Hitchhike to India leg 50: Samarkand to Tashkent and other stuff
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It’s cold. The skies are drab and grey, and the wind is whipping through empty streets. Streets that are thrust into darkness come half past four, presumably to save money on the leccy bill. Uzbekistan feels like someone forgot to turn on the lights. I’m sure in summer the sweeping silk road sunsets capture the imagination of Arabian nights and caravansaries, but in December in a country that doesn’t celebrate Christmas, it’s one long duvet month. And for the most part, that is where you’ll find me.
Silk road sun. It was the last time I saw it
I force myself through the motions to do the tourist thing, but for all its hype, Samarkand doesn’t grab me like Bukhara did. Yes it’s beautiful and it has its charm, and maybe it’s the aforementioned dullness that’s taking the shine off, but I just don’t see it. Entrance to all the Mosques and sights require a tourist tax, and I decide to save my money and take some hurried shots, before attempting to get warm, alone in my freezing orphanage dorm room. I resolve to move on post, post-haste.
Even the buildings are cold
Traveling for four years you’re always going to spend winter somewhere, and I don’t think the season does anywhere any favours – except for maybe Vienna. Vienna was the only city I’ve visited that suits winter. It wears it like a crisp, regal gown of frost white, warming you with mulled wine and charming you into bed even though you promised you wouldn’t cheat on Budapest. It isn’t Uzbekistan’s fault I’m here under cloudy skies, and the icy wind takes my bones with it as I hike to find a hitching spot to get to the capital.
Taxi dodging
And yet if there’s one thing the climate can’t change, it’s the warmth of the people. Fending off the usual local taxi chancers with “besplatno? Besplatno?!” (for free?!), I eventually hit the jack-pot, and the soul reason this leg of the hitch was so easy. An English-speaking dentist and his companion agree to take me all the way to Tashkent, stopping only to feed me delicious food in a roadside cafe. One ride, five hours 305 km. Simples.
And so as Christmas fast approaches I’m in a comfortable hostel planning my next move. As it stands I’m going to ride out the festive period and hit up Tajikistan early in the new year. My plan? To attempt to hitchhike the Pamir highway. The 2nd highest road in the world. Altitude sickness, earthquakes, avalanches, five cars a day if you’re lucky, wolves, opium runners, freezing temperatures and the Taliban. Difficult in summer, suicidal in winter – and that’s exactly the reason I want to attempt it.
But right now I’m going to brew a pot of tea, fire up a game of online chess, sneak into the ladies so I can finally sit down on a western toilet, and warm my bare feet on the heated bathroom floors.
Hitchhike to India leg 50: Samarkand to Tashkent and other stuff
It’s cold. The skies are drab and grey, and the wind is whipping through empty streets. Streets that are thrust into darkness come half past four, presumably to save money on the leccy bill. Uzbekistan feels like someone forgot to turn on the lights. I’m sure in summer the sweeping silk road sunsets capture the imagination of Arabian nights and caravansaries, but in December in a country that doesn’t celebrate Christmas, it’s one long duvet month. And for the most part, that is where you’ll find me.
Silk road sun. It was the last time I saw it
I force myself through the motions to do the tourist thing, but for all its hype, Samarkand doesn’t grab me like Bukhara did. Yes it’s beautiful and it has its charm, and maybe it’s the aforementioned dullness that’s taking the shine off, but I just don’t see it. Entrance to all the Mosques and sights require a tourist tax, and I decide to save my money and take some hurried shots, before attempting to get warm, alone in my freezing orphanage dorm room. I resolve to move on post, post-haste.
Even the buildings are cold
Traveling for four years you’re always going to spend winter somewhere, and I don’t think the season does anywhere any favours – except for maybe Vienna. Vienna was the only city I’ve visited that suits winter. It wears it like a crisp, regal gown of frost white, warming you with mulled wine and charming you into bed even though you promised you wouldn’t cheat on Budapest. It isn’t Uzbekistan’s fault I’m here under cloudy skies, and the icy wind takes my bones with it as I hike to find a hitching spot to get to the capital.
Taxi dodging
And yet if there’s one thing the climate can’t change, it’s the warmth of the people. Fending off the usual local taxi chancers with “besplatno? Besplatno?!” (for free?!), I eventually hit the jack-pot, and the soul reason this leg of the hitch was so easy. An English-speaking dentist and his companion agree to take me all the way to Tashkent, stopping only to feed me delicious food in a roadside cafe. One ride, five hours 305 km. Simples.
And so as Christmas fast approaches I’m in a comfortable hostel planning my next move. As it stands I’m going to ride out the festive period and hit up Tajikistan early in the new year. My plan? To attempt to hitchhike the Pamir highway. The 2nd highest road in the world. Altitude sickness, earthquakes, avalanches, five cars a day if you’re lucky, wolves, opium runners, freezing temperatures and the Taliban. Difficult in summer, suicidal in winter – and that’s exactly the reason I want to attempt it.
But right now I’m going to brew a pot of tea, fire up a game of online chess, sneak into the ladies so I can finally sit down on a western toilet, and warm my bare feet on the heated bathroom floors.