Uzbekistan Part 2

Yet another 'barny' with Hotel Management!

For the 2^nd time in a few weeks I end up 'spitting the dummy out of the pram' about the parking of our motorbikes, so another heated exchange over bike storage ensues. And it's over the fact that we're being asked to pay an extra $5 for the privilege of putting our bikes into the so-called 'safe' compound. Now I could pretend that I'm just being a 'dyed in the wool' Capitalist and that I do expect some kind of 'customer service' for my money. But the real reason is quite simple. These foolish people haven't learned not to disturb me in mid-doze.

I would've thought that after the rukus in down-town Tehran a few short weeks back, that the jungle-drums would have sent the message winging it's way across Central Asia by now. 'Do whatever ya like, but don't disturb Lenz while he's taking a cat-nap!' There will be a consequence! Why oh why do they do this? In haranguing me to move my bike before I'm ready to do so, someone was bound to end up in tears.

After unloading the luggage, my travel weary brain tells me that it'd be best to take a shower and have a bit of snooze before doing anything else. The motorbike should've been okay where it was, stood outside the front for an hour or so at least. It was away from the road, and there were plenty of people in and out of the hotel. Besides which I'd figured, with there being at least a couple of hours before darkness, there was plenty of time to put it 'safely' around the back.

But oh no! The hotel people had other ideas ... No sooner had I laid down for a doze while waiting to get into the shower, than someone banged on the door. Dragging myself off the bed, I opened the door to find one of the hotel 'boys' standing there. He's gesticulating and making noises in what sounds to be a mix of Uzbek' and Russian, to say that I should move my bike round the back. Initially I'm polite and tell him I'm tired and intend getting to this task a bit later. Then I shut the door, ready to return to my state of relaxation. But he doesn't accept what I've told him and continues hammering on the door. Before I'd even moved away from the door, I'm opening the damned thing again. I go on to tell this over-persistant lacky, that the bike will get moved, when it bloody well suits me, not him. And eventually have to tell him where to get-off. So thinking that the well known and universally understood bit of Anglo-saxon does the trick, I head back to the bed to let my brain drift back into it's previous flat-line of semi-torpidity.

Unfortunately it was little more than a two further minute hiatus, as this over-enthusuastic hotel employee returned with the Manager. Before I can ask what part of f*ck off didn't they understand, the manager tries his best to explain in his broken english that: 'Bad people damage your bike'. I start to roar, WHAT??? in a loud firm voice, and and at the same time went to grab my vest and bike keys to go out and see what he was rabbitin' about. He hastily back-pedal's with a quickly paling face, “No, no not now ... maybe during the night ... your bike needs to be locked up safe”. The hypothalamus stops squirting it's 'fight or flight' hormones, and I quickly come back down to earth. Seeing it's in my hand, I might just as well finish donning my vest, and at the same am thinking to myself, that I may as well go out to move the bike now too. F'cryin out loud ... It looks very much like it's going to be the only way to get some bloody peace around here!