People start to emerge from their train compartments in the early morning looking worse for wear. It’s been a long and restless night. Melissa, Rose, Lena and I chat quietly and share our life experiences and why we think travel and experiencing new cultures is so important. I tell them that it feels good to be around like-minded people. Rose says she feels that I’m a bit of an inspiration because I’m doing what I want to do and not worrying about confirming. She says that’s how she wants to live her life and I remind her that she already is. She recently quit her job and took seven months off to travel. Now that’s inspiring! I’m sitting beside Melissa and she has her knees propped up under her chin. As I look down towards my hand, I realize I’ve been stroking the top of her foot for the last few minutes without realizing it. “What the hell am I doing?” She starts laughing and says she noticed it a while ago but didn’t want to say anything in case she embarrassed me or hurt my feelings. “Oh my God. I must really be starved for affection or something.” I say. We’re laughing so hard we have tears running down our cheeks. “Sorry about that. If it happens again, tell me to keep my hands to myself!” I say.
We arrive in Khiva disheveled and sleepy after 14 hours on the dusty train. Two open air, limo style golf carts arrive to take us into the walled city. Our driver plays his music so loud I can feel the bass vibrating in my seat, and I’m feeling like an obnoxious tourist as everyone walking turns to look at us as we drive past Inside the walls, the buildings are constructed of clay and straw and the mausoleums have soaring minarets with bright turquoise top hats. The architecture is stunning and I can’t wait to get out and explore. None of us have really eaten since the previous day and we’re starving but Ismat wants to sightsee for an hour before we eat lunch. Our shoulders sag. We’re tired and hungry and if he expects us to somewhat pay attention to his history lesson, we need food ASAP. Melissa suggests eating first and we don’t get much of a reply from Ismat. MK then pipes up and states, “We need food.”. It begins to dawn on Ismat that his group is getting cranky and says “We will go for lunch before it gets crowded.” Good plan Ismat. Otherwise you’re going to have a riot on your hands.
Fed and watered we embark on a bit too-long walking tour of the city and I’ve zoned out after the first madrasah. I feel like I’m back in school at a lecture and none of the information is getting through to my brain. I wander around taking photos to keep myself occupied. I can tell by the glazed looks and closed eyes behind sunglasses that I’m not the only one that is feeling this way. It’s a very LONG afternoon and I’m itchy to get out on my own. Finally, Ismat announces it’s the last stop and I breathe a sigh of relief. Myself, Claudia, Haley and Melissa find a rooftop terrace and relax, taking in the views with mint lemonades.
I see a little girl and her father sitting on a bench and I give her a little wave and say hello. The father motions at my camera and points at his daughter. I confirm that it’s ok for me to take a photo of them and he nods. He encourages his daughter to smile and I give her a tickle in the tummy which makes her grin shyly. He then gets up from the bench and motions for me to sit down and he snaps a shot of the two of us. I find it so interesting that some of the locals really like having their photo taken and also take photos of me with them. I blow up a bright purple balloon and present it to the little girl and she gives a big smile.
We watch as a local woman bakes bread in a clay, beehive oven. She motions for me to come around up next to her so I can photograph and video her. She flattens the bread on a circular half bowl, wets one side of the bread with water and then sticks it to the interior wall of the clay oven. Once the bread is ready, it begins to peel away from the wall. Her co-worker is decorating the tops of the flat bread with a wooden block that has metal pins sticking out of it in a decorative pattern; like a bread stamp.
Melissa, Haley and I explore the alleys until sunset, waiting for when the main minaret is lit up with pink skies behind it. They head off to dinner but I opt to wander around until after dark enjoying the cooler temperatures and lesser crowds. All the main buildings are lit up and the light bounces off the mosaic tiles. I enjoy the alone time to recharge my batteries and soak up the ambience in silence.
