colder'n snot

Tuesday morning:

The Tibetan practice of sewing their children into their clothes for the winter, and foregoing bathing themselves makes a little more sense this chilly morning. During the night it rained-in the desert no less, and turned markedly colder. I have on three shirts, my fleece and my rain jacket, but I'm still cold. The bathrooms are outdoor, unheated mud brick structures with an open doorway, so time spent there is the shortest possible. The showers are locked, probably not functioning, and I'm pretty sure there is no water heater here anyway. I'd rather be dirty and slightly warmer.

The other guests, whose guides knew better than to stay here two nights, are all gone now. Based on the settings laid at the table it appears more guests are expected tonight.

I'm alternating between my yurt, where I can wrap in blankets but the air is cold, and the dining building, which though unheated, is warmer but not particularly comfortable or inviting.

One of the vagaries of travel-sometimes you are filled with wonder and delight at the sights, sounds, and smells assaulting your senses. And sometimes you just wonder.

Tuesday evening:

I'm sitting here on the other side of the planet from the one I usually inhabit, in a round mud-brick building with 20 or so strangers collected from various places. We are in the middle of a desert I'd never heard of not long ago. It's just the sort of moment that I would not be able to imagine from my chair at home, yet here I am.

And then these other westerners get up to dance along with the Uzbek music being played and sung, and I think to myself, time for bed. I leave in the morning for Bukhara.