I was up at 6:30, left the tent for the passenger seat of the car, and was tapping away on my laptop with the door open. Excuse me. Excuse me. I turned around to see a man and woman peering at me from the roadside. Excuse me, said the woman in perfect English, Please come for breakfast.
We'd left the desert the previous day, and had entered a greener landscape, rich with vegetation and agriculture. We’d arrived in Bukhara after dark, and drove in circles trying to find the cultural and historical town center. With no luck, we drove back into the countryside to find a place to camp. JP cruised at snail’s pace while I scoured the roadside with my flashlight, looking for a break in the thicket. We found spot to pitch our tent, blind to the surroundings outside of our headlights, and not long after, a car pulled over and a man got out. We thought he was going to chase us off his land, but after I spoke up to say I was an American and only spoke English, he hopped back in his car and drove away.
At the woman’s unexpected invitation, I got out of the car smiling and shook the tent to wake up JP and Derick. She was an economics professor at a local college, and it was her husband who had spotted us the night before as we were setting up the tent. He thought we had run off the road, and had stopped to see if we needed any help. She told us that she’d had a hard time sleeping that night because she was so excited to meet us, and had eagerly awaited sunrise so that she could invite us to breakfast. She wished that we’d stayed with her family.
At the woman’s unexpected invitation, I got out of the car smiling and shook the tent to wake up JP and Derick. She was an economics professor at a local college, and it was her husband who had spotted us the night before as we were setting up the tent. He thought we had run off the road, and had stopped to see if we needed any help. She told us that she’d had a hard time sleeping that night because she was so excited to meet us, and had eagerly awaited sunrise so that she could invite us to breakfast. She wished that we’d stayed with her family.
We walked down a long driveway towards the family compound, through a gate, and into a hard-packed sandy courtyard. The pastel-blue buildings were simple and well-kept, and a lush garden sealed the enclosure. After cleaning up, we joined the family for breakfast, eleven altogether. We sat on an elevated platform in the courtyard, under a trellis of plump green grapes, in the warmth of a magical morning glow. There was a basket of bread and an assortment of melons, with the main dish being a large bowl of buttery, warm milk. I followed suit and filled my bowl with chunks of bread. Delicious! At least I thought so. Derick and JP couldn’t seem to stomach it. It was a wonderful way to start the day, and after thanking our hosts, we hit the road.
Unconditional hospitality seems to happen in foreign lands - being invited in by strangers out of curiosity and kindness. I can’t say I’ve ever done this in the states. But whenever something like this happens, I tell myself that I'll try it some day.
I love stories about the kindness of strangers.
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