Portland to LA on Amtrak

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October 14-15

The Portland to LA route on Amtrak is called the Coast Starlight and it’s a beauty. It’s also a popular route and was significantly more crowded than the prior train. This train also has a very different vibe from the cross country train. The wary attendants treat us like dangerous lunatics which is not fair to the many peaceful lunatics on this train.

There was the guy with the long bamboo pole that was not actually a cane…the woman who needed to share her personal hygiene issues that related to her bipolar disorder…the woman seated next to me who spoke in nonsensical phrases and abruptly left the train along with the sleeping bag Jim had lent us. . .the guy who lost a friend in some famous mudslide here and still could not understand why anyone would talk about climate change.

The only person with her head screwed on straight was a transgender woman who kept me absorbed in conversation for about six hours. An aspiring labor lawyer, she had moved to Lacrosse, Wisconsin “for love” and assured me that there was an artistic, alternative scene there. I found that curious since I boarded the prior train in Chicago with an extended family of Mennonites who also called Lacrosse their home. Must be quite a place. Anyway Louisa had “been places and seen things” and was happy to tell me about her travels and political observations.

The first part of the trip followed the Columbia River.

As night fell I realized that I was going to be stuck next to a crazy person and that the train was due to pick up even more passengers. Louisa suggested I try for “business class” where she was. Not all trains have business class but this one did. Because it costs $20 more ($50 if you book while on the train), the car was far less crowded. The seats were leather and you get a $6 voucher for food or drink. I’m in! Arranging a booking from the train was no easy task as the phone connection was spotty (Amtrak cross-country does not have Wifi). After many, many aborted calls to customer service I finally succeeded in making the change and took my seat–with my free cocktail!

The following day was all California coast and it was spectacular.

So many fields full of cabbage, kale, carrots, greens. If only they made it to the Amtrak dining car. The food there was a step up from airline fare but could certainly have used more fresh fruits and vegetables.

We passed Paso Robles

Los Padres National Forest

But the real highlight was the stretch of coastline that started north of Santa Barbara. Some of the coast can only be seen from the train.

 

 

 

 

 


Portland

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October 12-14

We pulled into downtown Portland around noon.Time for lunch! We had a decent meal at a downtown bar-restaurant and then looked around a little. Powell’s Books was a must–the world’s largest independent bookstore. Unfortunately my carry-on only plane ticket didn’t allow room for a major book shop but it was fun to look around.

Afterwards, we headed to a weed shop with a friend of Diane’s who needed to re-up his supply. It was so clean and wholesome; things have changed a great deal since I left the States!

The fall colors were in full bloom and I was impressed with the elaborate Halloween decorations.

And the spectacular fall colors:

With the light fading, I headed to Hawthorne Boulevard for a look at the vintage shops, boutiques and cafes. I was particularly impressed with the New Seasons grocery store. As kale is basically unavailable in France, I had to buy a kale salad takeout which turned out to be delicious.

It took me awhile to figure out the bus system but eventually I caught the correct bus back to our AirBnB just as it was starting to rain.

The weather improved somewhat the following day which was great for our only full day of sightseeing. At least it wasn’t raining. Kathie’s friend, Jim, kindly took us up to the Japanese garden, a top sight in Portland. It was such a great time of year to visit as the foliage was in full autumn colors. It was busy though!

For lunch we headed back to Portland for the Saturday Market (also held on Sunday) which gave us a full dose Portland’s zany side.

The band was good too!

After, we drove up to Multnomah Falls, the second highest falls in America. Only in getting out of town can you appreciate the beauty of the Pacific northwest.

Then there are the Wahkeena Falls:

And the Latourell Falls:

And, thank you Oregon for the great lookout point to take in the whole sweep of the Columbia River Gorge.

The whole day was exhilarating. We were hungry though. After much googling and calling, we realized that most Portland restaurants were closed on Sunday. We wound up going back to our luxe digs and ordering sushi which turned out to be excellent.

My travel companions: Jim, Kathie & Diane.

 

We spent most of the morning tidying up Kate’s fabulous apartment but it was such a beautiful day that Diane and I ducked out for a walk around the neighborhood.

Now here’s a great idea:

Here’s a popular sign:

Good to know which American we’re in.

Yes, whoever you are. Just stop it!

 


Chicago to Portland on Amtrak

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October 10-12

So what is it like taking Amtrak? Pleasant and relaxing. Kathie and Diane opted for a room which is cozy, to put it nicely. Although it theoretically slept three, I think that two adults and a child would be comfortable. Three adults–not so much. They got a private shower and toilet plus all included meals in the dining car.

I opted for coach, at a fraction of the price and I found it comfortable enough. The seats reclined to have a leg rest and a foot rest. It would be comparable to business class on an airline. The train was not crowded which meant that I had two seats to myself. The cafe car sold drinks and snacks but the first night I polished off the remains of the Chicago deep-dish pizza we had ordered for lunch. There were plenty of toilets and even a “ladies lounge” with sinks and seats to change and wash up.

Then there’s the sightseeing car which is a comfortable and convivial way to watch the passing scenery from the huge glass windows on each side.

As we left Union Station in mid-afternoon, we only had a few hours of daylight left. We passed through Wisconsin around sunset.

When we woke up in the morning we were rolling through North Dakota which was suffering through a highly unusual early autumn blizzard. The cafe-car manager, Miss Oliver, announced breakfast with a little song and some inspirational words. She had a beautiful voice but a no-nonsense manner when she served up coffee and pastries.

North Dakota had a certain windswept charm as we chugged across the flat snow-covered plains.

We had a short stop in Minot, enough to stretch our legs and inhale the bracing cold air at the train station which was well-maintained. Like all the Amtrak waiting rooms the TV was turned to CNN, not Fox News.

I fell into conversation with a retired school teacher from around Minot. Although he now leased out his family farm (“can’t compete with Big Agriculture”) he was mightily worried about the effects of the storm on the farming community that was already struggling under Trump’s tariffs. The fact that the storm arrived before the crops were harvested was potentially disastrous. He also bemoaned how difficult it was to enjoy his old social circle. “You can’t talk to people anymore. They all have their own facts and see conspiracies everywhere”. He had high praise for the Federal Fish and Wildlife Service, though, particularly as they regulated the deer and elk population through awarding hunting licenses. I may not wish to hunt the animals myself but I could how letting animals get mashed up in car crashes is not a good solution either.

We spent all morning rolling through the vast, lonely spaces of North Dakota. I found it curious to pass by pools of water and swampy land.I asked a guy on the train who said that the water table has been rising for years. Apparently Devils Lake is rising and flooding the land, changing the whole topography of the region. More here.

By late afternoon we passed out of the blizzard and into eastern Montana.

I was hoping to get a glimpse of Glacier National Park before nightfall but it was not to be. The train was badly delayed by the storm. Also, Amtrak is frequently late because they don’t own the tracks. The freight companies that own the infrastructure insist that freight trains get priority.

We passed through the National Park at night but I was happy to wake up on the Columbia River Gorge.

With Mount Hood in the background

 


Chicago

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October 8

So rather than stay in central Chicago (so expensive!) we chose the Pilsen neighborhood. Originally built to accommodate central European immigrants, Pilsen began attracting Mexican immigrants in the mid-20th century. Now, it’s slowly gentrifying and has become known as an artsy “alternative” place with a smattering of galleries amid the Mexican restaurants and bodegas.

Unfortunately the above restaurant was terrible!

Our AirBnB was in a building clearly intended for immigrants: high ceilings, large eat-in kitchen and no closets. The bathroom was clearly a late-addition; the closet in the hall had once served that purpose.

The combination of Mexican and “hipster” in the neighborhood made for some odd gaps. Fresh fruit was non-existent which, I later realized, seems to be a feature of life outside major urban centers. Also we walked all over trying to find a loaf of bread for breakfast. Forget about the bodegas. We wound up in a vegan bakery of all places that sold us some sort of sweet rolls.

October 9

Time to explore Chicago! I thought a quick trip to the tourist office might sort us out with maps, public transport, events, recommended activities. One of the many reasons I dislike AirBnB is because you’re left adrift; no hotel receptionist can point you in the right direction. The tourist office website was remarkably vague about where to find the office. Could it really be in Macy’s? Yes it could and was. Like so many buildings in central Chicago, Macy’s was stately and elegant with an eye-popping stained glass ceiling and a lusciously panelled dining room, the Walnut Room.

We knew we wanted to do the Architecture Tour on the river and the tourist office strongly recommended the one linked to the Architecture Institute. After a quick bite at the port, we boarded the boat and spent 90 delightful minutes as a guide imparted her knowledge of and love for the city.

Tracing the architectural development of the city as it wrestled with engineering the canals and locks of the Chicago River was a window into the ingeniousness and energy of the city.

At the end point of the journey, when we stopped for the above view, the guide said “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Chicago–a great American city”. I got choked up, I admit.

Back in town we headed to Millennium Park and of course a photo opportunity at The Bean.

Then it was on to get a bite to eat. Why not Chinatown? It was quieter than I expected, with little foot traffic. I thought of the perpetually crowded streets of Chinatown in New York. We ate at Triple Crown Restaurant which served up some truly excellent Dim Sum.

We finished off the day with a show at Second City which was delightful. The show was largely scripted with the improvisational portion at the end, but the performers were talented and the sketches funny and topical. Were any devoted to poking fun at Trump? Duh.


End of the Silk Road

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It was pouring rain when I woke up in Bukhara. I was informed that the wet weather was most unusual for this time of year.

I packed and headed to the markets to pick up some jewelry I had scoped out in the last few days and bought some snacks for the train journey back to Tashkent.

I had arranged with the taxi driver who took me around yesterday to drive me to the train station but he didn’t show up!

It was a mad scramble but the owner of the Mukhlisabegim guesthouse quickly arranged for another driver and walked with me through the pouring rain to the taxi stop.

The train was nearly full but it was a comfortable enough six-hour ride to Tashkent. I arrived late and check into the Rooms Inn Hotel a new, modern and comfortable place.

It was still pouring the following day which discouraged further sightseeing in Tashkent. I headed over to the Abulkasim Medressa which had been turned into an artisan’s school. I planned to buy a carved walnut box but the size wasn’t right for its purpose so I bought a lovely hand-painted miniature that fit well into my suitcase.

Then I treated myself to a massive feast in a Korean restaurant that cost all of $13.

The trip back was extremely arduous: a flight to Almaty, five hours waiting for a 4am flight to Frankfurt; seven hours on a plane; another five hours waiting for a flight to Nice. I never want to see the inside of an airport again. Except I certainly will. Inshallah.

 


Around Bukhara

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I awoke to clear skies. What a pleasure! Finally! It seemed like a good day to look around the countryside a little.

I arranged for a taxi to take me to the main sights ($15) On the way the driver pointed out vineyards and fruit trees saying that the new President was finally moving away from King Cotton. The thirsty plant has ruined the soil. He blames it on the Soviets but actually the late strongman  Karimov enthusiastically continued the destructive policy.

First stop was the Bahautdin Naqshband Mausoleum. It was busy with worshippers and a few tourists. Restoration was pretty heavy as it is considered a holy spot. It’s partly because the region embraced his brand of Sufi Islam that the more extremist Wahibi brand never gained traction here.

Then there was the petrified tree which allegedly sprouted on the spot where BÑ stuck his staff after returning from Mecca.

His tomb was the focus, protected by a horse tail, which is a Mongol custom.

This was far more of a holy spot than tourist destination. The holy man’s aphorisms were displayed throughout the site:

Next up was the summer palace of the last Emir. After seeing so much magnificent architecture, this palace seemed a little lightweight. In contrast to the previous site, the palace was packed with tourists.

The interiors were as lavish as you would expect.

The harem palace (above) was so dark inside you couldn’t appreciate the tapestries. I liked the grounds more, especially the peacocks and screaming crows.

It was all way too touristy. I did see some earrings I liked in one of the many crafts stalls.

The last stop was the best. Char Bakr is a burial complex for several important sheiks. It was certainly not renovated much; you could only glimpse remnants of the ancient tiles. But it was largely empty and most evocative. It was still inhabited by the muezzin. His call to prayer was issued in a clear, strong voice. He also tended a flock of tame pigeons which you could hand feed. Geese, ducks and turkeys completed the menagerie.

Back in Bukhara, I relaxed over a decent lunch at one of the restaurants around Lyabi-Hauz, the central square.

Nearby is the 16th-century Kolkaldosh Medressa.

Then it was time for more sightseeing. I headed first to cute little Char Minar built in 1807. It’s postcard-pretty but slightly silly, no?

Then back through town and out to see the Ismail Samani Mausoleum. It was a long walk and I had trouble finding it. Finally I stumbled on the nearby Chashma Ayub mausoleum where a swarthy middle-aged man decided to give me a personal tour of the neighborhood. He spoke fluent French and English and said that he and his group of traditional musicians had even played the Salle Pleyel on Paris.

The Ismail Samani Mausoleum dates back to 905, making it the oldest monument in Bukhara.

Above is a partially restored section of Bukhara’s ancient walls.

He was extremely knowledgeable and spent about an hour regaling me about Bukhara history. Then we headed back to the Chashma Ayub Mausoleum, now a museum dedicated to explaining Bukhara’s water supply. There’s a spring there which is where Job allegedly struck his staff. I don’t necessarily believe the legend but water from the spring was the sweetest and tastiest water I’ve ever sampled. Bottle that up and no one would ever drink soda again.

After all the time he spent with me I knew there would be an ask. He had CDs to sell! I bought one for about $6 out of respect for his time but also because I happen to like the music.

By this time I was exhausted and headed back to town, first on a bus to the Ark and then walking.

I headed right to Minzifa restaurant for some lovely vegetarian snacks and some wine.

Uh oh. The bill came and the waitress presented me with a written bill for the food and then with a calculator, hurriedly tacked on about $8 for the two glasses of wine. French prices. I protested and she “gave me a discount” of a couple of bucks. What?? She sped away. I thought about it  it and realized that it was basically destined for her pocket. I put down the money for the food and a little extra for the wine and left. I knew she wouldn’t come running after me and she didn’t.

It was the first time in two weeks that anyone tried to pull a fast one on me. Too bad to end my Silk Road journey on a negative vibe.


Bukhara Crafts and Holy Places

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I awoke to a decidedly gray grim and chilly day. I checked the weather report for Khiva and it looked like it was even colder there and just as gray. Now it doesn’t seem like such a gigantic fail to have not worked Khiva into my itinerary. In fact for a gray and miserable day Bukhara is probably the best place in the country to be. There’s so much to see!

First stop was the 16th-century Synagogue which was right around the corner.

I was also fascinated by the ancient Caravanserai which once welcomed caravans. Now they host–what else–craft shops!

As the forecast indicated that it would clear up later on, I decided to spend the good part of the day again going over Bukhara’s endlessly fascinating crafts scene.

The problem that Bukhara has, and I think it’s shared by a lot of other countries with indigenous crafts, is that a lot of the styles don’t quite work in the west. I had thought of buying a small carpet but again the colors just didn’t seem to really go with my bedroom. A lot of the beautifully embroidered jackets and vests and light coats seemed to have colors that were maybe a little too garish to wear in France.

Gold embroidery is a major specialty of Bukhara but how many things with gold embroidery on it am I actually going to wear? So I got a small little pouch with a hand-embroidered design.

I want to support the local craftspeople but I also don’t want to wind up with something that is not really going to fit into my lifestyle. But I did get a beautiful scarf very subtle coloring made from silk and camel wool. .

Of course every time you stop and admire something you get a hard sell which is unfortunate. I also examined some jewelry and particularly some rings. I did appreciate the total honesty among the vendors who are happy to tell you if the stones came from Nepal or Afghanistan or if the shawls came from Pakistan.

The important thing to note about the bazaars is that the clothing is not just made for tourists. Local people buy and wear these styles.

I also checked out some of the other major sites and, despite the weather, appreciated the oldest mosque in Bukhara, now a carpet museum, Maghok-I-Attor. Dating back to the 9th century and then reconstructed in the 16th century, it is believed that Jews prayed here with the Muslims before the construction of the synagogue.

It was such a raw day, I lingered over a long cup of tea in charming tea shop.

Then I strolled back to this town center for some lunch at the Savoy restaurant which although very friendly again turned out to quite unimpressive.

And now finally in late afternoon the sun peeked out illuminating the gorgeous mosques and medressas that I had seen yesterday in the shade.

The 15th-century Ulugbek Medressa and 16th-century Abdul Aziz Khan Medressa make an imposing ensemble, facing each other across a massive square.

Ulugbek Medressa

Abdul Aziz Khan Medressa

Even more spectacular was the Kalon mosque and Minaret and  Mir I Arab Medressa also grouped around a massive square.

Kalon Mosque

Kalon Mosque (interior) and Minaret

Mir-I-Arab Medressa

The Kalon Minaret: 880 years old and still standing!


Bukara First Look

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It’s great that the Hotel Mukhlisabegim, despite its modest rooms, is located just steps from the Lyabi Hauz square. This pretty square centers around a small pond. Bukhara is indeed an oasis city which made it a vital stop on the Silk Road.

So I decided to just wander around for a bit this morning. Since I have time there’s no need to rush around checking sites off a list.

I strolled just about a hundred meters west and came to a peaceful spot centered around the Gaukushan Medressa.

It’s right along one of the canals that was used to drain what had been the swamps of old Bukhara.

It was nearly empty as it’s not one of the more famous spots but it’s still quite attractive.

Soon I found myself in the ancient covered bazaars of Taki Sarrafon, Taki Telpak and Taki Zargaron.

The crafts on display in Bukhara are amazing. They do not display a lot of junk from China and India as they are quick to point out and they are also happy to be honest about whether something is machine made or handmade. Anyway it’s obviously authentic because there are a lot of variations in the designs. I perused stall after stall of silk scarves, silver jewelry, silk carpets, carved walnut boxes, and the particular designs known as suzani and ikat. There are also delicately painted reproductions of iconic scenes from the past as well as straw paintings, gold embroidery, hand-woven silk, ceramic tea sets and elaborate knives. In fact there are far more people working on crafts than there appear to be buyers for them.

Suzani design

The bazaars are endlessly fascinating and because they’re covered it provides some shelter from the rain and drizzle.

I then wandered into one of Bukhara’s main sights, the Kalon Minaret, the Mir I Arab Medressa and the Kalon Mosque. As the sky was a dismal gray, I only gave it a cursory look. What I have learned is that the presence of sunlight makes a very large difference to appreciation of this Islamic architecture. The beautiful blue tiling is meant to sparkle in the sunlight. If you have to see things in the rain then so be it, but the effect is far more dazzling in the sun.

I headed back to town to grab some lunch at Budreddin. Although atmospheric and  friendly, I found the food was overpriced and not very good. By “overpriced”, I mean that I spent about $8 for vegetable dumplings, noodle soup and a beer.

By the time I got to Bukhara’s other main site, The Ark, the sun blazed through the clouds. This gigantic fortress was the place where the Emirs of Bukhara held court until the last emir was chased out by the Bolsheviks in 1920.

 

The fort was fairly crowded but the rooms and exhibits managed to evoke palace life.

Coronation Hall

The Ark is Bukara’s oldest structure, occupied from the 5th Century right up until 1920 when it was bombed by the red army. Although heavily restored, it has some good photographs of the emirs and some of their victims including the two British diplomats, Connelly and Stoddart, who were imprisoned, tortured and ultimately beheaded. It was a major scandal at the time.

The palace walls were incredibly thick which leads one to believe that the emirs must have been worried about attacks.

Taking advantage of the beautiful sunlight I decided to walk back to the Kalon Minaret and mosque to take some pictures.

This minaret was built in 1127 and stands 47 meters tall with 10m deep foundations. It’s an architectural and engineering masterpiece. The 14 ornamental bands represent the first use of the glazed blue tiles that you can now see pretty much everywhere throughout Uzbekistan. Even Genghis Khan was so impressed with it that he didn’t reduce it to smithereens as he did almost every other damn thing in his path.

Sightseeing over, I headed back to this town center and decided to eat at a Lonely Planet recommendation called Old Bukhara. Like every other place, it was immensely crowded and there were no vegetable dishes left so I had to eat a traditional specialty here called Osh which is a rice pilaf with currants and spices topped with a lot of beef. It wasn’t particularly good and the service wasn’t particularly friendly but it filled me up.

No one comes to Uzbekistan for the food.


Samarkand to Bukhara

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I had some time before my train to Bukhara was due to leave so I decided to take a long look at the Gur-I-Amir mausoleum which was just steps away from my b&b. Although I had looked around a little bit on the day of my arrival I hadn’t gone inside because it was too late.

It was pouring rain but the most interesting part or at least the part that I hadn’t yet seen was inside. It was where Timur “the great” and his sons were buried.

Morning was apparently a bad time as this is when tour buses arrive. It was jammed. It was the first time that I felt overwhelmed by tourism.

The main part of the mausoleum is the spectacular indoor room where Timur and his sons are buried. It was jammed. Although glittering with mosaics and gold leaf, it seemed artificial to me. Perhaps it was recent or very heavily restored.

I got a taxi across town and managed to catch the train for once and it was a comfortable and easy three-hour ride. What is it like to be a woman traveling alone in Uzbekistan? It means you never have to worry about lifting your own bag in a public place. There’s always a guy around to help you out. I like that.

The hotel in Bukhara was the Mukhlisabegim which was centrally located even though it made a humble first impression. No one spoke English so bring out Google translate again. It was a typical Jewish merchant house where rooms were arranged in two storeys around a central courtyard.

The main order of business after arriving in Bukhara was to figure out what I was going to do about Khiva, that is whether it would be possible to get there as part of a tour.

I went to a nearby travel agency–Emir–on the vain hope that somehow Emir would find a way to get me to Khiva somehow. I thought that possibly I might be able to work out a an overnight tour with some other people in the minibus or whatever but that just doesn’t seem to be happening. So we went over various options dealing with possible trains and possible shared taxis but frankly it just seemed like a long and exhausting trip across the desert and back. I asked him if he thought it was worth it and he pointed out that it’s not a living city like Bukhara and that maybe I should do it next time. I agreed. No Khiva for me.

Meanwhile it’s true that Bukhara is the first place I’ve been to that shows a central Asian city unmolested by the Russian demolition and reconstruction squad.  I’m looking forward to exploring it.

You can walk places; everything is not a taxi ride away. I had an excellent meal this evening and even tasted some Uzbekistan wine which was delicious! The restaurant was Mizrihi and was only steps away from my hotel. Of course it was filled with Westerners, mostly French but that seems to be par for the course.

 


Samarkand Old Town

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I’m so glad I decided to stay an extra day in Samarkand. The historical center was jaw-droppingly gorgeous but no one actually lived around the imposing mosques and mausoleums.  I wanted to see old residential areas.

I got an early start and decided to follow Lonely Planet’s advice and explore the Jewish quarter in Samarkand’s Old Town.

It didn’t take too long to find the entrance to the neighborhood which, true to lonely planet advice, was hidden away not too far from the tourist office on Registan. No sign marked the entrance.

My goal was to find the old synagogue. I first stopped by the Furlat guest house to ask for directions. The manager couldn’t have been friendlier and the guest house looked attractive with a strong ambience of old Samarkand. I would have been happy staying there.

I wandered down the winding streets which seemed mostly deserted. The once thriving quarter had clearly been allowed to fall into ruin.  Many facades were crumbling yet some of the massive entrance doors seemed to be in good shape. Peeking behind the few that were open I saw tidy, shady courtyards.

I got lost looking for the synagogue but people were happy to point me in the right direction. Finally, a stocky middle aged man kindly led me through the winding streets directly there.

I was pleased to find that the rabbi was there and happy to show me around. He explained that the population of 350,000 Jews in the old quarter was now reduced to about 250. When I asked why, he mentioned Uzbeki police. As the postwar government was known as a tough police state, one can easily imagine it would have been worse on the Jews. So they emigrated to Israel and New York as part of the expatriated Bukharan Jewish community.

There was an Ashkenazi section and a Sephardic section both of which were beautifully maintained.

There was a carefully preserved section of old books and photos of past rabbis.

 

As I walked slowly back through the quiet streets I felt profoundly sad that this community that had played such an essential role in Samarkand’s wealth had been driven out . Yet, amidst the ruins there were still some who had persevered. The remnants of the Jewish community seemed to live in some sort of harmony with the Muslim Uzbekis even though it appeared that they lived in different parts of the tiny town. With a few guesthouses, a couple of little grocery stores, a synagogue and a mosque they had managed to cobble together a shared life.

For lunch I headed to Bibi Khanoun restaurant which was jam-packed with tourists. I don’t think the locals here in Uzbekistan can support a thriving restaurant scene. So pretty much everything is for the tourists.

Lunch wasn’t very good. I ordered dumplings which I couldn’t finish but the salad was okay.

After lunch I decided to head to the Afrosiyab museum. It was a long long walk but it was quiet and peaceful with no traffic. The museum is located in the midst of ancient Samarkand which dates back to the 5th century BC.

The museum was a moderately interesting tour of Samarkand’s ancient history before Genghis Khan swept through and destroyed everything. The highlight was a 7th-century fresco excavated nearby.

I strolled back and stopped at the Siob  Bazar to pick up some provisions for the train ride tomorrow. The dried fruits and nuts were  fresh and tasty, perfect to nibble on. Then I hung around for a while people watching.

There was a lot of work being done everywhere around Registan. Painting, polishing, planting, smoothing the walkways–I wondered what was going on. I found out later that a major Uzbekistan-South Korean summit was to take place in a few days.

I had to wonder if all of them are working freely or if it was forced-labor as in the notorious cotton harvest. Under fire for years over its cotton harvest, the government is supposedly “making progress” in “phasing it out”. By the way, don’t try researching that question in Uzbekistan. The search results are there but the websites they point to are blocked.  It seemed like grueling work under a hot sun.

One thing that I have not seen since arriving in this country is a  newspaper. There were no newsstands, no newspapers on sale and no one reading newspapers or magazines. Eyeglasses were also extremely rare.

I had very much admired the tunic and loose pants outfit that women were wearing and I asked the b&b where I could buy a set. He told me that around the bazar they would actually make it to order but it seemed too complicated for me to work out in such a short stay.

I took one last long look at incredible Registan, happy to drink it in once again, and headed back to my b&b.