NUKUS

One US Dollar converts to around 2,250 Uzbekistani Som. With an exchange rate like that, you’d expect to see a lot of zeros on their bills. But the largest note in Uzbekistan is a mere 5,000 Som - worth a little more than two bucks - and they only started issuing it about a year ago. The next largest is 1,000 Som - worth less than a dollar! After we exchanged our money, enough for three guys to spend a few days in Uzbekistan, we bought a black briefcase so we could carry around our stacks of cash. Not really. 

We crossed from Turkmenistan into Uzbekistan on the last day of Ramadan. Traveling through a largely Muslim part of the world during the Islamic holy month of fasting was no problem, but entering a new country on the holiday that breaks the fast posed a few challenges. Nothing was open. The town of Nukus was peaceful and quiet. The banks were all closed and we needed to exchange money. Standing by our car and looking confused helped, and soon a nice man stopped to lend a hand. We followed him to a hotel and then parted ways.

Alisher sat behind the front the desk. The hotel was closed. He was the only employee working the holiday shift, and it was his birthday. He couldn't help us exchange money or take credit cards, but he offered to cook us dinner in the hotel kitchen. We obliged and decided to help him celebrate. He was friendly, curious, excited to practice English, and happy to make some new friends. Even though we had no way of paying, Alisher invited us to stay at the hotel that night. I hit the hay after dinner, and JP and Derick stayed up late drinking and hanging out. 

The city was back in business the next day. We exchanged money at an outdoor market with a bunch of dudes standing around holding fat wads of cash. Black Market. Apparently it was a better exchange rate than the banks. Whatever. After returning to the hotel to pay Alisher, we left Nukus. I drove us back out into the desert, JP rode shotgun, and Derick stretched out in the back to sleep off his hangover. The roads were smooth, and we made good time as we cruised through a dry and dusty landscape. 

I'd heard rumors of a gas shortage in Uzbekistan, and it was true. The gas stations were all pumping a mixture of compressed propane and methane into cars with converted engines, but there was not a single drop of gasoline to be found. We had an empty canister in the trunk, and kicked ourselves for not having filled it up in Turkmenistan. By late day we were running on fumes, and entered a ghostly desert town knowing we'd be stuck unless we found some gas. Unlike Nukus, the few people we encountered were less than thrilled to help us. Eventually we found some fuel at an old tire shop run by a grumpy father and son. After some haggling, they pulled an old container out of the back and funneled half a tank into our car. We paid more than we should have, but were in no place to bargain.

What a relief! We hit the road with a regained confidence and cruised into the dusk. But within a half a mile the engine started to rattle and tick. Our trusty little car, which had been healthy up to that point, had just been poisoned with some bad gas. There was little we could do at the time, and we knew we’d have to get it fixed, but at least we weren’t stranded. On to Bukhara...