It is simply delightful to be able to wander freely around the old mud-brick town of Khiva, nestled inside the fortress city walls. The whole old town has been effectively turned into an open-air museum. Sadly this has meant that a lot of local residents have been pushed out of the centre to preserve the buildings, but enough remain on the outskirts to make wandering the alleyways interesting and untouristy.

I walked around the city, old and new, for most of the day. The usual children playing in alleyways with improvised footballs and old ladies huddled in doorways cackling away, were present. Occasionally they would stop and stare at the lost and lonely tourist wandering by and I woudl say a polite "Salam Aleykum". This is normally enough to arouse their interest and when I start speaking what little Russian I know, they raise their eyebrows and smile, surprised perhaps that a foreigner speaks Russian. Yet this has been of great help to me here and everythwere I went it helped open up the locals who immediately became curious. It felt, in many ways, like I was back in Iran with a never ending curiosity from the locals towards me. Whether it was the old man selling souvenirs outside my hotel, the old ladies at the history museum who insisted I take tea with them before visiting, or the woman outside one of the Medressas who decided that I would make a good husband for her - they have all been warm and friendly.

Khiva is probably more famous for its association with slave caravand that the Silk Road. Indeed it played second fiddle to Konya-Urgench for much of the time. Still its importance during the Great Game era can be seen and it would have made a welcome resting point for trade caravans from the desert heat as well as having an excellent Caravanserai and bazaar.

Of course wandering just a little outside the main walls brings you back to the reality of Uzbek life nowadays. Small, crumbling buildings gather haphazardly around dirt track roads with electricity wires dangling precariosuly low to the ground. SOmetimes they are so low that if you don't watch you step they'll take your head off. The children playing in the street stopped me every time to say hello before asking for sweets, a pen or some money.

I made my way back to the hotel for supper and had organised a game or two of chess with Rashid who seemed to think I might be vaguely decent being Swiss. I wasn't and lost miserably but it was a relaxing way to spend the evening.