Bukhara to Nukus (via Moynaq)

Reluctantly I departed the hotel in Bukhara as it was the most luxurious abode I had stayed in anywhere on my trip. The decor included many small ornaments arranged artistically in patterned shelving on one wall. Traditionally the Persians used this as a way of displaying their wealth. The more exotic the collection the wealthier one would be. The bed was exceptionally large with specially made fitted sheets. My purchase of an embroidered (Bukharan design) rug made for some difficult arrangements regarding postage to Australia.
I departed at 1pm with the temperature sitting on 42 deg C. The ride to Nukus was more than 500 kms of sandy desert shrubland that resembled many areas of inland Australia. The Tamarisk tree is considered by most ecologists as a potential pest in Aus. Here it grows as a dense low shrub much like many of our native 'woody weeds'.
En route were a number of roadside 'basic' cafe's. The heat was awesome on the Mule and I decided to eat and hopefully sleep out on one of their external beds for the night for the temp would only drop to the low mid-thirties. A large plate of freshly fried fish from the adjacent Amu-Darya river was offered to me. I downed the lot with a pot of Chi eagerly anticipating their early to bed habits being such a small quiet place next to the highway. But no, several loads of cars arrived and all the lights went on. One vodka drunk elderly man was so happy to see me that I got a big hug rather than the traditional 'salim alekim' and a handshake. He was so enthusiastic that he literally lifted me off the ground. Punching him several times in the head rather startled him at first but what he didn't know was that my damaged ribs were screaming in pain and he took my screams as an initial sign of ecstasy. Well that was short lived I can tell you. The friendly old chap had singularly undone about 5 days of repair to my cracked ribs in three seconds. I am not sure how many hours passed but I was given a prominent parking spot on a slab of concrete right in front of the cafe with a mattress placed next to the Mule. Every truck and carload of noisy travelers that arrived would be directed to the bike for the usual chitchat about my bike. Eventually I became very pissed off and left in a hurry just wanting to find a quiet place to sleep off the pain and heat of the day.
Skipping Nukus I decided to head straight for Moynaq located at the old sea port on the Aral Sea. As many of you will know, Moynaq is now 180 kms from the Aral thanks to some very poorly implemented plans to drain the Aral for cotton cultivation. On a scale of 1-10 in the worlds short term environmental disasters this would have to be close to the top. Based on the very inefficient use of both surface and ground water in Uzbekistan and to a lesser extent Turkmenistan, I hold grave hopes for the Aral Sea's recovery in a very long time.
The only hotel in town was described as 'hard to find' in the guidebook. Bear in mind that this decrepit town had been dying now since the 1960's and no-one was going to try to revive it. If you can imagine a rough two storey brick and concrete structure with a roughly constructed steel lattice fence that had received no attention since the day it was completed in the 1930's. The second storey as it turned out was being used by Chinese petroleum exploration staff and I am told had been renovated. I was told it was full but not to be deterred I offered to sleep on the floor somewhere. Magically someone local moved out and I was given a mattress and meal for the night for the grand total of just under $7.
The old Aral sea bed that was drained in the 1960's is still blatantly obvious by the presence of the collection rusting fishing fleet that lies just 300m from Moynaq. A sad reminder of a once flourishing fishing industry for the region. I left Moynaq satisfied that I had at least witnessed this monumental disaster. En route back to Nukus I rested for 3 hours under the shade of some trees near an old channel where I could cool off every 30 minutes. It was 39 deg C in the shade and I was in no hurry to travel in such unpleasant conditions. Amazingly there were no flies. Perhaps this was a reflection of the lack of domestic grazing animals in the area.
Nukus is an old Soviet city established in the 1930's. It is tidy in its own way but shows all the signs of degenerating because of the brain drain by all who receive an education. Hotel staff drove me to display some unusual temper tantrums in trying to secure an air-conditioned room for more than one night. I was moved each day to another room with the only explanation that the room was booked. The notion of friendly service was completely non-existent despite the constant flow of mainly European (French-Italian) tourists who arrived on buses and taxi's. Uzbek people in this region have much to learn about how to treat western travelers. My body did not help matters by contracting the worst 'Royal Flush' one could imagine after eating at a resturant with a bunch of guys participating in the Mongol Rally. After dumping my contents throughout the night and the next day, I finally imagined that the blood lose was actually brain cells disappearing down the toilet. Fortunately, my astute partner in Aus confirmed (via the internet) that I was in fact carrying the appropriate anti-biotics to deal with the condition.
Today I am feeling much better and will visited the famous Nukus Art Museum. Known for its extensive collection of art literally smuggled out of Russia during Soviet times it retains more 90,000 art pieces. The museum was one of the best I have evr seen and is in the 'must see' catergory in my opinion. I was told by a visiting French/American consultant that most of the educated administration staff are in their 60's and 70's. She holds grave concerns for the future of this amazing museum as Uzbek bureaucracy gives no real recognition to the importance of this institution. A fleeting visit to the bizarre in Nukus suggests that the economy is operating at a very basic level. Everyone is making the barest of living standards. At a ground level locals are friendly and easy to get on with. But they lack even the most basic negotiating skills involved in bargaining. Education is the key of course and this remains Uzbeks greatest challenge.
Despite having been laid up for a day and a half in a non-air-conditioned room that remained at a steady 33 deg throughout the day and night, I am now preparing for the ride through the Turkmenistan desert to Ashgabat some 500 kms to the south. Regulation has required me to pay dearly for a guide/escort throughout my stay in this country. Tomorrow I pass through my umpteenth border to my last 'Stan' country.