We call the Uzbek embassy, guess what? The visa is not ready yet. It is not clear why. By now it's late, tomorrow we will go to the embassy to understand what's going on.
And here we are at the embassy, in full combat gear. In front of the gate are three other cyclists, a british couple, and another english lady, lonely hitchhiker at the age of 60, cool woman. We all have made the application on the same day, almost two weeks ago, and no news, for no one. Something might have gone wrong that day. After more than an hour waiting we enter the embassy, the console tells us that he didn't get any news from Tashkent, that his job is to check every 3 hours on the computer and he can't do nothing else and blablabla. Sure enough, when we made the application he was drunk, so it's likely that he had just completely forgotten to send the papers to Tashkent. Then he says absurd things like "maybe you should apply from Bishkek because it is closer to Tashkent and so easier to get a visa" (wtf?!) I was not aware that fax were traveling by pigeons in Central Asia. At the end we agree to call him back in the afternoon to see if he can fix the mess that he created, even if we all know this is just a way to get rid of us. Our hopes to get to Uzbekistan are getting very ephemeral.