Terror is like a liquid...beyond anticipation...beyond fear...helpless...nothing more I can do here...resigned to my fate.
Uzbekistan flight to Moscow to catch our 11:55pm plane home...our double entry Russian visa expiring 5 minutes later at 12 midnight.
Train travellers from Russia to Ukraine caught as their train delayed before the border...detained by boarding police as their visas expired during the delay.
Thus I begin my Uzbekistan blogs with the ending...cos the events of that last day have consumed me...not
Like when we went to the beach with our one month old son Simon...in a papoose on my chest as I clambered over the rocks...too afraid to climb down one section for fear of falling and injuring our baby boy.
Some may say reckless...but I was more afraid of falling than any concern I could not safely reach the top.
In my early twenties a friend taking me ocean fishing off Coffs Harbour in East Coast Australia...rough seas but Rod confident we can find a spot to anchor and relax with some beers and catch a few for dinner...me apprehensive no way we can cut the engine and survive...but hey hes the captain.
outboard...climbing the breakers then dropping and smashing over the top...wave after wave...admiring his skill...gritting my teeth...apprehension turning to fear...fear turning to terror...if he turns the engine off we are cooked.
After what seemed an eternity Rod saying, Maybe its too rough...turning around and sitting just behind the top of monster waves...adjusting the throttle climbing up and down to keep our position...all the way back in.
I remember the relief and my admiration for his calm and skill...on the back of a giant wave...beyond fear...stomach in my mouth.
Morad collected us at dawn for our last ride together...his smile indicative of the friendliest country in our travels thus far...our joy of travel often the people we meet.
The roads deserted so heaps of time before our plane leaves for Moscow...bags scanned...security...customs...flashing light...STOP...wont give our passports back.
Memories of the ceremonial Tibetan knife I had stored in a Potala rug in my hand luggage in Lhasa that Denise and our kids will never let me forget.
led away...both our passports detained...me told to remain seated and not move...Denise gone for half an hour takes up the story.
Escorted out of the terminal...across the road...down into the bowels of the Airport...conveyor belts...Denises backpack all alone.
Our travel Bose speaker...then my mobile phone...thats where it is...I keep telling David to carry his mobile in case he wanders off!
The very last item...a cell with Denises dirty underwear...removing each delicately and showing to the customs officials horror...No, No, No.
Uzbeks often not tall people so plane seats a tad smaller than we are used to...Denise at the window...me in the middle...a ball of muscle in the aisle seat next to
On his mobile phone replaying a video over and over...so I had to look...weightlifting and massive rope exercises...moving his phone so I could get a closer look.
He had been a participant in the World Judo Championships that had been advertised extensively in Tashkent...he from one country but he had worked in another (I will not name them or him to protect his identity).
The sole representative of the latter and one of the favourites for a Gold Medal in his weight class.
Notwithstanding he was carrying an injury...he progressed to the final rounds...receiving videos of his bouts from his admiring fans that he then showed me.
Explaining the dilemma he was now in...seeking counsel from yours truly...entering me into his private space.
He had met a woman he had had a fling with in Tashkent and he had a wife and children who were waiting at Moscow Airport to greet him.
me the photo of the one in Tashkent...gotta say she was an absolute stunner...sex on a stick...he torn to have to leave her.
So I put my work hat on...counselled him as if a client...
