Ferganaliscious

Kellen Smetana
After a wondrous week in central Kyrgyzstan, we crossed south into the Fergana Valley region of Uzbekistan.  This eastern arm of Uzbekistan is almost completely enclosed by Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan and is incredibly fertile, home to some of the longest continual civilizations in Central Asia.  The cycling and especially the people here were remarkable.

Lovely riding

We had previously thought the only border crossing open to foreigners was just beyond the major southern Kyrgyz city of Osh, but a day before reaching this city, we found ourselves a mere 3 kilometers from a backroads border crossing and decided to try our luck.  I would not be surprised if we were the first foreigners they have encountered this decade.

On the Kyrgyz side, I had to wake up the exit officer from a mid-afternoon nap.  While processing our passports, the two guards were amazed we did not have any souvenirs (they didn’t quite understand when I explained that all our souvenirs were in our head…).  These two joined us to the Uzbek side, where the twenty minute processing of our passports allowed us to have some fun with the three Uzbek guards there.  We helped ameliorate their abysmal pronunciation from their Key English Phrasebooks, showed them our maps of the region, and tried not to laugh too hard when one of them seriously wanted to trade his bulletproof camouflage infantry helmet for my bike helmet.  The circle of us was a perfect metaphor for duck, duck, goose: camo uniform/loaded M-16… camo uniform/loaded M-16… camo uniform/loaded M-16… spandex/sunglasses!  It was by far the most fun I’ve had at a border crossing and was perfectly capped when we successfully made it across.

Even after the jovial border guards, Uzbekistan delivered us by far the warmest welcome of any country yet.  The first street corner we passed had about 30 people out at the market and nearly every one waved excitedly and directed us to Andijon as we rolled by.  Then, the first car to pass us on the road pulled over to give us bread and take some photos.  “Welcome to Uzbekistan,” they all said; we thanked them many times and told them how happy we were to be here.

Welcome to Uzbekistan!

First race of Uzbekistan... don't worry, I always let them win

Late in the day we arrived in the Fergana Valley city of Andijon and quickly discovered the absurdity of the Uzbek currency.  ATMs are difficult to find and often of little use to foreigners, so most travelers bring US dollars to change to Uzbek som on the black market.  As this market is technically illegal, it consists of young men prowling the bazaars and large markets with huge Santa-like sacks of money, looking for foreigners to trade with.  The good news is that they give you a rate nearly double the official bank rate, and the ones we have dealt with have been very fair about the whole process.  As we arrived so late the first night, the hotel offered to exchange currency for me with our change from paying for the room.  The manager took out two drug-dealer sized stacks of cash and pulled aside a few bills to count.  When he finished, I waited for him to hand me the few bills, but instead he simply pushed the two stacks my way.  Whoa, when I really exchange money I’m going to need a backpack!  To give you a sense of scale, the largest Uzbek bill is worth about 40 cents.  People here get really good at counting…

(Cargo) Pocket change

The next day was a flat, pleasant day of riding through the lush Fergana valley.  We agreed to start looking for a campsite at about 7:30pm.  At 7:15 I came to a small village a few minutes ahead of Ben, who had stopped to take some photos, and decided I was in the mood to stir up a story.  I pulled over amidst a large group of men out drinking beer and hawking watermelons.  After fielding the standard questions (where am I from, where am I going, etc.), I posed to the group, “Mozshna… polatka toot?” (Is it possible… tent here?).  “Oh, no, no, no!  No tent necessary, you can stay in our home.”  (Not in English of course, but I got the gist of it).  Yet another instant act of kindness from the people here.

Yes, yes, come stay here!

Ben arrived and as we walked with the group into the village, I soon discovered they had offered us a room of man who wasn’t even there.  Fortunately, when we met Huday, he was more than welcoming and immediately invited us in for plov dinner with his family.  After dinner we were set up in the room, a spare room in the center of the village used for eating and playing cards.  For the next three hours we held court with every man and boy in the town, answering questions about everything from Eminem to what we thought of Uzbek girls.  It was a riot: plenty of laughter to go around.

Our bed... before the entire town came in the room

The next morning people began peeking their heads in the window at 4:30 to shout, “Good morning.”  Just after 5:00, Huday’s young son Alliot burst in the room to ask if we wanted any tea.  “Umm, yes that would be great… guess we’ll get an earlier start today than planned.”  After a wonderful breakfast and plenty of rounds of thanking the family for their hospitality, we were back on the bikes.  It was such an unbelievable experience and a great example of the hospitality people take such pride in in this part of the world.

One aspect worth noting is that it was easy to tell we were in a much more devoutly Muslim country than any previously.  Aside from Huday’s wife and daughter, who we met briefly inside his home, the dozens of people we met and spoke with, and pretty much anybody out hanging around town, were male.  It was an interesting dynamic and something you very quickly notice as different from the West.

Two days later we found ourselves atop another mountain pass.  It was much lower than those of Kyrgyzstan, but it was actually sunny!  I wanted to take a photo to show everyone back home, but we had just crossed our sixth police checkpoint of Uzbekistan and they made it very clear there were no photos allowed on the mountain.  Ahhh, being back in a police state again just makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.  Most officers just check our passports kindly and let us pass, but some have clearly tried to extort small sums of money; I just tell them I have nothing but a tent and clothes and they’re usually annoyed enough to send us through.

Did you really expect me to go without the photo?

Much of this paranoia stems from an incident that happened Andijon (the city I mentioned earlier) in May 2005.  The Uzbek president Karimov was cracking down against political rivals and had 25 prominent businessmen arrested in the city.  Many of their allies marched on the prison in a largely peaceful demonstration to have them released.  The local authorities overreacted and a few hundred civilians were killed in what has been called the Andijon Massacre.  Because the Uzbek government refused any investigation into the matter, this led to the exodus of many international companies and NGOs from the country, and is also probably the genesis of the dozens of police checkpoints in the Fergana region.  The repercussions of this are still being felt in the business community and in Uzbekistan’s general relations with the West.

After the pass it was down the easy road to the Uzbek capital, Tashkent.  Change is afloat and all kinds of surprises are in store, but I’ll save those for the next post…