Uzbekistan has a fast developing bed and breakfast scene. Proprietors have created “traditional” looking establishments, complete with rugs, sitting areas, and, in our case, painted ceilings. Breakfast tends to be an impressive affair, with a vast assortment of breads, cheeses, and jams being served.

In our B&B were a young Belgian couple whom we encountered at breakfast. They were driving from Belgium to the end of Iran and sleeping in the van along the way. If you’ve ever wondered what the difference between white and brown travelers are, here’s one. Brown people wouldn’t dare drive from Belgium to the end of Iran and sleep in the van along the way. We wouldn’t make it through the third border crossing without getting harassed. And sleeping in a van on the side of the road? No. We asked them if their van had ever broken down. They said plenty of times and that they met many nice people who offered assistance. Another difference, we can never rely on the generosity of others. But good on ye, Belgian couple. Use that privilege for good.

After the Belgian couple left, we were joined by two jolly Germans and a pair of fun Brits. The Germans even had a business card, “Born to travel, forced to work.” We approved. This is going to be a common theme, by the way–running into Europeans who are on two week vacations. To whit, we have not run into a single American after we left China. Granted, the geographic distance contributes mightily to the paucity of Yanks, but so does the lack of time off. The Germans and Brits are both romping around Uzbekistan for two weeks before returning home to jobs and kids. And that’s just 1/3 of their vacation days for the year. That would practically be all of ours in the USA.

Being a small place, we had pretty much walked all of Khiva the day before. Today, we ventured into the harder to reach places, such as the city wall.

On the wall

Outside the wall

We also found a mosque we had passed the previous day (top photo), and a few more madrassas that we missed.

Having pretty much walked every square inch of Khiva, we settled into a tea house for some afternoon tea and chillum, aka hookah, aka nargile, aka shisha.

Since there are about three restaurants open for dinner, the likelihood of running into people you know over dinner is about 1000%. And of course, everyone goes to the one mentioned in Lonely Planet, or, as one of our British friends called it, the Lonely Bible. Both the Germans and the Brits turned up and we had a spirited dinner over drinks. Nearby, some kind of Chinese delegation was also dining with their Uzbek hosts, who had arranged for some live entertainment, adding to the mirth. The Belgians were nowhere to be found. We assume they were in their van.