To be honest, I always imagined Tashkent to be a hostile concrete hell. After all, according to the weather statistics, it is the hottest place on our entire trip. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. The city is much more pleasant than expected, even at temperatures above 40 degrees. There are many parks with old trees and dense canopies that provide shade. There are also fountains practically everywhere to cool the air. So on my “day off” I take a stroll through the city centre and watch the hustle and bustle without suffering a heat stroke. The Uzbek public transport system is also surprising: whereas at home in Berlin, public transport becomes a rather disgusting, sweat-drenched affair already at 25 degrees, here all the trains and buses are pleasantly air-conditioned. They are also clean and instead of an obscure fare system, there are card readers at the entrances where you can simply pay the equivalent of 12 cents per journey.
Welcome to Uzbekistan
Apart from a relaxing walk, I still have a few errands to run in Tashkent. After yesterday’s border crossing madness, I didn’t have the nerve to get car insurance from the border touts. I want to make up for that today. Like all Stans, Uzbekistan wants every car on its roads to be insured. Car insurance here is a cheap and uncomplicated affair: you specify a duration, hand in your driving licence and registration papers, pay, and at the end you get the papers which you can show at stops. The insurance office is on the fourth floor of an old brutalist building. I am politely invited in and given a cup of tea. As a tourist, I am referred to the agent who speaks English, a smiling middle-aged woman who introduces herself as Dilya. Dilya types my details and those of the car into her computer. Shortly afterwards, the printer spits out an insurance contract. She asks me to check the data on it. Everything’s fine. — But the price? 11,000 sum for 14 days. That’s 76 Euro cents. Is there a zero missing here? Dilya checks computer again and laughs. Yes, the price is correct. I’ll probably never insure a car that cheaply again. I take my wallet and start going through the small bills. Dilya waves me off: “Welcome to Uzbekistan!”
Eric’s Vehicle Spa
Next item on the programme: The little Honda has bravely endured the long journey from Germany and now deserves a service. — With the nasty roads atill ahead, I want to make sure it’s in good order. I take the car to Eric’s garage, which is highly praised by travellers in the overlander app. Eric actually has a different name, but has adopted a Western pseudonym that we long-noses can remember more easily. As discussed, Eric and his assistant change the oil and then check the various suspension parts. Eric thinks to have found the cause of the knocking suspension: A rear shock absorber is leaking oil and is probably no longer fulfilling its purpose properly. — Crap, the shock absorbers were pretty much the only thing I hadn’t changed as a preventative measure before the journey. Murphy’s Law. Spare parts for Honda are apparently difficult to come by in good quality in Uzbekistan. Eric advises me to wait with the repair until back in Kazakhstan. The supply of spare parts is much better there, he says. With the low speeds that are possible in the Pamir, the worn-out shock absorber shouldn’t be too much of a problem, he adds. If possible, take the nastiest bumps with the other side! They also check the air filter. I had fitted a new one at home before setting off. When Eric knocks it against the wall, a small avalanche of dust breaks loose. The thing is already totally clogged from travelling across the Kazakh steppe, mostly on tarmac! Luckily I have a spare part with me. However, the heavy dust will only start in the next few days. Eric gives the old filter a good blast of compressed air and gives it to me as a spare just in case. Note to self: snorkel air filters are perhaps more than just pointless decoration for 4×4 posers.
The Race to Samarqand
After two days in Tashkent, I set off in the direction of Samarqand. There are actually only 300 kilometres of dual carriageway in between. But these turn out to be the nastiest of the journey so far: the traffic is dense and the drivers are of the typical hot-headed kind. I have the choice of either joining the race on the left, in the lane with fewer potholes, at 120 km/h with a speed limit of 90, or taking it slower on the right lane. However, the potholes there are so brutal that you can only do 40-50 at the most. I decide to take the slow lane on the right and blissfully ignore the anger of the tailgating lorry drivers behind me.
After far too many hours, it finally appears: The large, colourful sign reading “Samarqand”. This is the end of the first long, fast connecting stage of the journey from Europe to Central Asia. I stop under the letters, sit down on the pedestal and reflect. I have travelled around 6,000 kilometres from Berlin in the last 14 days. Through Eastern Europe, Russia and once across Kazakhstan. A distance for which, in your right mind, you would typically take a not-that-short flight. Nevertheless, travelling in fast-forward was still an exciting experience. But my mind travels slow and still has to process all the impressions from the past days. In any case, I’m looking forward to taking things much more slowly on the second, leisurely stage of the journey through the Pamir Mountains. — Together with my two co-pilots, who will be flying in next night.
The Crew Unites
The next day, the co-pilots have landed. We chose our guesthouse based on the pool in the courtyard. The fact that in reality it’s far smaller than in the pictures – no problem, because at 38 degrees in the shade, any chance to cool off is welcome. Especially for the two co-pilots, who had come straight from a cool German July and hadn’t yet had time to acclimatise. We spend the hottest hours chilling out in the courtyard before exploring the famous old town of Samarkand.
In the evening, we visit the Registan, the famous central square that adorns the covers of almost all Uzbekistan travel guides. The Registan is surrounded by three ornately decorated medreses, islamic cultural centres. The front sides facing the square show huge archways decorated with elaborate mosaics. The courtyards behind the medreses are pleasantly cool, small green areas. And host buniness savvy souvenir dealers. Fortunately, they all accept a polite no. After looking around, we sit down on one of the pedestals around the square and watch the hustle and bustle. Apart from a few Western tourists, it seems to be mainly Uzbeks who visit the square. Lots of children run around the square and family photos are taken. The Registan also has its very own acoustics. The large archways reflect the sound back onto the square. It is not deafeningly loud, but rather a subtle carpet of sound made up of many voices. A lively religious centre. Quite unlike in the West. I enjoy the atmosphere.
After the Registan, our stomachs growl. We visit a nearby grill house. There we get the best kebab outside Neukölln I’ve had in a long time: we get served super tender and finely spiced beef and mutton skewers, as well as liver, ordered by the adventurous young co-pilot. Along with cold beer (a toast to Central Asian Islam light) and extra sweet lemonade. If that’s not a good basis for the big adventure in the Pamirs!
Translated from German with the help of AI.
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