Silk Road Landscape

The Silk Road landscape is not romantic. It is flat desert for as far as the eye can see. The Asian Steppe is barren, uninhabited, and void of any interesting characteristics save the occasional dust storm, herd of black and white sheep, and maybe horses or camels grazing, maybe. 

We have been on a train for 22 hours looking at the same landscape for a thousand miles. We have five hours left. 

Train life is challenging. All first class tickets were sold out weeks in advance. We had to wait three days just to catch the train we are on. Every conceivable space is filled. In our first stretch of train from Aktau to Benyu we shared the space with Islambed, who could speak a little English, Qotomid, a super nice Uzbek around 40, and Shafarid, a young Uzbek wearing an Adidas t-shirt. We thought they were family but they had only just met each other on the train that day. We all got along splendidly. 

You quickly realize that you have to adapt to each other, share water, food and brief respites from the other passengers by climbing into a flat space above the seats where you can half stretch out but not sit up. It's hard as a wood board so it's difficult to feel peace. But it is cooler and the sweat and smell of the train is whisked away in the window breeze, at least when the train is moving. 

We had to switch trains in Benyu (still in Kazakhstsn) arriving a little after 10 pm before our next train to Kungrad, Uzbekistan boarded at 1 am. The station platform is its own ecosystem with vendors stretched the whole length - fruit, candy, clothes, jewelry, vegatables, coca-cola and mineral water, SIM cards, mobile devices, electronics, etc. - each vying for business shouting and waving passengers over, all in the dark. 

Islambed took us over to an empty bufet where we ordered three black teas (chai) and devoured the bread, klobasa, cheddar, and pepper we had stuffed our backpacks with. 

Our trio had also befriended a babushka with four bags that weighed a ton. When the train arrived, we all helped carry these incredibly heavy bags for her. There must have been potatoes or iron blocks in these things. Of course it's not as simple as just bringing the bags on board for her and finding a seat. Every person/ticket is assigned a wagon number and that is where you must go. The babushka was in wagon 5, we had to get to wagon 10. The mad rush to the doors makes jumping on the Path on the weekend seem pleasurable. People knock each other over, push, body check just to get on the train for the priveledge of suffering for the next 15 hours. 

Wagon 10 meant that we would have to separate from our new friends. Door 10 slammed shut just as we arrived. Islambed talked our way on before the door was barred again. This time behind us.