Well, I am here.  And I've been here for a few hours now.

Without a room. 🤣

The visa-on-arrival process was surprisingly painless, although I successfully disposed of US$130 in record time, acquiring forms in triplicate and a visa stamp that will now live in my passport for all eternity. Well, until 2029.

I'd read that because of Turkmenistan's stricter entry requirements, hotel rooms were generally available even for overnight arrivals.

Nope. That essential information appears to have changed.

So, at 6am, no room. Available at midday unless I wanted to hand over another US$150.

Not for six hours, thanks.

Particularly when I'd already donated US$31 for a mandatory COVID test that nobody actually performed. 🤣

But things happen for a reason.

Instead of being distracted by a soft bed and fluffy quilt, I went exploring.

And what a fascinating place.

The first thing that strikes you is how incredibly WHITE everything is.

The buildings are white.

The monuments are white.

The government buildings are white.

And the cars?

Also white.

I'd estimate 99% white, 0.9% silver and the remaining 0.1% a sort of champagne-gold colour. If someone owns a red car, they're clearly part of an underground resistance movement.

Now, my explorations today may not quite rank alongside Cook, Raleigh or Columbus, but I've clocked up about seven kilometres in 30-plus-degree heat, wandered through a massive shopping centre and explored an impressively sophisticated Olympic Village.

Which brings me to my current location.

Wait for it...

The Sport Hotel.

And because I know you'll all be asking, here's today's edition of "Things Lee Interrogated The Tour Guide About".

Ashgabat is the capital of one of the world's least-visited countries, and honestly, I think that's part of its charm.

Turkmenistan is rich in oil and natural gas, which have fuelled much of the country's development. Tourism remains tiny by global standards, but visitor numbers are growing quickly, rising from around 10,000 international visitors in 2024 to approximately 26,000 in 2025.

The country only became independent in 1991 following the collapse of the Soviet Union, making it one of the younger nations on Earth.

Around 90% of the population is Muslim, although daily life feels far more secular than many people would expect. Turkmen is the main language, Russian is widely spoken, and younger generations are increasingly learning English.

Internet access is noticeably more restricted than in most countries.  That said, if anyone thinks smartphones haven't arrived here, think again.  The universal posture of modern humanity remains alive and well in Ashgabat: head down, neck bent, face glued to screen, entirely oblivious to the world around them.

Some things truly transcend borders.

What makes Turkmenistan fascinating is that it still feels different. In a world where so many cities are becoming interchangeable, this place has its own rhythm, its own rules and its own personality.

I've only been here a few hours, but one thing is already clear: Turkmenistan can't be understood through headlines, guidebooks or YouTube videos. You have to come and see it for yourself.

Whether I actually like it yet remains a question for later. 🤣

For now, I've finally checked in, had a shower and am about to spend some quality time beside the pool.

I have now spent a full day in Turkmenistan and can confidently report that this country is completely unlike anywhere else I have ever been. The quietness is eerie, but the buildings are simply phenomenal. Quite breathtaking in many ways.  

I love it. 

I'm so glad I came here. So glad. It feels such a privilege. 

Right just a bit of edjimication....

Turkmenistan is the second-largest of the Stans, covering around 492,000 square kilometres, bordered by Uzbekistan, Afghanistan and Iran. In fact, at one point today we were surprisingly close to the Iranian border, although thankfully nobody suggested we just "pop over for a look." If they'd added tea, I may have been up for that!

Seventy-five percent of the country is desert, with mountains wrapping around much of the rest. The Kopet Dag Mountains form a dramatic backdrop to Ashgabat, and apparently the name loosely translates to "a lot of mountains," which is exactly the sort of straightforward geographical naming I can get behind.

Like much of Central Asia, everyone has had a crack at ruling this place. Persians, Alexander the Great, Mongols, Genghis Khan, the Russian Empire and eventually the Soviet Union. Following the collapse of the USSR, Turkmenistan became independent in 1991 under Saparmurat Niyazov, known as Turkmenbashi, who managed the transition from Soviet republic to independent nation.

One thing they are very proud of is their policy of permanent neutrality, which is officially recognised by the United Nations.

And nowhere says "we are completely neutral" quite like building a giant gold-plated spaceship in the middle of your capital city.

Officially known as the Neutrality Arch, this extraordinary structure rises out of the city skyline looking exactly like something that should be preparing for departure to Alpha Centauri. Even better, we rode a funicular lift up one of the legs into the museum inside. Because naturally, if you're going to build a spaceship, it should also contain a museum.

The city itself is fascinating.

Ashgabat translates as "City of Love" and was largely rebuilt following independence. Every building constructed since 1991 is earthquake-tested, clad in white marble and arranged along enormous roads that often appear to have more lanes than cars.

The uniformity is striking. Schools, universities, apartment buildings and public spaces all have a carefully curated appearance. Student uniforms are everywhere. Green for schoolgirls, red for university students. Education is free and there are more than 25 universities in the capital alone.

One stop took us to Independence Park, where we witnessed the changing of the guard at the Independence Monument.

Photos were not permitted.  Probably for the best.

The marching style appears to have been heavily inspired by the Ministry of Silly Walks. Legs were being launched to angles that would have most physiotherapists reaching for a clipboard. How nobody pulled a groin remains one of the great mysteries of modern Turkmenistan.

We also visited the Ertugrul Gazi Mosque, often described as a miniature version of Istanbul's Blue Mosque and built with assistance from the Turkish Government. I was a gift for the neutrality and presumably came with some baklava or Turkish Delight 😊 

Later we travelled to Kipchak Village to see the largest mosque in Turkmenistan and the mausoleum of former President Turkmenbashi, where he, his parents and two brothers are buried.

The drive there produced one of the day's bigger surprises.

Vineyards.

Lots of vineyards.

Apparently the grapes are excellent.

The wine, however, is not.

Somewhere over the past couple of decades the winemaking technology appears to have gone missing. I suggested they simply import an Australian, French or Californian winemaker and solve the problem immediately.

Then again, with around 90% of the population being Muslim, there may not be a huge domestic market for expensive wine. Also, when you have massive gas reserves and pipelines stretching towards Europe, selling wine probably falls fairly low on the national priorities list.

But the most memorable part of the day wasn't any of the monuments.

It was people.

We visited the ruins of the medieval mosque at Anau, badly damaged during the devastating 1948 earthquake that destroyed much of Ashgabat. The remains stand as a reminder of one of the worst disasters in the country's history.

Nearby, several local families were enjoying picnics.

Within minutes we had been invited to join them.

Not politely invited.

Properly invited.

Come. Sit. Eat.

And eat we did.

The food was extraordinary. Fresh breads, salads, meats in stew, fruit and more hospitality than most countries can manage in a five-star hotel. Complete strangers welcoming a handful of curious tourists into their family gathering.

Those are the moments you remember long after you've forgotten which monument was which.

Of course, that wasn't the only social engagement of the day.

We also accidentally gatecrashed a wedding.

We spotted not one but two wedding parties and stopped for photos.

Reasonable.

Normal.

Then things escalated. Cos when I get involved, things evolve!

Selfies with guests.

Group photos.

Hijacking the official wedding photographer.

Pictures with the bride.

And finally yours truly leading part of the dancing procession in front of the bride, accompanied by an extremely enthusiastic ten-year-old boy who clearly felt I needed assistance with my choreography.

Whether the rest of the tour group were laughing with me or hiding behind nearby shrubbery remains unclear.

None of them joined in.

As the great philosopher Billy Connolly once said:

"Have you seen me dancin'? A mean really dancin'?"

My Day in Khiva… 🤣

My plan was simple. Get up at 6.30am and wander through the ancient city before everyone else was awake.

Mother Nature had other ideas. About fifty metres from the hotel the rain arrived, and I made what I still consider one of the better decisions of the trip.

Coffee. Followed by another coffee. Sometimes retreat is the smartest tactical move.

My guide, Nazira, began the morning with the wonderfully enthusiastic declaration:

"This is your holiday. We do whatever you want."

Less than two hours later that had somehow evolved into:

"No. Do that later in your free time." ...while firmly shepherding me towards the next monument. I admired the efficiency.

One of the things that fascinated me most wasn't a palace or a mosque. It was the plumbing. Khiva introduced an advanced drainage system in the sixteenth century that collected grey water for irrigation.

The sixteenth century.

Some places are still trying to work that one out today.

So yes... You can flush toilet paper here.

History. Engineering. Public service announcement.

The unfinished Kalta Minor Minaret is one of Khiva's most recognisable landmarks. According to local legend, the ruler wasn't particularly impressed when the master builder considered taking his talents elsewhere......so he allegedly had him thrown off the tower.

Project management was clearly a little more direct back then.

The stories inside Tosh-Hovli Palace were equally memorable.

Five wives. Forty concubines. That's less a royal household and more a full-time HR department.

After lunch and a very necessary siesta, I climbed aboard a tuk-tuk with Ray and John. Otherwise known as Waldorf and Statler. By now I've accepted that every outing with those two comes with absolutely no guarantee of dignity.

There is no script. There is definitely no filter. Just an endless stream of one-liners delivered so quickly that it's impossible not to laugh.

Then, just when I thought the day couldn't become any stranger, I accidentally wandered through the background of an influencer's photoshoot while dancing. Instead of being politely asked to leave, I was invited to join in.

So yes... For approximately three minutes, I became an international social media star. Or at least I choose to believe I did.

Khiva completely stole my heart. It's elegant, fascinating, beautifully preserved and unlike anywhere I've visited before.

I have absolutely fallen in love with this city. ❤️

My Day in Bukhara ❤️

I couldn't wait for today.

Last night's wander through the old city had given me just enough of a taste to know this place was going to be special.

It didn't disappoint.

Our first stop was the Mausoleum of Ismail Samani, one of the oldest surviving buildings in Central Asia.

When you stop and think about it, constructing something this beautiful over a thousand years ago is extraordinary. No hardware stores. No power tools. No trucks dropping off pallets of bricks.

Just remarkable craftsmanship and a lot of determination.

What fascinated me even more was what happened afterwards.

For centuries, local people chose to be buried around the mausoleum, believing that on the Day of Resurrection they would rise alongside an important leader.

It's actually quite a beautiful thought.

Then the Soviets arrived.

In a move that can best be described as... lacking emotional intelligence... they covered the cemetery with concrete and turned it into a public park.

Today there are walking paths, trees, a Ferris wheel and even a zipline above what is believed to be one of the city's oldest burial grounds.

History can be wonderfully inspiring. It can also leave you shaking your head.

From there we explored the Ark Fortress, home to the Emirs of Bukhara for centuries.The fortress itself was fascinating.

The commentary, however... Let's just say our guide possessed an encyclopaedic knowledge of absolutely everything. Every ruler. Every dynasty. Every decorative feature. Every date.

At one point I became convinced we were moments away from hearing the complete biography of a door hinge.

I genuinely admired his passion.

My brain, however, quietly requested an executive summary.

Later we visited the Summer Palace of the last Emirs, a fascinating blend of Russian design and traditional Uzbek craftsmanship. The mirrored rooms, delicate plasterwork and floral decorations were beautiful, but what struck me most wasn't a particular building.

It was the city itself. All of it.  Everywhere I looked there seemed to be another layer of history.

Persian. Mongol. Islamic. Russian. Soviet. Modern Uzbekistan.

Most places wear their history in chapters, but Bukhara somehow wears them all at once.

And it works.

What surprised me most was the feeling the city gave me.

Khiva amazed me. Samarkand dazzled me. Bukhara simply wrapped itself around my heart.

The pace is slower. The streets feel lived in rather than staged.

People linger. Conversations drift through the squares. Life carries on amongst buildings that have stood for centuries.

It has soul. It has personality. It has so so much life. And it certainly has my affection.

And I think that's what I've been searching for throughout this journey. I'm beginning to realise I'm collecting cities the way other people collect souvenirs.

Bukhara has earned a permanent place in that collection. And I have a feeling I'll be thinking about this city long after I've gone home. ❤️

My Day in Samarkand… Oh Me, Oh My ❤️

I've wanted to visit Samarkand for years. It's one of those names that has always sounded wonderfully exotic. Romantic, even. And now I'm here. Actually here.

Walking through one of the greatest crossroads of the ancient Silk Road.

Some places slowly grow on you. I felt that Samarkand doesn't bother with subtlety. It simply smacks you in the face with beauty. The irony of a Scot using a physical metaphor....... But it's in the nicest possible way.

One of the things I finally worked out today is that Samarkand is basically history's greatest relay race.

Alexander the Great conquered it in 329 BC.  Fifteen centuries later, Genghis Khan swept through and devastated much of the region.  Then along came Amir Timur, who decided conquering wasn't enough—he wanted to build something extraordinary.  Thankfully for us, he did.

Much of the spectacular blue architecture that defines Samarkand today dates from his reign, and everywhere you look you're reminded just how ambitious the man was.

Our first stop was Gur-e-Amir, Timur's mausoleum.

The enormous turquoise dome is impressive enough from the outside, but stepping inside is something else entirely. Gold leaf, intricate mosaics and impossibly precise geometric patterns cover almost every surface. I suspect the craftsmen responsible would have thoroughly approved of my slightly obsessive appreciation for symmetry.

Naturally, there's a legend too.

They say disturbing Timur's tomb would unleash disaster. The Soviet Union opened it in June 1941. Two days later, Hitler invaded.

Coincidence?  Almost certainly.  Still... it's a cracking story.

Next came Shah-i-Zinda, a stunning avenue of mausoleums that contains some of the most beautiful tilework I've ever seen.  By this stage of the trip I've become something of an expert on shades of blue. Or at least I thought I had.

Apparently Samarkand had been holding a few colours in reserve.

Every archway, every dome and every façade seemed to reveal another intricate mosaic painstakingly created by hand centuries ago. You simply find yourself looking upwards... and then standing there far longer than you intended.

Then came Registan Square.

I'd seen countless photographs before arriving but none of them prepared me. The scale is extraordinary.

The three great madrassas dominate the square with such confidence that you almost forget they're hundreds of years old. Standing there, it's easy to imagine students arriving from across the Islamic world to study mathematics, astronomy, philosophy and theology.

It isn't difficult to understand why Registan has become one of the world's truly iconic public spaces.

Our final stop was Bibi-Khanym Mosque, another reminder that Timur wasn't particularly interested in modest building projects.  His brief appears to have been remarkably straightforward:

"Build something enormous."

Mission accomplished.

Even after earthquakes and centuries of restoration, the mosque still manages to make you feel wonderfully small.

After seven hours in the summer heat, however, I decided discretion was the better part of valour and skipped the bazaar. There are limits to my cultural endurance.

This evening, though, promises to be another highlight.

I'm heading to a local family home to learn how to cook plov, Uzbekistan's national dish.

Rice.

Carrots.

Onions.

Meat.

And, judging by the conversations I've had, an astonishing amount of regional pride.

Every family believes their recipe is the best.

As a Scot, that sounds remarkably familiar.

Replace plov with shortbread and we'd probably start an international incident.

The best part, of course, is that after the cooking lesson...

I get to eat it. A strategy I wholeheartedly support.

And if, for some inexplicable reason, I don't like the food, there's always the souvenir T-shirt.

"All You Need is Plov."

I laughed far more than I probably should have.

My Day in Tashkent ❤️

Today was officially described as a "walking tour." Now, with this tour company, that doesn't simply mean strolling around looking at interesting buildings. 

Oh no. It means receiving the complete life story of every monument, statue, ruler, revolution, architect and decorative feature within a five-kilometre radius.

You don't visit places. You graduate from them. I have to say though, Tashkent surprised me.

After the ancient Silk Road cities of Khiva, Bukhara and Samarkand, I expected another history lesson wrapped in blue tiles. Instead, I found a confident, modern capital that feels completely different.

Wide boulevards. Beautiful parks. European-style streets. Grand public buildings. It has a very different personality from the cities that came before it, and I rather liked that. 

One of the highlights was the Metro. If you're imagining a few concrete platforms and fluorescent lights, think again. The stations were built during the Soviet era as underground palaces, each with its own personality, elegant lighting and intricate architectural details. I'm fairly sure it's the only metro system where I found myself taking more photographs than trains.

Then there was Chorsu Bazaar. This was exactly how I'd imagined a Central Asian market. Towering piles of spices. Fresh bread stacked in impossible quantities. Handmade crafts. Colour. Noise. The wonderful chaos of people simply getting on with life.

I could happily have wandered around there for hours.

Later in the afternoon I indulged in one of my favourite travel activities anywhere in the world.

A Hop-On Hop-Off bus.

I know they're a little touristy. I don't care.

There's something about sitting on the top deck that helps me understand a city's personality far better than wandering around with Google Maps insisting I've walked past my destination three times already. 

Perhaps the thing that impressed me most, however, wasn't a building at all. It was the people.

Throughout the day our guide walked everywhere with his phone sticking out of his back pocket. No one warned us about pickpockets. No one suggested holding onto our bags.

There was simply an underlying sense of safety that I'd noticed throughout Uzbekistan but hadn't really stopped to appreciate. And then there was something else.

On the Metro, I watched men repeatedly stand to offer their seats to women. Not reluctantly. Not because they had to.

Simply because that's what they did.

Call me old-fashioned, but I found it rather refreshing. Courtesy never goes out of style.

Tashkent may not have swept me off my feet in quite the same way as Bukhara or left me speechless like Samarkand.

But it did something equally valuable. It showed me another side of Uzbekistan.

Modern. Confident. Welcoming. And a thoroughly enjoyable place to spend a day exploring.

Thank you, Tashkent. ❤️

Oh Lord... how I love Dushanbe! Indeed I do.

This morning started with far, far too many cups of coffee.

By the time we started our walking tour and learned about Darius III being killed by his own army before Alexander swept through the region, I was mentally cruising at about 33,000 feet — delighted with absolutely everything in life and enthusiastically smiling and waving at anyone who made eye contact. This city seemed to encourage this delight!

Our tour began at the Opera and Ballet Theatre, built in 1940 and still hosting a wonderful fusion of Eastern and Western performances.  We arrived to find a huge crowd outside.

Initially, I thought it was a protest and instinctively started walking towards it. 

Hell yes, I thought!

I've accidently been part of protests in Greece and Peru. This could complete the trifecta.  Sadly... no. It was a rehearsal.

Tomorrow was National Unity Day, and performers were gathering for one of the many celebrations.

Now, I love a sparkly outfit more than just about anyone I know.

Imagine my delight at seeing dozens of women in beautiful traditional dress, absolutely covered in sequins and shiny embellishments that practically blinded you in the sunshine.  It was magnificent.

I found myself grinning like an idiot and saying hello to everyone. I desperately wanted to join in.

Then...  The baw burst.

The Museum of Antiquities.

Now, I enjoy a good museum as much as the next curious, nosy, eager-to-learn woman.  But our guide also worked there. And she was knowledgeable and passionate. Lovely but....

It meant... Every room. Every display. Every exhibit. Every item within every exhibit. After an hour, we had only reached halfway.

To be fair, it was genuinely fascinating. The museum traces Tajikistan's ancient civilisations, including Greek-Bactrian, Buddhist, Hindu and Zoroastrian influences. The centerpiece is the magnificent 14-metre reclining Buddha in Nirvana. 

Following the destruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas in Afghanistan, it is now the largest surviving Buddha in Central Asia. Very impressive.  But... There was no air conditioning.

None.

It was pushing 35 degrees inside.  No fresh air. My nose had decided to become a running tap and I could feel beads of sweat forming on my back. 

Hollywood makes perspiration look glamorous.

Trust me, if that sweat had gathered enough momentum to head south, I'd have been out of there quicker than a member of the Tartan Army can neck a pint.

Breathe, Lee... breathe.

Thankfully, salvation arrived shortly afterwards in the form of Navruz Palace.

Originally planned as a teahouse, it somehow evolved into one of the most extravagant conference venues I've ever seen.

"Tajik Baroque" is apparently the architectural style.

And honestly... That's about the only way to describe it.

Every enormous room had its own theme.  Different colours. Different materials. Different atmosphere.

The craftsmanship was extraordinary, with materials sourced from across the region and Swarovski crystal adding just a little extra sparkle. Construction took around five or six years before opening in 2016.

Naturally, I asked how much it cost.  "National commercial secret."

Fair enough then.  A secret's a secret. Although I'm convinced we're talking well into the billions.

From there we wandered through National Flag Park, home to what was once the world's tallest flagpole... until Dubai came along and said, "Hold my beer!"

We also passed the Presidential Palace, the National Library and the new National Theatre, which is nearing completion. The scale of development here is extraordinary.

What fascinated me most, though, was Tajikistan's continuing journey back towards its Persian identity.

We finished at Freedom Square beside the monument to Ismail Somoni, the great ruler regarded as the father of the Tajik nation. His promotion of Persian language and culture is something today's government continues to encourage through education and national identity. 

It's a fascinating country.  Shaped by Persian, Arabic, Russian and Soviet influences, it is now rediscovering itself.

But for me... despite this being absolutely spectacular, none of that was today's highlight.

In 2006, I worked with the United Nations in Sudan.  While there, my flatmate Kristie and I became friends with an incredibly talented woman from Tajikistan called Mavjuda. Back then, we used to laugh about how wonderfully exotic it sounded to know someone from Tajikistan.

Well... Today, twenty years later... We had lunch together.

She whisked me away, showered me with beautiful gifts and introduced me to the most wonderful traditional Tajik meal. I almost needed a second taxi just to bring my stomach home.

And that's the best part of travel.

Always.

Not the buildings. Not the monuments. Not even the history. 

It's the people. The friendships. The unexpected reunions. 

Twenty years disappeared in an instant. We chatted for nearly five hours.

Thank you, my wonderful friend Mavjuda.

The next day I said a reluctant goodbye to fabulous Tajikistan and headed north to Kazakhstan.

90s Night

Last night’s 90s Night was hilarious — though getting there turned out to be the first challenge.

Our success depended entirely on hotel reception booking the local Uber equivalent, then remembering to tell us if the driver cancelled.

Before going, we had done our due diligence. Was the music Russian? Or international? Why, international, of course! 🤣 Yeah, right.

Rasputin was about the only recognisable English-language offering of the night. But never one to be defeated — especially after a couple of Aperol Spritz — I found myself enthusiastically getting down and diggy with the locals to the Russian version of I Will Survive.

The Dancing Queen had arrived. Have you seen me dancin’? I mean… really dancin’?

Yandex Go: Freedom Unlocked

Armed with the one weakness exposed by last night’s adventure — transport — I decided to sort it once and for all. By 8am, I had successfully downloaded, registered for, and mastered Yandex Go.

It was a little more complicated than expected, but it unlocked a whole new level of freedom.

Wandering Almaty

Today’s agenda was a full day exploring Almaty. The city dates back to at least the 11th century — although, judging by some of the apartment blocks, I suspect they may have been among the original developments.

Random but brilliant airport idea

One of the more surprising discoveries was the old city airport terminal — not the airport itself, but an actual check-in terminal right in the city centre. Passengers could check in and drop their luggage before travelling out to the airport.

Brilliant idea. I have seen similar concepts popping up at major train and bus stations around the world. Sadly, the Almaty version has closed. The culprit? Modern aviation security. It is a little harder these days to guarantee that nothing gets “added” to your suitcase between city and airport.

The sightseeing bit

Our marathon sightseeing route took in the bustling Green Bazaar, the fascinating Museum of Kazakh Musical Instruments, the colourful  Zenkov Cathedral, the Russian Monument, and Panfilov Park, where memorials honour the 28 Guardsmen who died defending Moscow against Nazi forces during the Second World War.

So… did Almaty win me over?

The guidebook proudly points out that Kazakhstan is one of the world’s top five oil-producing nations and suggests you will notice the wealth as you wander around the city.

I’ll be honest: I didn’t. Not in the morning, not in the afternoon, and not by the end of the day either.

Don’t get me wrong. Almaty is nice. It feels safe, and the people have been lovely. But after the incredible cities we’ve visited over the past couple of weeks, I felt a bit… ambivalent.

It’s more expensive than the other Stans, doesn’t feel quite as immaculately maintained, and doesn’t seem to have the same pace of development.

Perhaps that’s unfair. Perhaps I’m comparing it to places that set an impossibly high bar. Or maybe every trip simply has one destination that doesn’t quite steal your heart.

For me, so far, Almaty is… nice. Just… meh.

And then the gondola happened

Mind you, I was writing all that before heading up the gondola for sunset over the city. Who knew? Maybe Almaty did still have one last trick up its sleeve.

And it did — although getting to the gondola was not quite as simple as expected. In theory, it was easy: a quick Yandex Go, then up in the cable car. Not so much. The car dropped us up the hill rather than at the bottom cable car station, which meant an uphill kilometre yomp from there — and not an easy one, especially for a girl in Berkies and a strapless bra.

Still, the benchmark had been set by locals in flip-flops pushing children in pushchairs, so there was no giving up. The views from the top were worth every gasping step and every huge suck of oxygen. The city looked absolutely amazing, and we made it in time for sunset. This was, without question, my favourite part of Almaty. So yes — it turns out the city did have one last trick after all.

Almaty: officially upgraded from “meh” to “meh, but with excellent views and cardio.”

A little context on the Kyrgyz people before we get going...

The Kyrgyz are traditionally nomadic, believed to have originated in southern Siberia before gradually moving south over many centuries. They eventually settled across the Tian Shan mountains and what is now modern-day Kyrgyzstan, although their history also stretches into western China, where a significant Kyrgyz population still lives today. Even now, horses, yurts and seasonal movement remain an important part of Kyrgyz national identity.

Right. Serious bit done.

My day began with food poisoning. Which, naturally, led to a deeply personal group discussion about bodily functions. And why does every one of these conversations eventually collapse into the same ancient debate...

Scrunch or fold?

Just... why? Nobody needs that level of insight into another human being. 🤣

 Thankfully, I survived long enough to visit the beautiful Dungan Mosque, built in 1910 and wonderfully colourful. We then wandered across to the Holy Trinity Orthodox Cathedral. What makes this church remarkable is that it was built without a single nail. The entire structure was assembled using traditional cut-and-interlocking timber joints.

Those were the days of proper tradesmen. And, frankly, some splendid wood. 🤣

A service was underway in honour of the Mother of Tikhvin. We were welcome to sit quietly at the back, although photography wasn’t permitted.

Despite not understanding a word of Russian, there was something incredibly calming about simply listening. Sometimes you don’t need to understand the language to appreciate the atmosphere.

Our next stop was One Village, One Product, a community social enterprise showcasing locally made crafts.

As we approached the door, I suddenly realised...

I’d already found it yesterday. Obviously. Of course I had.

Never one to miss a decent souvenir shop, I’d stumbled across it while returning from the bank. For one dangerous moment, I even considered buying The Oatmeal Savage a beautiful handmade scarf instead of vodka...

Then I came to my senses.  No. She would not want a scarf.

Mission abandoned.

Bishkek – The Perfect Finale 

If you're going to finish a trip through Central Asia, Bishkek is a pretty good place to do it. It's relaxed. Friendly. Easy to wander around. And for a capital city, surprisingly laid back.

Mind you, it also has more government buildings and statues than anywhere else I've visited on this trip.

Honestly... There are statues everywhere. Many of the buildings date from the Soviet era and have that unmistakable communist feel.  Solid. Functional. And about as subtle as a concrete bunker.

Our guide, Elizabeth, deserves a special mention. A historian with a PhD in modern Russian history, she somehow managed to make two centuries of empires, revolutions and politics genuinely fascinating. By the end of the morning I almost felt qualified to invade somewhere.

Victory Square, the Opera and Ballet Theatre, Ala-Too Square and beautiful Oak Park all helped tell the story of a nation still balancing its Soviet past with its independent future. Kyrgyzstan may be 92% mountainous, but its history is anything but one-dimensional.

Magnificent to be sure, but the highlight, however, wasn't any of that. 

After dinner one evening we wandered up to the hotel's rooftop terrace for a quiet drink. Instead, we met four Russians. The only slight problem... None of us spoke each other's language. So for the next two hours nine people, eight mobile phones and Google Translate somehow became the world's most entertaining dinner party.

Picture everyone typing furiously, waiting for translations to appear before collapsing into laughter. At one point the hotel manager came upstairs to light candles so we could actually see our phone screens. Then he stayed to help translate.

Over the course of the evening we talked about everything. Life. Family. Music. Engineering earthquake-resistant buildings. Fuel. The war in Ukraine. Perceptions of each other's countries. It was one of the most fascinating conversations I've ever had.

Whatever governments may do, ordinary people remain... ordinary people. Curious. Funny. Welcoming. Russia remains a conflict and a conundrum. But these four people were simply wonderful.

The following day was deliberately lazy. A wander through Osh Bazaar one last time, soaking up the colours, smells and organised chaos before spending the afternoon beside the hotel pool. Now there were only three of us left.

John. Geneva. And me.

The day began with John proudly presenting me with a coffee he'd thoughtfully made. I took one sip. "What the fark did you do?"  He looked genuinely pleased with himself. "I put milk in..."

No, John. You put yoghurt in.  YOGHURT. The sourness nearly turned my face inside out. Imagine a cat's bum. That was my expression.