NUKUS TO KHIVA

In Nukus I met with Sebastian and Annette from Germany. They had driven their campervan this far and Annette was keen to make use of her bicycle which was tied to the back of the van. And so for the next 3 days I had company as we made our way south towards Khiva. It was great and Sebastian would drive on 30KMs, boil the kettle and wait for us. For the first tme of this bike ride it was like having a support vehicle. Good food, soft comfortable seating and great company. This was almost becoming a holiday.
Khiva was an incredible town. A walled city with that complete Central Asian, silk road feel. It was like a living museum, almost stepping back in time, minarets and blue-tiled mosques scattered everywhere. It was like stepping into an Indiana Jones film set and although there were tourists,- the 2 coach parties that I saw didn't justify the amazing city of Khiva. After Khiva it has just been a case of riding the 500KMs along the edge of the Kyzylkum desert to the next major city of Bukhara. Its a long flat featureless run and its almost 5 days of riding into the horizon, barely a bend in the road or a hill to climb. Truckstops are scattered every 20KMs or so and the same conversations are repeated over and over again. Apart from the very basics of saying hello, thank you and ordering food, I have no ability to carry on a conversation. But this doesn't stop the people from asking loads of questions (without using any sign language) and being completely confused because I don't understand them.
Some question is asked. I respond with "Ireland". another question. "Mark" I say and point at myself. "Blab? Blab? Blab?"- "Tashkent, I go to Tashkent", I reply. And so on. I think I answer all their questions. Just not necessarily in the order they ask them. A conversation rarely goes on more than 5 minutes without someone asking how much money do I have or how much is the bike worth. I generally respond with "Fierce mild out".