The Road to Samarqand

16/08/09

Sometimes the journey is as entertaining as what you find at it’s end. This was certainly the case when moving from Bishkek to Uzbekistan. The day began at a crowded parking lot with a misunderstanding over prices that was resolved by thrusting 80 com ($2 USD) at a cab driver. We were then surrounded by over a dozen drivers all shouting destinations and quoting widely divergent prices. We settled on one who spoke some English and then waited an hour for other passengers to fill the Mercedes sedan. Eventually a babushka with child, and a fat Tatar guy climbed on board and we were off.

The driver really hammered the gas and we cruised along the highway into the mountain passes. There were several near death experiences as we screamed around the corners through a valley following the Naryn river. The driver was 19 years old and had little experience. This did not stop him from driving at breakneck speed and almost colliding with four other vehicles. We ripped along the asphalt until it was time to stop for lunch.

Lunch was quite the experience. I didn’t eat anything but the stale crusts of ripped up nan sitting in a basket on the table. My friend Daniel decided to try his luck with the kitchen and ordered Lakhman, a national noodle dish. The waitress disappeared into the kitchen and returned to inform him there was no Lakhman. He then asked for some eggs and was promptly told that they had no eggs since it was not a national dish. He ordered fried potatoes and the waitress disappeared again. She returned shortly afterward to advise that there was no potatoes, and all that they had was egg. An two egg omelette was agreed upon, and twenty minutes later she reappeared with a plate containing four fried eggs.

When it came time to pay for the meal, Daniel was initially told to pay sixty com. This quickly escalated to seventy, then eighty, skipped ninety and ultimately settled at a hundred. It was a setback that hurt more out of principle than anything else, but the bill was paid and we were off again.

I should mention at this point that the babushka faked a heart attack and jumped out of the moving vehicle upon our arrival at the restaurant parking lot. She kept beating her chest and jabbering nonsense which turned out to be a pretence to claim the front seat of the car. Her and the kid sat up front and we piled into the back, sandwiching the fat Tatar guy in between us. We were off again for more death defying passing on blind corners and tire squealing manoeuvres.

Finally we hit the Uzbek border, a small one in the middle of nowhere, seldom frequented by tourists. We arrived right around closing time and were dropped right at customs. Our timing worked to our advantage as it seemed everyone just wanted to get out of there. The Kyrgyz guys were really friendly and we joked around with them so as to avoid extortion. The pitch was only attempted once when we were asked for customs forms we had never received. We made up bullshit about how the border with China doesn’t issue them, and that they come only from the airport in Bishkek. We then discussed women and German footballers until we were stamped and waved through.

The Uzbek side was shockingly easy as well. We went in super friendly with many a hand shake and salaam un alaiyakum – this went over well. The soldiers did not have any English forms, so they simply told us what to write on the Uzbek ones. We filled them out as per the suggested responses and after a lot of stamping, passport inspection, passport re-inspection, we were waved through. Nobody thought to search our bags, though we were asked if we had any illegal narcotics.

As soon as we crossed the border, the land flattened out into fields under the last rays of the setting sun. We were entering the Feranga Valley, though I could see no valley, only fields. No matter.

We caught a minivan on the Uzbek side of the border to the nearest city, a place named Andijan. The price was negotiated and arbitrarily fixed at 2000 Uzbek com (about $1.10 USD as I later found out). We jumped in and cruised into town with a bunch of cigarette smoking Uzbeks. They all paid sums of around 600 com for the ride, but we felt it was no big deal and were happy to honour our agreement. One problem: no Uzbek cash.

This small issue grew into a huge hassle as the driver began to try to take advantage of us. First we were informed that we had agreed to pay 20 000 com, not 2000. This was clearly not the case. The price then increased to $20 USD, and then $23 USD without any decent explanation why. We brought the driver to a hotel where “mama” at reception clearly took our side. The price dropped sharply, first to 14 535 com, then to $8 USD. I held firm offering up three crisp dollar bills and the driver went through a crazy pantomime of gestures to explain the insufficiency of the funds on offer. Ultimately he accepted $4 USD, and 40 Kyrgyz com ($1 USD), more than we had agreed but still a reasonable amount to pay for him to get lost. Once he had accepted the money, he was all smiles again, and he shook our hands before saying goodbye.

The mama then showed us a couple of run down rooms, the second of which we accepted. We swapped a bit of cash and detailed a girl to show us to a restaurant. When we arrived, the girl pointed to a sign on the wall and said “menu.” It appeared as follows:

100g 1400 com
200g 2300 com
300g 3200 com
400g 4100 com
500g 5000 com

I immediately ordered 200g, but Daniel decided to inquire about the substance referred to. He did so by pointing at the menu the putting his index fingers at the sides of his head and making “mooo” sounds. This gesture seemed to amuse the staff and the chef said “nyet” and began flapping his arms like a bird. Daniel and I responded by making chicken noises and flapping our elbows, thus confirming that we wished to order chicken. The meal was delicious, and afterwards it was back to the room, exhausted after a long day on the road.

Tomorrow: Tashkent.

OK, so upon review of this entry prior to posting I can’t resist adding that I rolled through Tashkent, which has to be one of the world’s most boring cities, certainly not worthy of an entry itself. The streets are clean and the buildings are nice, but it has that good old DPRK (i.e. North Korea) feel – lots of police everywhere, no people anywhere, no action to be found, no traffic, and nothing to do.