Sugar and salt

Uplifting colours for an uplifting experience. The mountain lift of the Beldersoy resort near mount Chimgan.


To Samarkand and back. Revitalising a sensation I had almost forgotten about during the weeks of city slicking in Tashkent: being free, using my energy and letting life happen.

A few remarkable moments of the ride: the first night I found shelter at a wayside restaurant, where the waitress in red terrycloth tracksuit told me about the economic hardship that she and her family suffer in Bakht (small town Uzbekistan). Her sister on the other hand made good money in 'Leningrad'. When the ghettoblaster in the corner played an Uzbek dance song she jumped up and increased the volume from 3 to 12 (or that's how I measured the increase in noise). She looked at me if I approved of this sudden change, and when I smiled she started dancing. Joy like this doesn't cost any Leningrad dollars.
The next morning at breakfast, her brother (wearing a flat cap backside front) rushed into the dining room upon hearing the words "It's a human sign". He raised the volume to 10 on the red terrycloth scale, looked at me and said: "Elton John". I had to understand.


(Picture: the skier's striking pose, near Mt. Chimgan)



The second night I stayed at 'Hotel Uzbekistan' in Jizzakh. This place, a true soviet behemoth, hasn't seen any upkeep since 1989 and when I first laid eyes on my bedroom, living room (!) and bathroom I found broken radiators, a broken toilet (floating turd included), tiles falling off the walls, and a crappy lock that broke because I turned the key 180 degrees too much (the caretaking lady actually got angry with me because of this). On top of this I had an awkward dinner in the hotel restaurant (it was supposed to be a 'buffet', but when I asked for something without meat the cook could only come up with hotdog sausages; when I told him that this was meat too, he denied this flat out), where a woman asked me if she could join me at my table. She went from nurse, to masseuse (45 seconds) to prostitute (one and a half minute). Thanks but no thanks. The cook afterwards asked me if it was me who was going to pay for the apple that she had eaten at my table.
On the bright side: the living room (I mean, how often do you get a private living room when you travel on a budget) came with a plastic palm tree and a billboard size poster of a cup of tea and the bedroom had a little heater that kept me warm during the night. So not a bad buy for 15 dollars. I also found what looks like a little diamond between the planks of the old wooden floor, so who knows, maybe I've just earned back the entire trip.



And snow, heaps of it. The first day the cotton fields south of Tashkent had only a thin layer, but on the second and especially third day the landscape was covered under a thick layer of snow. Of course this had consequences for the road, which is made of highly non-absorbing asphalt. The government tried to increase grip by spraying gravel, very annoying for cyclists.
And where the ground was covered with snow, the roofs had long icicles hanging from the edges. Icicle, a nice word. Everytime I saw one, I realised: hurray, I cycle again!



The third night I got to what is described as a hammerlock on the backpacker's route by 'the book': B&B Bahodir in Samarkand. Ahh, the book. Now that I get to this icon of modern-day independent traveling (as opposed to the adventurists that walked/rode this route a millennium ago with nothing more than a compass; did people actually have compasses back then? Maybe they only had the sun to guide them..) I have to write a few more words about it. Travel operators, hotel owners, fellow travelers: everyone talks about 'the book' by which they mean the Lonely Planet. Last weekend I was approached by a man on the street who asked me: "Do you have the LP?" assuming that I did since I look so American (that's what people always guess: Amerykansky?). I said I didn't, just to take the edge of his bias. "But do you know it?" he asked me in despair. "Yes, I've heard of it" I answered not to come across completely unworldly. "Well", he said with a smile, "I'm on page 228." But Bahodir is very nice. Although they sold me the most expensive room (nine dollars after haggling, breakie included), I was welcomed with fresh tea, a sweet bun and honey. Excellent.
(Next to me a kid no older than 7 is killing people by the dozen with a shotgun.)
I was their only guest for one: Ralf, another Dutchman on the move. He tries to make his way from The Netherlands to Australia, a journey that he started 3 years ago (he reckons he'll get there in another three years). Every once in a while he takes a break from traveling to make money as a experimental subject in Brittish laberatoria.
(The owner of this internet shop shouts at the 7-year old's friends that are all in the same 'shoot-'em-up' game and are making so much noise that he cannot hear his own techno anymore.)
Pre-crisis, he used to make a few thousand pounds in a couple of weeks, which would allow him to travel another three to four countries. It sounds riskier than it is. Ralf told me that he would only take 'second rounds' so that the side effects are known, and that he would avoid the serious stuff, like cancer research.
Unfortunately for him people have discovered that lab rats make a lot of money, so it isn't as easy a way anymore. Another aspect of the crisis that was unknown to me before. Ralf's stories and great pictures can be found under crossings.



And then Samarkand, what a sugar rush! It felt so good to be in a city like a living organism again instead of the countless 'factory halls' that I have passed through during the last months. I will devote the next entry to some images of this jewel of civilisation.



The salt came upon return to Tashkent. I arrived at nine Sunday night, signed the waiting list at the Turkmen embassy for the 14th at 0:05, joined the queue as number one on the list at 10:50, and found out that my visa application (or what should be the result of this) was nowhere to be found at 11:10. Come back on Thursday...

Here's a tune that I listened to when walking through Samarkand's winding streets. 'Salva', a great song from Pram, gifted to me by Sandro in Taraz. His new input to my walkman really revitalised the OST: grazie tanto!

Pram - "Salva".mp3

Found at: http://www.filestube.com