Samarkand to Tashkent

 Still feeling crappy. I gathered my things to check out and decided that I’d rather not. My train doesn’t leave until 7 at night and that’s a long way away. I went to the desk, bought another day, and returned to bed. After resting up I set out to cross the last item off of my to do list, buying carpets.

I grabbed lunch at a kebab place (can’t negotiate on an empty stomach) and entered the factory. The haggle out was smooth, these guys aren’t nearly as rough as the Turkish sellers at the bazar. We locked in a price and arranged for payment and shipping.

Back at the hotel I rested again, there were still a few hours before my train ride. My cabbie to the station was deaf, likely a welcome respite from the honking going on out here. He dropped me off and for the first time, I went through a metal detector at a train station. The train pulled in and with some difficulty I found my car. To my surprise, I found that I’d booked business class. The wagon was a bunch of Chinese made recliners plonked into a railcar, rather comfy. The conductor came by with complimentary tea for us and shortly after that, a man came selling somsa, hot dogs, and burgers. D luxe. What wasn’t deluxe was getting into Tashkent an hour late. That’s the worst train delay I’ve had on this trip.

To skip the song and dance of overpaying a cabbie I tried to load Yandex, finding my internet non functioning I threw myself into the lion’s den. Luckily for me, he knew the location of my hotel by heart. Unluckily for me, that meant he was also after my wallet. We settled on a slight overpayment after I told him to pop open the trunk so I could grab my bag and walk.

The Hotel Uzbekistan was built by the Soviets in the 60s to do what The Intercontinental does today. Until the fall of the USSR, this was the premiere hotel in Uzbekistan. They haven’t kept it up but for me that’s part of the curiosity. I checked in and after discovering that just like my train ticket I had booked it for last month, I got my room. For funsies, I booked a suite. This is the largest hotel room I’ll see in this trip and it’s costing me less than a hostel bed in Copenhagen. It’s oddly laid out, full of worn down fixtures, and rather charming. For some reason, the room uses UK power plugs. This country doesn’t use those anywhere else. The safe isn’t bolted to anything and is light enough to pick up and carry away. The TV faces nothing. There are two unconnected balconies right next to each other. It’s an odd bird. More than anything else, it’s a pimp palace in a place that attracts more Russians than Americans. After a beer in the lobby bar watching the Russians chatter, drink tea, and chain smoke, I called it a day.