With an extra hour of daylight now available to us we pushed on towards Samarkand, avoiding the section of direct road that crosses briefly back into Kazakhstan (one Kazakh / Uzbek border crossing in a lifetime is quite enough, thanks).
Another immediate change with this border; smiles, waves and beeps of horns increased by a factor of ten, making Kazakhstan seem positively grumpy in comparison (not that I mind – I can do grumpy quite well myself).
The road was OK by recent standards – the worst spot being the back roads of Samarkand itself as Garmin guided us in by the most direct, but not the main route. We had to ignore a couple of physical road blocks by taking the local drivers leads, engaging low range and driving straight over them.
We uhhmed and ahhed though, as they only had on-street parking immediately outside the gate, and getting to it would require us to negotiate a large pile of gravel blocking the road for some building work.
A taxi driver had offered an alternative for half the price, but blew it by being far too keen and pushy, making unwanted calls on our behalf before chasing us down the street, shouting something about breakfast options.
Tired and more than a tad grumpy myself by now, I just wanted to be wherever we were staying. I tackled the gravel and perilous deep, open drains with a bit less reserve than I normally would and soon had a small crowd gathered as I sprayed gravel and clouds of black diesel smoke in all directions. I think they got the hint as two guys were out moving the pile and unblocking the alley the next morning.
They soon became a right royal pain in the arse though, suffering as they were from infantile dementia, repeating the same questions every time we stepped out of the gate for the next few days.
I don’t mind engaging with these guys but it would be nice if they had some memory retention to go with it so we got beyond “What’s your name?”, “Where are you from?” ten bloody times a day…
However, this was a small price to pay as Anticas was a real find.
We took a room in the “small house” a few alleys away, with its own private courtyard and stunning 19th Century room with carved, beamed ceilings. En-suite and breakfast for $50 a day (after a bit of haggling). The main courtyard was shaded most of the day and full of not only fruit trees, but also other tourists, here with bikes, motorbikes, 4x4’s, and in one case a hot air balloon (packed away in a van – not up in the garden – that would be silly).
The breakfasts were also a ridiculous feast of fruits, yoghurts, jams, pancakes, quiche, rice pudding, fried veg, breads and tea and coffee. Cheryl was feeling a little under the weather so I heroically took on the laborious task of eating hers too…
This is one of the few downsides of Uzbekistan. Everyone we met, without exception, was ill at some point during their time in the country. The filthy money does ming, more than merciless emperors, but we think it may have something to do with their very relaxed attitude to flies and food. Even the spotlessly clean Anticas used to leave food exposed too long for my liking.
With guest dropping like….well, flies….they did finally start to cover stuff up towards the end of our stay.
Most people visiting Uzbekistan have three places in mind, Samarkand, Bukhara and Khiva – probably the three most famous and accessible destinations on the silk road? Yep, there is far more to this friendly country than the architectural gems of the above, but the Uzbek embassy had seen fit to ignore our request for a three week, one week spilt of our double entry visa, and grant us instead 2 x two week stays.
This kinda cocked things up for us, meaning we had only two weeks instead of three to explore the country, and an unnecessarily long two weeks instead of one to transit it later.
Oh well, less opportunity for us to do what tourists do and spend money…
So with a compressed timescale we had roughly four days each at the big three and a couple of days contingency for any breakdowns (mechanical, mental) or fly induced bottom explosions and the like. Four days is enough to scratch the surface of each, but nowhere near enough time to get under the skin of these places, or have much in the way of meaningful interactions with Uzbeks.
So please excuse my lack of profound sociological observations, and indulge me as I talk instead of shitting peacocks and ladies buckets.
A sign at the entrance discouraged me from the improper action of “strewing money” in this holy place, so I kept it in my pocket – unstrewn.
The lady had by now taken her leave – with my hard earned money – I hope she gets real satisfaction “strewing” it about town.
Top tip 1 – don’t pay to climb the non-existent minaret at the Bibi Khanim Mausoleum.
Top tip 2 – always carry a torch when visiting mosques (especially in Khiva), most minaret stair-ways are unlit.
They have a live peacock roaming around, and I noticed on the second morning that they gave it the run of the restaurant overnight – preening itself and shitting all over the furniture.
The accessory “a la mode” for the well heeled Uzbek lady about town is “un bucket”...
“Le Plastique” come in a variety of bright colours, allowing the wearer to coordinate and accessorise with the days chosen ensemble. In the more upmarket Registan district, bolder, often younger ladies can sometimes be seen sporting an unashamedly retro, galvanized steel affair.
Reading the various guidebooks it is easy to get lost in the fascinating and often violent histories of these cities. They have all been built, destroyed, rebuilt, plundered, restored in a cycle of creation and destruction over the centuries.
Apparently, some quarters criticise “over zealous” restoration efforts and complain of a Disney like feel to these places. I agree, that (especially in Khiva) once the tourists have climbed back aboard their air-conditioned buses and the stalls selling Chinese toy helicopters and cheap sunglasses have packed up for the day – these places can feel a little empty?
However, having seen a few of the unrestored buildings I offer up the following erudite observation – they are complete crap.
If that was 60+ years ago – then nothing at all would remain now?
Had we driven 10,000 km to look at the “original” piles of rubble we would have been a tad underwhelmed? The restored buildings are incredible, awesome, and give one a terrific feeling of what these cities were like in their heyday.
It IS a shame though that more Uzbeks aren’t allowed to live in them, or have the basic decency to sell “authentic, craft based” items more appealing to my middle class likings and sensibilities ;- )
If I want to buy cheap crap, Nuneaton is MUCH closer to home...