The night offered no opportunity for sleep, as it was less a train ride than a border crossing. After the Kazakh checkpoint, it was only a short distance to the other side, where the same procedure began. The same procedure? No, the longer version. And after everything was done and the luggage was repacked, it was only 15 minutes until getting off the train.
I had already tried to connect the e-SIM to Uzbekistan on the train and left the station at 4:30 a.m. The situation reminded me of my arrival in Urumqi: no money, no Wi-Fi (I’d have needed a SMS confirmation, but the server wasn’t working anyway), no phone connection, and no Google Maps. As you can see, I’m very dependent on digital services. My task would be to get from this station to Tashkent South (6.5 km) by 9:30 p.m. Doable with the help of the offline map.
But while I worked on a plan B, where all systems were out of range, the situation gradually improved.
First, I looked for a SIM card. A shop in the station would open later, but neighbouring was a bank exchange office, so that solved the second problem. My efforts with my cell phone were starting to bear fruit. I suddenly had a list of providers, and the third one accepted me. During my walk around, I had seen the timetable for the North Station, and there were two trains to Bukhara in the morning!
I was exhausted enough to try this option, as I would be spending another night in Bukhara instead of taking a sleeper train, and I was prepared to skip Tashkent and lose my sleeper train ticket. Only with the help of a fellow passenger from the last train was I able to get to the ticket office somewhere outside the station and actually get a ticket for 7:30 a.m.
First class was for the posh (I noticed this while waiting to board, including tour groups, apparently from Indonesia and Great Britain), but I only had a VIP ticket, which is one above that. I didn’t fit in the scheme, so several officials checked my ticket and could only confirm that I was on the right train, in the right carriage (number 1), and in the right seat (number 11).
Well, money can buy that!
And just to give you an idea: I had already booked the train from Bonn to Vienna (~800km) and got a ticket at a good price, namely €60. Sharing a salon compartment with a bunch of arrogant locals in Uzbekistan with free food, tea and drinks is cheaper (570km high speed train).
When we entered our guest room, snacks, drinks, and grapes were already on the table, but when I returned from the restroom, the table was full of food. As a member of high society, I didn’t want to flaunt my ignorance by taking photos, but rather tried to learn from the others how to handle the situation. However, I could have learned to take a small bite here and a sip there and send the food back, so my next strategy was just to avoid making a mess on a rocking high-speed train with yogurt that was sticky like honey. I was brave, but even so, a plate of cheese was two-thirds full, and there was nothing I could do about it. The waiter, however, placed a plate of something croissant-like from the next table in front of me. I thought it was time to activate the emergency part of my sweet stomach ddivision, but I soon discovered that it contained strong-smelling and strong-tasting meat. Did I deserve this?
Whatever my food plans for that day might have been, it was too late.
I tried several times to take a photo of one of the rooftops that seemed typical to me.
At one roof I saw a wooden ladder to the gap in the roof and on another pigeons were sitting but this is too small evidence for any theory.
A traditional band was playing at the station Samarkand, and outside my train neighbor was respectfully greeted by many officials before he returned to his seat and we continued on to Bukhara. The train attendant changed back her shoes, jacket, and hat into waitress clothes and once again attended to us, the pampered and/or high-ranking people.
At one small station, everyone else had already left, and now the staff came and thankfully continued eating the leftovers. I’m not sure what they’ll do with their own leftovers, but at least most of the food was salvaged.
Since I still wasn’t hungry enough to eat my second gift from the station restaurant, Arys 1, I decided to walk. The distance initially seemed 11 km, as the address was unclear, but in the end it was 18 km and took me 3.5 hours.
and sometime just anyway dusty
So I arrived at the hotel dusty, tired, and finally hungry enough to finish not only this meal but also some bread I had left over from Almaty. I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening writing, doing laundry (and what was inside them on the train for two nights), and making plans for tomorrow (researching a possible bus to Olot/Alat or even Farap combined with some sightseeing).