Uzbekistan: Warm people - Beautiful architecture - Rich history - Searching for the Aral Lake

Ittinary Dashoguz-Osh (side trip to North West to Moynak)
29/09 - 16/10

Look 'round thee now in Samarkand,
Is she not queen of earth? her pride
Above all cities? in her hand
Their destinies?

Edgar Allan Poe, 1849

We pass a little river between Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan, pass more gates, each opened by a soldier, then we see the Uzbek border. And all starts again, controls, filling in a lot of documents. It all goes well, but takes forever and all the sudden we feel very tired. We have done so much driving in the last weeks, road conditions being not very favorable, the stress that we had to make it through Turkmenistan in five days is gone and the desire to rest somewhere is getting stronger.


Sometime in the afternoon we stop at the road side to have lunch.
We decide to drive on to Xiva, an old town and hope to find some rest there. While driving we see cotton and rice fields, all watered by artificial channels with water from the river Amu Darya, that is actually supposed to feed the Aral Lake. Did you know that 1 kg of cotton needs 11000 liters of water to grow, totally crazy to grow this plant here in this desert area? Uzbekistan is one of the biggest cotton growers in the world, an old heritage from soviet times. When we pass the Amu Darya I have to think of my school time. When I was in fifth grade, about the age of Johann, we had to study the big rivers and mountains of the world and I remember that I was always very impressed by the names of the two rivers feeding the Aral Lake: Amu Darya and Syr Darya. :-)

The hotel we find is magic, it is in an old Quran school, which they call Medrese. It is called Orient Star and we love the atmosphere of the old building. We have three big rooms, a nice bathroom and balconies with view on the old town.

Xiva: Nice hotel in an old madrasa.

Xiva: View from our hotel room to Kalta Minor Minaret.

Xiva: View from our hotel room to Kunja Ark.

Xiva: View from our hotel room to the West Gate.

Xiva: View to the inner court of the hotel at night.

We are really happy and rest can come. We have a nice evening in a little restaurant, buy some souvenirs and walk through the wonderful old town with its old mosques and palaces.

Xiva: Having dinner next to the city wall.
Marvellous ambiance!

Xiva: Juice still life.

Xiva: Watching the master at his work.
Portrait-Miniature.

And we exchange money: in Uzbekistan it is called Som. Some 5000 Som are about one Dollar, but the biggest bill they have is 5000 Som, which means that we receive big packages of money, when exchanging for example 200 Dollars. Banks exchange at a rate of around 2500 Som, so we always try to find someone 'private' to exchange money, which is not difficult. The money exchangers handle the packages of bills by carrying around paper boxes or big baskets with the Som. They are much faster in counting the hundreds of bills than us, in supermarkets they use counting machines. Torsten even changed money one time right next to a policeman ...

First experience with Uzbe Som.
I changed a very small amount of Turkmen Manat
into Uzbek Som. As a result I ended up with a pile
of bills in Som and even some US Dollar.

Hey no big deal! Just trying to pay a couple
of nights at a hotel.

Piles are getting bigger and bigger.
Lessons learned: Don't forget your bag when changing money.
You'll need it!

Torsten and Johann want to use the free days to take a ride up to the Aral Lake. I don't have any need for more bad roads, to see a non-existing lake. ;-)
The two start the next morning, they want to be back in two days, while Toni, Pauli and me we enjoy great Xiva and hang out in the nice hotel.

Bukhara: last selfi (w/o stick) before departure ...

well equipped for cold temperatures (incl. sleeping bag).

After lunch things start to go wrong, I feel really sick from the food. But we go on with our visiting and playing program. In the evening I have to throw up, diarrhea hits me really hard. The kids eventually sleep and when fever turns up I get a little panic. I call Torsten and the two promise to be back the next day. After a terrible night, I am a bit better the next morning.

[ ... Start Torsten's insert ... ]
The call reaches me in Moynak at the former shores of the Aral Lake around 450 km North West of Xiva in the tiniest Bed&Breakfast I have ever been. Johann and me were already in bed and about to sleep after an awesome day.
But the whole story starts already in Brussels before we started our trip. Together with Johann and Antonia I saw a documentary on ARTE about the Aral Lake as it is today and how this environmental disaster could happen and still continues to happen. A quite extroverted French guy, who knows some Russian bought an old motorbike from the Soviet times and drove along the Syr Darya (one of the two huge water supplying rivers - the other one Amu Darya coming from Afghanistan) from the spring in Kyrgyzstan to the place where it vanishes in its former river bed. It's a pretty good film and really worth watching. However it planted an idea at Johann and myself: we need a motorbike and have to check that out as well. From Xiva the old shore is about 460 km away. So we leave Xiva right after Breakfast and a gentle taxi driver takes us to the district capital Urgench. There another taxi is waiting for two additional passengers to drive to Nukus. Why wait? Taxis are rarely driving for one person but collect as many people as they can in order to get more money. This means you end up mostly with 4 people on the back seat of a rather small car. Of course you are free to pay the price times four to have the back seats for yourself, but ... No, this was no option and probably would have been rather difficult to explain to the taxi driver. Our co-passengers are two very friendly backpackers from New Zealand, Deborah and Max who are about to approach the end of their professional career and use a break to travel from Singapore to London overland (their blog: debokane.wordpress.com) before starting the next assignment. Funny enough: while Deborah works in the banking area, Max is also an IT project manager.

On our way to Nukus: Selfie with Deborah.
Johanns arms are too short. No reason to buy a stick. He'll grow up.

The ride doesn't start yet. Some other driver got aware of our desired final destination and wants to pull us into his car. A fight starts among the drivers and it gets pretty physical. I am all busy assuring Johann that everything is 'alright' and they are just having an intense conversation.
Eventually we take off to Nukus and the guy is driving like crazy. The road is certainly not made for speeds beyond 90, but the needle in the dashboard constantly danced around the 130 km/h. A couple of times we miss the cars from the opposite lane by less than an inch so I wam pretty relieved as we finally arrive in Nukus in one piece. Despite the crazy driver we still manage to have a great time with Deborah and Max.

One interesting detail: On our way to Nukus we also crossed the inner-Uzbek border to Karakalpakstan an autonomous republic within Uzbekistan (people speak Karakalpak a language, which resembles to Kazakh).
From Nukus we continue by bus to Kungrad. Since buses are not only used for passengers but also as means for good shipments, around 300 liter of engine oil are piled around us. Despite the circumstances Johann still works for school, doing maths exercises. Since the roads are in terrible conditions I offer him to write things down, while he dictates the numbers to me. Johann likes this deal ;)

On our way to Kungrad: Johann enjoying Pelmeni
which I bought at the Nukus bus terminal.

On our way to Kungrad: Sneaking over the pile of boxes,
toys and bags in front of us.

On our way to Kungrad: we manage to do school work.
Johann dictates - I do my best to write it down on the bumpy roads.

In Kungrad we catch some food and search for another vehicle which takes us straight North to Moynak. 

Kungrad bus station: getting some food & water.

Kungrad bus station: Johann waiting with other for the bus to Moynak.

This time we opt for a collective Taxi with 7 seats. The vehicle is called Damas and is a sort of Micro-Bus and we feel like canned fish when they shut the doors. 

Chevrolet Damas (photo: General Motors)

Of course the leg room still had to be filled with luggage of our 60-year-old-co-passengers: carpets, eggs, boxes and other goods purchased on the market. It is unbelievable how much they fit into this tiny vehicle and even achieve to close the sliding doors. Johann got a little cynical and quotes himself from seven years ago when he commented moments of joy like at the fire place with a childish 'miedlich (actual German word: 'gemütlich' and English for 'cosy'). 

On our way to Moynak: People sitting on their luggage in front of us.
Unfortunately the windows canot be opened.
The seats do not deserve the name.

On my GPS I discover that we take the wrong direction and go actually the opposite way. After around 10 km the car stops at a propane gas station. All passangers have to unfold themselves out of the micro-bus before entering the area. The driver fills his propane tank, returns to the place where we wait and we all start to fold ourselves into the car again, without breaking the precious eggs. Eventually we can take off to Moynak, which takes about two hours for 140 km. The uncomfortable seats make us feel our bones already after the first minutes of the drive, but we do not dare to complain, since everyone else, far older than us sit on their legs on top of the freight.  

We pass through dry and level land covered with salt, we know that it is polluted with chemicals used for agriculture in the past and present (e.g. Agent Orange to defoliate the cotton plants before harvesting the cotton). The area has been declared as disaster area already in the 1980s. We remember the documentary, which also talks about the many sick people. The sun is about to disappear at the horizon when we reach the village Moynak. 

On our way to Moynak: The sand is covered with white layer.
Looks a little apocalyptic.

The next part of our plan starts: finding a motorbike (preferably with a side car) which we can rent for a day. Although the people really want to help us we don't succeed. Either the potential motorbikes are broken or people are gone for (illegal) fishing in some ponds nearby and will not return until the next day. 

A local to whom we explain the whole story and purpose of why we came to Moynak eventually proposes to drive us around. Going to the shore of the Aral Lake is not an option anymore since it is still around 140 km from Moynak and it would take us more than two hours. However he explains us a lot about the history of the village, the time when water disappeared in 1961 (!) and ships could not leave the bay anymore and finally 'died' on drying lake ground. The disappearing lake created a new desert called Aralkum. The local factory for canning food received less and less fish from the Aral Lake and started to package also meat and vegetables. Over the years also cattle and remaining agriculture vanished, so end of 1990s the factory closed its gates. Today only the spooky building remind visitors of the past, when Moynak was an important place for the food supply in the Soviet Union. Locals even claim that during World War II Germans proclaimed that if they would manage to stop the production in Moynak, Moscow would have surrendered immidiately. 

Moynak: Entrance to the former canning factory.

Moynak: Drawing at the entrance reminds about the past.
Fish!

Moynak: Abandoned buildings of the former canning factory.

Moynak: View through the broken windows to old machinery.

We also visit the freshly painted Memorial which allows a view over the former bay with many ship wracks, which Johann climbes one by one in the last twilight. It is really impressive. We later hear from a young Moynakien that the ships had been brought here and lined up occassioned by the visit of UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon to emphasize on the message - Fair enough!

Moynak: view over the former bay.

Moynak: Johann discovering the ship wracks.

Moynak: Nothing to add to this message.

Moynak: The man who took us around asks for a photo with Johann.
Background: the old Moskvitch car which certainly has seen better days.

Moynak: Memorial for the vanaising Aral Lake.

Moynak: Reverse side of the meorial showing
the former size of the lake.

With the old Moskvitch we pass administration buildings and a recruitment center, looking for young people to engage for the military service. The last sun beams are gone and it is time to look for a night stay. All hotels which I'm aware of are closed, but after some research we find a nice little Bed&Breakfast (actually just bed in a room). The host brings us tea and a warm soup. He also invites us to watch some TV in a common room and Johann decides for a Champions League game Almaty vs. Galatasaray Istanbul ;)

Moynak: Delicious dinner at the B&B.

Later we receive Susannes' call and I check for the first bus back to Nukus: 4am - pretty ambitious, but we make it and join the night hawks of Moynak. 

Moynak: Finally! The bus leaves the garage.

It's freezing cold, so all passengers move close together to warm each other. We sit next to a young guy, who later turns out to be Shavkat, a local Music Celebrity. He shows us one of  his music videos called 'Sensizben' and guess what: it has been recorded in the old abandoned factory which we visited the day before. It's really worth watching: Video.

He also tells us a lot about the feeling of the people who still live in Moynak, the proud of being Kalapakien, the faith in the return of the Aral Lake and the ability of the people to bear with difficult circumstances. The drive ends way too soon, I have so many more questions to ask. 

The rest of the trip is not less spectacular: first we take a taxi, which tries to cheat on us and brings us to the wrong destination, then we take a taxi with freaky passengers manipulating a speed control device along the road. 

On our way bak to Xiva: Crossing the Amu Darya.

Golden Rule: Don't lend your camera to your kids. 

Although things did not turn as we had thought, we will not forget these 24 hours. We are happy to be back in our lazaret helping the rest of the travel crew to recover. 

Back in Xiva: Antonia looks better than she feels.

Back in Xiva: Pauli happy!

[ ... End Torsten's insert ... ]

After breakfast Toni starts to throw up, immediately having fever. In the meantime the guys are back, I am really glad not to be on my own anymore. As fever is always very high we decide in the evening to go to a hospital with her. The doctors resume after a check that she has a heavy food poisoning. What a shit, we needed rest.... Aaaahhh. The next morning Johann starts to throw up, developing also high fever. We decide to leave Xiva, before the "curse of Xiva" hits the rest of the bunch.
We also decide to return to cooking ourselves, using our own toilet and only bottled water, also for teeth brushing...
I resume: there have been better times on this trip.

Xiva: Johann walking the old town.
Djuma Mosque Minaret.

Xiva: Pauli watching the Carpet Weavers.

Xiva: Pauli keeps on watching and the ladies love him.

Xiva: Inner court of a weaver cooperative.

Xiva: Islam Khoja Minaret.

Xiva: Islam Khoja Minaret.

Xiva: Islam Khoja Mosque.

Xiva: Lovely small streets in old town.
(but touristy)

Xiva: Check up at the childrens hospital.
Diagnosis: Food poissoning.

Xiva: West Gate to the old town.

Xiva: Walls around the old town.

Xiva: Walls around the old town.

Bukhara is some 400 km away. We have been told that the road is ok. For some parts this is true, for most of it is bumpy driving. We don't make it until Bukhara that night and decide to stop next to the road some 40 km before our destination. The night is long, the kids have heavy fever. Antonia most of the time up to the 40. In the morning things get better and we are very grateful that little Pauli has gone through this without any glimpse. He is happy and healthy.
We cook soup and tea and start to get everyone back on track. We decide to take a break of at least one week in Bukhara in an airb'n'b where we can be on our own, cook ourselves and have quiet time. In the afternoon we have found a nice place. It is in a big private house, the first floor, two bathrooms, a lot of space, we can use the kitchen. All looks good, we start to get comfortable.

In Uzbekistan foreigners need to register when they stay somewhere, these registrations are written on little sheets of paper, put in the passport and have to be shown at the border. Not having registrations can lead to serious fines. Our host has promised us that this would not be a problem, a friend of him in a hotel will take care of it. As we will soon find out, it does not work. Torsten heads with the cousin of our host to around ten hotels in town, all refuse to give us the registration, or ask us to rent a room in their hotel and even put clothes in that room, and to pretend we were staying there!

Torsten: The car radio knows only one song: 'Kaybol' by Hande Yener. I hear it about 50 times that night! I will never forget it: Music-Link

Apparently there are strict controls at the moment to make sure that all foreigners are “under control" and no fake registrations are given. They even enter rooms to have a look if the tourists are really there... There are two theories to that 'angst' going around: First, the President is about to visit Bukhara and Secret Service busy to prepare the visit. Second, for decades Uzbekistan has been in the news for heavy child labor during the cotton harvest that is going on in September and October. The government denies what is obvious: school children are being ordered on the fields by the regional administrations to help with the harvest. Often with serious consequences, not only miss the kids school, but a lot of them get sick from pesticides, animal bites and bad water. So they try to keep foreigners out of the area during that time. We don't know which explanation fits reality, we just know: we have a problem. We are already the second night without registration. Eventually the cousin of our host has a last name of a hotel where they want to give it a try and we find Helene. Helene is a wonderful woman from France, head of a great guesthouse next to the old town. She has opened the house six months ago, after she fell in love with Uzbekistan a couple of years ago. It is a real oasis, have a look at the pictures! So we have to change place one more time and now starts happy time. We have been here for a week now and actually don't feel like we want to leave. :-)

Bukhara: Lack of German or Philosophy
"Ich LEBE dich"

Bukhara: We didn't find a playground
So we created one ;)

Bukhara:Samoni Farmers Market.
Fruits & Vegtables.

Bukhara:Samoni Farmers Market.
Typical wooden columns.

Bukhara:Samoni Farmers Market.What do you like today? Meat or Cake?

Bukhara: Samoni Farmers Market.Or some rice?

Bukhara: Stopping at a beer station. 

Bukhara: Wooden door of the Bolo Hauz Mosque.

Bukhara: Bolo Hauz Mosque.

Bukhara: The Ark fortress.

Bukhara: The Ark fortress.

Bukhara: Circus show at the Ark fortress.

Bukhara: View to the old town in twilight.

Bukhara: Po-i-Kaylan Mosque.

Bukhara: Po-i-Kaylan Mosque.

Bukhara: Wooden doort at Po-i-Kaylan Mosque

Bukhara: Inside the Po-i-Kaylan Mosque.

Bukhara: View to the Po-i-Kaylan Medrese.

Bukhara: Fantastic Ambiance at sunset.

More of it.

The first morning we wake up by the music of Edith Piaf :-), we enjoy great breakfast, a huge bathroom and wonderfully decorated rooms.
We wash all our clothes and all the seat covers of the car. We repair stuff in the car, do sightseeing and homework, buy wonderful souvenirs, go people watching in the old town and enjoy the bazaar. Antonia gives my hair a nice cut. :-) All is great. Today we have 39 degrees, a wind from the desert blows sandy dust through town.

Bukhara: Getting stuff fixed. Quote of this master:
"You need to feel your work in order deliver a good result."

Bukhara: Pauli riding with me in the taxi to ...

... a carpenter ...

... fixing a piece of wood from our bath room,
which broke on one of the bad roads.

Excellent work. Now we have a lavatory again.

Bukhara: Antonia & Pauli next to Hoja Nasruddin.

Bukhara: Wedding couple.

Bukhara: Antonia & Pauli with Davron Toshev,
a famous portrait-miniature painter. 

Bukhara: Inside the abondoned Toki zargaron Mosque.

Bukhara: Inside the abondoned Toki zargaron Mosque.

Bukhara: Impressions.

Bukhara: ;)

Bukhara: Impressions.

Bukhara: Impressions.

Bukhara: Impressions.

Bukhara: Impressions.

Bukhara: Impressions.

Bukhara: Impressions.

Bukhara: Kaylan Minaret.

Bukhara: Impressions.

Bukhara: Impressions.

Bukhara: Impressions.

Bukhara: Impressions.

Bukhara: Impressions.

Bukhara: Po-i-Kaylan Medrese. Still working.

Bukhara: On the market.

Bukhara: On the market.

Bukhara: On the market.

Bukhara: Catching up with school work at Helenes Oasis.
They worked so hard!

Bukhara: Picture taking at Helenes Oasis.

Bukhara: Johann helps buying food on the market.

Bukhara: ready to go!

Bukhara: Impressions of Johanns' excursion to the local market.
(Photo by Johann)

Bukhara: Impressions of Johanns' excursion to the local market.
(Photo by Johann)

Bukhara: Impressions of Johanns' excursion to the local market.
(Photo by Johann)

Bukhara: Impressions of Johanns' excursion to the local market.
(Photo by Johann)

Bukhara: Impressions of Johanns' excursion to the local market.
(Photo by Johann)

Bukhara: Impressions of Johanns' excursion to the local market.
(Photo by Johann)

Bukhara: Impressions of Johanns' excursion to the local market.
(Photo by Johann)

Bukhara: Impressions of Johanns' excursion to the local market.
(Photo by Johann)

Bukhara: Visiting a Jewish school (4th grade)

Bukhara: Visiting a Jewish school

We finally manage to fill our blog again, Iran needed to be digested and that took a while! We can also see some of the statistics of our blog and there is a very funny detail, about you, dear readers: :-) The most hits we get are not on a Saturday or Sunday, but on Mondays!!! (Mornings?) ;-))) We feel much honored that you use us for daydreaming on an office-Monday-morning..... :-))))

In Ashgabat we have bought the new "Minions" movie that was released in July. In Russian. ;-))) And for days the kids have been waiting already to watch Scarlet Overkill and the little yellow monsters. We have a great evening, that movie is so funny, even with Scarlet speaking Russian. Pauli loves her saying: Bananaaaaa! :-)))) and repeats that whenever he can..... ;-)

Minions: Bananaaaaa!

Bukhara hosts a lot of Mosques and Medreses (Quran schools). All of that looks very familiar, we have seen this style already in Isfahan in Iran. The explanation is really easy: Amur Timur, a king from Samarkand was a conqueror of its time, really aggressive, but also interested in architecture and art. He conquered Isfahan on his way and deported the architects and artists from Isfahan to Samarkand and that is why we find the same style of buildings in Uzbekistan again, Persian culture exported.
We meet a lot of tourist groups, French everywhere, but also some Germans. The ones we talk to all tell us that they have problems with the food and diarrhea, so we are not alone....

When cleaning the car I find all the used travel books from the countries we have travelled through, we ask Helene if she wants to have them. So now all our books from Turkey, Iran etc. have their place in the lunch room at Helenes hotel... ;-)

Tomorrow there is a party for the official opening of the little hotel. It is already running since April, but still needs an official Imam-giving-a-prayer-opening-event and a lot of people have been invited. For the event they have brought a sheep, that is by now prepared to be shashlik and other Uzbek food for the party tomorrow. The kids have taken a lot of pictures of the sheep being slaughtered and prepared for plov.... When watching the sheep getting its final cut, Pauli states: "Maehh 'putt, aiaiaiai! ;-)

Bukhara: A mutton arrived.

Bukhara: Pauli can still pet him.

Bukhara: Not sure if he already guesses what's next..

Bukhara: Pauli watching from far distance.

Bukhara: Taking off the fur.

We have regained energy and enjoy free time. Next week we will be on the road again. To China.

The official opening ceremony done by a local Imam is really wonderful. Some 100 people from Bukhara follow Helene's invitation, all of the workers who have worked on the hotel, friends and neighbors, really nice. The families of Lolah and Javlon, a young couple living with Helene in the hotel and helping her (she calls them "my directors" :-) have prepared the food and the tables. All is perfect and guests have dressed up beautifully, we take pictures where we can. Men and women sit separately, the men leave right after lunch is done, but the women stay longer and help cleaning up afterwards. The Imam sings a prayer before all start to eat and apparently this is also the good-luck-prayer for the hotel.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.
One of the mens tables.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.
The hose running to the oven is water hose used liquid gas.
I started gasping when I saw that.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.
Women eating apart.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.
Helene framed by the artists.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.
Take off your shoes.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.
Enjoying the food.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.
Inner court.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.
Pauli loves it.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.
Mmh, Yummie.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.
Plov.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.
Plov. Delicious, but greasy.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.
Mens tables.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.
Mens tables

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.

Bukhara: Inauguration party of Helene Oasis.

We are all in a party mood. There are a lot of guides for tourists staying with us in the hotel. (Tourist groups are sent to the ugly concrete-four-star-hotels on the other side of the old town and the guides enjoy the nice little French hotel.... ;-) Over the days we have gotten to know most of them, we have a lot of fun together. So Helene decides that party goes on in the evening, now there is Vodka, Lolah dances and the big chocolate cake that had been forgotten in the refrigerator during lunch is put on the table. What a nice evening!

Bukhara: Pauli gets ready for the extended party.

Bukhara: The after-partyparty.

Bukhara: We had a wonderful evening.

Bukhara: Impressions of Helene Oasis.

Bukhara: Impressions of Helene Oasis.

Bukhara: Impressions of Helene Oasis.

Bukhara: Impressions of Helene Oasis.

Bukhara: Impressions of Helene Oasis.

Bukhara: Impressions of Helene Oasis.

Bukhara: Impressions of Helene Oasis.

Bukhara: Across of Helenes Oasis is a small shop, where I buy
a bottle of beer every evening. 

And the next day it is raining, 15 degrees, all the sudden fall shows its face. It is time to leave. After a long week we pack our stuff, kiss everyone ‘good bye’ and while rain is pouring down we leave Bukhara. I will always remember that wonderful place and the great time we had here.

Bukhara: Getting ready to move on.

Bukhara: Some playtime before the drive to Samarkand.

Bukhara: Very tight roads in the old town.
Gas pipes hanging low.

Bukhara: Time to say 'good bye'.

We drive some 300 km that day. Every ten kilometers there is a police station. It is not just a police car parked at the side, but really built up covered passages where everyone has to stop. Sometimes we are questioned too. Police is friendly and interested, but the question "Do you have a present for me?" is almost always asked. Torsten usually answers in Russian: "Yes, this big smile!" :-))) Usually they are so astonished that they let us go. Since we have been on our trip, we have not paid bribes or any other money once, we have been lucky so far...

Our next stop is Samarkand. And despite having seen so many typical Medreses (Quran schools) and mosques already in Xiva and Bukhara, this place still has a wow-effect! It is the way the buildings are renovated and the ensembles they form, really spectacular. We arrive in the dark and pass by the Registan Place, where three Medreses have their place to shine, and it is all ahhhs and ohhhhs in our car, what a beautiful place!!!

Samarkand: Registan Place.

Samarkand: Registan.

Samarkand: Registan.

One of the guides in Bukhara gave us the address of a nice little bed&breakfast at the mausoleum of Amir Timur, also a fantastic mosque-building and the owner agrees to register us and lets us sleep in the car! So we stay three nights with a view on the Timur-Mausoleum, have a look at the pictures, it is a wonderful place. 

Samarkand: One of the top-10-night-stays right next to theGur-e Amir Сomplex (Mausoleum of Amir Timur).

Samarkand: Gur-e Amir Сomplex.
Mausoleum of Amir Timur at night.

Samarkand: Gur-e Amir Сomplex.
Mausoleum of Amir Timur at night.

Samarkand: Gur-e Amir Сomplex.
Mausoleum of Amir Timur at night.

The guards of the mausoleum even let us use one of their stop contacts for our battery to load. Torsten has some tea and vodka with them. They also tell him how much they earn for guarding the wonderful building: 35 Dollars per month. We have long discussions about that with the kids, this is really a look into a different world.

We enjoy our time in Samarkand, the city is not spectacular, but the ancient buildings are great. Really fantastic and fascinating.

We visit the Amir Timur mausoleum. On the building a curse of the old king warns everyone not to disturb his rest: anyone who dares to open his grave will bring wars and bad times to the people. This did not hold Stalin back in 1941 to let his grave be opened to find the treasures that were supposed to be in there. Two days later Russia entered the Second World War.... Today all is quiet and the wonderful building can be admired peacefully. :-)

Samarkand: Gur-e Amir Сomplex.
Mausoleum of Amir Timur.

Samarkand: Gur-e Amir Сomplex.
Mausoleum of Amir Timur.

Samarkand: Gur-e Amir Сomplex.
Mausoleum of Amir Timur.

Samarkand: Gur-e Amir Сomplex.
Inside the Mausoleum of Amir Timur.

Samarkand: Gur-e Amir Сomplex.
Dome of the Mausoleum of Amir Timur.

Samarkand: Gur-e Amir Сomplex.
Inside the Mausoleum of Amir Timur.

Samarkand: Gur-e Amir Сomplex.
Inside the Mausoleum of Amir Timur.

Samarkand: Gur-e Amir Сomplex.
Inside the Mausoleum of Amir Timur.

Samarkand: Gur-e Amir Сomplex.
Inside the Mausoleum of Amir Timur.

Samarkand: Gur-e Amir Сomplex.
Inside the Mausoleum of Amir Timur.

Samarkand: Gur-e Amir Сomplex.
Inside the Mausoleum of Amir Timur.
Experimenting with light.

Samarkand: Gur-e Amir Сomplex.
Wooden door at the Mausoleum of Amir Timur.

Samarkand: Gur-e Amir Сomplex.
Reverse side of  Mausoleum of Amir Timur.

Samarkand: House of Ho Chi Minh not far from
Mausoleum of Amir Timur.

Samarkand: Johann & Antonia studiying hard
before we continue our discovery.

Samarkad: Pauli sleeping hard.

Samarkand: Registan Place.

Samarkand: Cuddle time.

Samarkand: Registan.

Samarkand: Projectors at Registan Place.

Samarkand: Pauli exploring Registan.

Samarkand: Pauli exploring Registan.

Samarkand: Inner court of Registan.

Samarkand: Portal of Registan.

Samarkand: Pauli watching ...

Samarkand: Johann & Pauli watching ...

Samarkand: ... the tilers.
(breaking out new stones and replacing by other new stones ...?)

Samarkand: Detail of the Registan Portal.

Samarkand: Registan ensemble.

Samarkand: Registan.

Samarkand: Registan.

Samarkand: Registan.

Samarkand: Registan.

Samarkand: View to Bibi-Khanym Mosque.

Samarkand: Regsitan from the top of a minaret.

Samarkand: Registan Minaret top from the top of a minaret.

Samarkand: Detail of the Registan Portal.

Samarkand: One of the inner court of the Registan.

Samarkand: Registan Palace.

Samarkand: Wedding at the Registan Palace.

Samarkand: Kids dancing at the Registan Palace.

Samarkand: Inside the Registan Palace.

Samarkand: Inside the Registan Palace.

Samarkand: Inside the Registan Palace.

Samarkand: Detail of the Registan Portal.

Samarkand: Registan Portal with the shadow of the building
from the other side of the square.

Samarkand: Detail of the Registan Portal.

Samarkand: Leaves changing colors. 

Samarkand: Portal of Bibi-Khanym Mosque.

Samarkand: Inside Bibi-Khanym Mosque.

Samarkand: Inside Bibi-Khanym Mosque.

Samarkand: Roof tops of Bibi-Khanym Mosque.

Samarkand: Inside Bibi-Khanym Mosque.

Samarkand: Inside Bibi-Khanym Mosque.

Samarkand: Sunset.

Samarkand: Meeting a French couple,
who used to travel Paris - Kabul.

One of the days we visit the Ulugh Beg observatory. Ulugh Beg was the grandson of Amir Timur, being King, but also a scientist. In the 15th century he built an observatory to watch space and stars and calculated the duration of a year. The observatory he built was huge, a quadrant that was 40 m long fitted into the building. Today there is one big piece left that can be visited. The museum hosts some old pictures and a model of the observatory, all really interesting. We discuss with the kids how Ulugh Beg measured all these distances to stars and the turns of the earth.
When we arrive at the observatory we decide to take a break before visiting, there is still some home work that needs to be done and everyone needs lunch. While we sit and relax we see one wedding couple after the other pass our car, visiting the big Ulugh Beg statue. They are following a soviet tradition by which just married couples go to visit monuments in their city and lay down flowers to remember. Today in Uzbekistan it is not quite the same anymore, but similar: The wedding couple arrives by car, followed by friends and family and a team of photographers and filming staff. They then approach the statue with a big flower bouquet, which are put to the feet of the ancient scientist, all is filmed and photographed of course. Only later I see that none of the flowers stay at the statue, someone from the family picks up the flowers after pictures are done and the flowers are probably used again at another statue in town, maybe at the Registan place.... It is so much fun to watch all these busy people on their special day! And Ulugh Beg smiles down on all that chaos to his feet...
All together we have seen at least some 15 couples pass by, sometimes three at the same time. We calculate a bit: Lolah has told us, that there are usually between 500 to 800 people invited to a wedding... Half Samarkand must be at a wedding that night. Wedding business must be really huge. And not to forget it is Tuesday! Not to think of what is going on here on a Saturday...

Samarkand: Ulugh Bek.

Samarkand: Wedding at Ulugh Bek Monument.

Samarkand: At Ulugh Bek Monument.

Samarkand: Taking the steps to the Ulugh Bek Observatory.

Samarkand: Founding of the huge sextant
at Ulugh Bek Observatory.

Samarkand: Model of the building for the sextant
at Ulugh Bek Observatory.

Samarkand: Ulugh Bek Portrait.

Samarkand: Model of the building for the sextant
at Ulugh Bek Observatory.

Samarkand: Painting about how the sextant was operated
at Ulugh Bek Observatory.

Samarkand. Book with handwriting of coordinates of 1018 stars
at the Ulugh Bek Observatory.

Samarkand: Calcuation of the length of a year by Ulugh Bek.

Samarkand: Remnants of the huge sextant 
at Ulugh Bek Observatory.

Samarkand: Shah-i-Zinda Ensemble.

Samarkand: Details at Shah-i-Zinda.

Samarkand: Portal at Shah-i-Zinda.

Samarkand: Portals at Shah-i-Zinda.

Samarkand: Portal at Shah-i-Zinda. 

Samarkand: Narrow paths at Shah-i-Zinda.

Samarkand: Details at Shah-i-Zinda.

Samarkand: Details at Shah-i-Zinda.

Samarkand: Details at Shah-i-Zinda.

Samarkand: Details at Shah-i-Zinda.

Samarkand: Shah-i-Zinda.

Samarkand: Let it grow ;)

Samarkand: Shah-i-Zinda.

Samarkand: Details at Shah-i-Zinda.

Samarkand: Details at Shah-i-Zinda.

Samarkand: Details at Shah-i-Zinda.

Samarkand: Shah-i-Zinda.

Samarkand: Wooden door at Shah-i-Zinda.

Samarkand: Portal of a Mausoleum at Shah-i-Zinda.

Samarkand: Wooden door at Shah-i-Zinda.

Samarkand: Shah-i-Zinda Ensemble.

After a couple of days we have seen it all and leave Samarkand. We need diesel and there is no diesel at the gas stations in Uzbekistan. All cars drive on propane and methane, only in agriculture there is diesel used. And since we are in the middle of cotton harvest diesel is hard to get. We knew that it would be difficult in Uzbekistan and had already in Iran stored some 160 liters of extra diesel. But we are some 40 liters short to get out of Uzbekistan. Asking around leads us to some young men handling several jerry cans of diesel. It takes a long time to discuss the prize and how to measure the liters, but finally we get the wanted stuff in our tank.

Close to Samrkand: No diesel at the gas stations.
We need to consult the black market.

Close to Samarkand:Refilling our Propan Gas bottles.
No problems with adapters. 16 liters for $6.

From Samarkand it is a long drive. We go all the way to Kokand in Fergana Valley. And we pass the river Syr Darya, the second river the fed the Aral Lake besides the Amu Darya. Today the Syr Darya does not even reach the area of the Aral Lake anymore.

Of all places on our trip I was most worried about passing the Fergana Valley. On recent "maps of worldwide terrorism" you always find Fergana mentioned as being a spot of Islamic terrorism. But when digging deeper into the discussion and reading more about it the picture changes a bit. There have been riots against the Uzbek-Karimow-regime that is still in power today, between 2005 and 2010. Americans and also Germans have used Uzbekistan as a basis for their missions in Afghanistan and what would be easier for a regime to shut off all opposition by blaming opposition of being Islamists. And that way you make friends with western leaders, who react very quickly when told about "Islamic terrorists"... Islam is of course present in Fergana, and there might be also some extremists, like in our Molenbeek ;-).. But as we take the metro through Molenbeek we decided to drive through Fergana.... ;-)
Entering the valley is only possible through one road, leading across a high pass. Before, we have to pass a point of control and suddenly we don't see regular police anymore, but heavily armed military. We are registered by name, passport and vehicle number. All are friendly and all is calm. Passing the small road to the valley is quite exciting, but we have become expert-travelers, not easily being shocked anymore...:-) From now on we have to register at every police station, we are asked where we go, when we leave and so on. "This is all for our safety..." Torsten resumes. ;-)

At this point we also have to admit that dispite the challenging road conditions in Uzbekistan we broke (again) with a golden rule which we had framed before our trip: No driving at night! Looking back to the last two weeks we ended up three times driving in the dark: to Bukhara, to Samarkand and when entering the Fergana valley going to Kokand. For every case there is comprehensible and reasonable explanation, like no option to stop, overestimated average speed, heavy traffic, more traffic controls than expected, construction work ... you name it. However we will need to reflect on that the next days to check whether we are getting a little ligtheaded and how to deal with that for the future. 

On our way to Fergana Valley: Fruits, Honey & Kurut
(dried yogurt balls - I'm the only one eating it & and I love them)

On our way to Fergana Valley: Crossing the Syr Darya

On our way to Fergana Valley: Suddenly black out in our home.
Cable Fire at the main switch.

On our way to Fergana Valley: Johann & Antonia wander through
the cotton fields and take great pictures.
Here a still closed cotton blossom.

Here a open one.

On our way to Fergana Valley: Johann & Antonia brought back
three differnt blossoms of cotton.
middle: actually still closed, but we broke it open to see what's in
left: blossom which just opened
right: blossom ready for harvest

On our way to Fergana Valley:
Military equipment coming down the road.

On our way to Fergana Valley: Dried valley ...

... creating an apocalyptic landscape.

On our way to Fergana Valley: We all feel the fall coming.

On our way to Fergana Valley: still 75 km to go Kokand.

Kokand used to be an ancient capital of the Khanat Kokand, but after a big earth quake in 1902 there is not much left of old and ancient stuff. We park for the night on the wild parking of a hotel, for 25 Dollars, get the needed registration and have a quiet night. There is not much to sight see, so we end up on some lonely roller coasters in a little park at 11 o'clock in the morning. Paul enjoys a lonely ride on a little train, getting upset that the thing does not stop after the third round... ;-)
From Kokand we drive on to Andijan. Some of you might remember the news, when in 2005 some 700 people got killed by the regime. Bazaaris from Andijan had been arrested and accused for being Islamic terrorists and people were demonstrating against that decision. Karimow opened fire against the demonstrators. There has never been an investigation of what happened, but Fergana ended up on the world terrorist’s map. Andijan is a nice town, with huge lanes and nice people, but not at all spectacular. We try a restaurant for the first time since Xiva, but all decide that we will not become friends of Uzbek cuisine... We are allowed to park next to a hotel that night, all quiet.

Kokand: Fun park at 11 am - that's fun!
We were almost the only ones ;)

Kokand: Self-built flipper gaming machine. 

Kokand: Antonias comments 'witches on their way to school'
;)

Kokand: wedding couple on their walking the city' monuments.

Kokand: Kuhdoyar Khan Palace. It's only 150 years old
and build when Kokand was already part of Russia.

Kokand: Kuhdoyar Khan Palace.
Pauli loves posing ;)

Kokand: Walk in the park.

Kokand: For the last months Johann has been fascinated
of all kinds of engines and we check out whatever we find.

On our way to Andijan: We had to stop at these tuck tucks.
The dealer wants to sell us one for as less as $2800.

On our way to Andijan: First the lavatory,
then the electricity now the ribbon to tie the tyre.
It seems the time arrived when things need to get
fixed or replaced. Seeing the roads we drove I'm surprised
that it took that long.

Andijan: This master fixes the panel of our main switch!

Excellent job! I put it back in and everything works just fine.

Andijan: People ask us to take pictures with us. 

Andijan: They are realy nice and show a likable mix of
openess and hospitality. 

Andijan: View from our rear window to the main square,
the place of the masacre of 2005.

Andijan: We manage to stay right behind a nice hotel.
Quiet, central, close to city life.

On our way to the Kyrgyz border: We buy one of the wonderful
thick blankets.

This one will be ours.

Antonia happy!

Others go for bigger quantities. Here I have to add that
you come across these blankets almost everywhere.
People sit and sleep on them and sometimes replaces
the sofa.

It is time to leave Uzbekistan, we are looking forward to "coming home" to Kirgizstan.
Again we have to pass border controls and we hate it. It just doesn't make sense to have these borders, bored personnel following stupid rules, getting on travelers nerves for hours. As at all the other borders before there is almost no traffic, though we see some trucks. In 2010 there have been riots between Kyrgyz and Uzbek in this area and relations have not gotten better that much since then, so I guess that makes part of the empty border pass way. After three hours we are allowed to go on to Kirgizstan.

At the Uzbek-Kyrgyz border: Chatting with a biker from Hongkong.

At the Uzbek-Kyrgyz border: X-Ray truck of Uzbek customs service.
Emma needs to be scanned.

She was so brave.

At the Uzbek-Kyrgyz border: The Uzbek customs service doesn't look at all
for our registration slips, for which we have worked so hard.
Frustrating and relieving at the same time!
Attention: However this is not to be understood as advise to neglect them!
Checking the travel forums: this can change from one week to the next
and from one border control to the other. The fine for not having them is $1000 per person. 

***** Off-Topic pictures*****

Uzbekistan: Impressions.

Uzbekistan: Impressions.

Uzbekistan: Impressions (between Andijan and Kirghiz border).

Uzbekistan: Where do you want to sleep today?

On our way to the Kyrgyz border: Kids posing
next to 'their' tuck tuck.

;)