![\"\"](\"\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/10\/P72948531.jpg\" "\\"Morning")
<\/a><\/p>\nFirst we had to go on a mission for washers. I headed out with Shoney\u2019s sister to go searching. You see, during the previous day\u2019s open heart surgery on Scott\u2019s Speed TR\u2019s dynamo hub, we had been forced to remove and jettison quite a few pieces of the wheel, meaning that now the hub was a fair bit too small for the fork. My idea for a temporary solution to this was to simply fill the extra space with washers. So I looked up the word for washers in my Russian dictionary, and we headed out.<\/p>\n
Eventually, after striking out a few times, we wandered into an auto mechanic\u2019s shop. The man was not only swimming in washers, but he was more than happy to give them to me for free. \u201cAs many as you can carry!\u201d he laughed.<\/p>\n
By the time we all arrived back at the house, it was Plov time. And my goodness did she go all out. \u00a0The rice had been steaming in meat juices, and meanwhile she cut up a large piece of lamb, some horse sausage, a couple of hard boiled eggs, and unstrung a necklace of stuffed grape leaves. She then piled all this on top of the dish and presented it to us with a big smile, some apologies as to the out-of-season nature of the grape leaves. \u201cYou\u2019ll have to come back when the grapes are in season. I\u2019m sorry about that.\u201d Mrs. Yakubjanov, we would be more than happy to come back and eat your Plov any time.<\/p>\n It was too tasty, the rice all filled with raisins and nuts, the grape leaves succulent and juicy, the meat salted and spiced to perfection. I just couldn\u2019t stop eating it. It was served, as is the tradition, with a fresh salad of onion, tomato and cucumber.<\/p>\n Once again, we felt so full that we might have to be rolled out the door. And then it was time for melon! Another dynia, perhaps even sweeter and more delightful than the last.\u00a0 My goodness do they eat well in Uzbekistan.<\/p>\n Then it was time to split. With so much gratitude that we could not tell which was more busting, our stomachs or our hearts, we thanked them again and climbed on the bikes.<\/p>\n \u201cNow remember, my father has booked a room for you guys at the Caravan Sarai hotel. It\u2019s the same place where he sets up his U.N. guests! The manager will meet you at the station. Good luck!\u201d<\/p>\n The conductors on the train took one look at the Speed TRs, and saw an opportunity to extract a bribe. In the end, not knowing the rules of post Soviet rail travel, we paid them nearly $5.00 for each cycle.<\/p>\n As the train rumbled through rich Uzbek farmland, we chatted with our fellow passengers, all citizen of Samarqand. They seemed thrilled to be sharing a car with us. It was one older man, a cartographer by trade, and a mother and daughter. The woman ran the front desk at a hospital, I believe.<\/p>\n About every five minutes, I would hear \u201cVooDya!\u201d and the little girl would have sprung up with another question for me. My Russian was terribly rusty, and had gotten little better since I\u2019d come to the Uze, so reliant had we been on Shoney to play translator. But now I was getting to use that old muscle, and it felt good, exhilarating in fact.<\/p>\n Near the end of the ride, they noticed the ukulele and asked for a tune. I was happy to oblige them with a little Doobie Brother\u2019s \u201cLong Train Runnin.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n