Pascal, the nice french guy turned out to be a snoring asthmatic. I should have guessed.
His 5-6am coughing fit at least brought an end to the snoring. I did feel sorry for him though, but I felt way more sorry for me.
Last night two Latvians arrived by bike quite late, and we spoke this morning. I think they are father and son. Very nice people and I’d see them over the next couple of days. They had gone via the Bartang Valley, and like the stories I’ve recently heard, you don’t need to carry that much food. I could have done it with the amount that I had carried down the M41. Sounds like tourism is catching on in the traditionally remote areas.
If I’d done Bartang, I would have missed out on some classic Pamir villages and towns and I’m not sure how I would have reacted to that. I’m very happy with what I did and the places I went. It felt like I was ticking off the names of famous villages and passes as I rode on.
Anyway, I was away early and despite some traffic arguments in the surprisingly large outskirts of Panjakent I was at the border, 22 kms away in no time.
Queueing is not a Tajik strong point, and so it was at passport control on exit. Two matronly old ladies had been so pushy, barging into people and moving them out of their way that they clearly felt guilty (eventually), and offered to let me go before them. (I’d been queuing for 15 minutes before they had arrived). I refused their offer, clearly taking the moral high ground as usual. After that, they were all smiles and we’d cross paths a few times before being released into the wilds of Uzbekistan.
I got there before them, but who’s competitive ?
What followed was 40 odd kms of old tarmac, some absolutely childish driving, some funny things and as I neared Samarkand, some intense heat.
I usually say that I was glad to finish but today, I was sincerely glad to finish. I hadn’t stopped between the border and a small shop near the centre of town. I got an orange drink and the nice lady came out and offered me water. It seems that the Uzbeks are as nice as the Tajiks who are as nice as the Kyrgyz who are as nice as the Kazahks.
So that means that Borat is wrong.
The hotel, the Status Inn is nice and run by, you guessed it, nice people. I was early, but the room was ready while I was talking to the guy on the front desk and stashing This Moment in the stairwell next door. The family owns an electrical hardware store in the same building. Great diversification but it leaves no excuses for any dodgy electrics in the hotel.
I’m pleased to advise that the electrics here are the best I’ve seen in months. In Kailakum, the light switch in my room had open wiring and no cover on the switch. There’s none of that here.
That evening, after rehydrating, I walked the 3.5kms into Registan Square. I’d ridden past on my way in and was completely gobsmacked. It’s one of the few places on my list of Must-Sees on this trip, and it’s every bit as awesome as I’d imagined. I love the colours, the tiles, the design and simply the fact that this was built by an ascendant civilisation that was furthering education and at the forefront more than 500 years ago.
I wonder what happened ? I’ll have to finish my book to find out.
