I was finally free from my injury imposed stay in Tashkent, and free to wander the great Silk Road cities, but not nearly well enough to face the more extreme daily rigour of bike touring. I had already been to Samarkand and Termez on short trips between physio sessions, but now had to leave Uzbekistan before my visa expired.
The train leaving Termez was cancelled, leaving with a real danger of being stuck in Uzbekistan beyond my visa expiry, but luckily I managed to catch a late night flight back to the capital, Tashkent, and next morning I made my way by bus out of the country.
There was a lot of jumping out of the bus at checkpoints, having to haul all my luggage along with me. It was really not good for my spine, and by the time I reached my hostel in Shymkent, in Kazakhstan, I had inflamed the damaged area again. I spent a few days resting before starting back slowly on my easier exercises and stretches again. Although not nearly as bad as the problem at it's worst, it was a few days before I could continue with my travels and nearly 4 weeks till I was back to where I had been before the border crossing - an extremely frustrating setback.
Kazakhstan is by far the wealthiest of the 'Stans with large oil reserves, and the city of Shymkent has international restaurants, and supermarkets filled with Western produce. At first I was really excited by this, but ended up buying 95% local produce anyway! I more and more enjoy the taste of locally grown, in season, naturally ripened produce, with the added sweetness of knowing my food is free from the environmental impact of long-distance transportation.
After my first couple of days spine rest, I was able to carefully walk around a little. I went for a walk through Shymkent, and the sky started to turn a deep orange-yellow. Strong winds were blowing, and I wondered if this was the apocalypse finally coming. Then I realised - this was a sandstorm.
My father had for months now been getting worked up about me being buried alive in a sandstorm somewhere along the Silk Road - he must have read somewhere about an incident in ancient times. My father is now 84, and at that age where the whole world outside his front door is a big bad place. He has succumbed to irrational fear. It is perfectly rational to have enough worry to be careful when cycling out on the roads (whether cycling around home or in another country) - the chances of being squished by a lorry or car is almost certainly the most likely way of my tour coming to an abrupt and permanent end. However, this fear of sandstorms is the latest in a series of irrational fears, all of which are statistically less likely to happen than being struck by lightening. Of course it's useful to know about things that can be a hazard and know what safety precautions and measure to take (just like if lightning does happen and you're out playing golf, it's good to know enough to realise that stopping playing is a good idea), but getting worked up about things that are highly, highly unlikely to happen only leads to unnecessary stress and fear. Anyhow, here I was - finally coming face to face with the real deal!
My father had for months now been getting worked up about me being buried alive in a sandstorm somewhere along the Silk Road - he must have read somewhere about an incident in ancient times. My father is now 84, and at that age where the whole world outside his front door is a big bad place. He has succumbed to irrational fear. It is perfectly rational to have enough worry to be careful when cycling out on the roads (whether cycling around home or in another country) - the chances of being squished by a lorry or car is almost certainly the most likely way of my tour coming to an abrupt and permanent end. However, this fear of sandstorms is the latest in a series of irrational fears, all of which are statistically less likely to happen than being struck by lightening. Of course it's useful to know about things that can be a hazard and know what safety precautions and measure to take (just like if lightning does happen and you're out playing golf, it's good to know enough to realise that stopping playing is a good idea), but getting worked up about things that are highly, highly unlikely to happen only leads to unnecessary stress and fear. Anyhow, here I was - finally coming face to face with the real deal!
Soon after the unearthly orange sky, rain starts to fall and the drops are an ochre-to-blood-red hue, splattering as they hit my jacket, laden with sand grabbed from the sky. By nightfall the temperature has dropped and the orange rain has become white snow. This is the first week in October and much earlier than the first snows normally arrive - throughout my cycle tour I have been struck by how often climate patterns today are wildly different from what locals tell me are the "norms" - climate change is shaking the world in so many ways.
Once my back has stabilised a bit more, I make the short day trip to Turkestan - the most important historical site in Kazakhstan. It is contemporary with the great minarets and mausoleums of the Timurid cities in Uzbekistan and is an interesting visit, but lacks the grandeur and scale of the 3 main cities in Uzbekistan. So, I make my way back to Uzbekistan, to see more there.
Sadly, my extended visa-run to Kazakhstan meant I missed seeing Stella, who had just ridden into Tashkent. As well as meeting with and cycling with several cyclists during much of my cycle through Western China and into Central Asia, I had also been in touch with but never actually met 2 cyclists going the same direction as me, who I had been put in touch with - Li An from Taiwan, who was over a month ahead of me; and Stella who was over a month behind me on the Silk Road. Particularly through China, Li An gave me some good solid advice (thank you for that), and I was able to do the same for Stella. I nearly finally met Stella when I backtracked to the Nomad Games, but circumstances conspired against it, and they were to do so again now!
Once I did make it back to Uzbekistan, I got on a train to Bukhara. Bukhara is another of the crown jewels along the Silk Road, at least 2500 years old, with people living in the area for at least 5000 years, it rose to be one of the great intellectual centres of Islam, second only to Baghdad. Whilst Samarkand is dotted all over with historic buildings interspersed with less than impressive modern ones, Bukhara has a much greater concentration of it's historical buildings within the compact old town.
Bang in the centre is one of the biggest ancient minarets - the Kalyan Minaret. It is intricately patterned and looks particularly beautiful floodlit at night, when the patternation is shown in sharp relief by the shadows thrown by the lights, but it's hard to just enjoy how nice it looks without imagining what it must have been like for anyone found guilty of a crime in ancient times as they were led up the long staircase before being thrown from the top.
I met several people at the hostel in Bukhara from many different countries. Uzbek Kristina, used her local knowledge to arrange a day trip with a private driver for 4 of us for a tiny fraction of the cost that is normally extracted from foreigners on organised tours, and we were able to see several religious and secular buildings in the surrounding area from a range of historical periods.
It was time to leave Bukhara. Ahead lay a long journey, to a place I really wanted to see and experience - the Aral Sea (or what once was the Aral Sea). Not so many tourists make it that far out, but I was keen to go, so onwards aboard my next train.
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