So I had reached the ending part of my time in Uzbekistan. And in the last post I mentioned the monotonous cycling the country offers its rolling visitors. I’d just like to stress that one more time – just to be clear you all get what I mean here.
The cycling in Uzbekistan is pretty boring.
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So. Cycling in Uzbekistan is not superexciting.
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The cycling in Uzbekistan is pretty boring.
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Did you hear?! Apparently cycling in Uzbekistan is Boooooooring!
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You get what I’m going for?
The cycling is not just (yeah – you got it) boring. It’s repetitive. Read this from the top again, but now imagine your reading being cycling – and each line being another cotton field, pretty much identical to both the previous and the next one you’re passing.
And then you do this for days.
Ok – this is not a cotton field but it IS a hand painted road sign. Just had to post it!
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Now. This is how most bicycle tourers I talk to seem to be describing Uzbekistan. Like a dull, unappealing swamp in the middle of the otherwise so beautiful and exciting Asia. One where you enter just to become horribly sick, to then go through the least attractive cycling imaginable, on roads so bad they shouldn’t even get to be called as such.
And eventually – finally – you’ll be rewarded for your suffering, by getting to enter the magical mountain lands of Tajikistan or Kyrgyzstan.
One thing is true. The landcape in southern Uzbekistan is monotonous. You basically only pass one tiny village after another, in between which your surrounding consists of huge cultivated cotton fields you can’t even see the end of.
But I wonder. How fast do people really pass these villages to be able to miss out on the lovely atmosphere inside them? Do they not notice the locals catching up with you on their own bikes, just to keep you company for a couple of kilometers? And maybe most of all. Do they not ever look to what was in between the bad road and that cotton field they don’t like to look at anyways?
In between, there are people. Everywhere. People who came to be my best friends and cheerleaders all through their country. On this road you’re never very far from a village, however tiny it might be. And close to the villages there is always someone – often times many – sitting in the shade beside the road to sell their crops.
Melons, grapes, corn, tomatoes, pears – whatever their family is growing, they have a bucket or pile in front of them, hoping to sell what they have to passing car drivers. Or cyclists one would think, right?
At least a couple of times a day I let myself be waved in. By smiling kids, old wrinkled up men, whole families and big groups of women. Few would ever let me buy anything, instead they just cut up some of their fruit and acted like old friends / mothers / little brothers before I’d even learned to pronounce their names.
A lot of dark things are going on in this country. The people are far from free to live like they want – and for most, life is not easy. The problem with forced child labour on the cotton fields is still a big issue. Domestic violence is considered to be a family matter. Censorship is strong and since before I was even born, the president/dictator Islam Karimov has been ruling the country with an iron fist.
However. As I’m sitting there by the side of the road, munching away on melon in my newfound company – none of this is to be seen. The people of Uzbekistan has this charisma of warmth and sincere friendliness that I wonder if and where I will ever get to experience again.
Who cares if the views are not super dramatic? In Uzbekistan, the landscape consists of its people. And take my word for it, this is a landscape that won’t make itself justice on any postcard.
I think and hope I’ve gotten the point across. To me, Uzbekistan is nothing short of amazing. Sure, the Silk Road cities Bukhara and Samarkand are very, very nice. But when I think back on this country, it’s not the madrasas or mausoleums that pop into my head. It’s the smiles of the people I met there.
On the ride from Samarkand to the Tajikistan border, nature actually started to shake things up – and I had a few days of really nice days from a pure cycling perspective. Many times the road was still horrible, but it was all okey as my slow speed gave me time to appreciate the surroundings a little extra.
I was surprised to see the landscape rise before I had even really left Samarkand
Yep, it’s official. Uphills are worth it.
…And then one early morning I reached the border and it was time to leave.
I’ve mentioned Uzbek bureaucracy before, right? And in a couple of posts ago you could read about me slipping through the entering border controls and customs remarkably easy, especially considering the fact that I was caught with not declaring my cash correctly.
Going out I wasn’t as lucky.
If you’ve ever toured yourself you know this, and if you haven’t I think you can imagine. You can fit a lot of stuff into the panniers of a bike. I mean it.
After a bunch of paperwork and weird questions at the customs, I found myself standing as an audience, watching this super stern customs official go through every little piece of equipment she found in my bags. Really. Down to the point that she even took a closer look at my tent pegs, this lady was taking her job seriously. This was gonna take some time, for sure.
Playing out charades to show her the purpose of my medicines (diarrhoea, anyone?), or answering questions about what the books on my Kindle are about, were not my main concerns though. That would be the other officials. Spread out in the room, I had one searching for files on my laptop, one simultaneously going through my phone and camera, and one was sitting by his desk with my external harddrive plugged into his computer.
Now it’s not like I have tutorials on how to perform a prison break or construct newclear weapons on my gadgets. But still, there is something a bit uneasy with having random people investigating your stuff. Especially when you don’t really know what they’re looking for.
As I was watching the female official disassemble my kitchen, an upset voice suddenly cut through the silent room like a machete.
‘Huh! What is THIS?! No good, NO good!’
My heart sank. They eyes of the guy holding my phone pierced straight through mine as he accusingly glared at me from the other side of the room. His look was the one of a Dad finding booze in his teenagers closet, and I could tell I was in trouble.
Since he was still holding the phone away from me, I obviously couldn’t answer his question. And before I knew it the other officials had gathered around him to take part in the discovery. They were all looking at the phone. Then at me. Then back at the phone again, saying somthing in Uzbek I had no chance of understanding.
Since they didn’t seem to have any intention of showing me what exactly it was that was ‘No good’, I kind of had to squeeze myself into the circle around the small screen. Within a split second I went from being clueless to knowing exactly what was my crime.
They had found porn. Something which in Uzbekistan and many Asian countries is strictly forbidden.
But it wasn’t just any porn.
The screen lit up a bright shining close up photo of my ass.
Ranking all the socially awkward situations I’ve been in so far on the trip. I think (and hope) this will qualify as the top one for a long time to come.
So this is the story:
Do you remember me cycling through Iran this summer? A summer that was insanely hot. And as any woman in Iran, I had to follow the dress code which basically means wearing twice or three times as much clothes as what would be reasonable in those temperatures – and I was sweating accordingly.
This, combined with me not using bicycle shorts, left me with some incredibly uncomfortable saddle sores. And in desperate need of having someone feel sorry for me, I once snapped a photo of my swollen, aching butt and sent it to my mom.
…aand then life continued, my backside made a comeback and I forgot all about this.
Until this particular day when I was unexpectedly reminded all about it.
Yeah, something like this…
Well. What do you say? Obviously this whole border crossing ended up taking ages, but already then I enjoyed it as the whole situation was just. so. weird. In the end they were satisfied with just deleting the photo, and eventually they gave me my exit stamp so that I could leave – equally amused and embarrassed.
Coming out from the customs building I took a deep breath. I had officially completed my 16th country, and the one that I from the start had been looking forward to the most was up next.
I was going to Tajikistan. Financially the poorest country I had set foot in so far on my travels. But in terms of mountains and nature, the richest one I might ever come to. I was excited to say the least.
With one last look over my shoulder I said goodbye to Uzbekistan and got onto the saddle. Then slowly, almost hesitantly, I started pedalling my way towards what was sure to be the most challenging, but hopefully also most rewarding leg of the trip…
More about that next time.
Fredrika