Osh, Gosh, But Not So Posh

13 June 2009

I have a lovely and desperately witty blog post saved up on the memory stick, which of course won't open. Reader, you will have to use your imagination!

After the beauties of the Silk Road cities, we spent One Night in Tashkent (that sounds like a movie--maybe I'll write it someday, possibly starring a Corey or Susanna Hoffs or Molly Ringwald). Tashkent is rather Russian, with wide boulevards and what were clearly Soviet memorials. These remain, but are stripped of hammer-and-sickles and any reference to the motherland or proletariat or what have you. Otherwise, it's just a pleasantly clean city, much like any other. None of the mystique of Samarkand, Bukhara, or Khiva, and none of the architetcure. Enjoyably, none of the chaikhanas either--we had Syrian food! So unbelievably excited to not be eating kebab or noodles. Gorgeous baba ghanoush, indifferent pita, but lord, was it a relief.

David missed Tashkent with the remains of a spectacularly unattractive stomach bug that made the rounds of the truck, but is all better now, mostly. Manflu symptoms remain.

From Tashkent, we were herded into a fleet of taxis for a convoy (yay!) up through the mountain pass to the Fergana Valley. Nothing more than passenger cars is allowed through the pass--politics--so Tim drove himself and the big blue truck around through Tajikistan and back into Uzbekistan to meet us in Fergana late that night. The insane Uzbek taxi drivers positively flew through some gorgeous scenery, highlighted with some kuruk bought by our driver; kuruk is what happens when yougurt is hardened into little balls which then sit in the sun for a few weeks on some old lady's ratty table in an Uzbek truckstop. Yum.

Not much to say about Fergana itself, it's a regional city in the Valley. The Valley though is lvely, green and fertile, the heart of the Uzbek cotton monoculture. Duh. We broke the convoy (yay!) with a stop at the last traditional silk manufactory in Uzbekistan, in Margilan. Being something of a Textile nerd, it was hugely enjoyable to see the entire process from cocoons being steamed to the dyeing and weaving of the iconic silks this country is so well known for. In the west it's called ikat, and terribly collectible at auction, but here it's khan atlas. Beautiful whatever you want to call it.

Next day, on to another border. Central Asian queuing is something to be seen. Well, not really. Because they don't queue so much as riot. Anyway, out of Uzbekistan was painfully slow. Into Kyrgyzstan was calm and peaceful and ended with a new guide, called Assul (sp?), who is lovely and got us sorted. Last night and tonight in the second city of Kyrgyzstan, called Osh. In a homestay, the ground floor of a ghastly Soviet apartment block which is in fact new and clean and really quite good inside. Not posh, but preferable to what's to come...

...which is that tomorrow and we're on our way for six nights of bush camping--longest run on the trip--at Lake Song Kul. It's meant to be incredible, icy blue and nestled into the Tian Shan and Pamir mountain ranges, and comes complete with visits to yurts, fermented mare's milk, and some horse riding. There may be polo played with a headless goat, if we're lucky.