he city of Samarkand might be more familiar to American ears than the
country of Uzbekistan, and the Registan
is the monumental centerpiece of this city. We were awed
by the intricate tile work and sheer grandeur of this most amazing of
town squares. The Registan consists of three separate medrassahs,
each so ornately tiled that one could spend days just looking (we
visited on four separate occasions!). However, people in the city
seemed to fail to appreciate that which was right under their noses
(one girl, Tatjana, had visited only once in her 16 years) and we
tried to stir their appreciation by offering up: "We have NOTHING
like this in America."
ur neighborhood was excited to welcome two foreigners into their
daily lives and Jill, especially, struck up a quick friendship with
the 16-year old girl, Tatjana, who hoped to study English at the local
university. After a few days we were ready to move on to the next
town, Bukhara, but our new friends wouldn't hear of it. In the end,
we had to promise to stop for a couple days on our way back through.
Yes indeed, we had become hostages . . . hostages of hospitality!
n the opposite end of the spectrum, we also endured our most tenuous
police encounter in this country as well. It occurred when traveling
by train between two towns in western Uzbekistan. The rail lines
cross from Uzbekistan into Turkmenistan and back again. We knew this,
but believed that Turkmenistan, like the other CIS countries, allowed
travelers a grace period of 72 hours while in transit.
t 2:30 in the morning, on a hot, claustrophobic, bug-ridden train,
two groggy Americans without proper transit visas probably looked ripe
for the picking to the Turkmenistan border guards thumbing through our
visas. While Jill remained behind (saying more earnest
prayers), Dave was led into an empty compartment by three guards whose
English was limited to "BIG PROBLEM". Their voices rose in
intimidation as their demands were met by shrugs and blank looks from
Dave. Finally, one of the men wrote "$100" on a piece of paper.
Stalling for time, Dave continued his charade until the pen and paper
were handed to him. Now it was time to play their game or accept the
unknown consequences. Dave countered with $10. Eventually everyone
agreed to $15 - five for each goon and we were quickly assured of "NO
PROBLEMS" the rest of the way.
nfortunately, back at the Uzbek border the next morning, the Uzbek
guards weren't too pleased to see that we'd used up our single-entry
Uzbek visas and had no formal record of entering Turkmenistan to boot!
Technically, we couldn't be in either country, leaving difficult
decisions up to this border guard. It was only some impassioned and
persuasive words from a Russian woman in our compartment that allowed
us to proceed without further hassles. As the guard passed by a final
time, we were instructed to use a different mode of transportation on
our return trip. No problems there. We flew.
he city of Samarkand might be more familiar to American ears than the
country of Uzbekistan, and the 
ur neighborhood was excited to welcome two foreigners into their
daily lives and Jill, especially, struck up a quick friendship with
the 16-year old girl, Tatjana, who hoped to study English at the local
university. After a few days we were ready to move on to the next
town, Bukhara, but our new friends wouldn't hear of it. In the end,
we had to promise to stop for a couple days on our way back through.
Yes indeed, we had become hostages . . . hostages of hospitality!
t 2:30 in the morning, on a hot, claustrophobic, bug-ridden train,
two groggy Americans without proper transit visas probably looked ripe
for the picking to the Turkmenistan border guards thumbing through our
visas. While Jill remained behind (saying more earnest
prayers), Dave was led into an empty compartment by three guards whose
English was limited to "BIG PROBLEM". Their voices rose in
intimidation as their demands were met by shrugs and blank looks from
Dave. Finally, one of the men wrote "$100" on a piece of paper.
Stalling for time, Dave continued his charade until the pen and paper
were handed to him. Now it was time to play their game or accept the
unknown consequences. Dave countered with $10. Eventually everyone
agreed to $15 - five for each goon and we were quickly assured of "NO
PROBLEMS" the rest of the way.
nfortunately, back at the Uzbek border the next morning, the Uzbek
guards weren't too pleased to see that we'd used up our single-entry
Uzbek visas and had no formal record of entering Turkmenistan to boot!
Technically, we couldn't be in either country, leaving difficult
decisions up to this border guard. It was only some impassioned and
persuasive words from a Russian woman in our compartment that allowed
us to proceed without further hassles. As the guard passed by a final
time, we were instructed to use a different mode of transportation on
our return trip. No problems there. We flew.
