As we said goodbye to Khiva, Saturday morning had never been the same. We rode through empty streets of Khiva to catch a flight to Tashkent; the final leg of our journey. The songs were on the radio, now sound so familiar. The sun was already shining bright making shadows of every tree we passed by. Suddenly Khiva felt so modern and relevant. Occasionally the ladies with skirt and scarf, common fashion here, crossed the street to start doing their chores.
Leaving has always been sad, saying goodbye to the place and people so dear to you. It was the time to go jist like many other people had done in the past for thousands of years. The town of Khiva will stay and continues to care and comfort those who take refuge from the harsh reality of life.
The airport is in Urganch, about 35 km from Khiva.
About 45 minutes later we arrived and the airport hassle was about to begin. Anxieties mounted but I hope nothing serious would ruin my departure. Airports give me butterflies in the stomach; the whole process just absorbed my energy mercilessly.
There was a queue but somehow the locals felt they own the place and just went straight to the counter. The white tourists felt they were special and could buy the place haggled with the airport staff to open a new counter and check them in. We were all going on the same airplane to the same place — Tashkent. I kept myself away and not to let such an ass behaviour ruined my beautiful morning. The plane, the crews seemed nice and pleasant. This Airbus320 has plenty of room in the overhead compartment where my beg rest comfortably and the leg room was spacious as well. We were in the air in no time.
Back in Tashkent. Suddenly, the big city chaotic scenes were here. The streets were busy and often littered with RRoyce and Mercedes Benz. Chevrolet , Hyundai and BYD were the rest and more common.
