No breakfast and no passports

Wednesday 2 May

We were told at the hotel reception desk last night that as we have to leave at 6.30am today, we would be able to have breakfast at 6.00 am. We were impressed – we had asked if we could have something to take with us, but didn't expect breakfast (which is self-serve but you ask for tea or coffee).

We emerge from our room at 6.00 am. No sign of anyone. No-one at reception, and the restaurant underneath the building is in darkness. A French woman guest comes out of one of the rooms.

“Il dor, la bas!”(He's sleeping, over there!)

She points to where the overnight receptionist is lying on a bed underneath a quilt in a far corner of the courtyard, which is out in the open air. Reg starts to walk over, and the man slowly gets up. Another male member of staff comes through another door, and explains that he's sorry, no breakfast, as the women who do the breakfast haven't arrived yet.

We thought it was too good to be true.

“We were told last night that we could have breakfast at 6,” says Reg, hopefully and hungrily.

I ask for a flask of boiling water, which is brought to me quite quickly. Meanwhile the grandmother, or matriarch, who lives at the hotel and is always in the vestibule, usually just standing near the hotel entrance, during the day, says something to the staff.

“You go downstairs, you have breakfast now,” says the sleepy-eyed receptionist.

The grandmother has taken pity on us and quickly prepares us breakfast. Not only is there cheese, fresh bread, cold meat, butter and jam laid out for us, but the matriarch brings us fried egg and hot frankfurter-type sausage. And hot tea! We thank her profusely (”Rakmat! Rakmat!”) and tuck in. As we don't have much time we eat the fried egg and sausage, and make a sandwich out of the bread, cold meat and cheese, and wrap it in a serviette to eat later.

We should have asked to have our passports back last night, but forgot. The receptionist is busy filling out some data from our passports – they've had our passports for 2 days, why didn't they do it before? We realise he's completing our registration forms which we should have been given to keep with us while we wandered about in Bukhara (although tourists don't get stopped here, and you don't see a police presence as in Tashkent).

Finally we have our passports, and our lovely taxi driver arrives, the one who brought us to the hotel. We like him because he didn't rip us off, and was friendly.

We're travelling 3^rd class on the train to Samarkand. What will that be like? Our huge suitcase is getting heavier – I only bought a couple of small things! The train standing at the platform in front of us isn't ours, but people going to Samarkand are getting on it. We're confused. Then we realise. People are boarding this train, then getting off again at the opposite door, in order to reach the next platform, to save going all the way around, and crossing the line at the designated place. We do the same – a kind man helps us haul up our luggage, and lower it onto the other platform. We've never come across the use of a train to cross a line before.

We're pleasantly surprised by our train carriage, lots of seats, as in a British train; also they recline slightly if you want, and have a drop-down tray big enough to put the computer on - very similar to airline seats. Plenty of leg-room too. People smile at us, they are friendly – young families, mothers with babies, older people, business men. A mixture of people, just as in England. The carriage is clean and airy and there's an overhead TV at the front of the carriage with a film showing about a young father trying to get a baby to sleep. Our 3 hour train journey passes quickly, as I'm typing up yesterday's blog, to publish when we have the internet. Reg is reading the papers ( the Daily Mail and the Independent) which are downloaded on an Ap on his smartphone.

First impressions of Samarkand - and I find a Post Office !

We are lucky with our taxi driver at Samarkand station. He's a good one, doesn't overcharge us, and after asking a couple of times, finds our hotel without too much trouble. Our taxi drivers always have to ask where our hotels are – perhaps because we have them written down in English, or perhaps because they don't often take people there, we're not sure.

Our simple but adequate hotel is situated close to the ancient monuments and stunning architecture of Samarkand. We are also struck by the amount of green space here – parks and green-verged walkways.

I'm thrilled to find a tiny Post Office-come- money-changer-come souvenir shop really near our hotel. I post the letters I've been carrying around with me. The post master is a very helpful. He asks us if we wan't to change up some dollars, but the rate he offers us is a bit low. He then says he can give us a better rate. I change up some Russian money I have left over and have been wanting to get rid of.

Reg and I go for an wander to drink in the atmosphere of the towering, intricate architecture all around us. We've booked a tour guide for tomorrow. As we sit in a park near the world heritage buildings, some young men sitting nearby start talking to us. They are students, and they enjoy the chance to practise their English and want to know all about England. These young people have an attitude of friendliness and respect which is different to the worldly-wise attitude of some young people in wealthier countries. Reg shows them some photos of Bristol he has on his smartphone. One of the students is at university (the rest are at college) and asks for our address, in case he ever manages to come to England. I give him my email address as well, and he thanks me profusely.

We stroll back to our hotel, and stop for a pizza on the way – I can't manage to eat all mine. I long for some good food!

Back in our hotel room, the internet is working (it's a bit hit and miss here) so I check my emails, and send some replies. I write this blog, but Reg needs the computer for a while, and I leave publishing the the blog till tomorrow – but in the morning, the internet is down. I'm really disappointed because I'm expecting an email from my daughter Elaine at any time.