There are two kinds of train in Uzbekistan – the old, slow Russian, and the newer Chinese. The network is extensive, a product both of Soviet planning and Uzbekistan's status as one of the very few doubly landlocked countries on earth.
While the Chinese trains are generally express and cover distances in half the time of their Russian cousins they are also ill suited to long journeys, having only seated carriages. For overnight trains you really need a bed.
The longest journeys are east west and we make them in both directions – Samarkand to Khiva and Urgench to Tashkent. We take a cabin with four berths and a samovar down the hall next to the guard's office.
The first journey is uneventful. We share space but little else with a German couple of very few words. The train detours around the enormous Kyzylkum Desert and arrives promptly at 1.30pm.
The next one is different. We help a woman with enormous bags into the cabin. It is hot, the first hints of summer being amplified by the curved metal roof of the train. We sweat, drink iced water and hot tea, sweat some more, and begin to talk.
About everything. The climate in Khorezm region. Cherry season. Preserving tomatoes. Pickling cucumbers in brine. Her children. Their children. Her education in the late 60s in St Petersburg ['a wonderful time to be in the Soviet Union']. The farm she shares with her husband and father. Dried apricots. National breads.
Her work as an electronic engineer, teacher and then development officer with the ministry of education. Her travels to Melbourne to visit TAFE colleges on an official delegation. Less official; speaking Uzbek to Turkish stallholders at Victoria Market and Russian with anyone on Balaclava Road.
'The water is bad in Khorezm and Karakalpak region. In summer we drink only tea, sweetened with cherries preserved the season before.'
She spoons some wrinkled fruit and syrup into our cups. We drink. The journey goes much faster than its scheduled 19 hours.
