May 4, 2013
Illness meant a disorienting combination of odd dreams, hourly waking, and assortment of sleeping positions that fail to solve the problem of discomfort, as I listened to my bowels hiss, rumble, and squeal. Fortunately, by morning things were getting better.
Breakfast was a ginger and furtive affair where every swallow was then followed by listening for signs whether I should continue eating the greasy breakfast of fried eggs, green tea, bread, and Russian breakfast sausages. I decided that I would be okay, but I still waited some time before leaving the guesthouse for the days’ sightseeing and errands.
I managed to get around to the sights that I hadn’t seen the day before, but after a couple of hours, I was exhausted and just wanted a nap. The problem is that I needed to walk outside the walls for a train ticket the next day to Samarkand. So, I carried on to the ticket office in the mid-day sun.
Given my state, I really hoped that the ticket office would be a more organized and timely affair, but it was the same game of protecting your place in line and waiting. The office was stuffy, which made me turn green a couple of times, but a mere 45 minutes later and I was free to buy food and on my way back before a glorious afternoon nap.
I continued to feel better when I woke up, but not enough for haggling with merchants for gifts, so I just ate the food I had bought at the convenience store for dinner and relaxed. I had the chance to meet Marius and Juliette. Yet another set of French backpackers, they were on extended holiday since both had contracts ended- Juliette a French teacher and Marius working construction.
Just as I was ready to turn in for the night, the guesthouse owner came in on her bicycle huffing and puffing. She had located five Russian motorcyclists to fill the place. That meant that I had to haul my belongings into the French couple’s room for the night. Then, it was lights out.