May 15, 2014
Where are you from?: Do you speak Russian?
I left Bukhara and took a smaller road north through the desert. This turned out to be one of my better decisions, as the road had almost no traffic, was very peaceful, and was one of the most enjoyable bits of cycling I had done in some time. To make things even better I came across a big lake that I could swim in, and let me tell you one thing; a big lake that you can swim in is probably the best thing you can come across in a hot desert, apart from maybe a big lake that you can swim in with a man selling ice creams next to it. Unfortunately there was no man selling ice creams next to it. I had a very refreshing swim anyway.
The next day I rejoined the main road and turned east again through crowded agricultural land. Having been cycling into a terrible headwind whilst traveling north for the past week I had been looking forward to making this turn east and so it was with a sense of charming inevitability that the wind changed direction and started coming at me from the east. I took it all in my very slow stride.
What I wasn't taking very well in my stride was all the people. I was very tired and I was constantly having to stop and converse with friendly locals at the side of the road. And I use the word 'converse' quite wrongly, because there was no common language and I was really too exhausted to be making much effort anyway. "Atkuda? Atkuda?" they cried, Russian for "Where are you from?"
"Anglia, Anglia," I would reply.
This happened over and over and over and over and over and over again.
"Do you speak Russian?" they would cry.
"Niet!" I would cry. Literally. Over and over and over again.
So I was very pleased when I stopped at a shop by the city of Navoi and a man came up to me that could speak English. He was a student of foreign languages, speaking four fluently, and also owned and ran a shop. He was 22 years old. He made me feel a little inadequate about my own achievements in life (one Desert-Dash Challenge success, and victory over Dino at a game of boules in Iran*) But it was very nice to have a conversation with someone in English, and I was able to learn a little about life in Uzbekistan. He did tell me, however, that I should watch out for the people outside of the cities, who he described as "uneducated," "dangerous" and "wild-people." I nodded along, "Yes, they shout at me in Russian a lot."
Literally everywhere along the way was agricultural farmland with houses all along the road and people all over the place. It was absolutely the worst place to try and find somewhere to stealth camp and as the day drew to a close I realised that I was going to have to ask some of the uneducated and dangerous wild-people for help. I didn't very much want to do this as all I really wanted was to sleep and another night being the centre of attention didn't appeal but I had little choice in the matter so I stopped and asked a couple of guys if there was anywhere I could put my tent. "Atkuda? Atkuda?" they replied.
This conversation led to me meeting a lot of people before eventually being invited to stay at the home of a 12-year-old girl who could speak more English than all the adults put together. I followed her home on her bike. She looked older than 12. Outside her house we met a 13-year-old boy who was approximately half the size of her. Inside her house I met her family and lots of other people. I don't know who they were, but they all took it in turns to ask me "Atkuda?"
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The conversation continued in a cyclical manner for some time in Russian which, translated into English, went something like this:
"Where are you from?"
"England."
"Do you speak Russian?"
"No."
"Where are you from?"
"England."
"Do you speak Russian?"
"No."
"Where are you from?"
"England."
"Do you speak Russian?"
"No."
"Where are you from?"
"England."
"Do you speak Russian?"
"No."
"Where are you from?"
"England."
"Do you speak Russian?"
"No."
"Where are you from?"
You can imagine my relief then when a man arrived to much fanfare that everyone declared could speak English. He arrived almost to cheers and slaps on the back as he walked up to me and introduced himself with a flawless English accent, "Good evening to you sir. My name is Glen. Nice to meet you" before taking a seat next to me.
"Oh its unusual to find someone who speaks English" I said happily.
Glen looked at me blankly.
"I mean, it is impressive. That you can speak English."
Blank look.
"You can speak English?"
Nothing. The man had no idea what I was saying. Maybe he could speak English, but he certainly couldn't understand it. We sat in silence. A whole crowd of people was gathered around expectantly. Murmurs of discontent began. Why weren't we having a conversation? The 12-year-old girl, still my closest thing to a translator, prompted us "Talk, talk," she said, "How old are you? Talk."
'Yes, ok,' I thought, 'Lets start with the easy stuff.'
"How old are you?" I asked the man.
Blank look.
"How... old... are... you?" I repeated very slowly.
"I am fine, thank you."
We were all sitting on one of the big table things which doubles as an eating area, and food was brought out and we all ate dinner. Conversation continued, the locals speaking in their native Uzbek language (everyone is bilingual, Russian and Uzbek) whilst I was left alone for a little while. Glen was studying one of the 12-year-old's English schoolbooks very intently. I don't mean to be rude about the poor man, but he had a slightly stupid face. He was definitely one of the wild and dangerous uneducated people I'd heard about. He stared at the English phrases for a good half an hour before raising his head towards me once more and then asking me with a completely straight face, "Do you speak Uzbek?" I looked at him for a moment. He was absolutely being serious. "Why yes I do Glen, I was just waiting for the right moment to join the conversation."
Twenty minutes of intent studying later and he asked me "How do mast?" I shook my head. He was happy enough with this response.
He returned to his book. Twenty minutes later and he roused himself for another go. "How much brother?" he asked.
"No brothers, but I have one sister," I said, holding up one finger.
"Ah! And how father?"
"Just one father Glen, just one father." Everyone laughed. Glen looked a little sorrowful. I felt bad. He tried so hard.
Another twenty minutes passed and Glen tried one more time. "Do you catch me?" he said.
"I don't understand, I'm sorry" I said shaking my head.
"Do you catch me?" he repeated, reading it carefully off the page. I took the book from him and looked at it. It did indeed say 'Do you catch me' in brackets as an alternative way of asking 'Do you understand me.'
"No Glen, I don't catch you. And I'm not sure that book is helping."
Finally it was time to sleep and the dinner table was once again converted into a bed, with thicker blankets appearing to act as mattresses. I use the plural because it appeared that three of us were going to be sharing the table, and it was being suggested that I sleep in the middle. I did not particularly relish the thought of a night sandwiched between two big men and so I requested one of the side berths. Perhaps sensing my dislike of the sleeping arrangements one of the blankets was removed and finally it was only myself and Glen that had to share sleeping quarters. But that was okay, the lights went out and I turned away from him, said goodnight, and could finally get some rest. Then some more people showed up and the lights went back on and there was lots of noise. But eventually they left and the lights went out again. Then a mosquito buzzed in my ear. Then the dog, which lived next to us, went mad barking at everything. Then when that stopped Glen started snoring. And then when I did eventually get to sleep I was woken up by the father of the household shining a torch in my face. Although this seemed quite annoying at the time one can with hindsight understand his curiosity at coming home to find a scraggy white boy and the village idiot sleeping together on his dinner table.
All in all it was another wonderful night in Uzbekistan.
15/05/14 - 50km
16/05/14 - 96km
*This is not true - I lost to Dino at boules in Iran.
Today's ride: 146 km (91 miles)
Total: 19,395 km (12,044 miles)
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