The driver from Islambek Tours arrived outside the hotel at 10am, and after having a fairly large breakfast and a coffee, I felt prepared for the the day trip to the area known as Elliq Qala, which are a collection of ancient ruined Khorezm fortresses, which translates to the 50 Fortresses.

The tour allowed for up to 10 fortresses, but I had read recommendations that 3 a day is more than enough, and the owner of tour company even said just do the big three fortresses. So three fortresses it was, and I’m glad I just did the three with what would be a lot of driving around, even though perhaps five I could have survived to enjoy given another chance.

To my lack of surprise, the road was terrible, pot hole dodging should be a national Olympic sport, and we of course ran the gauntlet of over taking cars while crossing over into incoming traffic. You see, in Uzbekistan how you over take is simple. First speed toward the enemy slower car, and see if they’re smart enough to get out of your way. If they don’t, tailgate them within a metre and now see if they move. Next honk to explicitly tell them to move. If they are stubborn and won’t move, just pull out onto the opposite lane and over take. Don’t worry about oncoming cars, they’ll definitely be sure to move to avoid a head on collision. It’s like a symphony.

After three hours the flat landscape revealed a large hill with an undeniable fortress perched on top. Finally we were getting to the first ancient fortress of Ayaz Qala, which dates to around 7th to 8th century.

The fortress is a pain of a hike to trek up to, a path of sand and slate, so it made for some seriously breathtaking moments; both in the lack of breath and the views. I’m just kicking myself I didn’t ask the driver to stop the car on approach, as it would have made an excellent photo of the main fortress and a small fort garrison protecting it’s front.

With Ayaz Qala being the furthest of the sites, we began to head back then headed off a side road to the fortress of Toprak Qala, the royal residence of the kings of Khorezm. Dating to the 2nd and 3rd centuries, the entire structure would have housed 2,500 people, with temples to both Zoroastrian and Greek deities.

I heard what I thought were two other people at the site, as I wandered around what was now essentially the royal home for a colony of small chirping birds. Eventually I bumped into my fellow tourists, only to find it was just the one guy talking into his phone strapped to a selfie stick. He was Chinese and live streaming to his followers, on what I assumed was WeChat. Quickly he apologised, and asked if it was okay to record me. No problem, I’ll add Chinese social media to my list of foreign appearances, right up there with the Peruvian sex show that one time.

The final fortress of Kizil Qala looks impressive from a distance. A large imposing walled fort looking decidedly impenetrable. This fortress dated to the 1st to 4th century, and the name meaning Red Fortress, as it did have an usual red tint from afar.

The walls are mostly a reconstruction, and there’s nothing inside to see. Just more of those birds. Surely there must be a myth about these birds, it’s just too coincidental that all these singing and chirping tiny birds have made their homes in all these 2000 year old ruins. Maybe they’re the reincarnated souls of the long forgotten residence, reclaiming their crumbing homes from the deserts sand of time.

With the last fortress behind us, we stopped for roadside ice cream cones to the delight of my driver. At first I wanted to decline, fearful the dairy would go straight through me, with several hours still to go to Khiva. But by the gods, tasting the ice cold crazy happiness of vanilla and honeycomb, I just had to eat it. My soul was singing praise of ice cream. My mind thought I should check Amazon to buy an ice cream maker. In my clairvoyance, my future I only saw eating ice cream. Thankfully, my tolerance to diary is pretty good now and no emergency stops were needed (more reason to eat ice cream!).

Three hours of oven baking car later, we were back in Khiva and outside my hotel. The owner opened the door to survey our arrival, and the driver joked that my mum was waiting for me. Entering the hotel she of course asked where I had been and I asked her where could I get a cold reasonably priced beer.

I headed back to the tourist street just hoping it wasn’t packed. Nope, it was quite dead. It was Saturday and I just expected it to be filled with tourists. The foreigners were still here, but the bulk of tourists are Uzbek, and they I guess had all gone home. After some beers and beef rissoles, I arrived back at the hotel and once again the owner was waiting at the door. I had to laugh and ask if she was waiting up for me, to which she just guffed and let me inside.

The final day in Khiva was to be slow and relaxed. However it was a Sunday, and this was the day every Uzbek family comes out. Mini buses of kids and their adult wardens ran amok. The kids beeline to the market stalls, giddy at the trinkets, waiting for mum to open the purse. My chill day turned to chaos, and I ducked into a tea house, to discover they sold Turkish coffee. When my face lit up at the mere mention, the waitress knew she had me, and nodding sagely she repeated… Turkish coffee.

To be honest, it wasn’t the best Turkish coffee (I’m not judging, it’s hard to find Turkish coffee in most countries at all), but it was a leagues better than any other coffee in Uzbekistan, and made me wish I had found this tea house on day one.

That evening I made my way back to restaurant Terrassa. I knew this would be a great last meal for Khiva, and it damn well was excellent. The waiter even recognised me, and asked if I’d ordered kebabs again. Yes, yes I had, and I find no shame in that. Bring me the seasoned meat on skewers, and lashing of beer to wash it down!!

The next morning’s destination was the town of Nurata, quite a way to the north and back towards Tashkent. I had changed my route to get here so many times, booking flights and trains, and so far in my minds plan only the 8:30am flight to Bukhara was a definite – a 1 hour flight, instead of enduring the 6 hour drive.

Once back in Bukhara, I’d just figure which route onwards the Fates preferred and travel along that path…