Sentob

We spend a night in the mountain village of Sentob at Rahia's guesthouse.
It's a couple of miles along a rough track, just wide enough for a car or cart. Unstable looking cliffs on one side, drops to the ravine on the other. Not to worry, we still had our very safe driver!

Our room is very basic. A bed with an iron like mattress on top of which is laid a thin bed roll, at least the pillows aren't totally impractical. No wardrobes or bedside tables, not even a hook.
The toilet is under the bedroom. Go outside down some steps and enter through a half height door. There is an open shower in an adjacent room, and even, strangely, a small sauna, the exhaust pipe of which goes up, and through the corner of our bedroom above. Wherever that is supplementary heating or a potential death trap via monoxide poisoning can be debated. Left the one small double glazed, air tight window open just in case.

Lunch was an assortment of pickled vegetables, and an unspecified meat and noodle soup with bread.

The owners eleven year old son was instructed to show us around the village by his father and insisted that we go. Son was somewhat reluctant but turned out fine after settling into the task.

We were not the only guests. A family of five Americans arrived; 81 year old dad, middle aged children, one female, three males. Sharing the toilet and small sink.

Like most countries in Central and the far East toilet paper is a fairly new thing.
This is not like soft, bum caressing tissue, but strechy, rough crepe paper. You know, the sort you make Christmas decorations from. More like an industrial sand paper.
Consequently the sewer system is not designed to cope with it. The answer is to put your used paper into a bucket by the toilet. Now there is a right way and a wrong way to do this. The wrong way is to wipe and drop, the right way is to wipe, fold and drop.
All very well if you are not suffering from gastroenteritis....
For the delicate minded I won't go into graffic detail, but someone, not us, made that one toilet into a bio hazard.

Dinner is an alfresco affair given that there is nowhere inside to eat. Out come the pickled vegetables, and plov. It is 19.00 hrs, quite chilly, the temperature drops rapidly in the hills. And then it's dark.
Difficult to go for a walk due to the many hazards underfoot. So retire to basic room. Sit/lie on unyielding bed. Then lie/sit on unyielding bed. Hope toilet is back to usable state.

In the morning a newish car arrives. Pleasent young driver who doesn't understand English. Say goodbye to our host. Tell him what a wonderful night we endured.
Off we go on a four hour drive to Bukhara, our next port of call.
Ask driver, in a mime, to sort seat belt in the back (have to wear seat belts by law, but the Uzbeks are reluctant to wear them). As he is doing this, pulling down the back seat to get at them, notice that there is a very large gas tank taking up most of the rear of the car. Gas is cheaper than petrol. So effectively we are being driven in what amounts to be a large bomb. With that in mind I suppose seat belts are rather irrelevant.
Did wonder why all passengers had to get out of the car at filling stations. These stations look like bunkers and have reinforced concrete walls separating one filling point from another. Now know the reason, if a vehicle explodes in one bunker only the driver is killed!!

Leave you with some photos. Our room;entrance to guesthouse; part of village; background.