The alarm had bleeped and 5:30 and by 8:00am we were heading back down Rudaki street for the last time. Opposite the main palace Lisa had turned right onto the M41 where she’d pick up some cash at the corner ATM. I’d headed further on to pay one last visit to our second home in Dushanbe, Segafredos café, where I’d arranged to meet Shirin and hand over Arnes key’s for the house.

Shirin’s dark thick hair and warm smile was a nice start to the day I told myself as I handed her the keys.

My brain wasn’t functioning I told Lisa as I tried to figure out if we had enough cash for fuel. Finally the light bulb came on and I realized we could easily fill up without one of us having to go back to the ATM. It had 3 sominee 70c for one liter and my brain only firing in half a cell had panicked when I’d miss placed the decimal point and calculated that 10 liters would be 307 sominee.

As we headed out of Dushanbe we both felt a little sad, the town had made an impression on us even though we’d seen very little of it. Arnes house at the end of our stay was just a huge bonus we hadn’t seen coming and the time we’d spent there had given us a glimpse of normality; a fresh pot of cafietier coffee in the morning, walking butt naked to the bathroom in the middle of the night without worrying about bumping into a back packer in the hallway. Internet on demand and hot water at the turn of a tap.

To our left and into the distance the tall jagged snow capped peaks of the Zerafshan and Hissar mountain ranges could easily be seen. The fresh dusting of white powder making them seemingly glisten a little more than they had. The light morning haze has lifted and everything seemed sharp and in focus this morning. Sweeping bends came and went and a short 36 miles later we were pulling up past a set of red and white barriers and completed our last police check point in Tajikistan.

Outside we laughed and joked with the 20 or so money changers that were shoulder barging each other for our business. We agreed with one of them to change 100 Tajik sominee for 35,000 Uzbek Som. We left with a ‘wad’ of bills; I rubbed them over my face to the loud laughs of the throng who probably thought I was a bit strange.

Inside the small but modern looking passport hall we went through the usual exit formalities and finally passed the last set of gates. On the down slope toward the Uzbek border, half a dozen long cross continental trucks were lined up on the right, we had enough room to by-pass them and line jump. Down at the front the bolshy border guards were ordering us to stop. For fuck sake, what do you think we’re going to do…not stop. Lisa was having problems getting enough ground clearance to put down her kick stand and all the while the guard was getting stroppier thinking his barked orders for us to follow him were being ignored. “Keep you knickers on” Lisa said giving the guard a dead pan stare. He’d found delight in hitting her helmet and body armor but went too far when he leaned over and starting patting her chest. “Oi that’s me, there’s no padding there…fuck off, yes I’m a women and you don’t do that” Lisa's tone was that of a parent talking to a misbehaving child. The guard may not have understood the words but the tone he understood only too well…and he backed off.

Our passports were processed easily and quickly and customs was the same. We kept waiting for the time to hand over the $10 each we’d been told about by the money changers’ on the Tajik side but it never came. We hadn’t paid a thing.

On the bikes we were now surrounded by 7 vehicle inspection guards, each asking question about the bikes until they were satisfied with the answers and then came the order. There was no specific word but 3 grown men each revving an imaginary bike and lifting their arms into the air with child like grins made it obvious what they wanted. “Dah, Dah”? I asked “Is it OK. For here, for here..yes”? There was a bizarre look of excited anticipation in their faces and so not wanting to disappoint and pulled a quick u-turn, road back around 30 feet, road towards the official border and then wacked on the gas and hoisted the front wheel skyward as gaggle of border guards whooped and whistled. The most bizarre part of this is that Lisa’s been reading aloud over the last few nights, Ewan and Charlie’s ‘Long Way Round’ book, in Which Charlie describes the exact same request being made of him as they crossed into Russia. Brilliant!!!

Welcome to Uzbekistan country 64.

Pulling up to the vehicle inspection area on the Uzbek side we were halted in a very formal fashion and off the bikes we began the lengthy process of clearing the bikes. Five hours later and we were still there!

Passport and the other usual nonsense was pretty straight forward but in all of our travels this was to be both the politesse and the most thorough search we’d had carried out out. The guard went through everything. Every bag, every canister and then looked concerned over finding Lisa’s stashes of medications. If that hadn’t been bad enough they really were in for a surprise when going through every one of Lisa small plastic film canisters, in which she keeps her spices for cooking, they popped open a lid to find simple corn flour. There’s just one problem…it’s a sticky very fine white substance. Yeah we had some explaining to do. Well think about it.-what the hell is Russian for corn flour and how do you mime the words “it’s for thickening soups and stew”. It took us a while until finally I suggested that the guard taste it. That seemed to do the trick.

When all sorted and done we were given the OK to move on, but there was just one more thing. They wanted a wheelie. Lisa looked like she was going to burst out laughing. I’m crap at wheelies, I just don’t practice them, well, you don’t generally with ½ a ton of laden bike but what the hell, and so like before I u-turned brought the bike up to around 15mph, rolled off the gas then back on and like before the front wheel lifted upwards and everyone was happy. Good, now we can get going, I’m bloody freezing.

We’d hoped to get to Samarkand today but that was another 250 miles away and it was now late afternoon.

Heading out of one of the small towns I’d been waived over by a traffic cop who’d fumbled with the buttons of a speed gun whist doing his best to assure me I was going 93 km per hour in a 70 zone. (Lisa later told me that she had seen him but pretended she hadn’t and just ridden on!) “Protocol Protocol’ he barked. This sounded just like our first run in with police in Russia. He was demanding I pay $50 for an instant fine. He’d not even been holding the gun when I’d passed him. With that I told him I was a policeman in the UK and had been for 12-years and that we were brothers. Besides I continued “ I have GPS” tapping the gps screen firmly. “I have evidence of my accurate speed” I exclaimed. Daft thing is I said all this in English with a bad Russian accent like he was going to understand me better. With that I flicked through the menu of the GPS, found the calculator feature and punched in the numbers 6 and 3. I then proudly showed my antagonist that my GPS told me I was only doing 63 when I passed him. There was no disputing it the number 63 were there big and bold on the screen. He was suitably impressed and agreed that I didn’t need to pay the $50.

Pulling away and trying to catch up with Lisa I couldn’t believe that that had worked. I doubt he’d ever seen a GPS before. Another trick in the arsenal of “how to get out of shitty situations”

It was dark and getting scary by the time we pulled off the road and into a small motel. We been stopped at every single police check point, all good hearted and all very pleasant but it had cost us and in the dark we were now freezing. The room was shabby but carrying on would have been dangerous.
There was not a lot around the hotel and so after some small talk with the guy at reception )in Russian of course and sign language) he decided that he would take Simon to a shop where we could buy some food and then use the hotel kitchen. The guy only really wanted a ride on Simon’s bike! He later took Simon into the kitchen and they cooked eggs which we had with bread and vodka! Taking the vodka into our room which was so cold that I got my sleeping bag out and slept in that.

The light tapping on the door woke us at a little past 8:00am, neither of us had been woken by the watch alarms, which we’d set for 7:00am.

The bikes felt good beneath us and the clear blue and sky and bright sun a contrast to the engulfing darkness in which we arrived last night, chilled to the bone. It felt wonderful to be on the road and ahead of us a day’s travel to Samarkand. 130 miles of biking in a new country, where every experience is all part of the learning curve.

At the first police check point we picked up exactly where we’d dropped off yesterday and the gentle waving of the light red stick was our cue to pull up, smile like idiots and play nice. All the same questions came “vere are you going? Vere do you come from” the police man asked. “Skolka, skolka” came the next. Which by now we knew to mean ‘how much, cost your bike…skolka”. Over the years we’ve learnt top lie skillfully about this specific question. Answering truthfully, $20k for the bike and probably another $15k for all the modifications would be met with simple dissbelief. In countries where the average household monthly income is $20 per month (in the city, if they’re lucky), the figure of $35-40,000 is just unfathomable. You may as well explain that you’ve got Britney Spears naked and tied up in the boot (trunk) of your car and you’ll take a ‘fiver’ for her. They’d hear the words but they’d make no sense.

Our stock answer now is that the bikes are worth $5,000. That figure is met with headshaking, a backward step with hands on hips and gasp, which serve as a ‘wow’.

By late morning we’d swapped the arid desert landscape for mountains as we gassed the bikes easily passing even the newer cars on the road.

At the top of a pass the police waived us over and we pulled to the side. I lifted my visor, took of my glove and earnestly smiled and exclaimed “Salam aleykum”. The police man placed his right hand over his hart and repeated the same back to me, shaking my hand. “Cold. Cold’ he blurted in Russian, with a genuine look of concern on his face. “A little I replied in English” With that he shouted something to his subordinates and 10 seconds later both Lisa and I were sat on our bikes being served piping hot tea in small delicate bowls. :CHI, Chi” our new friends repeated as looking for our approval. He took our enthusiastic sipping and nodding heads as thanks and turned to his colleagues with a triumphant look on his face and his chest slightly more plumped than before.

With our tea downed we answered a few more question about the bikes and sped off waiving and honking our horns to our new friends. The next police stop played out like all the others. With Lisa parked up to my right busy talking with the ever so slightly narked officer, I leaned across and whispered “can you asked him for two sugars and some milk in mine”? Lisa’s small hiccup of laughter just confused the officer who was now demanding the “passport for motor…motor”. He means the V5 (vehicle registration doc. I told Lisa, who was still trying to hold back from giggling.

As we approached the outskirts of Samarkand I pondered what I’d learned of Uzbekistan so far? One- they like motorbikes. Two- they like wheelies and three- they bloody love Daewoos, every other car that isn’t a Lada is a Daewoo, with the badges pulled off and replaced with a Merc emblem or a sun blind pinned across the back window proudly emblazoned with ‘Cadillac”.

On the hillside ahead of us the Registan stood silhouetted by the Sun. The huge dome atop the tall tower suddenly casting me back to Casablanca in Morocco. After 30 minutes of wrong turns we hailed a taxi and followed it up to the main street we’d battled to find, with a few photos snatched at the ..Mausoleum we booked into the small B&B Antica and with the bikes parked up were soon sipping more tea, which we washed down the bread topped with homemade mulberry preserve. Wonderful.
We had the option of dinner at the B&B for $4 each or dinner for $8 each at the 19th century traditional Samarkand house – still with the families but in a different part of the town about 10 mins away. We decided to go for the $8 each one as we had not eaten properly yesterday and had had nothing all day today until we the tea, bread and jam at 4pm!

The old house- 19th century- was really beautiful in a worn-out way. Set in a spacious courtyard, pomegranate and the small tomato-looking but orange fruit – the persimmon trees – peppered the yard. The history of the family was very interesting and this house is one of only 3 remaining buildings in Samarkand which still have intact examples of this incredibly intricate and ancient architecture - that survived the red army’s barrage in the 1920’s. The family was in such dire need for money last year that they were going to have to tear down the house as it was in such a bad state of repair and they couldn’t afford the repairs. It was then that a few local wealthy business men that heard about this and helped. This is also the reason they now do these dinners – all to help out. Food was great – and so was the company as we were with as we met up with a German family. The family now living in Tashkent and working with the German embassy.

In the dining room we sat on the floor at a low table our feet tucked underneath us and the first of 3 coursed was served. A mixture of traditional salads lay out on small china plates. The second a selection of handmade pumpkins parcels and plov to finish as the main course.
The cold was getting the better of all of us and the tiny heater in the corner of the room was as much use ‘tit’s on a fish’. A nice idea but truly a fart in a tornado.

Later we lay in our room pulling our mountain hardware sleeping bags up tight around us and lying very still for fear of moving and cold air slipping past our necks and inside.

The room is nice but so cold. We’re both so cold at the moment it’s getting us down. Lisa can’t seem to warm up at all at the moment, she says she is feeling bone cold.

We jump out of bed at 5:00am and photograph the Registan as the sun came up. MY own snores (Simons!) woke me and a half squint glance at my watch told me it was 8:30am. “Shit”!

The room’s antiquated heating system was fighting a losing battle against the plummeting temperature and in the cold room we threw on our clothes as quickly as we could. Past the two alleys than run from the courtyard and into the second building we easily found the main room and the pre-laid table waiting for the breakfast diners. Worn china pots with hot water, bread and an assortment of sweet cakes and fried local specialties adorned the table.

A half hour later and wrapped in every layer of non-motorcyle gear we have, I’d slung the tri-pod over my back and the camera bag over my shoulder and we were heading for the main street and the world famous Registan. The description in the guidebooks is: and ensemble of majestic, tilting medressas. An overload of majolica, blue azure mosaics- vast spaces- one of the most awesome sights in Central Asia. The Registan translates as ‘the sandy place’ in Tajik and was once medieval Samarkand’s commercial centre. The medressas are some of the oldest preserved – everything else was destroyed by Ghengis Khan.

We first entered Ulugbek medressa (1420) amazingly it only took 3 years to build, opposite is the Sher Dor (Lion) medressa – this one depicts live animals ie the lions (this is not permitted by Islam) this took 17 years to build. .– in the middle is Tilla-Kari (gold-covered) medressa (1660) this is so intricately decorated with gold. – this was to show Samarkand’s wealth – if you have a look at the photos the ceiling is decorated so that it looks like it’s a dome inside – whereas its really flat!! Amazing and amazingly beautiful. We just couldn’t leave as it was such a beautiful place to be. Well worth traveling so far and so long…..we really hope that one day we will be able to come back.

BTW – we were offered a walk up to the top of the medressas for 20,000 som by the police guards on duty but that was taking the piss- we had heard that 2500 each was the max. Of course the price came down and down but really we had seen all that we wanted and needed to wander around in the courtyards and the square itself.

We decided to eat at the small restaurant Lyabi Gor which is right opposite the Registan. By now we were really cold – the day had been bitter but bright sunshine – we had a good selection of salads, bread, and one lamb and one beef shashlyk. For $11 we thought this was quite good. Warmed by the green tea we made our way back to the guesthouse and this evening the room was lovely and warm. The bathroom was absolutely freezing though!

With 456 photos downloaded from the cameras onto the external hard drive the time had flown and so we decided to make it an earlyish night.

Walked around market bought some pomegranates and then bought two more silk scarves from a shop on the posh street. Very out of keeping with the rest of Samarkand.

Headed back to room so cold, downloaded photos and then at with Germans at 5:30pm and then headed for room as so cold.
Went back out to photograph the Guri Amir mausoleum – wow. *******************

Down evening we’re both a bit low and very tired. Been back on the road 5-months and we’re questioning if it’s what we want to do. But if we stop what the fuck do we do?

The warmth we’d enjoyed over breakfast with Daniel and his family in the main room of the B&B, was now draining from our bodies in the sub zero temperatures of the morning. We’d ridden the short 3 km east out of town fuelled up the bike and handed over a large sum of cash 93,000 som. I was on fumes and had squeezed into the big GS 39.8 liters. Past the Registan for one last time we turned right at the lights and dropped straight onto the M37 which would take us all the way to Bukhara.

Good tar mix with, broken patchwork concrete slabs made for a relatively easy ride, although our hands were lumps of ice after the first 10 minutes.

Note of the day: For the first time in Uzbekistan we past a police check point and didn’t get waived over, frustrating as it is I was actually a bit sad to have broken our 100% pull over ration. Even the second check point just waived us through until on the outskirts of Bukhara we were finally directed to halt and produce our documents.

Bukhara is a labyrinth of streets and alley ways so pulled up at the side of the road we waived down a taxi gave him the details of Sasha & son B&B and followed him through the backstreet of what resembled a medina in Morocco. Dirt/clay street, pot holes and open drains thrown in for good measure.

With 2,000 som paid we headed inside and were instantly transported to some exotic and luxurious place. Daniel had said it was nice but we hadn’t expected it to be this plush and well appointed. Inside room number 3 we stowed our bags in the corner and just stared in disbelief at the intricate decorations hand painted onto every surface. The tall wooden beams of the rood struts painted a muted moss green and the decorated in gold paint. Delicate silk covers each window on the inside whilst heavy ancient looking blinds cover them from the outside.

Flowers and vases all hand painted cover every surface of the inside of the room and…it’s warm. Two large modern radiators heat the space and we felt the room embrace us as soon as we entered. Tonight is the first time in a while we’ll sleep naked. It’ll be great to get out of the thermal gear.

Dinner was courtesy of a small grill just across the road. Two great fresh salads, two shashlyk (one lamb and one beef) and two beers set us back $5 each.

To be warm feels sooooo gooood!!!