Disclaimer: I'll be the first to admit that I can be a pedant when it comes to the English language. But allow me to share another bugbear of mine: the incorrect or excessive usage of 'literally'. To me, literally is a special word to be used only for special occasions. One cannot say 'I was so tired that I literally fell asleep' or that 'my feet were so hot they were literally on fire'. Those are just two examples of unacceptable uses of literally and unfortunately too many of them are prevalent in English.
Glad I've got that out of the way.
Soviet-engineered flying saunas - literally - at their finest
After a couple of days in Tashkent - an intriguing city which I'll write about at the end of the trip - I took an old, 1950s-engineered Soviet Tupolev plane west across the country to Nukus, the capital of the Republic of Karakalpakstan. Much of the area has been devastated because of the destruction of the Aral Sea, and it's a desolate, barren part of the country, with not much on offer other than a remarkable art museum. It was to be start of my eastward journey back across Uzbekistan.
The population of the republic, which must surely be one of the least-densely populated parts of the planet, is around 1.2 million, 400,000 of whom are Karakalpaks. To my amazement, I found that very few people in Nukus spoke Russian, and those that did could barely understand me. My Uzbek and Karakalpak (not too similar to each other and very different from Russian) are not quite up to scratch, which proved a constant challenge.
It's a small miracle I even made it to Nukus alive. I don't know much longer Uzbek Airways can get away with using such old, decrepit contraptions and still call them aeroplanes, but the one I took surely must be heading for the scrap heap soon. The thing was, literally, a sauna and I've never heard such a racket in my life, parts of the plane sounded like they were falling off midair. And I'd never been inside such a hot, humid vehicle either. With the fans not working, it was an utter, 90-minute nightmare. If you want a nice, swelteringly humid Turkish sauna, I can recommend taking a domestic Uzbek Airways flight. A real treat indeed.
The hotel was even better: a mosquito-infested cauldron of stale-smelling grimy sheets, musty air and a barely-functioning putrid toilet. You know, I've read a lot of books about travel across the former Soviet Union and stories like these from hotels always sound so adventurous and romantic when you read about them in print. They're not so fun in person. Of course, many of these books were written in the 1970s and 80s.
Suffice to say, it was one of the most unpleasant nights of my life. I spent the entire night swatting away the interminable mosquitoes which were coming at me like kamikaze pilots. If the blood-splattered wall and the remnants of my Economist are anything to go by, I must have killed at least 30 of the bastards, with many more escaping to prey on the next poor victim of that room.
The highlight of the city, and the primary reason for most people going to Nukus, is the [Igor] Savitsky Art Museum. Not to go into too much detail here, but Savitsky was the former curator of the museum, which is notable for its outstanding, eclectic collection of Soviet-era realist and avant-garde art. Most of these paintings were banned in the Soviet Union but found a safe haven in the backwaters of Uzbekistan, far from any prying, too-inquisitive eyes. Not many visitors make it out to Karakalpakstan, but those who do so are rewarded with what must surely be one of the more fascinating collections of art you're ever likely to encounter.
Never mind mail-order brides: come to Uzbekistan!
I swear, every man I've met here has asked me the following questions, in this order:
1. Where are you from?
2. Have you got children?
3. Have you got a wife?
4. Why not?
I love how question 2 is always asked before question 3. Anyway, after answering no to both questions, I'm immediately offered or told about a beautiful young woman who needs a husband. This has to be the easiest place in the world to find a wife. Witness:
As I was waiting for my transport from Nukus at the bus station, a decaying old structure about 6km outside of town in the middle of nowhere, I started a bit of banter with the market vendors, all lovely young ladies. One in particular, a strikingly pretty teenager, was being rather flirtatious. When her mother appeared, I made the crucial mistake of telling her that I thought her daughter was beautiful. This sent spasms of euphoria through the marketplace, and within minutes they were already in the advanced stages of wedding preparations. The daughter seemed awfully excited as well, which I found flattering. I had to quickly put a stop to all the hubbub, and calmly told them I couldn't marry this girl.
Why not, she aggressively inquired? Because I'm already taken, I responded. But is she as beautiful as my daughter? (I think that's what she said, she was speaking half Uzbek, half Russian) Now how does one answer a question like that without getting brutally assaulted afterwards? I stammered something or other and then conveniently enough, it was time for my taxi to leave. After getting an amusing group photo, I said my goodbyes despite one last plea from the mother to marry her daughter.
[Speaking of photos, I failed to bring my camera cord with me, so all photos will have to wait until after my trip.]
And now a brief word about the mud-enclosed wonders of Khiva
I've now reached what I'd consider to be the first stop on the old Silk Road, just one of a host of cities in Central Asia that have always held immense romantic allure for me. I'm quite a sucker for Great Game history (see Peter Hopkirk's 'The Great Game' for an absolutely riveting tale), and have long wanted to visit this part of the world, an area dripping with history and culture. In Great Game lore, Khiva was known for its slave caravans and barbaric cruelty, as it housed a great many Russian slaves captured by Turkmen tribesmen in the 16th, 17th, 18th and 19th centuries. Repeated attempts to free the slaves were unsuccessful until the late 1800s.
Most of historic Khiva is well-preserved as a veritable open-air museum, replete with medressas, minarets, caravanserais and various other structures within the cosy confines of ancient mud walls. It feels slightly artificial and a bit lifeless at times, and it's hard to imagine that at one point it was a bustling town, teeming with life and activity and market vendors. Now there are only a few souvenir stalls and the odd tourist here and there. It's not high tourist season at the moment, it's way too hot for that, and much of my trip thus far has been largely devoid of contact with other travellers. Tashkent was quite eerie in that respect and everywhere else has been quiet as well. Not that I'm complaining much about that aspect, though the heat has been downright unbearable and I am suffering a wee bit.
From here it's onto Bukhara.
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