Bukhara

Not in the story-mood? Scroll down for the Quick Budget Fact Overview: an itemized information summary of Uzbekistan!

I didn’t come to Bukhara for its 10th-century domes, Silk Road mystique, or UNESCO-approved architecture. I came to Bukhara because my body needed a break. Three days into the most ruthless food poisoning of my life (think: 30 toilet visits a day), I decided what my body needed wasn’t culture, but containment: air-conditioning, four walls, and a toilet I didn’t have to share with six backpackers, both for mine and their benefit. I wasn’t on a cultural pilgrimage, I was on a gastrointestinal emergency evacuation. And so I limped into Bukhara like some tragic medieval merchant crawling off a camel, except instead of the plague or dysentery, I had supposedly Giardia Lamblia — a microscopic parasite spread by feces (eww) that had creeped into my body via an eggplant salad and has taken my intestines hostage ever since.

Why Bukhara? Because it’s cheap. Incomprehensibly, gloriously cheap. We’re talking USD44 (anno 2025) for an entire week in a private hotel room with air-conditioning, ensuite bathroom, and a breakfast buffet large enough to feed a Soviet army (which unfortunately, I was unable to digest in my position). Ludacris. This wasn’t some dusty roadside motel either, we’re talking a comfortable lodging smack-bam in the historic center. I am in the unclear about the reasons behind it: Samarkand, another Uzbek tourist hub in comparison, charges double for half the comfort. At first, it felt like a brilliant choice: The plan was to lie low, flush the meds away with mineral water, and ride it out in icy solitude. But Giardia had other plans… rest wouldn’t cut it. The parasite would soon chase me into four different hospitals, where I’d get an intimate, unfiltered tour of what it means to be sick in a developing country with friendly intentions, but which is catastrophically under-equipped to guarantee proper execution. Bukhara wasn’t going to heal me. Eventually, it would spit me back out, dehydrated and still very much infected, toward bigger cities with (allegedly) better facilities (spoiler: nope, for that you have to leave the country). So no, this isn’t a love letter to Bukhara. You’ll still get my usual analysis (skip straight to the Quick Budget Overview if that’s all you’re here for) but what follows is mostly a raw, delirious account of what happens when one microscopic menace meets 45°C heat and a healthcare system armed with hope, duct tape, and guesswork.

* Quick footnote: Whatever you do, if you travel between Samarkand to Bukhara, take the highspeed train (1.5 hrs instead of 7hrs). I didn’t, initially, and instead found myself on a drenching challenge involving non-existent buses, a taxi driver who changed the destination mid-ride unless I accepted his extortion attempts, a 30-minute death march in the inhumane heat, and an endless series of shared taxis featuring everything from harassing drunk men to broken promises and disappointment. All this while my digestive system was staging a full-blown rebellion. The train has toilets. The train has air-conditioning (mind you: only the high-speed one). The train has dignity. Choose the train. Even the Budget Bucket List’er says it: 4 times more expensive, but 4 times less misery.

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Uzbek Healthcare: The Odyssey

Settled in Bukhara, I focused on the two pillars of my recovery (or so I thought): body rest and meds. Armed with Google Translate and the growing pharmaceutical collection of a small-town apothecary, I began my war on the unnamed infectious bully. Every pharmacy in town had its own theory. “You need this,” said one. “No, this,” said another. Soon I was swallowing a daily cocktail of antibiotics, anti-parasitics, probiotics, charcoal pills, and whatever else Uzbekistan legally allows over the counter. It was the medical equivalent of throwing spaghetti at a wall. Except in this case, the spaghetti was antibiotics, and the wall were my ravaged intestines. On day 5, I had to conclude that the random pill roulette had failed, and therefore decided to do what any mildly lucid European would do: get a stool test. You know, that standard procedure where a lab tells you what’s actually wrong, so treatment isn’t just blindfolded pharmacology. So I dragged my withered body to a private laboratory and politely requested a stool test, a simple standard procedure. The doctors looked confused. Then apologetic. Then explained that no, the lab doesn’t do stool tests. Not that day. Not ever. If I wanted to know what was living in my intestines rent-free, I’d have to go to the hospital. Because, apparently, in Uzbekistan, poop diagnostics are a premium experience. Alright then, off I went.

With the help of the kind receptionists at my hotel (the only humans I’d met in Bukhara who slightly mastered some English words) I was rerouted to Hospital #1, conveniently around the corner of my accommodation. Overall, finding someone who speaks English in Uzbekistan is like spotting a virgin on a maternity ward. Whenever I politely enquired if anyone happened to speak English (which, by the way, isn’t my native language either), the reaction was surprisingly judgmental. “No,” they'd snap, “Uzbek and Ruski”, and with cynical raised eyebrows: “Pa Ruski, you don’t even speak Russian?!” Okay? Are we listing languages now? Because I speak Dutch, English, German, French, Spanish - heck, I can flirt in Italian, order coffee in Portuguese and can even translate Latin or Ancient Greek inscriptions if the situation demands it - but no, I don’t speak Russian or Uzbek, as that wasn’t a relevant language where I grew up. I was just asking, no need to get upset. So, as expected, all hospital communication had to happen through Google Translate and the usual hand-and-feet-work, which is like trying to fix a jet engine using IKEA instructions in braille. Sometimes it works, most of the times the entire essence gets (literally) lost in translation.

That said, if you do manage to get the message across, the healthcare received is entirely free, also if you’re a foreigner. At least, in state hospitals. What isn’t free were all the tools and medications, including (and I mean this literally) the syringe, the needle, the saline bag, the tubing etc. You don’t pay for the service, you pay for the props. Which, honestly, is reassuring, given the overall level of hygiene in these establishments. They put me on a bed covered in grimy, unwashed sheets. The walls were streaked with old stains and red splashes. There was no air-conditioning, not even a fan. Outside, it was 47°C. Inside, it was hell in lowercase, because even Satan would’ve installed ventilation. They hooked me up to a drip filled with what I can only describe as mystery juice, as the scribbled prescription made even Google Lens shrug. The nurse secured the IV needle with what looked like packing tape, while I put a plastic bag over the pillow to not have months of accumulated neck sweat, dandruff and hair grease touch the back of my head. They handed me a prescription to follow: pills every six hours, even at night. Fine. Time to toss my entire backpack-pharmacy out and start from scratch, whatever helps (if it does). What they did not provide is what I actually came for: a stool test… to know what I actually have and target the virus or parasite with precision. The Holy Grail, also loudly absent in this hospital locals referred me to. The doctor’s plan instead ? “If it doesn’t help, come back tomorrow.” It didn’t. So I did. Same IV. Same tape. Same nothing. Day 6 of not being able to hold in food or even water… quickly turning into Day 7, a Sunday, when healthcare in Uzbekistan clocks out. Also parasites deserve a weekend to enjoy themselves.

Monday, on Day 8, I set my sights on Bukhara’s bigger Hospital #3… the one that, according to local lore, would finally offer that elusive stool test. Upon arrival I immediately observed entire families picnicking on the hospital lawn. A telling sign: bring snacks, you’ll be here for a while. It was a vast, chaotic complex. Even finding reception took me half an hour. It was total mayhem. Turns out, patients don’t form lines here, nor is there a turn-system: just clusters of people swarming around the office doors, ignoring any sense of consideration. If you’re not assertive, loud, or physically willing to wedge yourself in, you’ll be waiting all day. Sick or not, you’re in survival mode. Highly stressful. You can also forget about privacy, which overall seems to be an alien concept anywhere in the -Stans. You could be mid-sentence explaining your symptoms (or mid-pants-down a physical exam, in my case) when someone barges in as clearly their issues are far more important than yours. Apparently, boundaries are optional, underlined by the fact that doctors showed no constraint in sharing my medical history with other curious patients, many unable to stop bluntly staring at me.

Eventually, I made it to a doctor. Kind, yes, as most Uzbek people are, but operating in a hospital which once again is entirely unequipped. No stool test. No plan. Just vibes and random injections, #yolo. They did assign a nurse to help me navigate, which was genuinely thoughtful given the total linguistic black hole I was operating in. Unfortunately, that’s where the helpfulness ended. Without asking much, they kicked off what I can only describe as an arbitrary “treatment buffet.” First course: two unknown injections, directly into my ass. I genuinely thought butt shots were reserved for slapstick sitcoms, not 21st-century hospitals. Later, I found out one was for high fever, a symptom I very clearly communicated to not have. What I did have now were those medications’ side-effects, including drowsiness, headaches and extreme fatigue. Next: bloodwork (which, shockingly, revealed dehydration - who could’ve guessed after eight days of not retaining water) and an ultrasound, as if intestinal bacteria might pose politely for a photo. Obviously, microscopic research is needed for that, a.k.a. a stool test.

That's funny... I literally witnessed every Uzbek patient bribing the doctors...

They assured me that the by now almost legendary stool tests existed, just not here. I’d need to go to yet another hospital. By ambulance, no less, despite my protests. Just give me the damn address and I take a cab, which is exactly how I came here. No drama.

But drama is what I got. Not only with my unnecessary ambulance entrance (for which I, by the way, had to wait 2.5 hours in my miserable state – good luck I wasn’t dying), but also by the approach of Hospital #3. The place that’s billed as the infectious‑disease hospital, home of the long‑awaited stool test. I even showed up clutching a sample like a grim lunchbox, they could start testing straight away. They wouldn’t take it though. Their proposal: “Admit yourself for four nights.” Excuse me, what? We’re talking: No AC, 45-48 degrees at this point, 96 hours. I just need a test, for crying out loud. I pointed out a few issues; my luggage was still at the hotel, I lacked basics like a phone charger and clean clothes, and my body required sleep in something cooler than a blast furnace. I suggested a daytime test / nighttime hotel arrangement. Hard no. Minimum stay: four nights, sweating in a ward so hot it could poach an egg - otherwise, no diagnostics. So I walked. Out of the country if I have to, but first: out of this city, as I clearly exhausted all reasonable healthcare options of Bukhara.

By Day 10, I had relocated to Samarkand (by high-speed train this time). Warier, thoroughly disillusioned, but with a pre-mapped hospital hit list. I booked a five-night stay, hoping a bigger city might mean more developed healthcare. Hope, as it turns out, is a rookie move in Uzbekistan. I’d done my prep: marked every clinic that claimed to offer stool tests, filtered the ones with bold claims of “English spoken.” After nine calls and zero English speakers, I gave up and went rogue - just showed up. Some clinics didn’t exist. Others existed but didn’t offer stool testing, despite them promoting it online. Employees forwarded me to the STD hospital, which required a very awkward Google Translate back-and-forth where I clarified I had diarrhea, not gonorrhea (turns out: STD is short for Samarkand Tibbiy Diagnostika, the name of the hospital). Eventually (miraculously) I found a functioning lab that actually accepted a stool sample. They tested it… but not for bacteria. Or parasites. So naturally, they found nothing. The doctor in charge added three revolutionary insights: 1) I had diarrhea, 2) It came from food, and 3) The heat made it worse. Astounding. That did confirm one thing though: in these temperatures, hospitalizing me would’ve likely slowed recovery. Finally, my gut feeling was right, be it only figuratively.

That said, also literally, once Day 12 slowly made its entrance. Irony had joined the party: the moment I stopped taking all the medication, my belly finally started behaving. Less pain, more solid results (to put it politely), and I could actually keep food in. I was sloooowly inching toward recovery, not thanks to treatment, but in spite of it. My body, stubborn and miraculous, seemed to be defeating what I’m now 99% sure was Giardia Lamblia, based on checking off every single textbook symptom and yes: Google and ChatGPT, whose diagnostic capacities far exceed those of any Uzbek doctors I had encountered. I had genuinely been on the verge of flying out to Turkey. More developed care, decent hospitals, and a springboard to Europe if needed. Because let’s face it: despite Uzbekistan being wealthier and more polished than, say, its neighbours Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan or Afghanistan, it’s still a developing country. Yes, the hospitals are free. But then again… you can’t really charge for a service you’re not providing. Luckily, I didn’t need a Plan B or C. My immune system handled what no clinic could. Eventually.

* That said, the diarrhoea kept returning for 2 months. Eventually I had to return to Europe and managed to get a test there. Most infections were fought out of my system by then, but I still had an active e-Coli virus clinging, eventually killed by antibiotics.

Bukhara

On my final evening, after a week spent exclusively between toilets and hospitals, I decided to risk a sunset stroll. Clinging on to my dignity (and an emergency toilet roll), I ventured out. Bukhara, on paper, should be breathtaking. A Silk Road jewel, a UNESCO town, full of caravanserais, madrasas, and centuries of history. In reality? It felt like wandering through a history-themed shopping mall built last Tuesday.

What Bukhara has done, with what I assume was well-meaning international funding, is mistaking preservation for full-over renovations (a trait shared with their Kazakh neighbours). They've bulldozed the originals and rebuilt them brick-for-brick - shiny, soulless, and thoroughly drenched of every last trace of historical authenticity. The ancient trading domes? Gutted and filled with tacky “Shoemaker” and “Carpet Shop” signs in English (now of a sudden they CAN speak English?). The Lyabi Hauz Ensemble and the Po-i-Kalyan Mosque? Surrounded by fake ponds and restaurants with QR-code menus. It’s all been flattened into a tourist boulevard where history’s been wiped clean and replaced with curated nostalgia for something that no longer exists. I checked every sightseeing box: the minaret, the mosques, the mausoleums, even the Shukhov water tower… and felt disappointed at every turn. It could have been extraordinary. Instead, it’s become a polished imitation of itself.

So here’s my final verdict: don’t go. Even if you’re in peak physical form, it’s just not worth the detour. What could’ve been a rich historical tapestry is now a museum of missed opportunities, its once-stunning past buried beneath a layer of fresh, soulless bricks. With Samarkand offering a grander, more intact vision of Silk Road splendor, there’s little here to justify the trip… unless you’re chasing history in terms of historically cheap hotel rates.

Quick Budget Fact Overview

Uzbekistan Facts

Capital: Tashkent
Language: Uzbek (official), Russian widely spoken
Population: ± 36.7 mln
Sq km: ± 448,978
Currency: Som (so'm – UZS)
Electricity Outlet: C+F / 220 V / 50 Hz
Country Code Phone: +998
Emergency Phone: 112 general, 101 fire, 102 police, 103 ambulance
Visa: 30-day visa-free access for many nationalities. Others can apply for an e-visa here.
Vaccinations: None mandatory, but Hepatitis A+B, Typhoid, and Tetanus are recommended
Climate: Arid / Continental Climate (B and D types). Hot, dry summers; cold winters.
High season: April–June & September–October (it can get unbearably hot in summer).

Short History Recap

6th century: Turkic tribes dominate. 8th: Arab conquest, Islam spreads. 9th-10th: Samanid rule, Persian culture flourishes. 1220s: Mongol invasion under Genghis Khan. 1370: Rise of Amir Temur (Tamerlane), capital in Samarkand. 1500s: Uzbek Shaybanid dynasty rules. 1740: Area absorbed by Persian Afsharid Empire. Late 1700s–1800s: Khivan, Kokand and Bukhara khanates. 1865: Russian Empire takes Tashkent. ’68: Samarkand. ’76: Bukhara and Khiva become Russian protectorates. 1916: Anti-Russian uprising crushed. ’17-‘20s: Bolshevik takeover, Red Army defeats local resistance. ’24: Uzbek Soviet Socialist Republic (SSR) formed within USSR. ’37-‘38: Stalinist purges, Uzbek intelligentsia executed. ’60s: Mass cotton production, Aral Sea begins shrinking. ’85: Glasnost, protests begin. ’89: Islam Karimov becomes First Secretary of Uzbek Communist Party. ’90: Becomes president. ’91: Independence declared. ’92: Joins UN. ’95: Karimov re-elected in controversial vote. 2005: Andijan Massacre – hundreds killed by state forces after protests. ’07: Internet censorship increases. ’16: Karimov dies. Shavkat Mirziyoyev becomes president. ’17-‘23: Gradual reforms, improved foreign ties, tourism push.

FREE Sights / Activities

Sights: Lyabi‑Hauz Ensemble, Great Minaret of the Kalon (exterior & night views), Mir‑i‑Arab Madrasa (exterior only), Bolo Hauz Mosque, Po‑i‑Kalyan Mosque (courtyard access), Chor Minor Madrasah (exterior & rose garden), Trading Domes (Toki Zargaron, Telpakfurushon), Jewish Quarter & “Ohel-Itzhak” Synagogue (exterior), Ark Citadel (exterior views), Water Tower Shukhov (exterior), Central Market, Bukhara Pedestrian Streets, Imam al-Bukhari Memorial Complex (exterior), Balyand Mosque (exterior), Khodzha-Zayniddin Complex (exterior), Church of Archangel Michael (exterior), Masjid Nazarda Namazgokh (exterior), Talipach Gates (exterior views), Sitorai Mokhi Khosa Palace Gardens (outer park), Chor‑Bakr Necropolis.
Museums: Art Gallery at Lyabi‑Hauz (free upstairs), Puppet Workshop Museum (free demonstrations – check opening), Museum of Metal Chasing.
Hikes / Nature: Tudakul Lake (day trip), Samoni Park, Sitorai Mokhi Khosa Gardens (outer sections).

PAID Sights / Activities

Sights: Ark of Bukhara (fully toured), Chor Minor (interior access), Ismail Samani Mausoleum, Chashma Ayub Mausoleum, Sitorai Mokhi Khosa Palace, Bahauddin Naqshband Mausoleum, Abdulaziz Khan & Ulugh Beg Madrasahs, Mir‑i‑Arab Madrasa (interior), Khoja Zayniddin Complex (underground hammam), Bakhautdin Naqshband Mausoleum, Emir Alim Khan Madrasah, Gaukushan Madrasah, Talipach Gates (interior), Mausoleum of Saif Ed‑Din Bokharzi, Turki Jangi Mausoleum, Church of Archangel Michael (interior), Balyand Mosque (interior), Namazgokh Mosque (interior), Complex Khalifa Khudoidod.
Museums: Bukhara State Museum of Fine Art, Museum of Decorative Arts, Carpet Museum, Numismatics Museum, Museum of Water Supply, Fayzulla Khodjaev House (museum section), Magok‑i‑Attari Mosque (carpet museum).
Other: Traditional Hammam Visits (Bozori Kord, Sarrafon), Cooking Classes, Puppet Shows (Bukhara Puppet Theatre), Craft Workshops (ceramics, suzani, miniature painting), Pottery.

Find a full list here.

Evening Entertainment

Nightlife: Cafes and tea houses in the Lyabi-Hauz area, Saraffon Street, pedestrian zone near Nodir Devonbegi Madrasah, courtyard cafés near Magoki Attori Mosque, occasional folk performances at the Nadir Divan-Begi complex.
Theatres: Bukhara State Theatre of Musical Drama, Bukhara Puppet Theatre, occasional open-air shows in madrasa courtyards (check locally).

Local Festivals

Navruz (spring equinox celebration with food fairs & sports) – March 21st
Silk and Spices Festival – May
Independence Day – September 1st
Bukhara City Day – early October

Budget Bites

Main Supermarket Chains: Korzinka, Makro, Havas, Baraka Market.
Farmers Markets: Kolkhozny (Central) Bazaar, Karvon Bazaar, Mavlono Bazaar, Abdulla Khan Tim.
Local Dishes: Plov (national rice dish with meat, carrot, onion), Manti (steamed dumplings with meat or pumpkin), Lagman (hand-pulled noodles with meat and vegetables), Shurpa (meat broth soup with chunky vegetables), Shashlik (grilled meat skewers), Samsa (pastry stuffed with meat or pumpkin), Naryn (cold horse meat noodle dish), Dimlama (stewed meat and vegetables), Honim (steamed pasta layers with potato and onion), Chuchvara (small dumplings, similar to pelmeni), Mastava (rice and meat soup), Tandoori Kabob, Khalisa (wheat porridge with meat), Holvaytar (dense wheat halva), Patir (dense, oily flatbread), Tandyr Non (crusty round bread baked in clay oven).
The Veg Situation: Uzbek cuisine is generally meat-heavy, with broths and animal fat often used in cooking. However, some vegetarian dishes can be found, especially at bazaars. Local veg-friendly options include: Pumpkin Manti, Potato Samsa, Honim (enquire for meat-free version), Dimlama (check for meat content), Salads (such as Achichuk – tomato, onion, chili), Lentil Soup, Patir, Tandyr Non, and seasonal fruit. More veg spots (mainly in Tashkent) listed here.
National Drink: Green Tea, Ayran (salted yoghurt drink), Chalap (fermented dairy), Kompot (sweet fruit infusion), Kvas (mildly fermented rye drink), Uzbek Wine (Samarkand region – honestly not very good).

Sleep Cheap

Please note: Uzbekistan requires a registration for every night you are in the country. Make sure you retrieve this form from your hotels, as they sometimes don’t automatically give it (it costs them money, so an extra charge may apply). When camping, couchsurfing or staying with friends, you’re officially also urged to do it yourself within 3 days (not a very well-functioning sight, I didn’t manage). Some travelers reported to be checked on this at the border, some never heard about it again.

Hostels / Hotels / Guesthouses: Uzbekistan is budget-friendly when it comes to accommodation, especially outside the main tourist corridors like Samarkand or Khiva where prices can climb slightly (Bukhara is surprisingly cheap). In Tashkent and other major cities, there’s a solid offering of hostels and hotels — often recently built and unusually stylish for Central Asia. Dorm beds are widely available and cheap, and many guesthouses offer private rooms with shared bathrooms and a basic breakfast (usually bread, eggs and tea). However, just like in other parts of the region, don’t blindly trust the online “private room” label. Solo travellers might find themselves being “upgraded” into shared situations (read: strangers in your room), so messaging ahead to confirm privacy is highly recommended. Many guesthouse owners are still figuring out booking platforms, so misunderstandings are common. Cash is still the norm, only the more upscale hotels take card. Writer’s choice: I stayed in a downtown private airconditioned hotel room, with ensuite bathroom and breakfast included… for USD 44 per week, incl. all taxes (2025). Basically the deal of the century. I don’t know how it’s possible, but the hotel name is Muhtasham.
Couchsurfing: is legal and functional in Uzbekistan, although slightly less active than in western countries. Some hosts are still warming up to the platform, but you’ll find a few generous locals (especially in Tashkent) happy to share their home and stories. As always, personalization is key - don’t copy-paste, and show why you’re a good match. Most hosts don’t care about paid verification: positive reviews matter more. Cyclists can also try Warm Showers, which exists in the country but with a fairly limited host list.
Wild Camping: Unlike Kyrgyzstan, wild camping in Uzbekistan exists in a legal grey area. While not explicitly banned, it’s not officially encouraged either - and it’s not culturally common. In cities or suburbs, it’s a no-go. In remote nature areas, discreet camping is generally tolerated. Police may ask questions or request ID. Be extra careful near borders (especially Kazakhstan and Afghanistan), as these areas are patrolled and can be sensitive. When in doubt, ask a local if it’s alright, hospitality is very central to Uzbek culture.

Mama Said

Safety: Uzbekistan is one of the safest countries in Central Asia. Crime rates are low, and tourists are rarely targeted. There’s a visible police presence, especially in Tashkent and tourist zones, which may feel either reassuring or intrusive. Police might do passport checks, especially near major squares or train stations. Always carry a copy or digital scan if you don’t want to flash the real one. Avoid photographing police, government buildings or checkpoints. Note that drones are illegal in the entire country, and they’ll confiscate it upon arrival (what a waste!). Locals are helpful and curious, though you'll get plenty of stares.
Negotiating: Bargaining is expected at markets and especially with taxi drivers or in a context of shared transport (if you despise that as much as I do, download Yandex Go to get the standard rate at all times, without reversed discrimination). Prices are often fixed in restaurants and shops, but in tourist areas or bazaars, it’s game on. Sellers will toss out inflated prices, especially if you’re visibly foreign. Tip: Ask a local how much the going rate is and bring the exact change, saying that’s all the cash you have. They will not turn down the opportunity of profit, even if it’s less than they had hoped to squeeze out of you.
Tap Water: Generally not save to drink for foreign stomachs, even locals boil it. Tip: Most guesthouses offer a hot water kettle, which you can use to boil your own drinking water and refill bottles.
Health care is free at the state-run hospitals in Uzbekistan, also for foreigners (even multi-day hospitalization is free of charge). You will only be required to pay for the (cheap) medication or any medical appliances used, which can be done at the pharmacies generally located inside of the hospitals. As due to an intense food poisoning I got a bit too familiar with the local healthcare system, I can also confirm that the downside is that there won’t be any English-speaking doctors, conditions can be rundown and incredibly unhygienic and there is no air-conditioning or even a fan, also when it’s over 45 degrees. The overall system is very chaotic with limited treatment options, and there is zero privacy with other random patients constantly impatiently entering the office while you’re being treated. It’s also common for doctors to just share your personal medical condition with anyone who wants to hear it, including other curious patients. Without a clear system, it’s never anyone’s turn and Uzbeks aren’t familiar with forming lines or waiting out their turn to be attended, which is very stressful. If possible, go to a private and international hospital. Trust me, it’s worth it.
Money: Uzbekistan is still largely a cash society, though card acceptance is improving (without additional fees). ATMs are everywhere in the capital but are more scarce or unreliable in rural areas. The cash-out limits of the ATM machines are generally rather low. Tip: Withdraw from Kapitalbank, Ipak Yuli, or Asaka Bank for best odds - other banks often reject foreign cards or spit out error codes for sport. Watch out for: currency exchange scams, which still exist at borders and back alleys. Only exchange at official banks.
The best credit/debit card for traveling is Wise, hands down. It uses real exchange rates with the lowest fees and lets you hold multiple currencies, although not the Uzbek som. Revolut works too, but has higher weekend rates and fewer features.
Simcards are super cheap and easy. Main providers are Beeline, Ucell, Mobiuz, and Uzmobile. Most travelers go with Beeline for widest coverage and foreigner-friendliness, but I went with Ucell (with varying reliability). Bring your passport to buy and register, and ask them to get it started before you leave the store (unless you’re fluent in Uzbek or Russian). Avoid airport kiosks charging five times the street price. For peace of mind, get your sim at a major store in the city, like the Beeline office near Mustaqillik Square. Plans usually come with more data than you’ll ever need. Note that internet, both in guesthouses and from your own data, is rather slow.
Public toilets are rare and rarely good (though charged). Bring your own paper and hand sanitizer. Usually there is no soap or even water to wash your hands (hence the swift carry-over of viruses).
Google Maps is mostly reliable in cities, but sketchy in rural areas. Use 2GIS or Yandex Maps instead.
The power can cut out randomly, especially outside of Tashkent: a small power bank is a lifesaver.

Transport

Walking: Bukhara’s Old Town is made for wandering. The compact, UNESCO-stamped core is laced with winding alleys, shady courtyards, and just enough signage to keep you semi-lost in a good way. Most top sights (Kalon Minaret, Lyabi-Hauz, Ark Fortress) are within a short walking distance. Outside the Old Town, sidewalks thin out and the charm drops off.
Cycling: Not impossible, but also not relaxing. Bukhara drivers aren’t bike-aware, roads can be sandy or potholed, and in summer temperatures often hover in the “why am I doing this” range. Stick to early mornings or quiet sidestreets if you’re determined.
Public Transport: Buses and marshrutkas (shared minibuses), which are affordable and go almost everywhere. You pay in small cash, straight to the driver. Mashrutkas stop wherever you hail them down, buses have designated stops. Use 2GIS or Yandex Maps for routes, Google Maps won’t help you here.
Train: Bukhara is on the Afrosiyob high-speed line, which connects directly to Samarkand, Tashkent and Khiva. It’s fast, air-conditioned, and (highly) priced for tourists. Slower trains are cheaper but can feel like a test of endurance, especially in summer when air-conditioning is not a given (I’ve been there, unbearable). Book online via the official Uzbek Railways site or in person with your passport. The station’s not in the city center: it’s in Kagan, a 15-minute ride away.
Taxi / Yandex: Yandex Go works well in Bukhara (local SIM needed). It's laughably cheap, accepts cash or card, and dodges the haggling drama. If you wave down a taxi on the street, expect a “tourist tax.”
Car Rental: Rare and pricey. Not worth it unless you’re heading out to the desert or planning a wider Uzbek road trip. Local outfits offer better rates than the big-name agencies.
Airport: Bukhara International Airport (BHK) is close to town—about 15–20 minutes by car. Yandex is your best bet (1-2 dollars). Ignore the touts swarming outside with “special prices.” If you’re set on public transport, bus 9, 17, 60 and 100 will also get you downtown (check Yandex Maps for the best route to your accommodation).
Hitchhiking: It’s a cultural grey zone. Locals regularly flag cars for informal paid rides (finger pointing down, not thumbs up). Many drivers will expect cash, especially if you stand out as foreign. Line out expectations before getting into the car.

Next?

In Uzbekistan: Samarkand, Zaamin National Park, Jizzax, Tashkent, Khiva, Fergana Valley, Termez.
International Destinations Close By: Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Afghanistan.

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