Strange Days in Tashkent

If you want to take a taxi in Tashkent you stand at the side of the road and count to 10. Seemingly, everyone is a part-time taxi driver and we've had a fair bit of fun speeding around the city in the back seat of all sorts of vehicles (provided they're Ladas or Daewoos) chattering away in broken English with the locals. There is also a pretty impressive Soviet era underground system complete with monolithic murals and back-up gas lamp lighting installed in readiness for the day the US nukes came raining down.

The city is a grid of wide leafy boulevards lined with grim concrete lowrise buildings. It all seems a little empty of people and traffic, and relatively untouched by Western commercial enterprises - you can get anything you want provided you want the Russian version. This can be quite entertaining at times - last night fellow Englishman Graeme ordered a plate of egg and chips as a bit of light relief from the kebabs and was served a plate of 9 fried eggs with nothing on the side. Handy for soaking up the vodka but not quite what he'd expected. The only thing you don't seem to be able to get easily is the local currency for some reason. On the odd occasions you can, it comes in such small domination notes that when you change a $20 note you walk away with a wodge too thick to stuff in your pocket.

Had quite an eye opener last night when after a few beers the group decided to head downtown to a Russian strip club recommended in the guidebook as 'to be seen to be believed'. It was fairly hilarious to say the least and I've now developed a whole new respect for the athleticism required in professional pole dancing. Definitely a safety in numbers sort of an evening.

About to head off into the mountain wilderness of Kyrgzstan for a welcome break from the heat and culture. It may be some time before I'll have the chance to post again.