#32:   Central Asia, 1995
Traveling the Silk Road with L.C. Swing

The next day, we toured Tashkent’s huge central bazaar, where we bought pistachios and saffron — more saffron than I’ve ever seen in my life and for just pennies. We also toured a couple of nearby mosques and the Fine Arts Museum (the collection of Islamic arts was particularly splendid). That afternoon, we went to another chai-khana where Alisher’s “uncle” (a term of respect for any older male relative) prepared classic Uzbek plauf (rice, meat and vegetables) for us. We sat on the traditional raised platform with a low table in front of us laden with plauf, local fruits, vegetables and flat bread. As is customary, we lingered for a long time, eating slowly and talking. By the time we were ready to get up, we could barely move, and it wasn’t only from sitting with our legs curled up.

The following day was just as full. First, we went to an old mosque and madrassa (Islamic school), where they are trying to rekindle the traditional arts. We bought a lot of gifts there, including a traditional holder for the Koran, intricately carved out of a single piece of wood and adjustable into six different positions.

Then we got a taste of left-over Soviet bureaucracy as we tried, and eventually succeeded, to get visas for Dad and me. (Russell already had one from a previous visit.) What should have taken one half-hour and one trip to the Foreign Ministry ended up taking most of the day and trips all over town. In the end, all was resolved, and after a stop at the wholesale bazaar to buy water, snacks and sodas, we left for Samarkand in the cool of early evening. Rafzhan drove four hours through irrigated fields of food crops and cotton, beautiful to view, but deadly to the Aral Sea which has been destroyed by this same irrigation. We stopped at a roadside chai-khana for a shashlik [described in previous post] dinner by the light of the full moon. When we arrived at almost midnight, our B&B hostess, Emma, was there to greet us and show us into our own apartment across the hall from hers.

Throughout the time we were in Samarkand, Emma proceeded to fill us full-to-bursting three times daily with every traditional Russian and local dish she could think of. I particularly liked “Aladdin” (pronounced all-ah-deen’), a kind of pancake made with yoghurt and sprinkled with powdered sugar and then drowned in homemade jam.

Our first day in Samarkand, we met our guide, Valentina, who teaches at the local Institute of Foreign Languages. She took us first to see the tomb of Tamerlane, the living Shiva of Central Asia, a conqueror who destroyed and created much. Also buried within the tomb is my favorite Central Asian figure, Ulugh Beg (1394-1449). Tamerlane’s grandson, he was both scientist and ruler, yet was eventually executed, because orthodox Muslims thought he was trying to learn things which should be known only to God.

We continued to the Registan (pronounced with a hard “g”) to see one of the great wonders of the world: a huge plaza surrounded on three sides by enormous mosques and madrassas (one of them built by Ulugh Beg!). A Western writer said that for Europeans to have matched the feat, they would have had to build three Gothic cathedrals around an equal plaza. All are beautifully decorated, and they’re being restored now that Uzbekistan is in charge of her own destiny again.

Registan, painted from life in 1920s by M. Khaidirov

However, some of the materials and techniques are not appropriate and may in the end cause more damage than help. This kind of restoration, which one sees throughout the world, is controversial — whether to restore or just preserve. I’m a preservation person myself. Just save what’s there now and show me a painting of how it might have looked. It’s too risky otherwise: what’s there may be destroyed, as is currently happening at Angkor Wat.

Our last day in Samarkand, we visited the Bibi Khanum mosque and madrassa. Bibi Khanum, Tamerlane’s favorite wife, commissioned this beautiful complex, including a huge marble support for a Koran so large it could be read from the balcony above. The former Chinese princess is credited by some as having brought the secret of silk manufacture out of China. (Another legend says she fell in love with her architect.)

Next door to the complex is Samarkand’s bazaar, where I found traditionally-patterned fabric perfect for curtains in our Almaty dining room.

We went on to the Shah-i-Zinda necropolis on the outskirts of the old town. An amazing alleyway of tombs, each more richly decorated than the next, all in tiles of blue and green and turquoise and white and yellow. It was like being inside a jewel. Next was Ulugh Beg’s observatory, where he and fellow scientists made calculations far more sophisticated than anyone else was doing at that time. His observations and theories put him in the same league as Galileo and Kepler.

The day continued with a drive through the original Sogdian walled city, now in ruins and awaiting the archaeologists. Those of you who remember your Western Civ probably recall that it was the Persian Sogdians who ruled this part of the world when Alexander the Great came through and conquered everything in his path. It was an amazing feeling to be on this fortified hilltop and imagine that Alexander had been here too.

Finally, we visited an atelier where a refugee Afghan family is teaching local girls to make carpets again. This skill was mostly lost under the Soviets, so it’s ironic that the Soviet incursion into Afghanistan has made possible the rebirth of an ancient art in Uzbekistan. We saw one we really liked, but the price was far too rich for our blood — champagne tastes and beer pocketbook. At least we know they’re making the good stuff.

Our three-day Samarkand sojourn over, we left in the cool of early morning for Bokhara, an important Silk Road stop to the west, situated in an oasis between the Black and the Red Sands. Again, we drove through irrigated fields, except for 30 minutes. That half-hour revealed how arduous the trek must have been in ancient times when it was six days of desert tracks instead of four hours of highway.

We were greeted by host Sasha, a former Russian soccer star who has returned to his native city and opened a guest house with his wife Lena. A typical Bokharan house built around a courtyard shaded by vine leaves, it features a small garden in the middle with fig trees and the ubiquitous Central Asian divan.

Sasha doesn’t serve lunch, so Rafzhan took us to the old town center for a traditional meal of shashlik, etc. I was enchanted by this public space, so symbolic of an oasis in the desert. Five hundred year-old mulberry trees surround a reservoir where children splash and play. On three sides are ancient madrassas, and the fourth side houses a chai-khana where old men sit and gossip: a glimpse of medieval life out of the Arabian Nights. After lunch, we turned in some laundry and turned into bed ourselves for a nice nap before dinner.

The next day, we were met by Noilla, who works at the museum but moonlights as a guide. We started at The Ark, which has nothing to do with Noah. It’s the ancient citadel where so much history took place, not the least of which was the imprisonment and eventual beheading of two officers on Her Majesty’s Secret Service in the 19th century. (If you like, read The Great Game, an account of intrepid British, as well as Russian, spies during the years when the two world powers were striving for control of Central Asia.) We visited the emir’s audience hall, a beautiful mosque and the actual six-meter-deep pit where the two officers fought off roaches and rats just to eat their pitiful ration.

We returned to the old town center and toured the madrassas, most of them no longer active schools. The Soviets closed them all down with one exception, which was supposed to serve all the Muslims in the Soviet Union (nowhere near enough for everyone). In the Middle Ages, Bokhara was a center of learning, and students came from as far away as Muslim Spain to attend one of these institutions. Many famous scholars of the Muslim world were there, including Avicenna, the “Father of Modern Medicine.” A few madrassas have been opened to the public, but most house small shops selling arts and crafts, plus at least one chai-khana. Nevertheless, they’re breathtaking inside with their pointed arches, cloisters and elegant tiles.

Our sightseeing day ended with a visit to one of the oldest mosques still standing on earth. Built in the 12th century on the foundations of an 11th century mosque, it’s far below the current street level. In fact, this was a place of worship for centuries before that. Archaeologists found the foundations of a 5th century Zoroastrian temple below the 11th century foundations and a Buddhist temple below that. Who knows? — perhaps Stone Age people worshiped here as well. Now, unfortunately, the building houses a shop of mediocre rugs, but we heard that the local Muslim community has petitioned to have it restored and re-dedicated as a mosque. I hope they succeed.

After a good night’s sleep, we went first to an ancient Muslim mausoleum. Established in 907 AD, its architecture bears Sogdian influences. However, it also pioneered architectural techniques which were used for the next five centuries. If that’s not enough to make it noteworthy, it appears that Zoroastrian fire reverence may have continued at this site despite Muslim, Russian and Soviet conquest. In front of the mausoleum is a slab with a hole reaching back into the earth. Even today, people light candles and put them in that hole, perhaps not knowing the antecedents for the practice.