Onto Samarkand

On the road from Bukhara to Samarkand, nothing happened .....

It was a really uneventful day.  We got on the road at 10am, and headed out to find some petrol (benzine, as I seem to be in the habit of calling it now).  The secret seems to be to ask your Hotelier as they seem to know, or have contacts.  It turns out it is available at one station in the city, on the road out to Samarkand.

I wondered how we could tell which of the many stations on the road, is the one with the benzene. The answer was obvious !

Again, it seems that being on a motorbike allows you to push in to the front, and nobody seemed to object.  Paid for our fuel in 98 x 1,000 Soon notes .... took me 5 mins to count out, but the cashier used a note-counter machine (like they have in banks) to verify it.

We motored on, virtually non-stop on a good quality dual carriageway, all the way to Samarkand. As we entered the heart of the city, we passed manicured parks & gardens, and it looked very nice. Fortunately the hotel was close so we made a quick plan to check-in and walk back.

We found the Lux hotel without any issues, but this family run hotel had put Son Number 1 on reception duty that day .... and clearly he didn't want to be there. Bad attitude from the start.  And then the rooms ... dire !  Everything was either painted brown, stained brown, or simply turned brown with old age.

The shower... didn't !  And the mattress was about as thin as a Band-aid plaster.  We were there now, so grin and bear it.  So within 30 mins, we headed back out for a late afternoon photo session.

Somehow stumbled into a Burger joint for our evening meal, but the wifi was good, so we used the opportunity to book our next hotel in Tashkent.  We both figured after the Lux, well lets splash out a bit on the next one... its bound to be worth it.

Running on empty

Some distance to cover today ....

Its always a labour to re-pack after a rest day .... the modus operandi for me is that when staying one night in a place, I tend to just pull out one bag from the top-box, and leave the tyres, panniers, and waterproof duffel bag on the bike.  The helmet goes into the empty top-box, and the system works well.

Rest days mean I take everything off into the room, and recharge the "day-bag" with 5-6 days worth of fresh clothes, and stash the dirty stuff into a pannier for later washing.  The system works well, but it explains why repacking the bike after a rest day takes so long.

So heading out later than planned, and fuelled up with black market benzine (delivered in a taxi), we aimed for Bukhara.  The road was pretty much the same, straight, but we were seeing more greenery at last.

And we need not have worried about that benzine, as its now starting to become "advertised", as these bottles outside a house, signify.

After a number of Police checks, which we were waved through, we came to this strange bridge, where the traffic share the bridge with the trains ... and I don't mean side by side.  You actually follow the line of the tracks.

While waiting for the green light, Jeremy pointed out the "no camera" sign ... red rag to a bull, that !

Then the potholed road from hell to connect to the new motorway ... but I can see why it's not being repaired ... its about to fall into the river..

Just before the motorway, we were offered some black market fuel, but I said, Nah, we will be OK (failing to realise just how far we had to go).... 300 km later, that was evidently the wrong decision, as we nervously watch our fuel gauges drop.

Coffee stop

Flat & sandy, what else.

Cardboard cut-out cops

No idea what this is, but he burned us off in clouds of smoke.

... and then, like an oasis in the desert .... benzine bottles.  We stop, bloke from an isolated farmhouse runs out, we agree the price.  He pulls back some bushes and a corrugated tin cover with earth scattered over it, to reveal an underground stash.  Reaches in and pulls out 2 bottles of benzene.  We pour them in knowing we are safe from a night in the cold desert, a ride on, with the weight lifted from our shoulders.

Reaching Bukhara, we have booked separate hotels but close together ... I guess Jeremy didn't fancy my choice of a 200 year old, stone built Caravanserai at £10 a night .... OK, it was basic, but it did have character !

Bukara is another of these old Silk road cities, famous for a walled fortress called the Ark.  So, I wandered out to find it, camera in hand.  Later, met with Jeremy for a meal, and resisted temptation from the "Underground Night Club" I saw advertised earlier.

The pics ...

The Ark

Dont understand - sloped walls and hand holds ... that's inviting an invasion !

Eat upstairs.

The chain gang

Woke to the sound of dogs barking at 5am ....

Quite a selection.

Today's plan was really to do nothing but walk around the old City and relax.... but no sooner had I finished breakfast, I went to check the bike over.  Well firstly it was filthy dirty, so I thought I would at least try and locate a car wash.

And then I kept looking at that chain ... it really was making some funny noises, and was needing adjusting on a daily basis.

So after a few more hours in the hotel air conditioning, mid-afternoon, I braved the heat and rode around the city, to find a tyre depot and car wash side by side.  Jeremy had his front tyre changed and I got the bike cleaned.  But it was no point in putting that chain off any more.   On the way down, I had clocked this small metal fabrication shop,  I knew they would have an angle grinder to cut the old chain off, so paid him a visit on the way back.

I picked up his grinder, showed him what I wanted to do, and he let me get on with it .... but with every passing minute, more and more people gathered.

Soon I was surrounded, and before long, people wanted to help.  My tools we being moved, parts were being inspected, GPS being prodded, and helmets tried on.  I was again, getting angry at their good intentions but clear lack of understanding how important it was not to mess with my stuff.

Eventually I had the new chain on, but two bolts carefully placed in a cover, were missing because some irk had picked it up to look at, not realising the bolts were there, and now were buried in the sand somewhere.
My helmet, had now also been moved from its place of relative safety, to the direct line of fire of a shower of grinding sparks.

So jumped up to rescue that first, then combed the sand to find the missing bolts.  I think the expression on my face, conveyed my feelings, and one by one, they retreated to a safe distance.

With the sprocket cover back on, and all my tools counted back in, I tried to offer some money, but they wouldn't take it.

Parted with a lot of smiles and handshakes .... and a quiet chain.

The evening was a carbon copy of the day before, with bed at a reasonable hour, as we had a lot of ground to cover the next day.

Clouds, and silver linings

Woke to a strange empty house, no-one up, and no benzine in sight ....

It had not materialised despite the cafe owners assurance, so eventually the youngsters started to surface, and we finally got a coffee served by the owners daughter... evidently Papa was still asleep after a heavy night. 

Butter wouldn't melt .... yeah, right !

So we started to evaluate our options (basically none)....  as I had the most fuel, the plan was I would ride around and try to find some, leaving Jeremy at the cafe. But, just before I left, I had one more go at the daughter... “wake Papa, where benzine” I said. She went into Papa's room, to which I was expecting a hung-over Uzbekei to then appear from, but instead simply walked out with 10 litres.

Yes, I know … why didn't he leave it out, why didn't we get it the night before, why, why... I simply don't know. So, problem resolved, we settle our bill after an argument over the exchange rate with the daughter, and head out for the 60 miles to Nukus, where more fuel and a money exchange wait … hopefully !

Barren landscapes

Arriving at high noon and 38 degrees C, we ride from Bank to Bank, go through the body search each time, passport check, just to join a queue to be told “Sorry not here, try another bank”. Back into the heat to walk or ride to another bank. It's hard to explain the feeling when you think, if I can't get money, I can't get fuel, or food. I can't go back, or on. Nobody takes credit cards... its a strange one. 

But this is when the unexpected happens ….

I stopped to ask for directions to the fifth bank I'm going to try and this well dressed chap starts to tell me, when he asks why ?  “Exchange money” I say.  His English is reasonable, and turns out he works for the Uzbekistan Finance Ministry. He explains the banks have been stopped from changing foreign currency, BUT he needs US Dollars, and we need their Soon (money).

So his brother turns up in a car, we follow to meet another man … I get in the back of the car, and the deal is done. It's a better rate that the banks, that's all I know. But the physical size of the stack of notes is daunting ….

Just over £100

I decline to count them... and he becomes my best friend.  Now I'm on a roll, so I ask him for help with Benzine … Yup, follow him to another brother, and we fuel up from bottles in some side street. 

Now I have three good friends... but it doesn't stop there. Salamat (first name terms now), invites us to his house where his wife has prepared a meal. We follow, and the hospitality was incredible. It was so nice to see how they live, and after the crap that morning, sometimes you just gotta have faith that something will work out eventually.

Salamat, his wife,, father, and the brothers.

After the statutory photo session and exchanging of e-mails, we head out for the 4 hours to Khiva, and a rest day. Leaving town, I get caught in a speed trap... this time, we had a plan, inspired by a trailer for a movie we saw a few nights earlier …. “Dumb, and Dumber”. It worked, smiles, blank expressions, and laughter …. it got us out of having to give them a “souvenir” as they describe it.

The road to Khiva was tolerable, good in places, poor in others … but always straight. I suppose when you build a road in the desert, you don't have to go around anything … so build it straight. Can you imagine driving 200 miles without having to use the brakes once... Hmmm , some of my old biker mates probably can !

And at Khiva, a nice hotel, with a good bog and shower … all I needed …. desperately !

It's an old walled city on the Silk Road, and really impressive.  We go and eat there in the evening, and here is a small selection of photos (click on any photo to enlarge)....

 More old cities tomorrow ....