I had breakfast at 8:00 a.m. and prepared to leave by 8:30 a.m. Today, I decided to take a different route to verify if the GPS timing from yesterday was accurate. This route is theoretically the one I should have taken. After two hours, as planned, I reached the northeast border of Samarkand, west of Guliston.

There is a police checkpoint, so I take the opportunity to ask if it is possible to cross the border here or if it is restricted to locals. The lack of reliable information online leaves me uncertain, and even the people I spoke with couldn’t give me a definitive answer. The agent assures me I can proceed, but I am told otherwise upon arriving at the border.

Heading to a more familiar border crossing

I continued to Tashkent to cross at the same location as two days ago. After the treatment I received there, I had hoped to avoid it. On the way, I took a break at a gas station on the city’s ring road to refuel since the traffic was horrendous. What should be a highway or a large avenue is instead clogged with parked cars on the right, stalls, and vehicles stopping on the left to make U-turns. These chaotic junctions, common on these roads, feel dangerously unregulated.

I also discovered why gasoline is scarce in Uzbekistan. Most stations cater to propane or methane vehicles rather than gasoline or diesel ones. Other travelers had warned me about the difficulty of finding gasoline. While I initially thought it was due to stations being spread far apart, the reality is tied to the overwhelming number of alternative fuel stations. The gas station worker filling my tank offers me tea and even shares part of his food, leaving me both full and refreshed, ready to face the border agents once again.

Challenges at the border

When I reached the front of the line, children immediately surrounded me, begging for money in any currency. Spotting this, the guards opened the gates early to allow me through. On the Uzbek side, the process is much stricter. They inspect my vehicle and luggage first before checking my passport. During the luggage X-ray, they inquire about a camera in my bag. Just before returning my passport, the ranked officer asked if I had a drone.

It’s unclear whether they saw the drone, mistook the camera for one, or recognized the mount on my handlebars. Although I already knew about this, drones are banned in Uzbekistan, with violations carrying severe penalties, including prison time. The sergeant who handles the matter is polite but firm.

When asked if I had flown it, I explained that it was broken and hadn’t been used in weeks. After insisting a few more times, he wishes me a good journey and warns me not to bring a drone back into the country. Margaux had mentioned areas off-limits to tourists due to secret weapon warehouses, which might explain the strict drone regulations.

The Kazakh side proves much simpler. The guards don’t bother checking my suitcases, and the customs officer at the import counter is professional and efficient. I was surprised to receive a pre-filled customs form instead of completing one myself. By 5:00 p.m. local time in Kazakhstan, I’ve successfully crossed the border.

Arriving in the City

The rest of the journey was uneventful until I approached the city. Several accidents and light rain slowed traffic. It took me an hour to cover the final 7 kilometers to the hotel recommended by my friend Oleg, who I met five years ago when riding with Evgenya across Kazakhstan. He was waiting for me, so after dropping off my luggage and freshening up, I took a taxi he arranged to meet him at a party.

A Kazakh celebration

At first, I thought I was attending a biker party, but it turned out to be the first birthday celebration for Nurgali’s son, one of the bikers in the association. The party was vibrant, and filled with music, dancing, and Kazakh traditions. I reunited with Oleg, Dimitry, and Kirill, the mechanic who took care of my bike in the past, along with others from the biker community. After the celebration, we visited Oleg’s house for a final drink before Kirill drove me back to the hotel.

A day to recover

I woke up at 8:00 a.m. because the constant honking of cars cut my sleep short. I headed to the supermarket for breakfast supplies but realized I had forgotten to buy a pen to write in my diary. On my way back, I bump into Kirill, who invites me to his house later to change my bike’s oil. He also relays a message from Nurgali’s father, who had invited me to his home the night before. After confirming the invitation and getting the necessary contact details, I spend the morning at the hotel catching up on updates.

Lunch with Nurgali’s family

I left the hotel around 1:30 p.m. and headed to Nurgali’s house, where his parents and two brothers welcomed me warmly. Some other guests from the previous night’s party were also present. We share a traditional dish, ‘Beshbarmak,’ which I had first tried with Margaux in Bishkek. Eating it with my hands adds to the authenticity of the experience. By 4:00 p.m., most guests who hadn’t left for work were taking a nap. I tried it myself, but I was unable to sleep for such a short period. After a while, I prepared to leave for Kirill’s workshop, as I needed to change my bike’s oil before tonight’s dinner.

Meeting old and new friends

Due to traffic and light rain, I didn’t arrive at the workshop until 6:00 p.m. Kirill had to finish working on another bike before attending mine. While draining the oil, we discover it’s alarmingly low, just 1.5 liters. Kirill also points out that my brake light bulb needs replacement. He also found out I broke the clutch lever on the engine cover side and the screw barely held it in place. There was not much we could do about it, so he fixed the rest while I messaged Almas, from the Karaganda’s Chingizkhan MC, for some assistance. Once the bike is ready, we head to the dinner venue, arriving around 7:30 p.m.

Dinner was a lively affair with the participants who had arrived for tomorrow’s motorcycle ride. The meal, plov, was hearty and satisfying. They prepared so much that I got a bag of leftovers. During the evening, I reconnected with other bikers such as Elzyhan and his wife, who I met in Tajikistan in 2018. By 11:00 p.m., we’ve packed up, and Kirill dropped me off at the hotel. Tomorrow promises an early start for the much-anticipated motorcycle ride.