the street and houses an outdoor courtyard as well as a tented area. The kitchen consists of a large pizza oven and a counter where three young men help each other compile your pizza. Pizzas are about 11,000 CYM. They also do pasta very well, and don’t leave without trying the bread sticks.

Omar Kayane: This Lebanese/Mexican restaurant sports local decor, chicanas, hookahs and a diverse menu of specialties. Named after a famous poet, the place has all the spice and flare of a hopeless romantic. Formerly a Mexican restaurant, the new owners kept several favorites on their menu. Try the Potato skins. From the Lebanese section, the kebabs are highly praised, and the fatush, hummus and spinach wraps were amazing.

Caravan: Though a bit expensive, the decorations make this place a must-see. They have life shows some nights and late in the evening the interior dining area becomes a lively beer hall.

Chelsea Arms: This may be the single most overpriced pub on the planet. They deceptively charge in Euros, making each half liter of brew about ten-twelve dollars. Bring Prozac or an inhaler for when your bill arrives. If you have free cash to throw away, however, the interior is worth visiting for its authentic British feel, and it’s a marvel that someone managed to transport the items in the bar to the middle of Uzbekistan.

El Dolphin (from the guide book)This place was highly recommended by the Lonely Planet, and perhaps because of this the prices were quite high for what was delivered. However, the food was very good, we had the hummus, falafel, chicken , and a margarita pizza for about 40 USD. The décor is startlingly bad, but if you can force yourself to have a bit of faith you may be surprised.

City Grill:

At this hard-to-find grill we had the best meal I’ve ever had in a restaurant abroad. The grilled vegetables are fantastic, as is the filet-minion, T-bone, bone steak, ravioli, bread sticks and soup. As you can tell from the items we’ve sampled, we went more than once. The prices are surprisingly spot-on, and it’s a great place to sojourn. Try everything.

The Czech pub: This place had a diverse menu of Czech foods as well as an on-site brewery that produced sharp and interesting ales, pilsners and heffeweissens. Order the pickled cucumbers, the soups, bread basket and a few beers. Moderately priced with great décor, friendly staff and a endless menu options.

Soviet Chair Lift

We left mid morning for the lake, in Tashkent province, about an hour and a half north-east of the capital. The drive was peaceful and from the SUV we watched women sell their morning’s fruit harvest as old men and boys continued harvesting behind them in the fields. We passed through several small towns with large cathedrals, mosques and an abundance of butcher shops (comically called a ‘go-shit’ in Russian).

The protected area includes a lake at the center surrounded by rolling green hills with mountains in the distance. The lake was created when the river, which originates in Kyrgyzstan, was dammed. Thousands of people live in the area selling their harvests or living off the small tourism industry.

On the winding roads through the park we were occasionally surprised as children (average age of about eight) would jump out of the tall grass surrounding the road to wave purple and yellow bouquets of wild flowers at the car. At several large bends in the road women had congregated to sell their goods, and it was at once such bend that we found a young businesswomen selling burnt-sugar peanuts. These were easily the best snack I’ve ever had and she was the best bargainer I’ve ever encountered.

We stopped the car often to jump out and admire the view, which changed so drastically with ever turn in the road that it was almost like a new drive began every few minutes. Finally, after my eyes were so overloaded with beauty and newness that they felt strained, we pulled off the road to an old Soviet-era chairlift that went up the side of a large hill and into the snowy mountains. It was ill maintained but functional, and as we watched for several minutes not one car detached itself and fell to the jagged rocks below.

We went through the cattle wire to the ticket booth and bought a ticket each for about 2USD round trip. The chair lift was set up as a two-seater deal where it was obvious that each seat on the contraption had been replaced or reattached at some point or another. My chair set, for example, had one blue chair with no arm rest and one yellow one with rust discoloration. Under the chair, before one did a quick prayer and sat in the lift, there was painted two sets of footprints, the one on the inside larger than that of the outside. I sat on the outside, as I’m smaller, and when I sat down the chair swung in towards oncoming traffic- aka, those who had made it up and were now death-gripping their chairs on the way down. As the chair lifted off (not so gracefully, I might add) the chair attendant gave a surprised but jolly wave and cheer. The lift took around ten minutes from bottom to top, and as I am writing this I obviously lived through the adventure. At the top a large burley man who smelled of beer and lamb pulled me from the chair so forcefully my feet didn’t touch the ground until he let go well out of striking range of the pendulum-like chair. The attendant and his friend/co-worker/man drinking in the corner laughed at each other when they saw our petrified smiles.

The summit was beautiful and well worth the harrowing ride. Within seconds of summiting it began to snow and I donned my fleece and scarf. Previous pilgrims who had survived the Soviet chair lift had ripped pieces of fabric from their shirts and, with a prayer of thanks, tied the fabric to the fence at the summit. I felt compelled to do likewise but decided not to tempt fate- I’d tie on a thank-you at the base once I’d made it safely back down. Mama didn’t raise no fool!

After a tour of the summit we descended (much less terrifying) and drove down the hill a ways. From the summit we had seen a plane which, from our vantage point, looked to have crashed nearby. We drove down a bumpy dirt road to find the plane, which turned out to be an Aeroflot (I’ve always felt they were an unsafe fleet) plane surrounded by weeds and trees but guarded by a house and warehouse nearby. I still have no idea what the plane was there for, or, more puzzlingly, how it arrived in that position. It sure did not land there, and it could not have driven down the bumpy road.

We then drove to the lake where we walked down and stuck a toe or finger each into the icy water. We discovered a floating rock, which I stabbed with my knife to discover was actually a floating piece of filthy bread. We drove around the lake and stopped again at a high point before the dam, overlooking the entire lake and beyond. We climbed up into the rocks and gazed out at the truly beautiful green hills, jagged mountains and herds of goats, cheep, donkey and cows.

Driving now above the dam we stopped at a small café called the Golden Deer in Russian. We parked and sat in a local-style booth. No sooner had we sat down than every man, woman and child in the restaurant and outdoor café ran into the street to watch two young men drag race their cars up and down the strip of curved road where everyone had parked their cars. The boys peeled out, gained speed then slammed on the brake and e-braked as they threw the wheel into a firm 180. The crowd cheered them on while we sat in our outdoor booth wondering if they would smash into our car. This went on for half an hour. Meanwhile, we had ordered two Big Macs, which were on the menu in Cyrillic. How they heard of a Big Mac out there is beyond me. It was a double-decker hamburger with mayo. Copyright laws need not apply. This was also the site of several scenes which caused me to utter sentences that should not be said aloud, including, “That man is combing his stomach hair” and “Now he is playing with his mullet.”

Back in the car we drove around the dam (surrounded by guards) before heading back to the capital. It had been an adventurous, harrowing, peaceful and puzzling trip into the Tashkent countryside.

Lamb kebabs – Urumqi, Xinjiang. Urumqi has an amazing night market near the park with beer, kebabs, nan, plov and other Central Asian treats.

Pizza – Tashkent, Uzbekistan. There is a locally owned Pizza cafe called Bistro in Tashkent with amazing pizza, good beer and outdoor seating.

Coffee – Tashkent, Uzbekistan. This is on the list at everyone else’s request as I don’t drink coffee. Cafe Jum is the best spot in Central Asia for an espresso.

Spiced Tea – Kashgar, Xinjiang. We ran into a man mixing tea in buckets by the mosque in Old Town. Amazing spices and knock-you-out tea.

Nan – Almaty, Kazakhstan. This is, by far, the best bread I’ve ever head, and it is totally different from Xinjiang nan.

Battered califlower – Tashkent, Uzbekistan. Steamed, and then battered and fried. Creative and savory.

Fatush – Tashkent, Uzbekistan. This Lebbonese salad is a mix of tomato, califlower, tortilla and vinigar. Amazing.

Donar Kebab – Almaty, Kazakhstan. The best donar this side of the Tian Shan.

Goat milk yoghurt – Kashgar, Xinjiang. Mixed with sugar and served ice cold.

1. A marijuana plant growing on the side of the road in Tashkent, Uzbekistan.

Uzbek lake

2. Multiple people on the train shaking the border guards hands full of money to avoid having their bags searched in Kazakhstan.

3. Illegal money traders on every train in every country so far.

4. Kazakh guards patting Mike down for money, official theft.

5. Elderly man on Kazakh train with drugs taped to his stomach.

Honorable mentions:

6. Everyone driving in Central Asia is breaking a multitude of laws every second on the road.

7. Kazakh woman transporting goods illegal from China using our train cabin.

8. Racing cars down a public road in Uzbekistan, using the e-brake to pull 180s.