Travelling in the Stans

Travelling to countries in the world that are off the Beaton track can be some what challenging if you have a disability. However, if you travel with the right frame of mind it can give you unique insight into a country and the people that inhabit it. Generally, the experiences I have gained since sustaining my spinal cord injury has provided me with many interesting experiences.


We had been the road 2 months by the time we reached the ancient city of Bukhara. In that time I had managed to grow a half convincing beard, which has evidently brought me to a new level of vagabondage. This became apparent for the first time in Ashgabat when waiting outside a supermarket for Chrissy to buy another 16 packets of cereal a small boy came up to me with a fist full of coins and tried to place them in my hand. When I realised that his mum had sent him to give me a donation I called out, ‘No, no, tourist’ and accidently sent the coins flying over the supermarket floor. I thought this was a one-off experience and I didn’t think about it again. Well not until after a morning of sightseeing around Bukhara when I was sat under the shade of a tree with my head bowed and with my arm (and with my hand upturned) resting on my lap suffering from the 45 degree heat when yet more money was shoved into my hand. Again, I called out, ‘No, no Tourist’ and the Uzbek man withdrew the wad of Uzbek notes. On reflection I thought it must have been because I looked like an exhausted vagabond with an open hand but it did make me start to wonder why they weren’t differentiating me from an Uzbek as there are obvious differences. To my surprise this happened for a third time in Samarkand at the Registan, where I turned down yet more money.

Astonishingly it happened a forth and fifth time in Kazakhstan. The fourth time, Chrissy had some money shoved in her hand as we meandered around a busy market and the fifth time occurred as Chrissy was helping me down a curb before we crossed a chaotic road when all of a sudden a car on the opposite side of the road swerved and pulled to a skid within inches of us. In the passenger seat a woman started furiously rummaging around in her handbag while the man in the driver seat just stared blankly at me. I thought to myself ‘Jesus Javens, I hope she’s not going to pull out a gun’ when suddenly she pulled out a fist full of coins. I knew exactly what she was about to do so I said ‘No, no tourist’ at which point she looked slightly embarrassed, muttered something to her husband and the car sped off faster than it had come to a halt. Chrissy asked me at that point ‘Is that beginning to annoy you?’ and I shouted back over my shoulder as she helped me weave across the road without getting run over, ‘No I think it is fantastic. In countries where the infrastructure may not be set up to support people with disabilities then if these people would help me, hopefully they would support their own people who have disabilities too.’ To date I’ve been handed money 8 times. We later joked that we would have made a killing in the Stans if we had accepted each of the generous donations.

There have been experiences whilst travelling with a disability that we have just had to laugh at too. When we arrived in Tashkent in the north of Uzbekistan we checked into another hotel that was being patronised by numerous Mongol Rally teams. As I was getting out of the van I was surprised to be met by one of the Uzbek Hotel staff who greeted me in a broad London accent with, ‘Alwight mate?’. It turned out Alan (not sure if that was his real name?) was born in England and returned to his ancestral home on a mission of love. Despite the bottom falling out of his promising relationship he has remained in Tashkent and continues to surprise unassuming English speakers with his ‘Only Fools & Horses’ manner and tossing in ‘yeh, mate’ and ‘in’it’ after every sentence. After meeting Alan for a few minutes it was obvious that he must have been standing in front of Annal (from Gallipoli) when God was handing out funny characters. Not long after checking in I had to ask Alan and his 2 other colleagues (who couldn’t speak any English) to lift me up a short flight of stairs that lead to our room. Although, I weigh 60 kilos (a manageable weight for three men) the weight of my chair takes me deceivably up to a total of 100 kilos. This often takes willing testosterone fuelled volunteers by surprise, which can lead to a few vein popping moments for the person lifting the heavy back end of my chair. Normally this surprise is covered up manfully and not a word is spoken. Not Alan though, who had pulled the short straw and positioned himself eagerly at the back of my chair. After I had finished lining up at the stairs the strain was taken up the back as if Alan had lifted what he thought was an empty hessian sack and got surprised by a heavy anvil that lay hidden at the bottom. At which point I heard the air gush out of his lungs and instead of covering up his surprise, he shouted out, ‘F*ck’in ell you’re evy mate!’ I couldn’t help but laugh as this undiplomatic comment in a foreign accent that rang out strangely down the corridor of our Uzbek Hotel.

Different countries use words for disable people that if they where used in the UK the meaning would be very likely to offend countless people. It isn’t long before you realise that the word they have used is actually just a translation of the word ‘disabled’ and the person using the word is not meaning to be offensive. Having said that it comes as quite a surprise the first time somebody calls you an ‘Invalid’ in a broad Russian accent. In the Stans this has happened numerously as the people we have met stand next to my driver’s door in surprise when they see for the first time a vehicle driven not only with hand-controls but by someone sitting in a wheelchair. Having got used the term it has actually come in good use and has been particularly useful at the copious police road blocks. Initially, I would pull Miranda up cautiously to the policeman who had waved us down with a plastic batten that looks uncannily like a toy light-saver from Star Wars films. After using up all the greetings I have learnt, which consist of two (Salaam aliekum and Priviot) we would then get thoroughly questioned by the policeman. Chrissy would then impressively spend the next 10 minutes using her knowledge of Ukrainian to get us through the interrogation. The experience finally concludes with their last question – ‘Invalid tourist, da?’ at which point we reply ‘Da!’ and they wave us on. Becoming savvy to their line of questions it turns out 2 words spoken as you roll to a stop at a check point in the Stans gets you waved through in record time and they are ‘Tourist and Invalid’.