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.
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.
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.
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…