I am a week into my visit to Central Asia. Besides a two-day excursion into Tajikistan, I’ve been here in Uzbekistan.
The border crossing from Uzbekistan to Tajikistan was one of the coolest and strangest I have made.
I often have a déjà vu sensation when going from one country to another, especially in cold weather. It started when I would pass through East Germany to get to West Germany. The East Germans would always regard us and our van with suspicion and barely concealed hostility. They had a way of leaning into the front windows so the barrels of their rifles would point at your eyes.
It is at the crossing point where either country can decide it doesn’t want you, and you could be in for quite an ordeal. That happened to me once on tour, trying to get out of Hungary and into Austria. The Hungarians were done with us but the Austrians were not a bit pleased with the idea of us in their country. We sat in a no man’s land for a long time, our dreams of soundcheck disappearing before we were finally allowed to enter.
On the day I was to cross into Tajikistan, I was warned by my Uzbek guide that the questioning and searches could be extreme. I went in and gave the Uzbek border officer my passport. She asked me why I was in Uzbekistan and wanted to go to Tajikistan. I gave her my whole rap about the only way to know about any place is to go, so here I was.
She and all the other heavily uniformed officers simultaneously lit up. They enthusiastically thanked me for coming all the way out to visit and fairly tossed me through the back of the building.
Suddenly, I was alone on a road. It’s a fair walk to the Tajik border.
Finally I arrived at a gate. A Tajik guard looked at my passport and pointed me onward. About a city block later, I was at a window. I gave the man my passport. He looked at me, pointed and said, “Beckpeck hevee!” He gave me the stamp and I was in Tajikistan.
My guide, conveniently named Chris, walked up and introduced himself. We got in his car and off we went to Khujand city centre.