The 'Stans - Dushanbe (7 August 2019)

As I had made my choice to take on the Pamir Highway, starting on the 9 August, I had to sort out my Central Asian admin. Today's task was to apply for a permit for the Gorno-Badakshan Autonomous Region (GBAO) - essentially it is an autonomous region that takes over nearly 50% of Tajikistan.

As I speak no Russian or Tajik, and the local government offices would not speak any English, I managed to find some extremely helpful instructions of where to go and what to do, all the way down to the specific colour of doors that I should be using when inside the government building.

I took my trusty dollar Dushanbe cab downtown in the general direction of the OVIR (Department of Visas and Registrations) building. The first instruction was 'when you are standing in front of the building, you want the white door on the far right. It seems to stick, though, so if you can't open it just knock politely until some one opens it.'

Success, I say G-B-A-O, the lady takes my passport and start making copies and hands me a bit of paper and motions me to another window. I pass the Tajik man my form and he asks whether I have paid, I hadn't. My instructions tell me I must go to Amanat Bank, a five minute walk away, to make payment there and then come back to the office with a receipt.

Amanat Bank is again very Soviet - disinterested and slow. I finally get my receipt so head back to the OVIR office and hand over my passport, visa, permit form and receipt for payment. The lady motions for me to come back at 4.

The next few hours I wonder around the leafy city of Dushanbe - the city is pleasant and slow paced, with the occasional G Wagon whizzing passed. For the poorest country in Central Asia, Dushanbe definitely has money.

Steele with the state emblem of Tajikistan:

Rudaki Monument:

Statue of Ismoil Somoni:

After ambling through Dushanbe, the time nears to four and I head back to the OVIR office and pick up my GBAO permit - I had successfully navigated the bureaucratic system of a former soviet republic without speaking a road of Russian. After a couple of weeks of travelling, this felt like the most productive I'd been in a long time:

I headed back to the hostel and bumped into Simon again, who happened to be staying at the same hostel. We caught up on our different journeys from the Uzbek border to Dushanbe, and Simon informed me that he had found a Portuguese chap to share the car journey in the Pamir Highway.

For dinner I met up with a friend of a friend - they both worked in Dushanbe when my friend was working here in the Tajik capital. Nargis, a local Tajik lady met me and took me to one of her favourite local Tajik restaurants slightly out of town. We had a mix of local foods including Mantu, Plov, Shashlik, Manti and a local Tajik beer. In true Central Asian fashion, Nargis offered to pay for the meal and wouldn't accept no for an answer.

The 'Stans - Samarkand to Dushanbe (6 August 2019)

An early(ish) morning start to head to the Tajik border. The Belgian guy trekked to my hotel and we jumped in a cab together to take the 30 minute journey. We arrived at the border which was busy with locals and participants of the Mongol Rally. My previous border crossing into Uzbekistan was delightful, this one...not so much.

Our passports were checked and we were allowed through the gate and down into no man's land until we reached a hut that we needed to pass through to get our passports stamped. There was no queue to get into this hut. Just a gaggle of Tajik local women, a group of Chinese tourists and a few backpacker. The Tajik local women did not concede an inch (big ladies) and we ended up pushing our way through this hut and out of the other end.

Now into Tajikistan, the Belgian and I part ways and agree to meet in Dushanbe before our Pamir trip. Simon finds a car taking him to his destination and I start asking around for a car to Dushanbe. I find a man who offers to take me for around $40, I say no to this and agree to buy one seat in the car. I wait for about 20 minutes and realise that no other solo traveller are coming my way. All the tourists seems to have pre-arranged transport. I buckle and negotiate a price of around $30 to Dushanbe, a journey of around 4/5 hours. A beige Vauxhall Astra is my ride for the journey.

The driver was a nice old Uzbek bloke. We stopped off at his house (I think) en route and he picked up a flash drive with music that he thought I'd like. It was an EDM treasure trove and the driver turned up the volume. At one point we are stopped by the police and the police officer comes to my window and asks me whether I am ok - must have looked like a kidnapping victim. At one point we stop at a makeshift Tajik roadside shop with the drinks being cooled by the water flowing down the rocks - my driver asks me to buy him an energy drink. I wholeheartedly agree. The last thing I need is this guy falling asleep on me:

 Tajikistan then starts to open up before my eyes, such a spectacular journey:

My driver kept insisting on taking photos of me when we had our strategic pit stops. Many gems like this in my phone (pretty tired by this point, but we persevere):

It wouldn't be a Central Asian car journey with at least one crash en route:

We stop at one natural beautiful place, we just happens to be after the 'Tunnel of Death' (or the Anzob Tunnel). The Daily Mail describes it as: 'The pitch black three-mile underground road linking Tajikistan's two main cities which is one of the most terrifying places on earth to drive. With the risk of falling rocks, blind potholes and even carbon monoxide poisoning, it's easy to see where this treacherous road earned its nickname.'

Essentially it is an unlit and un-ventilated tunnel with the odd pothole. If you're driving in a car, then it's not the worst ride. If you're cycling through it, you have a death wish. As we got out the car at the other end I chatted to a couple of cyclists - one put her bike on a van and got driven through, the other chap cycles through and looked grimier for it.

After more hours of driving and descending from the mountains, we finally reach the outskirts of Dushanbe. The driver asks me for a couple more dollar to go into Dushanbe and to my hostel. I agree and he starts making calls to the hostel to find out where it's located. I try telling him many times to just use my GPS, but he refuses and keeps calling. Eventually I win and I direct him to TopChan Hostel, but alas, the hostel does not exist. We both get out the car and walk around where it should be and ask locals for help - no one has heard of it.

The driver tells me to get back into the car and he will drive around some more. He doesn't seem to understand that this hostel does not exist. I take my bags and wish him good day. Luckily Maps.ME has offline hotels and hostels and I choose a highly rated one and hope for the best - City Hostel.

I hail a cab and am prepared for a standard taxi argument. But, this taxi is...air conditioned. And...metered. And the taxi driver actually turns on the meter. I love Dushanbe. (This still bring a smile to face as I write this months later).

I arrive at the City Hostel and it is fine. I find a Turkish restaurant just a few minutes walk away called Merve and head down for a feed. I haven't eaten since breakfast and order a lot of grilled meats. It's delightful. I had back to the hostel and head to bed.

The 'Stans - Samarkand (5 August 2019)

I have a good night sleep at Amir Hostel and head down for the classic Central Asian buffet breakfast. I chat to an English guy who is cycling from London to the Pamir Highway - he's been going for months and is on the final stretch, but still weeks of up hill cycling ahead.

I head out in the early morning to walk back to the Registan to explore further and actually enter the complex. But first of all, I go in search of my morning coffee. As this place is fairly touristy, I was expecting to find a decent cup of coffee. I bump into the Belgian guy at the Bedouin-esque café. We catch up over breakfast and make plans to share a taxi to the Tajik border the following morning. He recommends a book called the Great Game chronicling the British and Russian Empires' foray into Central Asia - I make a note to download it onto my kindle and get hooked.

We part ways and I head to the Registan to once again marvel at the historic beauty.





I'm a big fan of Central Asian mosaics:

As I'm wandering around the Registan trying to take some snaps for the Gram, a police officer approaches me and asks how many people are in my party. I say just the one. He then offers to take me onto the roof of the Registan for a small backhander, around $10. I of course snap up the opportunity and pay the bribe. We walk to a fire escape, and he looks around before ushering me up. We climb to the top and can see the Registan in all its glory. He tells me to keep my head down and to take my photos.

I paid my first (and last) Central Asian bribe for a slightly odd experience on the roof of the Registan in Samarkand...

At this point I decide to grab lunch, but realise my money is running low so have to do the standard Central Asian ATM hunt. You'd think there would be an ATM accepting foreign cards, I try several but no luck. Eventually I find a US Dollar ATM, so I withdraw what I can and then head to a currency exchange to finally get my Uzbek So'm.

Back at the hotel I do some reading and then meet the Belgian guy for dinner. The place we wanted to go to was closed so we end up at an Uzbek/American diner and have buffalo chicken wings! We discuss tomorrow's journey to Tajikistan and I take up his offer of a seat in his 4x4 around the Pamir Highway. I had read about these trips before the trip and thought it sounded terrible being stuck in a car for 5 days, but I put my faith in the Belgian guy...

The 'Stans - Bukhara to Samarkand (4 August 2019)

I wake up again covered in sweat. I'm happy to see the back of this hostel. What makes it worse is that the German tells me an air conditioned room cost an extra $2 a night. Brilliant. I make my way to breakfast in the hostel courtyard.

I have some time before the train in the afternoon, so I head to Hammam Bozori Kord - an Uzbek bathhouse. I try to obtain cash from the cash points but have no luck. ATMs are very hit and miss in Central Asia. I offer to pay in dollars, it looks like I've badly offended the owner. However, he soon changes his mind and takes my dollars. I wasn't expecting anything back but he gave me change in S'om and a half decent exchange rate.

I opt for the full package in the Hammam and go from hot stones, to a good soaking and a massage. It ends with a large man wearing not very much, smearing a ginger paste on my back. I'm then instructed to lie back on the hot stones. I think he forgets about me as im lying on this stone for half an hour and my back becomes hotter and hotter until its unbearable. I get a bucket of cold water thrown on me and the Hammam is done.

At the hostel, I pack my bags and head out on to the main road to find a cab. A couple of cabs try and charge me more than I double, I eventually find a reasonable man and we had to the station. The train to Samarkand leaves at 15:50, but these time I am travelling my Uzbek bullet train - the Afrosayib.

For under $10 for the journey, the Afrosayib is definitely the way to go. Although in true Central Asian style, the train was still late and only hit top speed for a few moments.

We arrive in Samarkand in the early evening and I find a nice taxi driver to take me to Amir Hostel. The taxi driver had a love of 80's British pop and he played me all of his favourites. I check in to Amir Hostel an am impressed with its cleanliness and modernity. It feels like the first hostel I've stayed in which hasn't been basic and it has curtains on each bunk - privacy at last!

I take an evening walk to the centre of Samarkand to see the Registan in person. A long walk in a straight line via new Samarkan, through a park with a massive flag pole (more on that later).



The Registan of Samarkand was as spectacular as anticipated. Although annoyingly was closed in the evening due to some sort of dance recital, with the band stand partially blocking my view. The park by the Registan was heaving with locals, enjoying evening snacks and drinks.

I grab some grilled meat for dinner and head back to the hostel. Taxi drivers seem a lot friendlier and cheaper in Samarkand, I manage to grab a ride in only a few minutes.

The 'Stans - Bukhara (3 August 2019)

I wake up saturated. My new air con didn't help much. As soon as I lie in the bed, I begin sweating. But up I get to explore Bukhara.

Five minutes from my hostel is the Chor Minor, so I make this the first stop of the day. The Chor Minor is a tiny mosque, with sky blue tiled minarets.

As I walk around Bukhara it feels noticeably less busy that Khiva.This may be because Khiva is far more compact and all the tourists (still only 10s) are squeezed into this area. In Bukhara it feels as though the entire town is on holiday.

Of all things, I find a German bakery (Cafe Wishbone), which served a reasonable coffee. I miss nice coffee. It's been impossible to find so far. The coffee tastes like an instant coffee, but it'll have to do. Afterwards I head to the market to do some souvenir shopping. I find Bukhara bird scissors, hand forged in the many steel workshops in the market.

There is more walking and a visit to Bukhara State Architectural Art Museum. Not the best museum of the trip. At least I get a better view of the city walls.

Its get to evening time and I start chatting to a Belgian and a German guy. The German and I go for dinner and discuss every European's topic of the moment - Brexit. We walk back to the hostel taking in the now lit up Bukhara in the dusk light.

Now, let's cast our minds back to lunch yesterday. My waiter, Akhmedov, offered to take me to shisha. The time had come. We met in the Lyabi Hauz square and he asked whether i was hungry. I declined and we jumped into a cab to the shisha bar. The cab went a far way out of town, in the back head of my head I was planning how I would escape if I was going to get jumped.

We arrived at the Golden Dragon Bukhara. So far, all legit. The best was to describe it would be as half club, half sealed off shisha room. The tunes were pumping in the 'club', which consisted of solely Uzbek men sitting on sofas around the edge of the room and two Uzbek women dancing on the dance-floor. A 95:5 ratio. We went straight to the shisha area, a closed off air-conditioned room where it was just me and Akhmedov. He ordered me a beer and a fruit juice for himself and we went through an hour or two of shisha, whilst he live-streams the events to his IG following.

After a while we headed back into town. He 'ran out of money', so I paid the dollar for the cab. He suggested keeping the night going, but I called it a day. 

The 'Stans - Khiva to Bukhara (2 August 2019)

I woke up bright and early in order to catch the 08:57 train from Khiva to Bukhara. I packed my bags and walked straight through the old town to the railway station - a walk of about a mile. The early start mean I avoided the desert heat, though the heavy backpack still meant I was a sweaty mess by the end of it.

The walk after exiting the old town to the railway station showed the investment being made by Uzbekistan into their historical Silk Road towns. Manicured lawns and immaculate paths were being laid, with a vast number of shells that are soon to be shops and accommodation. 

A helpful sign showing me how far I have left to traverse Uzbekistan:

Khiva railway station was only just opened in June 2019 and offers a comfortable, albeit slow, journey to Bukhara. The Afrosiyob (the Ubzek bullet train), does not currently service Khiva. However, the trains were still modern and clean, just very slow.

After spending many hours in cars in recent days, it felt almost luxurious to have the space of a train carriage. The train was sparse with tourists and I got speaking to an elderly Malaysian couple who were doing their own tour of Central Asia. We passed a good couple of hours until the train arrived in Bukhara.

Again, we go back to taxi drivers. Outside of Bukhara station taxi drivers were grabbing tourists left, right and centre in order to extract as many S'om as possible. I knew the exact distance and the rough price I had to pay, so refused all of the rip-off offers. Eventually, I was one of the few tourists remaining. One Uzbek guy speaking English offered me a good price, he disappeared for about 10 minutes and came back with a different guy and told me to go in his car. This guy spoke no English. I jumped in and we headed to the hostel. The driver asked for the hostel number, made some calls and we started driving in what I hoped was the direction.

After 20 minutes we arrived at the destination. I had booked the Mekhtar Caravan Sarai, this building had a totally different name. It seemed to match the destination in Maps.Me (offline maps - definitely download it if you head to Central Asia). Turns out the hostel did in fact change its name, but did not update any of its details on any of its booking sites. Helpful.

I checked into my dorm - a tiny toom, with two bunk beds. Barely enough space for one person to stand between the bunk beds. No aircon - I didn't realise how much of a problem this would be until later at night.

At this point I am starving. I did not pack any food for the train and didn't expect the train to be delayed. Rookie. I made the walk from the hostel into the centre of town which must have taken 30 minutes in the blistering sun. Today was the hottest day of the trip so far. Eventually I made it into town and tried to find a money changer or a bank to exchange my dollars. No luck. Every bank was closed. Turns out Thursday afternoon is a bank holiday for every bank or money changer.

Annoyingly, I had left my card at the hostel. So back to the hostel I went and picked up my trusty Mastercard. Again, what an error. If you find a cash machine that accepts Mastercard in Central Asia you are a lucky man. Visa is king. So after returning back to town via the hostel, and another 40 minutes of walking, I find that no ATM will accept my card.

At this point I'm raging and hungry. I go back to the hostel AGAIN. Pick up my visa, head back to town and find an ATM that gives me S'om. I'm now delighted that I can eat my first meal of the day at 5pm. I find a highly rated restaurant called Lyabi-Hauz in the area named the same. I order far too much food, but I can't tell you how much I have earned it.

After eating I start talking to my waiter. Akhmedov asks me about my trip and where I am going. He asks if I like shisha. I don't mind a bit of shisha. He then invites me out the following evening to his favourite shisha bar. I take his number and we agree to meet up. Afterwards I head to a café selling fresh fruit juice and knock back a watermelon shake. Perfect for the day I've had.

I then head back to the hostel via the Kalyan minaret to see it lit up in all its splendour.

Finally, back at the hostel I attempt to sleep. Even at night and with all the wooden flaps open, the room is still like a sauna. I jump into the shower for quick, icy blast and head back to sleep. The cold shower is now my air con.

The 'Stans - Khiva (1 August 2019)

I woke up in my small shared room in the Khiva Alibek hostel, a two storey hostel with a large deck overlooking the entrance to the old city of Khiva. I head down to breakfast to find one of the best breakfasts served in Central Asia.

Quite literally everything you could want for breakfast, and something you probably wouldn't want - pasta at 8.30am? With food in my stomach, my next mission was to get cash by exchanging some of my crisp dollar bills and to buy a plug adapter. The plug adapter I had worked perfectly for Turkmenistan but would not stay in the wall in Uzbekistan.

I bought my ticket in the old town, this time the lady let me purchase the ticket with entry to the 10+ museums located within the walled city. A few metres in, I found a money changer and received my Uzbek So'm. Uzbekistan has gone through a period of inflation, and its currency has yet caught up with the extra 0s. Therefore the biggest available note is usually a 10,000 note, or the equivalent to $1. Tourists attempting to exchange hundreds of dollars may find themselves stuffing plastic bags full of S'om. I was sensible and received the following wads.

Next the charger. I reviewed the timetable of the mini vans stopping outside of the walled city. Easy, the number 5 goes to the town's bazaar. I wait for the minivan, ask about the bazaar. Receive a bemused look and the van drives away. This is a common occurrence in the next month for me.

Instead I venture into Khiva and ask around for a phone charger. I am pointed from shop to shop until I end up in a dilapidated photography shop. The shopkeeper takes pity on me and offers to sell me his charger - this is probably the first sale the shopkeeper has had in weeks. I'm being bumped by a couple of dollars, but after all this man is selling me the charger that he is currently using to charge his own phone. I snap this up and happily head back to the hostel to charge up.

I spend the day touring the sites of Khiva, in between multiple coffee and water breaks. Khiva is HOT.

At around 2pm I settled down for lunch, a meal that would quickly become my staple. Plov and Manty. Essentially; fried rice with carrot and meat, and dumplings.

I kill some time at the hostel in the early evening, doing some reading and catching up on messages. No internet censorship in Uzbekistan! I head out at night for dinner. As soon as the sun sets, the temperature becomes mild and so much more bearable. At the same time each evening, local families will come out onto the streets and let their children play. I spy a couple of places for dinner, but still have the inner turmoil of having to request a table for one. I eventually get over this, have a beer with dinner and take in my final views of Khiva.