On The Way To Samarkand

The road was mostly good today, with only one really execrable portion. I did a lot of washboard, though, which is always a rattling experience. The wind was strong out of the north to start, but no real trouble. Perhaps it is just becoming background to the daily experience. 

I did a better job of hydrating and stopping to cool off. Nonetheless I can feel the weakness of the lack of food for those days I didn't eat. I better get busy!

The road, as expected, passes through a wide, wide valley. The low hills or mountain ranges can be seen way off to the north and south. Most of the valley seems to have water, and is cultivated at least near the road. There is also some oil or gas development in the valley as well. 

Apple and melon sellers dominate the roadside stands, but there are a few other fruits and vegetables on offer as well. I haven't seen any pigs since Georgia, but there are cows and chickens and donkeys as road hazards. The donkeys, which are pretty small, are used to pull carts, in which the owners stuff everything imaginable. They use the shoulder of the highway as their bi-directional traffic lane. I enjoy watching them, as they seem to be such sturdy little creatures. 

After arriving in Samarkand, I found a cash machine and obtained some dollars. I feel better now, having actual cash. But I also am down to my last 3 liters of fuel. "Not to worry," says the hotel guy, because HE knows a guy with petrol only 5 km from here. 

But that is tomorrow's adventure. Now it's time to find some good food. 

Is There Supposed To Be A Party?

At first I thought this was a poor color choice for crepe paper. Who strings brown crepe paper for a party?  And who left it on the toilet tank?

Whoops! No party after all, it's the toilet paper!  It's also stronger than Kevlar, impossible to tear. But it does the job and doesn't smear like an empty Cheetos bag. .  .

Feeling Better

I am feeling better, and hope to leave Bukhara tomorrow. I've seen what I wanted to see, and I think I'm okay to ride. The road to Samarkand is through a valley, and it's not so far. Only 280 kilometers or 175 miles. With a bad road, of course, that could still take 7-8 hours. 

This morning I went to the bank that has an ATM for MasterCard. The machine was out of order!  This could be a problem, as I need done cash. Nonetheless, I was able to see some of modern Bukhara, and it is very nice, quite modern looking, cosmopolitan even. 

After that, I strolled through the Ark of Bukhara and its museums, and back through some madrasahs and mosques to the hotel. Along the way I stopped at the Silk Road Tea House for some ginger tea. I thought it might help the old stomach along. It was a very dark, cool place. 

The tea was served with sweets, and they were very tasty. 

I'm going to go try another cash machine. Hope this works. 

Medical Advice

The Green Apple Quickstep has me up and riding the Porcelain Pony (I must use euphemisms because two young people read the blog). My temperature is 100.1 orally at 3:00 am, and I normally run about .5-1 degree cooler than 98.6. 

I have 30 500mg Cipro with me. On the label is a warning to avoid prolonged or excessive exposure to direct or artificial sunlight. 

Do I take the Cipro?  Or do I just take lomotil for the diarrhea?  I'm in a dilemma. 

On The Road To Bukhara

I left Khiva later than I intended, primarily  because I had to adjust the air pressure in the tires, and because the hotel manager was very interested in what I was doing.  I was hesitant to leave, because I started the day with the Traveller's Trots, and I knew the temperature was going to be high. Remaining hydrated was going to be a major concern all day, and I needed to keep fluids in me . . .  I attempted to solve this problem with a Lomotil.

Right after I left the hotel, the moto started dieing at low rpms.  That is not so much a problem at a stop sign, as I could thumb the starter button and it would fire up right away.  However, at a low speed in a corner, this presents certain challenges.  I thought I was going to have to stay in Khiva and sort it uot, but instead, being obstinate, I just maintained a lot of throttle (about 3500 - 4000 rpm) and sounded a lot like an alto Harley Davidson.  (This problem sorted itself out after about 100 kilometers)

Then I couldn't find fuel in Khiva.  There is a fuel shortage in Uzbekistan, at least at gas stations.  There is plenty available in the black market, you just have to find it.

So I left Khiva with those three things on my mind.  Those three, and the heat.  I set up a hydration plan in my mind, and it worked pretty well until I got to the eastern stretches of A380/E40.

The area around Khiva, and through Urgench, the provincial capitol, were green and almost lush.  I saw many, many canals, as well as rice paddies.  I had a flashback to  South Viet Nam when I spotted two young men in shorts with their hoes over their shoulders walking down the road to their rice paddy near the road.  In an instant, I was transported back to 1968 . . .

Mr. Garmin and I had a disagreement near Biruni about which way the road was supposed to go, as I refused to believe that the pot holed and broken tarmac I was looking at was E40.  Mr. Garmin was right, I was wrong, and I wasted half an hour trying to convince myself that I was smarter than a machine.  Once I got straightened out, I continued to follow almost all of his directions (At one point, he tried to get me to take the long way around, but I refused.  I was right and he was wrong.  Score for the day: tied at 1 - 1).  In and near all the major population areas, I searched for gas.  There was none to be found at any gas station.  Near Tartkul I stopped at a station, and the guy at the machine shop next door crossed his forearms in front of his chest indicating it was closed, and there was no gas.  I asked him in perfect English, "where is petrol?"  In perfect Uzbek, he said "across the street and down the driveway."  Fortunately, he also used hand gestures, the lingua franca of traders since the beginning of, well, trade.

I motored over there, noting the brick standing on end by the side of the road.  This, I learned, is the sign that the nearby house has fuel for sale.  The young men (there are always several as soon as the moto stops, soon joined by elders who spring from nowhere to see what is going on) and I discussed the moto, where I was from, how old I was, how much the moto cost, was I married, did I have children, and finally, how much fuel they had that I could buy.  They started at 5 liters and I worked them up to ten.  They wanted dollars, and we agreed that ten dollars for ten liters was fair.  With that ten liters, I could make it to Bukhara.

After awhile, the road leaves the river, and takes the traveller through barren land.  There is not much to distinguish one mile from the next, as the terrain is bush dotted sand and gravel spread on low, rolling hills.  From time to time, slightly taller hills and prominences are seen in the distance, but the road never approaches them.  

That is not to say that there are not manmade structures on the land, because power lines of different sizes are often seen, as are what appear to be some kind of industrial structures, perhaps related to oil or gas.  Moreover, there are many microwave relay towers.  They are often found with a police check point very near.  I was asked to submit my passport for recordation at one, given a bowl of cold water, and then released.

There are also little clusters of small buildings, mostly just two or three, that appear along the road.  At these I could (and did) buy cold water, half of which I would drink on the spot, and the other half would go in my Hydroflask for later.  The Hydroflask is amazing.  In 109 degree temperature, it kept my cold water cold.  That is a blessing!  At one of these little stops, there was a Chinese restaurant.  Out in front were parked several large, yellow dump trucks, full of gravel.  As I rode in, all the drivers ran towards the bike taking video and photos.  They were the Chinese that are building the highway, which you can see in the photo above. There is a segment of maybe 150 kilometers of concrete paved highway that is flawless.  The speed limit is 70 kph, ignored by everyone. The trucks and I leapfrogged for a couple of hours as I stopped for water more often than did they. 

I bought some water there, and the owner indicated I should come inside where it  was cooler, sit down and drink it.  I did, and a young girl, maybe 13, perhaps his daughter, was keeping a close eye on me.  I wonder, as I see these young people, how their lives will develop, whether they will have more joy than sorrow, whether they will have an opportunity to realize a dream.  Later in the day, I stopped at another place, and a young man there kept saying his dream was to go to America.  He is a mechanic, and can wrench any diesel engine made prior to twenty years ago.  How will that help him realize his dream?  And why isn't his dream to stay in Uzbekistan and help it grow into a vibrant country and economy?

After the Chinese built portion of the road was left behind, the road became various degrees of bad.  By now I was in the severe heat of the day, and I had to stop for a few minute wherever I could find shade.  I even started looking at tall bushes as candidates.  Sand had blown across the road in a few spots, providing another riding challenge (all of which were successfully negotiated).  I was overheated, and now every physical challenge took more energy, and I was nearly depleted.

Thirty-five kilometers from Bukhara, I was 98 % done.  I sat in a bus stop for shade, drank the last of my cold water, and put some water from another water bottle on my handkerchief.  That water was hot, so I had to wait for it to get cool.  When it did, I bathed my face, neck and hands with it, then tied it on my head.  I hoped as it evaporated under the helmet, it would cool me down, and it worked to a small degree. 

I plugged the hotel's location into Mr. Garmin, and set off for Bukhara, the final leg.  When I arrived at the hotel, there were four BMW R1200Gs motos there, all with Swedish plates, and the names of their riders.  One said, "The Stig."  Could it really be Stig?  I haven't found them yet, so I don't know.  Anyway, I checked in, got the bike unloaded, took a shower, and started feeling the effects of the stomach/bowel ailment and overheating.  My temp was 101 orally, so I wasn't in heat stroke territory by a long shot, but I was shaky, nauseated, dry, and having little spasms in my knee and elbow joints. I debated going to the ER to get a couple of liters of saline, but decided to wait and see if it would resolve.

By 1:00 am I was feeling better.  I went back to sleep, awakened at 6:00, then went back to sleep  until 10:00.  I am definitely feeling better, but even so, I had a nap this afternoon.  Tomorrow I will get up really early and go wander the streets of Bukhara, because it is too hot now.  I went out at noon to find a money machine, and drank a liter of tea and half a liter of water before I got back to the hotel.

I learned several lessons, and know I will learn more before the trip is over.  One is, start a heck of a lot earlier in the morning. . .

Khiva

In Turkmenistan, Dima (the guide) told me that in Turkmenistan, the approach to antiquities is to conserve, but in Uzbekistan, the approach is to restore.  Thus, in Këneurgench, the antiquities remain simply that, the and actual antiquity.  In the Old City of Khiva, Uzbekistan, they have been restoring the ancient city and fortress, and the difference os noticeable.  I hasten to point out that the Old City is surrounded by a thriving, bustling metropolitan and agricultural area, including universities.

Without going into the history of Khiva, it should suffice to say that it, too, was an important city on the Silk Road, played a significant role in The Great Game (see, e.g., Peter Hopkirk's book of that name), and was subject to the "influences" of Timur The Lame and Genghis Khan.

You have seen some very poor snapshots of roads in and near the Old City.  Here are some photos, in no particular order, rhyme, or reason, of some buildings in the Old City.

One of the Gates to the Old City.  

An Active Madrasa

Entrance to an old madrasa now used as a museum

From a rooftop.  Notice the wall at the lower left, as they have tried to keep it in the condition imposed by time, the elements, and gravity.

I loved walking in the bazaar.  This lady sold me a bar of soap, and was very pleased that I asked to take her picture.  All of the nearby stall holders gave her a hard time about that . . .

I found the butcher shops to be of interest.  The meats were hanging from hooks on a bar right inside the doorway.  There was a balance scale on a table, with various sized weights on the table as well.  A customer told the butcher what and how much they wanted, and haggled over a price, then the butcher grabbed the appropriate hunk of meat and carved off a hunk and threw it in the scale, measuring it with his weights.  There was no obvious refrigeration present.  And if you like the smell of raw meat, as I do, this was a good place to hang out.  YOU can also see some fat from the meat on the counter to the left of the scale, also offered for sale.

And copyrights are infringed on an hourly basis!

Nukus and Khiva

I arrived at the Nukus Hotel, an old Soviet style hotel, probably around 5:30. They had no single rooms, only doubles. I had ridden by the Tashkent Hotel, but it was closed. So I decided to stay there, even though there was no wifi and no cell coverage ( I note that there was cell coverage at the crater!) and the price was $42 US including parking. As I was checking in, the two young men from the Netherlands whom I had met earlier showed up. We agreed we would meet up later and go find food. 

I got to my room with the idea that a good shower would raise my spirits as well as clean me up. Let me start with the beds (not the bedding, that would be another blog entry). They were mattresses with coil springs, springs which were felt through the padding, and long past their "throw me in the canal and let fish live within me" date. 

There was no sink in the bathroom, but a long swivel spout in the tub. The tub had a hand shower (which separated from the hose if you turned the water on) but no shower curtain. Hot water was merely a dream, a wish, a memory from days gone by. What is the issue?  It's 110 degrees on the roof, put a tank up there and fill it with water. . .

And the toilet. It was artfully made with bits of color cast in the porcelain so only a close inspection could discern what was not part of the toilet itself. I declined to attempt yo discern, but there were LOTS of colored spots on it. But one hinge kept the seat from sliding off, so I had that going for me. The tank top was leaning against the wall in a corner, probably because someone had tried to stop the toilet from running all the time, and gave up. The toilet ran the whole time I was there, except when all the water to the bathroom stopped. Want to guess when that happened to me?  Yes! Right after I soaped up!  This is seriously not funny. I had to get out of the tub, go get my 1 1/2 liter of drinking water, and pour that over me to rinse off. As soon as I was through rinsing, the water came back on. 

And the toilet also seeped from its base. There was a drain in the floor into which it flowed, so I had that going for me, too. As long as I was careful where I stepped, it was okay. 

After awhile the two young men and I set off to see if we could exchange some dollars for local money, find some SIM cards, and find food. We found several banks that were closing, but could not find an ATM machine. Likewise, we could not find a SIM card. The lady at reception told us we couldn't buy them because we weren't locals. I think she was a government agent. 

We also tried to find food. This was getting ridiculous. We had walked all over looking for cash, SIM cards, and all the restaurants were closed, or having a private party, or only served ice cream and beer. In my misspent youth, that would have been the perfect food grouping. Finally we found a place where a guy was cooking kebabs outside on a grill

After a little negotiation, they agreed to accept dollars. We had kebabs, salad, and bread. They each had a beer, and I had 1.5 liters of Lipton's Finest Kind Ice Tea. The total for all three of us was $10 US. 

The next day after breakfast, I loaded the bike to leave. However, the tires were missing. This was fine with me because the weight and bulk penalty I was paying for them was greater than their value. So I told the lady at reception they were gone, told her it was okay, and left. Today I received an email from Ramon, one of the guys. He said the security guard had put them inside do they wouldn't get stolen. Anyway, they belong to the hotel now. 

I rode to the bazaar to try to find a money changer, but couldn't find a place to park. I decided to find a bank and make an exchange, as I was desperate for water. At the second bank they agreed to exchange my dollars. I gave the lady two twenties. She didn't like one of them, so I swapped it for another. 

As you might imagine, there was a miscommunication about the nature of the transaction I had proposed. They came back with a certificate of deposit for thirty days!  We got that straightened out, and I got a stack of 1000 CYM bills about an inch high. 

Now with money, I went to see if I could find a scooter store I had seen earlier. I found it with ease, and pulled in. They had some chrome mirrors from a Chinese scooter that worked, and I bought them for $10 US installed. I can now see traffic coming up behind me, which is of grave importance here (pun intended).

Mr. Garmin and I rolled out of town late. I stopped to get more water at a little stall at the edge of Nukus. The young woman wanted pictures taken, so we did pictures while I drank a liter of water. 

Having finished both, and it now being 11:30, I got back on the road. 

The road was straight, and through scrub brush on sand and gravel. Every now and then a dune would rise up out of the sand and gravel, but they weren't very big. Off to the south, my right, I could see greenery and tree tops along the Amudarya River. Later, I crossed that River on a pontoon bridge guarded by a police post at each end. 

About 7 kilometers west of Beshtam, there is a conical hill just south of the highway (A380) with what looks like a fort coveting the entire top. If it is not man made, then that hill had very uniform erosion patterns. 

After I crossed the river, the road was pretty much lined with fields and trees all the way to Khiva. Mr. Garmin took me the back way, and the roads were bad (destroyed) in sections. But without the tires, and with the mirrors, I was not going to complain.  People continue to like the moto, like this guy, who insisted I take his picture when I stopped for water. 

I was stopped at one check point and asked for my papers. The guy was nice, and wrote all the info by hand into his ledger book. I think he may have been stopping just non-locals because I was very close to the border. 

I made it to Khiva safely, and then was almost killed at the first intersection with a traffic light by a guy intent on running his red light and not looking both ways. Regardless, I stopped in time, and then people started beeping at me because the light changed and I wasn't getting out of the intersection fast enough. 

I couldn't find my hotel because streets were closed by construction, or weren't even streets, or were one way the wrong way. I finally wound up in a street going the direction I was pretty sure would get me there. 

(Dust covered lens!  I took this today. The truck was parked just beyond the large pothole)

But. There was a truck parked in the street blocking pretty much all of it. Beyond, I could see a pile of rubble blocking even more of it, leaving a small path littered with brick and rubble. A kid on a bike kept yammering he could take me to a hotel. 

I couldn't make out which hotel he meant, but we negotiated a price of 1000 CYM to take me there. I was preparing to turn around, but he took off on his bike around the truck, waving for me yo follow!  I couldn't be out done by a 12 year old boy on a bike, so I followed him. Gulp!  I made it through between the truck and the wall, then through the rubble, and then the road was a series of potholes connected by broken brick and asphalt paving. Whee!  I'm off-roading again!

About two hundred meters later, around a corner, was the hotel. The youngster rode up and demanded 5000 CYM!  Negotiations were reopened, and he settled for 2500 CYM. Roughly a dollar. 

I showered, arranged for dinner, took a nap, read my emails, and resolved to explore Khiva in the morning.