Uzbek Hospitality

My first night in the tent was — unfortunately, I have to say it — absolutely terrible. My tent is great, and even as someone over two meters tall, I have plenty of space inside. The sleeping mat my sister recommended is also very comfortable, and with my sleeping bag I wasn’t cold at all. So it wasn’t the equipment or the weather. What the man who assigned me the camping spot probably forgot to mention — and what I couldn’t possibly have known — was that the two yurts right next to my tent are used for parties. At least that was the case yesterday evening. Maybe because it was Saturday?

In any case, both yurts were equipped with powerful sound systems, and yesterday night they were operating at full capacity. The groups in the two tents were apparently trying to outdo each other, because the music was deafening for hours. Even when only one system was playing, it was already overwhelming, and I could feel the bass vibrating in my stomach. But often both sound systems blasted different songs at full volume at the same time — I could have screamed, though nobody would have heard me anyway.

So all I could do was focus on my breathing and relax as much as possible, so that at least inside myself things remained calm. I imagined I was at some open-air concert — at least that way I got to experience a bit of Uzbek music and party culture. Including the women screaming constantly — I honestly have no idea what was going on over there.

I had already gone to bed — or rather into my tent — before 10 p.m., and at that time it was still quiet. But not for very long. The party music continued until around 1:15 a.m. From time to time I also inhaled cigarette smoke, so there were probably smokers near my tent. But at quarter past one the music finally stopped, and fortunately the overall noise level dropped considerably. Amid the loud conversations of the party guests, I could at least occasionally hear trucks passing on the nearby road again.

From early morning onward, the traffic noise and other sounds kept waking me up again and again. By 7:30, I only had one thought left: get out of here as quickly as possible! Given the circumstances, though, I still felt reasonably recovered. Thankfully yesterday had been physically quite easy, so despite the terrible sleep, my body still felt rested enough.

By the time I had packed all my things and finally set off, it was already 9 a.m. Cycling suddenly became genuinely enjoyable again — the main thing was simply getting away from there, and on top of that I still had a tailwind.

After riding a little more than 60 kilometers, I was stopped by two policemen at an intersection — though apparently they were simply curious about the kind of journey I was making. Right next to the crossing there was a small shop, so I took a short break for supplies. Before I continued, an Uzbek man came to the shop, greeted me warmly, and like so many people here wanted to know where I was from. Whenever I answer “Switzerland,” people almost always give me a thumbs-up — everyone seems to think Switzerland is a wonderful country. I don’t disagree, of course, but as a guest in a foreign land it still feels a little strange to keep hearing and sensing that again and again. Just as the young man came out of the shop and I was almost back on my bike, he suddenly handed me a bottle of water and said, “Welcome to Uzbekistan.” Thank you so much!

I still had about 45 kilometers left to Gazli, which according to my map was the last larger settlement before Bukhara. I planned to stay there for another night before covering the final hundred-plus kilometers to Bukhara.

I was still crossing the Kyzylkum Desert, yet once again it started raining. Before my stop, it had only been a very light drizzle. But afterward, the rain became noticeably stronger and the wind shifted to the side. It’s quite interesting, considering this area supposedly receives only 100 to 200 millimeters of rain per year. Still, it didn’t bother me much. As long as I kept moving, my rain jacket was enough to keep me warm, even with shorts on.

About 22 kilometers before Gazli, while moderate rain was still falling, a man standing in front of a small shop waved me over energetically. At first I didn’t really want to stop because I feared I’d get cold once I did. But eventually he convinced me. He offered me tea, though at first I wasn’t sure whether he was simply a good salesman or genuinely inviting me. Either way, something warm certainly wouldn’t hurt, and it couldn’t possibly be very expensive.

A moment later another customer came in, and my host immediately told him that I had cycled all the way here from Switzerland. Suddenly the shopkeeper placed a bottle of cola beside me and pointed toward the other guest — apparently he had paid for it. And the gifts kept increasing. The other customer — we talked a little using Google Translate, and his name was Baris from Tashkent — placed cookies next to me, ordered soup and bread for me, and paid for everything. And when I sincerely thanked him, he even came over and pressed the change into my hand. It was 100,000 Uzbek som — not a small amount. That alone already covered the 70,000 som for my accommodation that night.

By the time I finished eating, the rain had stopped, and I set off for the final kilometers. At that point, I had made peace with the Uzbeks again — even if they do sometimes enjoy listening to music very loudly. I had never really been angry with anyone; it was simply a very unfortunate place to pitch a tent. Still, it had definitely been unpleasant. Fortunately, despite the invitation and long break, my plan to arrive early in Gazli and get some rest still worked out.

At 3 p.m. I arrived at an accommodation that apparently is run by the Uzbek government, which naturally reminded me of the teachers’ guesthouses in Turkey. This place, however, is mainly intended for gas workers, so the facilities are very basic: no hot water, no WiFi, but at least a clean bed and a very friendly hostess. There is also a small shop and a little restaurant right next door. So on what was, for now, my last evening in the desert, I still had everything I needed. I lay down on the bed and slept for the next one and a half hours.