Uzbekistan

Jules — Fri, 22 Nov 2013 05:44:22 +0000

Our mood has continued to flow like the bleak landscape, rays of sunshine and warmth followed by ice cold gusts and grey drabness. But this is not Uzbekistan.
It is cold here…..not so, so cold, and the desert has continued for a thousand kilometres. Not much between our journey, train, bus and flour truck to places of hotel registration.
But out of the desert evolve the Uzbeks. A kind, warm, smiling, gentle and accepting people…..also a fighting, strong people. Paying the police at every road block, stopped by unmarked police cars, constant reminders of the continued battles do not diminish the outward appearances of these people’s strength. For a thousand kilometres there is nothing, and everything……more than just the police. Ancient cities of the Silk Road surrounded by sand, rubble and people going about their daily lives. Harder lives than our struggle to negotiate without language, transport, transport for our bikes, ourselves, no maps, no signs, no fresh food, arrivals in darkness, no street lights…..intermittent electricity, water, hot water.
We are reliant on these kind people and their help to find everything. Even food shops, bus stations are void of signage…..one must open a door, go in and explore or enquire and hope for a person’s patience.
One moment this is exciting, the next……tiring, frustrating and acceptance of our dependence upon strangers.
The bikes were our independence.
And out of the desert are the cities of history…..poetic, beautiful, emotional…..cities that have inspired the imagination for centuries…..Khiva, Bukhara, Samarkand. Restored to varying degrees, it is all breathtaking and we are lucky sharing these magical colourful tiled cities rising out of the dust, sharing with no one but the local inhabitants and a very few Uzbek tourists.
We are given bread, food…..food we are warned not to eat…..everyone gets sick in Uzbekistan. So far we are not sick. The food is simple….lacking vegetables, but satisfying and often shared with us full of kindness.
We have stayed in a “hotel”…..a room with a table that is our bed and packages of old shoes…..unfortunately no registration. The squat loos can be filthy, but the people always meticulously trying to be clean. Never in the western world have I seen a bus load of men after peeing, share around a bottle of water in which to wash their hands.
In Bukhara we are gestured to please visit a woman, residing above our hotel room. After many attempts to keep the conversation of few words going I am instructed to take off my clothes. It is not often I am so pliant. Dressed and wrapped like a parcel. Wearing an Asian dress, headscarf and makeup…..complete with over the top painted eyebrows ridiculous for my hair colouring. I seldom wear dresses. We have fun, laugh and this is all the language required.
We eat sunflower seeds…..everyone eats sunflower seeds….I am slowly improving in the technique…..but sometimes impatient, I eat them husks and all. They are quite addictive.
I have also learnt to lie. Finally my husband and child have given me additional freedom. No more tutting, or disappointment, no more feeling sorry for my childless predicament. Hopefully, no more male advances, “Julia……Julia….Julia…….no boyfriend…..Julia…..I love you”……I have a husband and a daughter….she is 16….and am proud of my new ability to lie in advancement of my survival, or at least my sanity.
I will not remember Uzbekistan for my new skill to alter the truth but the countries and experiences leading up to my need to lie. I will remember Uzbekistan is difficult…..but also a country of colour, people, dreaming, history and a future. Next stop, Tashkent, the capital.

Creeps and slappers

Jules — Tue, 16 Jul 2013 07:28:57 +0000

The damn wind was fierce, dangerous and exhausting. A man on a tractor, he stopped, gestured, we had thought he was seeing, understanding, our discomfort. He called us to the one place that gave refuge from the wind, a Turkish war memorial in the middle of villages.
“No problem, camp here !”
We have read, been told,…..” do not knock back an experience”….We have read, been told, experienced first hand…..that people are essentially good.
Relieved to be removed from choice, take the experience, meet a new person, finish our ride several hours early, no more torment.
We settled down, he seemed friendly, kind….then the atmosphere changed….asked if we were married…no….suddenly he groped Li’s breasts. I told him that was a “problem” one of the few words we had in common. Oh….do hope he didn’t think I meant it was “no problem!”.
He was going to go, come back with drinks at 7pm. Tried to kiss me on the mouth. “No! that is a problem!” As he left we were confused as to whether money he pulled out was to ask for money, give us money….either way we refused.
He left. Unsettled we wanted to leave. He would be several hours. We would rest, eat, leave with plenty of time before he returned.
He came back 2 hours early. With drinks. Unsealed drinks. Fortunately he did not understand when I told Li not to drink. Maybe there was nothing wrong with his alcohol, but he would not drink it. Ramazan. But he ate and drank cola…and sex was on his agenda. We do not understand all the rules and individual interpretations of Ramazan (Ramadan) but this made absolutely no sense to us and fuelled more distrust.
Our fear, the drinks were spiked. Li feigned allergy and drank the sealed cola. I secreted my wine….mixed with cola…and then raki,onto the ground during false pretences to obtain things from my bike or distractions from Li. In appearance I was the only one that drank alcohol. He kept up his persistence, “drink….drink!”
“Why you not camp? ”
“The wind is less and we need to move on”…..well this is what we signed and gestured to the best of our ability…..it was still blowing a gale.
In a last attempt to persuade us he pulled out his wallet and it was made very clear that he wished to pay for sex.
Traveling, illiterate, unable to speak or understand and still gain an idea of culture, customs, new experience, friendship…..I become a child again. My intuition is shot, my, our, sixth sense is not what it should be.
The following day, entering a village I am slapped, I assume by a woman with a learning disability. She had been trying to communicate with me. My intuition, understanding is non existent.
I welcome comments of other people’s experience, particularly other women travellers experience, wisdom, ways to accept invitations, not think the worst, stay safe, remain humble and giving in return.

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Uzbekistan

Creeps and slappers