I have finally extracted myself from Siem Reap and after a couple of nights in the little town of Sra Em to see the Angkorian temple of Prasat Preah Vihear (an excellent day out) I've made it to the relative metropolis known as Tbeng (or Tbaeng) Meanchey. Tomorrow I hope to see the former Angkorian capital at Koh Ker, then the next day undertake a cunning manouvre to see the huge temple complex at Preah Khan.
However, for the time being let me tell you about Nukus and the southern Aral Sea. We'll need to travel back to the 20th of August. Got your time machine turned on? Let's go!
In Kazakhstan I visited Aralsk, the former seaport of the northern Aral Sea. Now I wanted to bracket the former sea by visiting Aralsk's southern counterpart, Moynaq. It may seem redundant to see both but in fact the two cities are a study of contrasts. Due to the dike that was constructed to cut the northern part of the Aral Sea off from the southern part, the "Little Aral Sea" is stable and even growing. A larger dike is being built to increase the volume of the Little Aral Sea again. Fish are returning to the sea and Aralsk's fortunes are rising with the increased fishing trade. It's a different story down south, where there is no hope of preserving any fragment of the sea. Moynaq is dying, marooned in a salty desert.
Nukus
To get to Moynaq I had to go to the northern Uzbekistan city of Nukus. I took the bus - and these are not luxury coaches. If you're lucky the seat back in front will not be reclining into your lap, your seat will not try to slide you off onto the floor, your bus will not break down, or drop into the Amu-Darya through a hole in a pontoon bridge. You cross two pontoon bridges en route; at the second everyone piled off the bus - except for me, wedged in my window seat by the substantial matron sleeping in the aisle seat. When the bus lurched sideways partway across, I thought it was the end. Fortunately the wheels found traction at the last moment. If I ever cross that bridge again, matron or no matron, I'm walking!
Bravely flourishing my virtual Lonely Planet guidebook, I ignored the blandishments of the taxis and set off in search of a hotel. The first place I tried was full and supercilious about it. The second no longer took foreigners. "The Book" listed no other options. Fortunately I remembered seeing a sign on the way into town, and now I grasped the name Hotel Jipek Joli like a talismen. Casting noble self sufficiency aside, I paid a taxi to take me there. The place turned out to be conveniently located a block north of the Savitsky Museum. It was backpacker-friendly and the room prices were competitive with the first I'd tried, although they seemed quite high after Samarkand, Bukhara and Khiva. They had a yurt set up in the courtyard but it was taken. After a night spent on a platform, I was given a room off the courtyard. It had en suite but no aircon, just a fan, but I was glad to have a shower.
I wasn't particularly interested in Nukus but I did wander around the city a bit, checking out the few sights mentioned in the guidebook. It's a big place, though long rather than wide. I soon learned the numbers of a few of the marshrutkas that zip up and down the main avenues.
Moynaq
I joined forces with a group of five Swiss tourists. We chartered a little Daewoo Damos marshrutka. Predictably, the guy asked for 80 US Dollars; but when I asked him how much he wanted in Sum his quoted price was 90,000 Sum (less than $45). This worked out to be 15,000 Sum each for the six of us. I almost dislocated my shoulder in saying "deal" and shaking his hand. At Molynaq the driver took us to the lookout above the beached ships, to the Museum, and, with only a little grumbling, to the Hotel Oybek, which is located about 500 metres north of the Museum on the same side of the main road but set back and surrounded by a metal fence.
At the Oybek the Swiss went to check out the rooms. They were thinking of staying the night. When I saw a little girl carrying buckets of water into the hotel I knew that the Swiss would not be staying the night in Moynaq! Sure enough, there was no water and the rooms were grubby. What clinched it for them, though, was the dust storm that had blown up while we were in the Museum. They decided that a sure ride today to the slight night-life of Nukus trumped a boring, dusty night in Nukus, with the problem of finding transport back the next day (Sunday).
As a bookend to Aralsk in Kazakhstan, which has discovered new life with the establishment of the Little Aral Sea, Moynaq poignantly underscores the tragedy of the "Virgin Lands". Even the lake that was established south of town is drying out.
The final jest about 100 km from Moynaq is found at the bridge across the Anu-Darya, which is still a substantial chunk of moving water there. The river simply evaporates when it flows into the dead seabed. It never reaches the southern Aral Sea, which by 2009 was just a thin sliver of water, smaller than the Little Aral Sea in Kazakhstan.
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