Sunday, 4 October 2026

 

Start: Samarkand (UZ) 13:00

Arrival: Panjakent (TJ) 17:40

 

Total: 68 km

 

 

Today, we would be crossing into the last of the -stan countries on our list: Tajikistan. I really did not want to undertake that momentous journey with a car that was as dirty as ours. Luckily, Yandex Maps told us that there was a "premium" car wash right next to the only Lukoil gas station in Samarkand. As if divine cleanness meant to give us a hint!

 

 

The Lukoil station was located in the centre of Samarkand, so we got to see the broad boulevards, the large Jewish cemetery and the sandy archaeological complex high above the town once more. Apprehensive about the availability of 95-petrol in Tajikistan, we filled our tank to the brim, then steered the car into the wash area. 12,000 som for an exterior wash. "Ladno, when will the car be ready?" "In one hour", came the answer. One hour for a bit of soap and water over the hood? Sonia wasn't at all happy about this, but I was really fed up with sitting in a grimy car. So we let them do their thing and, in the interim, had a coffee at Lukoil's coffee shop. An island of European functionality in Central Asia. After a month in this region, I desperately craved what was "normalcy" for me. The human being - a creature of habit, like any other animal.

 

After forty minutes, the manager strolled over to let us know they were almost done. I flashed my credit card to pay, but he shook his head. Nope, he had not meant that kind of card, when he'd said we could pay by card. What to do? The ATM at the gas station was, like 99% of the ATMs in Uzbekistan, out of order, or at least out of cash. I turned to the Lukoil cashier. "Is there another ATM somewhere around here?" She looked at me. "How much do you need?" "Sixty thousand." She gave me the money, typed the amount into her card machine and motioned for my Visa card. I protested. "You have costs. I will give you a bit more." She shrugged it off. No need. I love Lukoil! They have the nicest employees ever!

 

 

 

Around two pm, we reached the border. Just pedestrians and trucks, we were the only car waiting to cross. The Uzbek passport control was a one-man show: he manually opened the gate, let some trucks pass, closed the gate and motioned for us to get out and join the pedestrians. Then he ran behind the counter, took a quick look at our passports and we were allowed to wait in the car. Five minutes later, he was back at the gate, opened it and we rolled on towards the car check.

 

 

Suitcases out, a dog jumped in, sniffed around and jumped out. "We can throw out that can of Sprite", Sonia grumbled. "He jumped right on it." Meanwhile, a guard motioned for me to hand over my phone. The infamous "We'll check your emails and give you hell if you've said a word against our beloved Amir Timur"? A bit apprehensive, I gave him my cellphone. In less than a minute, he handed it back and pointed at the picture he had just sent me. "Go over there. You need to pay." Ooops. "Shtraf?" I asked sheepishly. He nodded. Ah well, c'est la vie. I'd managed 10,000 kilometres without incident, who'd begrudge me one little speeding ticket?

 

220,000 som (about 16 euros) lighter (good thing the Uzbek government accepted credit card payments!), I ran back to the car and we were allowed to leave Uzbekistan. On to the Tajik border. We were the only car to process. Sonia had to get out and have her passport checked while I parked the car. Then I had to run back to the passport control booth to be checked as well. Was this the normal procedure? Or had we just invented it? "He barely looked at my passport", I said when we were reunited. "He just asked me whether I was a tourist" Sonia said. "He probably assumed that two Luxembourgers in the space of three minutes must be together and hence no need to ask you again." Made sense.

 

I then was asked to registrate my car while Sonia was advised to wait in the car as it was too cold outside. The young guard chatted with me in English while his colleague processed the car documents. "Man Tajikistan dust doram", I told him at the end. "You have a Khujand accent!", he said, delighted. I do? Happy that my limited Persian had been understood, I added a "kheyli mamnun" when he handed me the registration papers. "Welcome to Paradise!" He beamed at me. So nice! I sauntered back to the car. Next up: Car inspection. "Please open the trunk." I obliged. Two guards looked at our luggage. Silence. "Clothes?" I nodded. "Yes, we are on a big trip. Three months." Silence again. "Shall I take them out?" Silence. Then: "You can drive. Have a good trip." We were in Tajikistan!

 

 

"They are all so nice here", I said to Sonia, when we sped along the highway. They smile and joke, a lot less self-conscious and on the defensive than the Uzbeks. Exactly the way I had imagined Persians to be. I loved this country already. The landscape was enchanting: in the distance blue mountains, along the road orchards and fields with cows, sheep and donkeys. Children playing among the trees, it was almost surreally idyllic. "This road is in great condition", Sonia noted. And so it would be all the way to Dushanbe. How come a much poorer country manages to have a good network of roads and a gas-rich touristy country like Uzbekistan does not? Priorities, I guess. A lot less big mosques and huge blue domes in Tajikistan.

 

 

 

 

We soon reached our first destination for the day: the excavation site of Sarazm. Well, actually, Yandex Maps had us make a detour through the village lane behind the site. The road was a lot more Uzbek-esque. Back on the main road, we quickly found the entrance gate, adorned with motives found at the site.

 

 

In the 1970s, the remains of a 5000-year-old culture had been found in this field. With the help of French archaeologists, the oldest Central Asian agricultural society had come to light. A society with normed weights, metallurgy, gem-adorned clothes and economic connections all the way to the Caspian Sea, the early Sumerian city states and the Indus Valley culture. In other words, a site I really wanted to see!

 

 

It had started to rain, so we put on our raincoats. It was a bit nippy too. Even the weather in this country was more to our liking! We paid the entrance fee. No one hanging about offering to be our guide, no souvenir stands either. Just interesting information panels in three languages, explaining the excavation sites along the paved path. What a wonderful place!

 

 

We saw an old kiln, learned about the layout of the houses, the raised platforms which the scientists interpreted as sacrificial altars, but which to me looked rather like the Herculaneum-style ancient Roman fast food places. Who is right? Might be a Rorschach thing.

 

 

In a stone-encircled concavity, the archaeologists had found the remains of three people, one of them a young woman shrouded in a bead-embroidered dress. They had nicknamed her "The Princess of Sarazm". Who was she? In what language had she expressed her dreams and hopes and plans, hundreds of years before anyone thought of building a Pyramid in Egypt's desert sand? We would never know, but like her, we could dream and speculate.

 

 

Behind the excavation site, a small museum made the ancient society come to life. We had the two rooms almost to ourselves. In the second room, the skeletons were on display, as well as a metal statue of the "Princess". The artist's impression had given her a very Persian likeness. Which is of course a guess as good as any other.

 

 

On the second floor, models of the houses could be seen. Unfortunately, it was five o'clock and the guardian asked us to hurry up with the visit. When we left rather hurriedly, she asked again if we'd really finished looking at everything. Feeling bad for wanting to close up shop on time? Or maybe she was using the famous Persian tarof on us. In any case, we didn't want her to stay at work longer on our account.

 

To the side of the museum, we found a reconstructed Bronze-age village with wattle-and-daub houses and various farm equipment. We strolled around for a bit, then drove on to our hotel in nearby Panjakent.

 

 

 

 

At the hotel, we were told that we needed to pay in cash. No cards accepted. Please use the ATM half a kilometer down the road. Smashing. It was raining, the sun had gone down and there were no street lights or sidewalks to speak of. We ran down the street and found the bank. Another hotel guest was standing in front of the ATM, talking to his driver and a local girl. "The ATM is out of cash", he explained to us. The girl spoke excellent English and proposed a few places we could try.

 

 

Our fellow hotel guest invited us to hunt down a working ATM together. So we hopped into the car where we met his travel companion, the lovely Shilpa. They were both from Hyderabad and on a two-week tour through Central Asia. It was wonderful to chat to fellow travellers! At yet another out-of-cash machine, we met a Tajik from Ohio, USA, who offered to exchange some of our Russian Rubles for a very fair rate. Nice guy! After some more driving around, we even found a working ATM, but no restaurant to have dinner. Though Panjakent was much larger than I had thought, the lights in this town seemed to go down at a very early hour.

 

 

All four of us decided to buy some food at the supermarket next door and have an impromptu dinner at the Indians' suite, which was larger than our room. We got to try some Indian food that they had brought from home, a "baby-steps" chili paste, which was plenty enough hot for me, but actually very nice. We chatted about Indian weddings and Luxembourg's approachable politicians and the hours flew by. Such a nice evening! If I ever decide to visit India, Hyderabad will be up there on my must-see list.