Nukus was a strange kind of a place. We arrived at the bus station outside of town, with little idea of where we were and even less of how to get where we were going.
Rather than put ourselves at the mercy of the taxi drivers waiting at the station, we immediately jumped into the first marshrutka departing the station. We weren’t certain it was headed our way. But then we weren’t certain what our way was, and the bazaar, the Marshrutka’s stated destination seemed like a better place to orient ourselves at the very least.
As soon as we arrived in a suitably built up area we disembarked and Sarah sat in the shade while I went to find a hotel. Unlike in Samarkand and Bukhara, this was complicated not by the overabundence of lodging, but by its scarcity. Nukus had only two hotels and they took advantage of their duopoly by charging exorbitant prices to foreign tourists (though to be fair, these were only slightly more exorbitant than the prices charged to Uzbeks.)
We eventually selected the less expensive of the two hotels, and went out to see the city’s sights.
Part of the Moynaq fishing fleet sitting on what used to be the bottom of the Aral Sea