Tag Archives: Samarkand

Days in Khiva.

Of the three “Silk Road” cities in Uzbekistan I enjoyed Khiva the most. Samarkand clearly has its well founded reputation, the Registan, The Bibi-Khan Mosque and the Shah-I Zinda are all world class attractions and I would never discourage anyone from visiting the city. But one gets this feeling after a day or two that there isn’t much else to do or see. I walked past the Registan frequently and each time it was jaw dropping, a bit like the Golden Gate Bridge, but one wouldn’t stay in San Francisco for long if all there was to see was the Bridge. As I have mentioned previously the general population is hidden away behind quite substantial, unattractive walls. It’s as if there is a part of town for visitors and once you have seen that you are encouraged to leave. Bukhara had something of a similar feel. Seeing the walls of the Ark are worth the trip alone, quite amazing, but if you pay your $10.00 to go inside the Ark what do you find? Next to nothing. There are beautiful mosaics, fabulous Medressahs, Mosques, the Pond (!), some pleasant roof top restaurants but really, that’s about it. I should qualify the above with the fact that in both cities I woke up every morning with a sense of excitement, the thrill of a day in Samarkand doesn’t come along too frequently in one’s life and really, I am not that jaded.

It was therefore interesting that quite by chance I elected to stay longer in Khiva than anywhere else. My little B and B set just inside the walls was perfect for me, my room could not have been better, the rooftop was dazzling, the reception staff were ever helpful and the breakfast was always interesting, shall we say. My friends, Oliver, Katya and Austin came to visit most evenings to see the sunset and star gaze as night fell before we went for dinner. The legendary walls completely surround the old city and set in them are four gates, the North, South, East and West and passing through any of them felt like stepping back in time. It was like entering a living museum. One felt almost encouraged to walk the alleys and see the population attending to their daily lives, sitting outside their homes just passing the time of day and it was not in the least intimidating. People would say hello, albeit in Uzbek or Russian. Small children would run up and introduce themselves. There were no walls around to keep the visitors away from the inhabitants. Turning a corner, avoiding the gaping drainage system and the mini sand dunes, one could catch a view of a minaret or Medressah right there, in amongst the houses. The bazaar was very busy and very friendly, nobody seemed to mind having their photo taken, and I am getting better at asking. It was interesting to see how it was laid out, there was the spice section, the vegetable section, the electronics, the clothing, the shoes, I particularly liked the rope and hardware area.

Khiva then. Lots to do, lots to see, it felt genuine, not a tourist trap. Worth staying a while to soak up the history. Trips available out into the desert not to be missed. A walk along the top of the walls at sunset. Great people watching. Just remember, drink lots and lots of water.

This was my B and B in Khiva.

This was my B and B in Khiva.

The walls at sunset with the Ark in the foreground.

The walls at sunset with the Ark in the foreground.

Mmmm, biscuits!

Mmmm, biscuits!

A street view in Khiva with the "unfinished" minaret in the foreground.

A street view in Khiva with the “unfinished” minaret in the foreground.

A map.

A map.

A view of a minaret.

A view of a minaret.

 

 

 

To Bukhara.

I seem to be waking up early every day, whether its the excitement or just staying in unusual surroundings, I don’t know. Saturday was no exception, up early, breakfast at 7.30 and then wonder, hmm, I am supposed to go to Bukhara on the noon thirty train but I don’t have a ticket. I should have had one. After the misery of trying to buy a ticket myself at Tashkent train station I thought I would try a ticket agency so phoned one, impeccable English and no problem, yes I can do that, just be in the hotel lobby at 7.00 and give my driver the money and I will have your tickets delivered to your hotel in Samarkand. Great, thanks says I and handed over the money at seven in the lobby. But here I was, three hours to go and no delivery. Called the agent, oh dear she says, our driver forgot and has gone to Bukhara but don’t worry, another driver will pick you up and take you to the ticket office and we will pay for a replacement ticket. Fair enough. Off I go with the surliest Russian you can imagine but it all worked out, I had the ticket and then it was just a matter of packing, paying the hotel and getting to the train station in time for the non thirty departure. Just a bit of a rush but I got it done, no VIP Waiting Room this time but that was ok.

Again I was escorted to my seat by a Commissar in a peaked cap who ejected the person sitting in my seat for which I was grateful and off we went. Slower than the previous Express but only one stop on the three hour ride. My companion insisted on looking through all the photos on my phone and we both had a few laughs despite not speaking a word of each other’s language. Then into Bukhara Junction where there was the usual chaos, greeters, hustlers, beggars and insistent taxi drivers. I had a tip though from the British teachers back at Istanbul Airport, put your head down, barge through the crowd ignoring everyone and when you get to the back you will find your best price. I did. It worked. $5.00 for the ten kilometer drive to the hotel whereas I had heard $20 at the arrival gate. Down the expressway into the town and through the maze of tiny alleys to the Minzifah hotel. Spacious room, TV, shower, power sockets, two beds and wifi, couldn’t be better. After a quick tea I was off into the town to see everything.

A totally different experience to Samarkand. There is no “tourist route” clearly marked by huge wide pedestrian walkways, just alleys and more alleys but here is something, Google maps worked, even here. Put in your location, put in your destination and follow the blue dot. Go up this alley, turn right at the next one, walk forwards for a while, then sharp left turn right and you are there. Excellent.There turned out to be the Ark, a huge walled fortress built in the 5th Century although there is archeological evidence that there have been fortresses on the site since 899. I have never seen such walls even at Carcassonne. The adjacent Mosques and Medressahs were dwarfed by their sheer size. I did pay the $12.00 to enter but shouldn’t have bothered, there is little or nothing left  to see of the resident Emirs and rulers. A large part of the fortress was bombed into ruins by the Bolsheviks in 1920 and the last Emir ordered  the harem blown up as he escaped with the Royal Treasury.

There was much more to see around the old city and one of the delights was turing a corner to be confronted by another huge dome, another tiled Medressah, another Minaret, another market or a gaping trench across the alley. I met the nice German guy from Samarkand and his Mother, we went for coffee and had a conversation, my first since London with Sophie! They had had enough of Medressahs and Mosques and were pleased to be leaving for St Petersburg tonight, but it was good to chat. Personally I liked Bukhara, less crowds than Samarkand, less developed for tourists, more locals out and about enjoying their weekend, basically, more mellow.

Tomorrow the train back to Samarkand, a twelve hour layover back at my B and B then the night train to Khiva leaving at midnight and arriving at lunchtime on Tuesday. Hopefully there I will find the echoes of the Old Silk Road I am looking for.

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The Ark Walls.

The Kalon Minaret.

The Kalon Minaret.

The famous pond in the center of town which caused many outbreaks of plague.

The famous pond in the center of town which caused many outbreaks of plague.

A Medressa with me in it, if you look closely.

A Medressa with me in it, if you look closely.

Samarkand.

Now I have three people asking “What on earth are you doing in Uzbekistan?” or more specifically Samarkand. I will endeavor to elucidate. A long time ago, when at school, we were all compelled to read the works of James Elroy Flecker, not only a poet but also an alumni of the school. I won’t go into all the verses but the final two lines of The Golden Journey to Samarkand are: “Why men were born:but surely we are brave, Who make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.” Stirring stuff for the lad Tim, who I might add was frequently chastised for looking out of the window and day dreaming. There was also a roommate at Uni’ whose parents came here, so that was a long time ago also, and they invited me over to see their slides. I was hooked. Briefly then, those are a couple of  the reasons I always knew I would come here and why.

It is of course a staggeringly romantic place, the menfolk with their flowing robes and unique hats, the womenfolk in their national dress, remarkably colorful, the architecture and the history. It was almost sacked by Alexander the Great in 329BC, Genghis Khan took it over in 1340 and Tamerlaine made it his Capital in the 14th Century. There is so much history here that I find I cannot get enough and certainly not retain it all. Tamerlaine’s mausoleum, the Gur-E-Amir, which sits in its own park reached by climbing a set of steep stairs features one of the finest domes I have seen in the city.

The dome.

The dome.

Tamerlaine's mausoleum.

Tamerlaine’s mausoleum.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Bibi-Khanym Mosque is quite breathtaking, vast on a similar scale as the Registan.

The Mosque Entrance.

The Mosque Entrance.

The Mosque itself.

The Mosque itself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Perhaps my favorite of the many sites was The Shah-I-Zinda which is a collection of mausoleums created for Tamerlaine’s relations, favorites and Generals. It was quite a walk from my B and B and after walking through a park area I saw that my way was blocked by a four lane highway, I almost gave up. But then I spied a set of steps down to the road and approaching the bottom the traffic stopped, I had a green light, I crossed, mystified, then watching others discovered that the traffic lights were remotely controlled, clever that.

A view of the complex.

A view of the complex.

Another view.

Another view.

I liked this one.

I liked this one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m sorry but I really can’t do justice to this place, I don’t have the words and certainly not the photographic skills but note that it has been a dream come true, it is beyond words and impossible to convey artistically. I will let others try.

But now, something completely different. The Mongol Rally is in town. I met some of the entrants at the Uzbek Consulate in Istanbul applying for their visas. Quite crazy. For those who don’t know this is a car rally from London to Ulan Bator in Mongolia raising money for charity. Contestants come from all over the world, in fact there are two ladies from Wisconsin, driving a Volkswagon Golf,  Skyping back home on the next table. Hilarious. Interesting to see British car registration plates on the streets of Samarkand.

PS. Thanks to Ms Shubeau, Ms Garban and Sebastian for provoking the initial thoughts and I hope I have answered your questions, a bit.

 

Leaving Tashkent…..

A wake up call at 6.00am, finished packing, payed bill, jumped in taxi and arrived at Tashkent Railway station, a grand edifice if ever I did see one. Stretching at least half a mile I was somewhat confused as to where the entrance might be but spotted what looked like a security check point and offering ticket and passport was ushered through. I was growled at by an official looking Commissar who reluctantly stamped my ticket, showed him that yes, I did have a camera in my camera bag, and there I was, in the VIP Waiting Area! Tea was brought,I was given a box of Uzbekistan Railways tissues, bowls of nuts and dried fruit were laid out on low tables, massive leather sofas, there were newspapers, morning tv, pretty girls and flunkies, and me. I have no idea how this came to be but I wasn’t about to complain and the hour before departure passed rather um, surrealistically. I was then escorted out of the waiting room by one of the aforementioned pretty ones, down the platform, onto the carriage and to my seat in a totally full compartment. Another oh dear moment.

We left on time and raced out of Tashkent on what appears to be a German financed railway line, electrified and very fast, not French TGV fast, but fast enough. Some fruit juice and piece of cellophane wrapped cake were given out then we had to buy water. The scenery was flat, agricultural, irrigated, with the occasional cement works. We moved West and the desert developed, dry and sandy, low hills loomed to our left looking daunting in the heat. Then it was all over. Two hours to travel 300 kms (180 miles). Not bad. And I was in the legendary city of Samarkand.

I always have known I would get here somehow, its always been a goal and here I am. My little B and B is perfectly situated in the old part of town near all the famed sights, The Registan, Bibi-Khanym Mosque, The Shah-I-Zinda and the Gur-E-Amir Mausoleum. All to be investigated and hopefully described as the days pass by. While waiting for my room to be ready I did venture out to see the Registan and it did not disappoint. It encompasses a huge area and is probably the most well known building in the city. If you have ever seen photos of Samarkand it will have undoubtably featured the Registan. Consisting of  three different Medressas (schools basically) it is incredibly tiled in blue, the minarets reach to the sky, the domes are marvelous, the vast courtyard dwarfs the crowds (sparse actually), and I loved it. The photos were a bit washed out as it was noon time, so now, after 6.00pm, I will venture out again and see if I can improve.

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The right side.

 

 

 

 

The left.

The left.

Sun is setting.

Sun is setting.

What an incredible place.

What an incredible place.