... food poisoning. It had to happen eventually as everyone else we've met in Uzbekistan has had at least one bout but that doesn't make it any nicer. Luckily my stomach chose somewhere with air con and English TV channels (including BBC World - odd as the website seems to be blocked by the government). Not so useful was Alisher, the crazy owner of our hall-of-mirrors guesthouse, who thought vodka and salt would help - not true.
Other than the offending plov (a kind of oily mutton risotto and big national favourite) I quite liked Tashkent. Not much in the way of sights but lots of policemen twirling day-glo orange disco batons and some strange Soviet tower blocks with Uzbek carpet patterns set into the concrete. At the weekend the various lakes and ponds were full of boys swimming and everyone drives one of the three cars Daewoo makes in the country.
We also went to the opera (a pricey $2) where half the audience chattered on their mobiles. The cast also had to cope with numerous camera flashes and one guy who was twice the height of everyone else on stage. When we went in search of a drink in the interval the bar in the lavish foyer only sold 1.5 litre bottles of fizzy pop.
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