Lake Aydarkul

After breakfast of fried egg and boiled egg, bread cheese, black tea and biscuits we are picked up by a battered old car with no seat belts in the rear. 'no need sir/madam, very careful driver', exclaimed the man from the tour guide who was there to collect payment for our two day excursion.
The four of us set off into the desert on a three hour journey to lake Aydarkul, which is close to the boarder with Kazakhstan. These lakes are man made, and a by product of soviet planning. 

Miles and Miles of desert scrubland, crisscrossed with the odd rutted track, and the occasional shack for goat, and horse herders. Wasn't worried about the car breaking down as Mike had his trusty umbrella for sun or rain. Seems whenever we venture into a desert it rains, and today was no exception! Apparently the first rain for some time.
Lucky us!

The desert has a strange soundless quality to it. I say strange because we rarely experience it. It brings to mind the song by America, 'A Horse with no name'.
We both could have stayed there for days. It is both intense and liberating.
There are herds of sheep and goats. These are black wool and much larger than the eurepean ones. During the spring months 2 meter long lizards suck the milk from them, and at the same time poison the animal. 
There are also lots of tortoises around the lake. 

As it was we arrive at lake Aydarkal, Potter about for an hour or so, and drive back towards the hills and low mountains on our way to the next village where we are to spend the night.

Leave you with some photos of the desert and lake, and a stock photo of lizard. 

Asraf village

Had a pleasent three days in Samarkand, just about right for the sites and markets. Time to move on. Arranged for a two day stay in a couple of villages in the mountains not far from the Kazakhstan boarder, close to lake Aydar. First a small village called Asraf.
Situated in a valley with a small stream, walnut trees, and an abundance of wild flowers and rose bushes. Has accommodation designed for us tourists, showers, toilets and a communal eating area. Sitting on a tapchan (low table on a dias with cushions), listening to the birds and goats.

The drive here took about three and a half hours moving further into wilder desert like terrain until hitting the hills and mountains. If you think of the wild west you will have some idea of what it looks like.
The main roads are quite rough and bumpy with pot holes constantly repaired, like a badly patched quilt, reminiscent of local council road repairs in the UK.
Then off the main roads and onto tracks better suited for tracked vehicles. Something it seems our local councils can only aspire to. I'm sure they will get there soon.

Out on the flat desert like plains it is hot and very dusty even at this time of year, approaching high twenties, while here in the hills, and especially in the valleys a very comfortable 20°C

Internet and phone access is difficult to non existence in these rural communities. Using a local sim helps for Mobile phones. So posting stuff has to wait until we get to urban centres.

Some photos: landscape where we are staying for a night; tea under a walnut tree; Yvonne at the top, in the valley below is part of the village.

Samarkand

Caught a train from Tashkent to the old city of Samarkand. On the old silk road linking China to the Mediterranean. Famous for its mosques and mausoleums.

One thing about the people from Uzbekistan, they are unfailingly polite and courteous. The young give up their seats for the elderly on public transport, they want to engage in conversation to improve their English, they have a 6 day school week, and look healthy and physically fit. The adults are as polite, although the men are often rotund.

So we arrive at Samarkand Station after three and a half hours, about 200 miles. Are asked very politely if we want a taxi by the drivers. Mike asked where the 73 bus leaves from, gets a civil reply and directions (try that of a taxi driver in India). Catch the bus which costs a flat rate of 1400 som or 12 pence. We know roughly where the guest house is. It takes us 30 minutes on the bus and a 5 minute walk, bump into a seemingly random person who politely asks if we need directions. He turns out to be the proprietor of the guest house we are seeking. 
Place is behind big double doors, an inset door reveals an open courtyard with rooms on three sides. We sit on a raised platform, cushions, low table, chi all round with fresh honey, watermelon, biscuits, in the cool. Listening to a couple of canaries in a cage, Job done!

The mattresses in this part of the world seem to be made of concrete, to say they are firm is an under statement. There is absolutely no give. This may be good for ones back, but like most therapies takes a while.
So after a mixed night's sleep we have breakfast of fruit, yoghurt, cheese, very small boiled eggs (could be canary), tea and bread. Off we trot to explore.

Samarkand, possibly founded 6 or 7th century BC, is one of the oldest continually inhabited cities in Central Asia. Famous for embroidery, gold embroidery, silk weaving, engraving on copper, ceramics, carving and painting on wood. It is a crossroads of cultures.
This time of the year is cool at around 22-28 °C, for us just about right. For the locals it is quite cool. It can be above 40, and as low as - 35, so a great time to visit.

There are a number of  Madrasas established for astronomical observations and learning, for philosophy and religion. The main religion is Islam, then the Russian orthodox Church, followed by Christians and the Armenian Church. However, many are atheist. Since independence people are able to express their views openly.

The mausoleum known as Gur-i Amir is popular as a setting for one's wedding. It is like a production line. Brides in their wedding gowns, grooms in tuxedo's and suits. One street is dedicated to all the needs of couples, from flowers to wedding attire, hairdressers and barbers, nails and marriage guidance counselling (just kidding about the last). 
Happy brides and shell shocked grooms, or happy grooms and desperate brides.

Mike went looking for the equivalent of the off licence. You can buy alcohol, vodka of course, and an Uzbekistan beer which has about the same alcohol content as a bottle of wine, 10-12% proof. 
Mike had a couple of pints without realising this at a local Plov place (explain in a bit) in Tashkent, and couldn't understand why his legs didn't work for a while. He even put his bad head down to the heat. Still, lesson learned, stick to vodka.

Plov is a Uzbekistan dish of pilau rice with beef strips and garlic. Lots of meat is eaten here, and the word vegetarian is as alien as it is in France. If you happen to be a vegan your luck is out, you may as well be a Vogan from Vogsphere. Even the vegetarian dish of noodles has meat in it. 
One local dish is made from the shin and hoof of a cow. Still, early days!

I will leave you with some photos. Plov; Gui-i Amir. 

Uzbekistan

Got to Istanbul where we change planes. Got offered 400 euros each to catch a later flight to Uzbekistan as our flight was overbooked. Well who wouldn't, oh and a free dinner.
Mind you this is Turkey, smoke and mirrors. Just as the first flight was about to leave, and Mike was in the duty free wondering what to spend his windfall on, we were told that all arrangements were off and we had to run. Apparently it was no longer overbooked. Yippee. Even more joy when Mike found himself sitting next to a young man (anyone under the age of 40) who's breath smelt of fermented Yaks milk.
After 4 hours we arrive in Tashkent. The young man was met by a person who looked like they herded yaks for a living, funny old world.
We were met by the owner of the hostel we were to stay at. Noticed that all the cars were Chevrelot, white or black. Apparently any other imported new car is subject to 100% import charge.
We are knackered and just want to get to bed, but our host decides we definitely need a whistle stop tour at 1.30 am. We planned to stay for 3 nights, turns out that a whistle stop tour, and a day in the underground about covers Tashkent.

It is the capital city. Under soviet planning, wide 6 Lane straight avenues, 3 up and 3 down; great for soviet tanks, some brutal soviet architecture, and big impressive soviet style bronze statues. All changed with independence in September 1991. Statue of Lenin and other heroes removed, replaced with Uzbek heroes. Lenin Square becomes Independence Square (Mustaqillik Maydoni).
Fortunatly there is still quite a lot of the old city left. You can access most of it from the underground metro system, built in 1977.
Been extended twice since, and is still being developed. Was to double as a place of refuge in case of a nuclear war. You can still see evidence of meter thick blast doors in the old part of the system.

Leave you with some photos. Independence Square;Soviet style road; Metro. 

Lighthouse Beach

Went on a trip to Lighthouse Beach. About a mile from the Ganesh.
Has a lighthouse. Built by the British, along with many others along the coast, (not just cricket then, eh).
A typical looking lighthouse, red and white stripes. Still a working affair. Pay a small fee and you can get into the lift built in its core, or use the stairs, 160 odd steps. Took the lift up and the stairs down.
Had a look round the beach, and went for a cup of tea.
Booked a room overlooking the beach for Friday night. Two double sliding patio windows opening onto a large balcony. Very nice, and not a lot at £20.
So slummed another day on the beach and in the sea.
Again, very commercial, built for tourists. Worth a visit just for the beach. The sea bed drops suddenly about 100 metres out. This causes some quiet large waves. Fun to dive through them, and body surf back in. Further out is a strong rip tide. Every year people are swept out, some lose their lives. The lifeguards keep a keen eye on the unwary.
The last hour before sunset the waves are given over to the surfers. They do surf during the day, but always give way to swimmers.

Had to leave early the following morning. Up at 6, walk to the bus stop, catch the 7 o'clock bus to Trivandrum, catch the 8 o'clock bus to Kochin, local bus to the quay, the ferry to Fort Kochin, and finally a tuk tuk to 'Kevin's Placid Homestay'. Arrived at 3 pm. About 225 km. Total cost for both about £5. And that's our month almost up. 

We are here for two nights. Catch the first of two planes home on Monday morning. Forced to use a taxi to get to the airport, no alternatives!

Leave you with some photos; the top bit of the lighthouse; Yvonne at the top; Mike at the bottom; balcony part of our room; Yvonne crashing through the surf. 

Kovalam

Madurai to Trivandrum, 300 km, then 16 km to the beaches at Kovalam.

It was a good job that we booked the 23.10 train. Sleeper class, discount for over 60's. About £5 for the pair. Every place was occupied. We had upper bunks. Takes 6.5 hours.

Mike had one Street chai too many, which resulted in an explosive bowel. The prospect of a lengthy rail journey with toilets not much better than a Weatherspoons pub, was not an attractive idea. Out, or should I say in with the imodium.

On the upper bunk, adjacent to Yvonne's, and next to Mike's, was a rather large, in the obese sense, gentleman. He seemed to have melted onto the mattress. It was almost as if he had no bones.

Now Indian trains are not the quietest of vehicles. The wheels clatter, the ceiling fans whirl, and every join on the track bounces the carriage.

Then the gentleman went to sleep. How could we tell.... He could snore. He could snore for India. He could snore for the human race. He could snore for our arm of the milky way.
To say he was loud would be polite. Reminded Yvonne of the large male sleeping seals in New Zealand, in sound and form.
Both had never heard such loud snoring. At one point he suddenly stopped, Mike thought he had died, or swallowed his nasal tissue. Alas, no, after a brief interlude it started again.

Even so, both managed to grab some sleep, and so we arrived.
Caught the local bus to Kovalam, then a tuk tuk to 'The Ganesh House', our Homestay for the next 3 nights. It has a kitchen and a washing machine we can use. In fact so impressed that we extended our stay by a further night. Just to laze on the beach, replenish bodily fluids the traditional way (beer), and generally doss.

Beer can only be brought in two places. The first is in restaurants. If it's not 5 star then you have to hide the bottle under the table. You can also buy beer and wine at the government outlets. Understandably called 'British shops' by the locals. Half the price, and the Ganesh has several fridges on the premises, win, win.

Leave you with some photos; Yvonne on her upper bunk; Ganesh Homestay; Yvonne on the balcony; Mike's feet on the beach.

Madurai

Madurai is around 6 hours on the direct bus from Munnar. Unfortunately only  three buses go direct from Munnar, and the times don't suit us. However, lots of buses go to Thenni, and lots of buses go from there to Madurai. So that's what we did.

The first bus nice and clean. Dramatic views coming down the steep, winding, precipitous narrow roads.

The second bus was more the archetypical Indian affair; dirty, smelly, and overcrowded. Luckily it was only for 2 hours.
Both jammed in ear buds; Mike with best of Pink Floyd, Yvonne with UB40. Soon arrived in Madurai. Temperature very much higher in the mid 30's.

Staying at a palace compared to WTF hotel. Nice and cool and clean, called the 'BG residency'. Over a restaurant. Well used by locals. Food tasty, served on a banana leaf, eat with fingers.

Madurai is famous for its large and colourful temple complex, Sri Meenakshi Temple. Has 4 main gates, and concentric courtyards. The outer two anyone can visit; the inner ones are for Hindus only.
No cameras allowed, although bizarrely, mobile phones are, with which one is allowed to take pictures for an additional fee.
No footwear allowed. We went at 9 am on Sunday. Nice and quiet. By 11 am it was getting crowded. 

Later went to the Gandhi museum. Was mainly a potted history of the British rule under the Raj. Listed many of the bad things about British rule. Didn't even mention that we gave them cricket. Saw a pair of Gandhi's sandals, allegedly.

Leave you with some photos; stunning landscape; a ten minute bus break; picking tea; one of the four main temple buildings; a smaller temple in the grounds; hotel above Ariyas restaurant, no widow's to the front.