May 18, 2014
The Golden Road to Samarkand: Poetry in motion
By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned:
For lust of knowing what should not be known
We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.
James Elroy Flecker
It is a nice poem, but let me tell you one thing; if you expect the road to Samarkand to be Golden you will be disappointed. The road to Samarkand is pot-holed and annoyingly hilly, and it has too much traffic on it, most of it going the wrong way. Let's see if I can't improve on James Elroy's original and bring it up to date.
By hotter strong headwinds our fiery weakened hearts are fanned broken:
For lust of knowing what should not be known ice creams
We take the Golden crappy Road to Samarkand.
James Elroy Flecker/Chris Pountney
I finally arrived into the fabled Silk Road city of Samarkand and headed straight for the famous Registan, pausing to have my photo taken proudly with it. The locals I asked were about as good at framing a photo as a Turkmenistan railway-crossing operator and so I turned to a group of French tourists for help who considered me something of a celebrity and I ended up having six or seven cameras pointed at me all at once. Once that excitement was over I began to look for the Bahodir B&B which was, I was sure, just next to the Registan and was apparently the place for backpackers to stay in Samarkand. I was quite excited about maybe meeting some interesting travelers (maybe some female ones, that would be nice), and maybe even some cyclists that I could ride on with as I had been finding it so tough by myself. But nobody had any idea where this B&B was. I asked lots of people, searched up and down all the streets near the Registan, got very frustrated, had dirt thrown at me by a little kid, and found nothing. Eventually I realised that the thing I'd been photographed in front of was not even the Registan, it was the Gur-e-Amir complex, and I was in the wrong part of the city. These things happen when you don't have a map.
I found the actual Registan, an incredibly impressive sight, and had my photo taken with it, which is the one that you see above. Locating the Bahodir from there was a much easier process and I was soon relaxing with my complimentary tea and biscuits. I could have my own room for $15 or a bed in the dorm for $10. Seeing as there was nobody else there I opted for the dorm, thinking I would probably have the room to myself anyway. The beautiful female backpackers that were supposed to be staying at the Bahodir were frustratingly absent, I guessed they were just held up in traffic and would be arriving later, so I went out to see the city by myself.
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After wandering around the market where I was stopped by men at almost every stall to ask what football team I supported I made my way back to the Registan. I sat on the steps before it, trying to take in the magnitude of the thing and thinking about how very far I had now traveled. As I did so I was approached by two young Uzbek students, Doston and Ashurov. They were keen to meet travelers and to improve their English and so when they invited me to join them looking inside the Registan complex I naturally agreed. They even offered to pay for me although this offer was quickly retracted when they realised the price for foreigners was 16 times more then for locals. I didn't mind paying, I was keen to see inside.
And it was very impressive, particularly inside the dome which was all gold-plated inside. But the best bit was having Doston and Ashurov to talk with as they could speak some English and could tell me more about life in Uzbekistan. They were both studying Chinese, not because they ever wanted to go to China, but because being a Chinese translator in such a touristy town was a good job. Like almost everyone I had met they insisted that Uzbekistan was a really great country to live, that the government was good and that they were very happy.
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The two young students next invited me for dinner in a restaurant, and to avoid paying tourist prices we walked for about twenty minutes to a place where local people ate. I had told Doston along the way that I was vegetarian and he didn't seem to think it would be a problem. The menu arrived and of course I couldn't read any of it, not that I was given a chance anyway as Doston ordered for all of us. "Wait, what have you ordered? It is vegetarian, yes?"
"Yes, don't worry," he said, "it is vegetarian, don't worry."
"What is it?"
"Don't worry, it's vegetarian."
A quarter of an hour later and three bowls of noodles arrived. With big chunks of meat in. And swimming in a broth of animal fat.
"Erm, what is this?"
"It's vegetarian. Don't worry."
"Erm... I don't think it is vegetarian."
They looked at me like I was mad. Ashurov held up some noodles on a fork as if to demonstrate the vegetarian-ness to me. I stood firm. There was definitely pieces of dead animal floating in it. I couldn't bring myself to eat it. The waitress returned. Then the owner of the restaurant. Everyone seemed very confused by the concept of an entirely vegetarian dish.
"Do you have anything with no meat at all?" was met with vacant stares and slow shakes of the head. "Potatoes, can I just have some potatoes?"
By good fortune two more friends turned up and the vegetarian-noodle-meat-and-animal-fat-soup was eaten by somebody less fussy than me. And I was very happy when a large plate of French fries was placed before me. As you can tell, I do like to immerse myself in the culture of a country when I visit.
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My guides walked me back to my accommodation. It had been a wonderful evening but I was looking forward to getting back and meeting the beautiful blonde Swedish backpackers who no doubt must have arrived by now. They were frustratingly absent. I guessed their bus must have broken down. What rotten luck! There were a few people at the B&B though; a Belgian couple that had driven their campervan across Eurasia, a Spanish couple that were on bikes, although only in Uzbekistan and not going my way unfortunately, and a few lone male travelers. Alas nothing beautiful and blonde. Also, not quite the social backpacker party atmosphere, as everyone was sitting alone using their I-phones or laptops. Thanks Zuckerburg, you've ruined the world you know! I took out my netbook and started updating my blog.
Most of the other guests were sleeping in their own rooms but there was one other fellow in the dorm with me. He was a mildly irritating Austrian man. No, not that one, he got on a bus from Bukhara and I never saw him again. This one was younger and somewhat boastful about having visited 110 countries. Assuming he stayed in hostel dorms all the way I can only guess that he had pissed people off in 110 countries because he had the loudest and most annoying snoring problem ever. Throwing empty water bottles at him across the room had no effect and finally I ended up sleeping (badly) in the courtyard. Oh, life!
Today's ride: 46 km (29 miles)
Total: 19,532 km (12,129 miles)
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