My notebook without censorship
See, I normally try to be positive when I write. I have the immense chance to live this adventure of a lifetime, this dream that I have been preparing for years. But I don't want to lie to you, sometimes it's hard and I wonder what I'm doing.
640 km between Noukous and Bukhara, passing through Khiva and Urgench. Mainly through the desert ...!
Recently I told you about my crossing a desert in Kazakhstan, Devil entry into Uzbekistan by train, and a few days on bad roads between Noukous and Khiva.
This time I invite you to follow me for a few hundred kilometers between Urgench and Bukhara, another tourist town further east of the country.
How i write
To write these chapters that I present to you on this blog, I first start by selecting a few photos among the hundreds that I take. I work on them and choose them according to their beauty and what they represent. Every evening, and even often during the day, I take notes on who I meet, what I see, and what my impressions are. All of this can be done directly from my tent without my needing to have internet access.
Then, by rereading my notes and linking them to the photos, I then attempt to come up with a story for each period of time. As you now know, this period can be a day or a week, depending on the adventures. This writing step is done in hostels or hotels where the connection allows it.
The blog
For this umpteenth desert journey, I had the impression that the best way to make you feel my growing impatience in the face of these conditions was to present you literally extracts from my notes ...
My camp is not always ideal on the side of the road!
Sunday 14 - I leave at 7 am this morning and I drive until 20:15 pm. I stop for dinner. The guy wants to sell me his fish for 35 tenge (ie $ 000 on the black market). I end up paying 5,80 (ie more like 5 cents!) ... I hate “tourist prices”. I am camping in the desert. 000km.
Monday 15 - The coolest guy we met today was from Kazakhstan. He sang in my face as I dined.
I camped on the side of the road under construction. There is an ultra wind blowing me full of sand in the tent and fuel oil in my nose. 118km.
Tuesday 16 - I deeply hate deserts. Always full of sand everywhere. It's far from good for electronics and my camera gear. I am dry in the face. I have a strong headwind for hundreds of kilometers because the road does not change direction. The endless stream of trucks blows sand, smoke and wind at me. And almost all of them honk in my ears.
I never want to go to a desert again.
I camp 75km from Bukhara ... in the desert. 96km.
Wednesday 17 - 5 young people stop to talk to me. They take pictures with me. A minute later, one of them hangs up his plastic water bottle in the field. I am in good shape and I ask him what he is doing. Everyone doesn't care.
The only place during the day that I am not harassed by flies is in my tent after killing them.
Difficult day against the wind, with poor asphalt and a lot of trucks. I have no patience for horns, or anything for that matter. I finally arrive in Bukhara and sleep at the hostel. 74km.
The complexity of Uzbekistan
It is not always difficult. This granddaughter of the owner of a tea house brightened my day with her joy and constant smiles.
Besides the bad road and the weather conditions, my morale was also affected by the fact that Uzbekistan is full of rules and strange difficulties.
Normally, I should have had to sleep in a hotel at least every three days to satisfy immigration. Obviously, I don't do this because of the distances between cities and for the sake of economy. I put off this lack of registration papers until later, when I leave the country!
In addition, there are hardly any ATMs in the country, and it is impossible to use a foreign credit card no matter where you are. Everything must be in money. But since the official exchange rate is half of what it is on the black market, the only major currency to own is US money.
The Kazakh money I had left at the border was equivalent to $ 63. After stretching this amount over two weeks, I will finally succeed in getting American money from an ATM in Bukhara. All this in a country where the cost of living is higher than for neighboring countries, and for which obtaining a visa is long, expensive and complex.
Bukhara
The friendly French women Margot and Anne.
With all this, you understand that I am relieved and happy to ask myself Bukhara for several days. After an hour or two at the hostel, I become again the happy tourist that I normally am.
I soon meet Charles, a Belgian, and the charming French girls Margot and Anne. The four of us visit the city, its museums, mosques and small streets.
I learn that Margot and Anne met at university in Strasbourg, and that Margot then studied in Taiwan before returning to work in Paris. After her trip to Central Asia, she left Paris to go and work almost voluntarily with the refugees in Calais. For her part, Anne has just finished a six-month contract in Tajikistan, and is looking for another contract where the wind will carry her.
You will understand that we have talked a lot about travel and adventures!
Moreover, in Bukhara as elsewhere in Uzbekistan, the country really seems to me to be a very popular destination for the French. I believe this is partly due to the marketing that is being done in France which eventually results in a certain wave of tourists looking for something different.
But whatever the reason, this makes me happy, and allows me to be able to speak French, which has been more rare in recent months. My nice young ladies sometimes pretended to understand my expressions of the land, but the lack of response from them and certain questioning looks betrayed their lack of experience with my pure accent!
The Kalon Mosque in Bukhara, built at the beginning of the 16th century.
The Mir-i-Arab madrasa (or school), where religion is taught.
What's Next ?
Our respective paths will separate once again too quickly. The daily life of tourists and travelers being made of trips, visits too fast, and magical encounters in beautiful places.
With my clothes cleaned and my bike oiled, here I am again on my way to the east, for a final straight in Uzbekistan.
