Drone Drama in Uzbekistan: A Legal Labyrinth and Unforgettable Adventure
From Criminal Offender to Administrative Nuisance in Just Three Days
Two phrases sum up my extended stay in Bukhara, Uzbekistan, in June 2024: the Slovak saying ‘Utiekla hrobarovi z lopaty’ (literally, ‘She ran away from the gravedigger’s shovel’) and the English ‘Playing with fire.’ And play with fire, I did. But as mistakes are portals of discovery, I chose to see this as an adventure — rooted in exploration, learning, and a dose of drama.
Robert Greene, one of my favorite authors, says there’s not enough “theater” in our lives. That explains why my Instagram was flooded with concern and curiosity after my drone debacle in Uzbekistan. Some people were amused, some offered to fly out and help (I love their crazy courage), and many kept checking in. It was bizarrely fun, despite the chaos unfolding behind the scenes.
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Confusing Drone Laws and Misguided Assumptions
Uzbekistan’s drone laws are vague, at least according to the patchwork of information I found online. I naively assumed the country would be as lenient as its Central Asian neighbors. This misguided confidence made me appreciate the transparent drone regulations in the EU, namely EASA.
I brought the drone to capture the beauty of a lesser-traveled region rich in history, culture, and breathtaking landscapes — from the majestic architecture of Samarkand to the hauntingly beautiful Aralkum Desert, where the STIHIA festival brings light to a region marked by environmental catastrophe.
Tila Cori Madrasah — a 17th-century Islamic school at Registan Square in the historical center of Samarkand, a UNESCO World Heritage site
I had used the drone in seven other countries on my trip without issue. China and Pakistan posed challenges, but I was prepared for them. I didn’t expect Uzbekistan to be a problem. But on June 12, 2024, everything changed.
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The Moment Everything Fell Apart
At Bukhara’s train station, transport police asked about the drone in my bag. Within minutes, more than ten officers surrounded me. I missed my train, and my carefully crafted travel plan collapsed. Exhausted and overwhelmed, I realized I couldn’t talk my way out of this one.
The language barrier made things worse. I was interrogated for four hours, and while waiting for a translator, I seized a risky opportunity to take the drone and do what needed to be done (I’ll omit the details). When the translator finally arrived, he shouted, “You need to give the drone to the police!” I snapped back, “I will NOT give my drone to anyone.” He paused, then asked, “Your English is good. Do you have IELTS?” I couldn’t help but laugh and think I'm in early 2000s, high school time. It broke the tension for a brief moment.
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A Maze of Legal Confusion and Unexpected Allies
I demanded a lawyer, showing emails proving my attempts to secure drone permits months earlier. No one told me it was illegal. Not the Civil Aviation Authority, not the Ministry of Tourism, and not the border officials who were more interested in bribes than security. I had passed through multiple train station scans without issue until this one.
After a three-page, rambling report was filed (picture the last chapter from James Joyce’s Ulysses with its lack of punctuation), two officers drove me back to my hotel. During the ride, one invited me to dinner, and the other offered me a place to stay during the court process. I politely declined, suppressing a laugh at the absurdity of it all.
That night, I lay awake, replaying the day’s events. I was in a foreign country, tangled in a legal mess I didn’t fully understand. Yet, the officers’ kindness surprised me. Despite the chaos, they showed genuine concern. It was a strange blend of fear and gratitude.
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A Timely Law Change
According to the law in effect on June 12, 2024, I was a criminal facing a minimum of three years in prison. But three days after my arrest, an amendment signed by President Shavkat Mirziyoyev in March —three months before it took effect — reduced the offense to an administrative violation. Just like that, I went from a potential prisoner to an administrative nuisance.
It’s fascinating how quickly labels and social constructs can change. One day, I was a criminal; the next, I was simply a rule-breaker caught in bureaucracy. It made me reflect on how arbitrary and fragile these constructs truly are. If you've ever watched Inside the World's Toughest Prisons on Netflix, you’ll realize how dramatically legal systems can differ between countries. In some places, possession of weed can land you in prison for years, while in others, a conviction for rape can result in the same sentence. Legal constructs can seem utterly absurd.
The Amirzadeh Mausoleum located within the Shah-i Zindah funerary complex, built between 11th – 15th centuries
Choose Your Own Ending
As I sat writing this article in my hotel in Bukhara, I had already penned the ending before the story had truly concluded. But when the drama finally came to an unexpected close, I couldn’t help but reflect on the countless realities I could have stepped into, shaped by both my decisions and the actions of the investigating officers. It reminded me of Black Mirror: Bandersnatch, where the narrative unfolds based on the choices you make. With my initial script in hand, here are two possible endings. Which one do you think actually happened?
Version 1: A Happy Twist
On June 20, I was summoned to the train station. After the drone was returned from the device investigation in Tashkent, I was taken to a court hearing in Bukhara. Ms. Husnora, the lawyer I met at the station, represented me. True to the officer’s word, I left the country on June 24 with no fine, no bribe, and with the drone.
What I did get was a deeper appreciation for Uzbekistan, its people, and its history. Despite the chaos, I bonded with new friends, enjoyed extra days in beautiful Bukhara, and shared a surreal lunch with the police officer and translator, complete with kilos of shashlik and Pepsi. As a parting gift, the officer picked a rose for me from the police headquarters’ garden.
During those extra days, I processed months of stress, found creative inspiration, and meditated in a 16th-century caravanserai’s courtyard. The drone seemed insignificant compared to the experiences I gained.
I’m now en route to Tajikistan, ready for four days of camping in the Fann Mountains, where I’ll breathe fresh air, admire golden mountain peaks, and gaze at star-filled skies.
Version 2: The Great Escape
On June 20, I was summoned to the station, supposedly for a court hearing. The officer reassured me that admitting my mistake would result in just a fine, and I could leave with the drone. But after hours of paperwork, a shady supervisor demanded an under-the-table bribe. I refused, calling the Slovak consul, who advised me to leave without paying.
With no formal exit strategy, I booked the earliest train at 4:30 am, hoping to avoid any more confrontations. My heart raced when the same lady who found my drone greeted me at the station, but she simply smiled and wished me well. I crossed the border into Tajikistan with a mix of relief and disbelief.
Now, I’m in the Fann Mountains, basking in the freedom and beauty of untouched nature. As for the drone, well, I managed to keep the accessories by cleverly telling the police that while they had the right to confiscate the drone, they couldn’t take everything that wasn’t a drone. It left them scratching their heads, and in the end, they handed me back the lithium battery charger, two batteries, the bag, propellers, and cables (which I later sold for 300 EUR). So much for the lack of a legal definition (grin). And the drone itself is just a history.
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Reflections and Revelations
This drone drama taught me more than I could have imagined. It wasn’t just about navigating foreign laws; it was about confronting fear, uncertainty, and the impermanence of labels. From criminal to traveler, from chaos to calm — it was a rollercoaster of emotions that left me more grateful and grounded.
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Adventure isn’t always easy, but it’s always worth it. Keep exploring, keep discovering, and keep wandering!
Always in Wonder Loop,
Mirka