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I'll be honest: at first, I thought that "sleeping in a local's house" was just a polite way of saying "a slightly rustic but cheap hostel". You know, the kind of accommodation where you expect a dodgy duvet and a lukewarm breakfast. And then I arrived in Uzbekistan. And there... I realised that I wasn't going to be sleeping in the host's house, but in the host's heart. With tea as a passport to intimacy, slippers as a symbol of welcome, and plov (the famous local rice) as proof of love. Sleeping here is like inviting yourself into a family, sometimes into a legend. And you often feel more at home here than at Christmas with your Aunt Odette.
A sure sign that even local agencies such as Sarbons Tour have made it their speciality. Their programme of exploration of Uzbekistan includes nights in local people's homes, to make the trip a real encounter. And it's not just marketing: they write it themselves, "Sleeping in a home allows you to discover the Uzbek way of life, interact with families and share meals in a friendly atmosphere." Spoiler: that's 100 % true. And 100 % plov included.
The house is modest, often built around an inner courtyard with apricot trees and carpets bigger than your Paris studio. The iron gate creaks like a promise, and as soon as you cross the threshold: your shoes, your solitude and some of your modesty are taken away. It's time to share. In Uzbekistan, they don't rent you a room. They adopt you.
On my first evening in a small village, I naively thought I'd get some rest after a day on a bumpy bus. But then my host, Bahodir, a gentleman with a moustache worthy of a Soviet novel, makes me sit down on a carpet. In front of me, a tablecloth on the floor - the dastarkhan - covered in raisins, nuts, dried fruit... and above all, tea. Green. Boiling hot. Brewed in a three-generation-old teapot, with blue designs worn by love and caffeine. I drank my first cup. Then a second. And then, beginner's mistake: I wanted to put my cup back down. A sign that I wanted more. And the tea flowed and flowed, like my host's anecdotes about Uzbek wrestling champions and his cousins' weddings.
Tea here is an entry point into the world of others. You're always served a half-empty cup - so you can pour some more. It's a polite way of saying: stay, I've got time, I want you here. And you, on the other hand, nod your head, have fun repeating two words of Uzbek you learnt from Google Translate, and find yourself, three hours later, laughing out loud without understanding half of it. The intoxication of chai, believe me, is a real thing.
I didn't expect to be offered the opportunity the best room in the house. Literally. The one used for celebrations, prayers, births and sometimes funerals. For one night, I became the Queen of the Carpets, sitting on mattresses piled up like in a tale from the Thousand and One Nights. The wall was adorned with a tapestry depicting a flying tiger (yes, yes), and a plastic clock played a synthetic melody at the hour. The comfort was... well, unexpected. But the emotion was total.
That evening, the girl from the house came to tuck me in. Yes, at 34, I was tucked in. With a little cushion under my head, and a bowl of water next to it "in case you turn into a fish during the night", she laughed. When you sleep here, you no longer know whether you're a guest, a friend or a distant cousin. You feel protected in a bubble of attention. And frankly, for a solo traveller, that's a luxury in itself.
The next morning, I was woken up by the smell of freshly baked bread. tandirThis circular oven could be mistaken for a well if you weren't wide awake enough. Bread here is not a food. It's sacred. You don't cut it with a knife (blasphemy!), you break it by hand, always with respect. It's hot, crispy on the outside, soft on the inside. Just like the Uzbeks, after all.
How about breakfast? No. Morning feast. Fried eggs, homemade yoghurt, tomatoes as sweet as sweets, and of course plov, that dish of rice with oil and meat, usually served on special occasions, but here, "because you're here, Eleonore". And when I dared to say that I couldn't swallow any more, Bahodir looked at me as if I'd just insulted his grandmother. "One more spoon, for love". And I gave in. For love.
What we Sarbons Tour offers on its tours, it's not just about tasting local cuisine. It's about experiencing it at the family table. Where you learn that the secret of taste lies not in the spices, but in the laughter shared around the dish. Here, we eat as we live: intensely, slowly, and always a little too much. But never enough to refuse to start again.
The hardest thing is not arriving in an Uzbek house. It's leaving. Because behind every cup of tea, every rolled-out carpet, every laugh shared in a language spoken only with the eyes, there's something that hotels will never have: spontaneous attachment. That bittersweet feeling of having been expected without knowing it. Of having received more than a roof over your head: a simple but overwhelming human warmth.
When you leave the house, the hostess gives you a handful of nuts, a loaf of bread in a plastic bag, and sometimes a little note written in Cyrillic that you'll never understand but which you keep like a talisman. Staying with a local here is not just a box to tick on a card. It's a seminal experience. A journey within a journey. A way of discovering that the most beautiful monument in Uzbekistan... is perhaps your grandmother's coffee table in Bukhara.
So if you're ever in Central Asia, forget the three-star hotels. Look for houses with curtains billowing in the breeze and half-open gates. Behind them, there's always tea waiting. And perhaps a new chapter in your own story.
A crossroads of cultures and history, theUzbekistan is a must-see destination for those with a passion for history and discovery. From the ancient cities of the Silk Road to the wild mountains, this country offers an incomparable wealth of heritage and landscapes. With Sarbon ToursExplore this jewel of Central Asia and let yourself be seduced by its legendary hospitality.
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