Khiva, Uzbekistan
After checking our passports, the Uzbek border guards checked our football preferences. Though we were unable to agree on the superiority of Manchester United we were waved cheerfully through. Before long we were hurtling away in an old Lada that seemed to be held together with parquet lino and gaffer tape.
As cracked roads and Soviet factories swept by in the dust, I asked whether life had been better under the USSR. 'Life good now!' replied our driver 'in USSR I was teacher, now I'm taxi driver!' I didn't entirely follow his logic. We spluttered to a stop at the old city of Khiva, one of a line of Uzbek oasis towns that serviced the old Silk Road. The city was a warren of honeycomb houses, mosques and azure tiled minarets. It isn’t really a living city, it is partly a theme park for overweight French and German tour groups. They roll out of coaches in a mass of overstretched pastel travel-wear and telephoto lenses, gawping like dying fish. We haven't seen any such tourism since Western Turkey and it was a bit of a shock. Still, as theme parks go, it was truly beautiful and seeing a silver moon over the silhouetted skyline removed the tacky modernity and allowed us to step back to those romantic Silk Road days. The good old days when they did romantic things like trading slaves and throwing criminals from minarets.
We changed money on the black market (you get nearly 30% more than in a bank) and were given thick, gangster bundles of notes. We have to carry it around in a bag.
Less than 100 pounds in Uzbek Som
On the way to Bukhara there were two roads, one half-destroyed by sand and potholes, the other only half built and strewn with huge barriers of concrete. Our taxi had to weave between the two over little beaten earth ramps. None of this stopped our driver from driving at 140kph whenever possible, or from deciding to moisturize his face with a little cotton pad in one hand and a bottle of cream in the other. It was up to his knees alone to steer round the potholes and through the narrow concrete gaps. Near-death flew by the window very five minutes. Seatbelts are slung over one shoulder for police checks but otherwise its considered weak to wear one ‘It’s against my soul!’ said one Uzbek.
Somehow we survived and made it to Bukhara. By this point in our journey we had seen enough mosques and madrassas to last a pious mullah's lifetime and possibly didn't fully appreciate the beauty of the architecture. It was fascinating though to see the bleeding of cultures traced in the stone. Persian tiling clashing with Tibetan woodwork, true Silk Road architecture. It was also lovely to see friends we had met in Iran and Uzbekistan, other Silk Roaders following the dream east, discussing roads to China while the domes turned from azure to gold in the dying sun.
Samarkand is largely a fairly drab Soviet city but it is also home to some pretty monumental architecture. It was the imperial capital of Tamerlane (Timur the Lame). Tamerlane controlled an empire that stretched from Pakistan (or thereabouts) to the Mediterranean. We've been hearing tales about him since arriving in Turkey. One described a foolish Anatolian ruler who said something along the lines of 'That Tamerlane's a pussy, I could slap him up no problem.' Hearing of this, Tamerlane had the ruler and his entire city slaughtered and beheaded, then demanded that a mountain be made of the heads. Unsatisfied with the height of the mountain, he had his men rebuild it with a bloody mud mortar until it satisfied his crazed desire. In short, he was a bit of a twat. He did, however, commission some amazing buildings, huge constructions of glorious blue and green tile work, gold ceilings and towering minarets. Even to our mosque-numbed minds, it was quite stunning.
We changed money on the black market (you get nearly 30% more than in a bank) and were given thick, gangster bundles of notes. We have to carry it around in a bag.
Less than 100 pounds in Uzbek Som
On the way to Bukhara there were two roads, one half-destroyed by sand and potholes, the other only half built and strewn with huge barriers of concrete. Our taxi had to weave between the two over little beaten earth ramps. None of this stopped our driver from driving at 140kph whenever possible, or from deciding to moisturize his face with a little cotton pad in one hand and a bottle of cream in the other. It was up to his knees alone to steer round the potholes and through the narrow concrete gaps. Near-death flew by the window very five minutes. Seatbelts are slung over one shoulder for police checks but otherwise its considered weak to wear one ‘It’s against my soul!’ said one Uzbek.
Somehow we survived and made it to Bukhara. By this point in our journey we had seen enough mosques and madrassas to last a pious mullah's lifetime and possibly didn't fully appreciate the beauty of the architecture. It was fascinating though to see the bleeding of cultures traced in the stone. Persian tiling clashing with Tibetan woodwork, true Silk Road architecture. It was also lovely to see friends we had met in Iran and Uzbekistan, other Silk Roaders following the dream east, discussing roads to China while the domes turned from azure to gold in the dying sun.
Samarkand is largely a fairly drab Soviet city but it is also home to some pretty monumental architecture. It was the imperial capital of Tamerlane (Timur the Lame). Tamerlane controlled an empire that stretched from Pakistan (or thereabouts) to the Mediterranean. We've been hearing tales about him since arriving in Turkey. One described a foolish Anatolian ruler who said something along the lines of 'That Tamerlane's a pussy, I could slap him up no problem.' Hearing of this, Tamerlane had the ruler and his entire city slaughtered and beheaded, then demanded that a mountain be made of the heads. Unsatisfied with the height of the mountain, he had his men rebuild it with a bloody mud mortar until it satisfied his crazed desire. In short, he was a bit of a twat. He did, however, commission some amazing buildings, huge constructions of glorious blue and green tile work, gold ceilings and towering minarets. Even to our mosque-numbed minds, it was quite stunning.
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| A Samarkand interior |
Another train took us to the Tashkent, Uzbekistan’s capital. It was almost a relief to find there were no historical monuments to see, just Soviet boulevards cooled by chlorophyll-green trees and a few monumental, yet tacky, buildings of white marble. Though there’s nothing much to truly inspire here, we’ve enjoyed walking around the spray of the sprinklers and the smoke of the street side shaslyk. The main reason we came to Tashkent was to see Nic’s ex-student Maruf. Maruf smothered us with the full power of Uzbek hospitality. He paid for our hotel and our food and drove us everywhere. We ate with his family, devout Muslims in a country where secularism often overrides (it is more common to see women in tight-fitting skirts and fishnets than in headscarves). The family plied us with food and gifts and I am now the proud owner of a rather fetching purple wedding gown. I even ended up wowing Maruf’s PVC firm at their weekly football match. My giraffe-like finesse had them revising their high regard for English football.
Nic shows Maruf's family our wedding photos
The main stress during trip has been obtaining visas. In order to follow our journey we have had to acquire letters of invitation, flight details, hotel bookings and employer references. Naturally we have had none of these so have become rather expert in forging such documents. Amazingly, in the last couple of days, we have acquired all the visas we need to complete our Silk Road journey and are now free to pass through Kyrgyzstan (I don’t think even the Kyrgyz know where that is) to China. With the hot Spring sun now warming our backs we travel onwards to the mountains with the distant scents of the Far East just beginning to tingle our noses.
Outside Tashkent
Nic shows Maruf's family our wedding photos
The main stress during trip has been obtaining visas. In order to follow our journey we have had to acquire letters of invitation, flight details, hotel bookings and employer references. Naturally we have had none of these so have become rather expert in forging such documents. Amazingly, in the last couple of days, we have acquired all the visas we need to complete our Silk Road journey and are now free to pass through Kyrgyzstan (I don’t think even the Kyrgyz know where that is) to China. With the hot Spring sun now warming our backs we travel onwards to the mountains with the distant scents of the Far East just beginning to tingle our noses.
Outside Tashkent
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