Global Traveller Blog

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.

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.

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.

The weather in lived up to the grim forecast. It was raining when I left the hotel in Tashkent to get to the train station. I left in plenty of time.  Or so I thought.

I got to the train station where I bought the ticket the day before at 8:34 for a 8:55 train which seemed fine. As I was going through security however the guard looked at my ticket and said oh no the train leaves from another station. Another station! What other station? There’s another station about 5 km away. Who knew? It did not appear either in my LP guidebook or in my extensive online research. How could there be a new train station? Who has new train stations?

So I grabbed a taxi right outside not even bothering to wait for the Yandex taxi. I pointed out to the driver what time I had to be at the station and he took off. It was through heavy rush hour traffic and in the pouring rain.

We arrived at the station one minute  before the train was scheduled to depart. The security guard took one look at my ticket, grabbed my suitcase and started running, beckoning me to follow him. We raced down the platform through the rain, upstairs, downstairs. I’m  panting hard under my day pack, trying to keep up. Finally he got to the train and threw my suitcase aboard.  I climbed aboard with about four seconds to spare. Literally.

But kudos to the security guard for making the effort. Whoever you are–thank you.

And I was not the only foreigner to go through this. There were at least two other couples  who were running up also at the last minute. So it seems as

Three hours later we arrived in Samarkand also in the pouring rain. Not too much sightseeing today. I was glad that I had extended my stay to make a three-night stay rather than the two nights I had initially intended.

I grabbed a taxi to the Emir b&b a place I immediately liked. It seemed homeu and friendly. The owner spoke English and the place was well located.

By now it was lunchtime and although the hotel was well-located for visits, there was not one single restaurant or dining establishment or cafe around. Of course I was starving and became desperate for something to eat. First the owner tried to direct me to a place where there were a couple of cafes but I just could not follow the directions. and got lost in a maze of manicured walkways. Time for a taxi! I  finally arrived at a place called Old City. It was very Russian and cozy and really hit the spot with some wonderful beet and walnut salad and then some noodles with vegetables and meat.

I took a taxi back and took a look at the Gur-E-Emir Mausoleum which was just steps away from my B&B.

This contains the tomb of Timur, the 15th-century monster who managed to eliminate 5% of the world’s population on his rampage through central Asia, northern India and Turkey. His big hero was Genghis Khan. Don’t get me started. But he knew his architecture. The medressas, mosques and mausoleums that make Samarkand so spectacular are largely thanks to Timur and his impeccable taste.

The central highlight of Samarkand is Registan, the ensemble of three medressas that is simply breathtaking.

But not so much in fading light on a drizzly day! Again, I was so glad I had the time to return on a brighter day. This is what I had come to see.

It took me some time to get oriented. Samarkand is divided into the Russian part of town where the train station was and old Samarkand which had the madrasas and mosques and mausoleums. This older part dates back to the 15th century when Samarkand was the capital of the Silk Road. Built after Genghis Khan and his murdering mob swept through and leveled everything in their path, these buildings were protected and restored by Russia and then the Soviet Union. After independence, the Uzbeckistan government also made sure that Registan and the other (equally incredible) sights were kept in shape. It’s the jewel of the country, if not all of central Asia.

I found the Russian part of town surprisingly attractive. It was laid out when the Russians invaded in the 19th century and, unlike later Soviet style architecture, the wide boulevards were lined with low one-story colonial-style buildings interspersed with modern structures of course. It’s on a much more human scale than Tashkent.

I returned to the hotel eagerly anticipating the next day.

I slept poorly last  night as I was wired about the border crossing into Uzbekistan. One of the reasons why I chose the train rather than taking a bus or minibus across the border was I figured that the border officials would be more familiar with this newfangled e Visa program at a train crossing rather than in a minibus with a bunch of locals. Uzbeckistan only recently eliminated visa requirements for Europeans and allowed others, including Americans, to apply for a visa online. before that, a Letter of Invitation was required.

I had heard stories of long delays at the border, customs officials going through your bags to look for forbidden medication and crucially important customs declarations. I can’t remember the last time in my long travel history that I was uptight about a border crossing.

Unfortunately the train left shortly before 7 a.m. which meant that I boarded the train quite exhausted and with the beginnings of a head cold.

About three and a half hours later the train stopped and the officials boarded the train. Obviously there are no pictures of this experience.

The head immigration officer was a beefy fellow who sat down in the seat and pulled out a device that seem to be a custom laptop with a forward-facing camera. I have never seen anything quite like it. I produced my passport and my e-visa which he scowled at for quite some time as I became increasingly nervous. He was going to stamp my passport, had the stamp right on the passport but then stopped and gazed again into his screen. I waited and waited and finally I got the stamp. I return to my seat and thought all was over. But no. He left the car and about 10 minutes later came back. He motioned to a young Korean guy to translate and asked to see my e-visa again and then asked through the Korean translator who spoke excellent English if he could see my papers again. Is this a letter of Invitation he asked. No I said it’s an e-visa which I got online. Finally he scowled and walked away.

But the ordeal was not over. There was still customs to deal with.  Once he immigration authorities left we rolled on the few hundred meters and then the customs people boarded with more questions. They were  friendly enough even though they asked to open my bag and then asked where I was from. I said I was from New York which seemed simpler and always gets a really good reaction. Then they asked how tall the Statue of Liberty was. Since everyone was being so friendly I tried to be about as charming and delightful as I could muster up in my diminished state. I laughed uproariously and said I didn’t know.

Then the big guns came on. A very attractive thirty-something guy boarded, all dimples and smiles, and set himself across from me  all ready to shoot the breeze. Why was I traveling alone?  I said I was widowed and my kids were grown. He couldn’t have been more charming and even just ever-so-slightly flirtatious. We laughed and chatted about New York, about where I was going in Uzbekistan, about how much time I plan to spend in Uzbekistan all interspersed with him expressing a desire to of course go to New York. Then he wanted to know what I thought of Trump.  I replied honestly that we really hate him but then he said “oh but Ivanka Trump is very beautiful.” Yes I agreed quite beautiful and greedy. Then he wanted to know if I had brought anything illegal in my suitcase because America is known for  drugs and guns. “Oh no!” I said that I hate guns and drugs, would never have them and went on and on and babbled about that for a while. He spoke excellent English and was so pleasant but eventually I realized that actually I was being interrogated. How much money did I bring with me? Was the Freedom Monument in New York?   Etc, etc. As attractive as he was, I found myself silently begging please please go and leave me alone. Please go. Finally he and the other three or four guys who were hanging around left and the train stood there for a while.  The whole process took a good two hours.

The Korean guy was friendly and talkative. Actually he was of Korean an ethnicity but born and raised in Tashkent. Stalin had expelled several hundred thousand Koreans in the 1930s and most wound up in Kazakhstan and Uzbeckistan.  He had worked for a while in Shanghai but had to leave because the air pollution was so bad that his baby daughter’s life was in danger. He was traveling with his wife but for some reason appeared in my car. I was getting so paranoid at this point, I fleetingly wondered if he was somehow working with the police.

I had arranged for the hotel to send a taxi even though I knew that it was going to be overpriced because it seemed simplest.  I was exhausted and ravenous at this point. I thought the trip would be five hours but it was actually six because Tashkent is an hour behind Almaty. Illogical but true.

The taxi driver spoke English fairly well and told me that he had applied for the Green card lottery system and was waiting for an answer. He hoped to do his dissertation in macroeconomics in a university in America and wanted to know if I thought that it would be possible. I told him I’d absolutely no idea but that he should consult the university’s website and contact them directly.

So finally we arrived at the Empire hotel which, to be honest, is completely unprepossessing and rather overpriced for what it is but the manager was absolutely adorable and advanced me money to pay the driver and get food. Of course there was no currency exchange open because you can only exchange currency at the bank and it was Sunday. Anyway he really couldn’t have been nicer and ordered some food and I proceeded to rest up for the rest of the day.

Later on, I met the hotel’s other american guest, Nick, who was working on a doctorate in Turkic languages. He was delightful company and filled me in on life in Tashkent, such as the fact that there is no town center. He also walked me over to an ATM two kilometres away that fortunately coughed up some cash.