Day 47 (Drive to Khiva)
The morning after crossing into Uzbekistan, we left our bushcamp between an old (and now nameless) mud city and a (still in use) Necropolis, we made an early start for Khiva. (Our cook group still, so a bit rush rush rush and no time for photos.)
Straight away you can tell you're in another country. Not least because the roads are so much better, but more so because the land is greener and more cultivated.
Khiva was only about three hours from the border, so we got to our hotel - brilliantly just inside the old city walls - by late morning. There waiting for us was Ange (can't remember if I've mentioned her before: accountant from Australia) who, with Christopher (lecturer and journalist from the USA) even after all the visa queuing, paying and form-filling, had to over-fly Turkmenistan as their visas were denied because their letters of invitation could not be found on the computer at the consulate. It seems the paperwork was lost when the Turkmen embassy in London moved offices a week or so before.
[One of the 'features' of visa procurement is that embassies - all embassies, I should emphasise - are a complete law unto themselves. Consequently, if your visa is denied, or even misprocessed, you loose any monies you may already have paid. So not only did Chris and Ange have to shell out extra for flights, taxis, trains and additional accommodation, they lost all the money they'd previously handed over for the visas they never got.]
Without even needing to prompt her, Karen asked on our behalf about upgrade options. Five dollars a night secured us a double room with en suite and air conditioning: essential for a good night's sleep.
Following our pattern for whenever we check-in to a hotel for more than one night, we showered off the grime of the previous few days, changed into clean clothes and took our bag of dirty washing back down to reception. We also changed money--a bit more than usual for the six nights in Uzbekistan plus some extra for all the entrance and admission fees we were anticipating.
The basic unit of currency in Uzbekistan is the thousand Som note, worth approximately a third of a dollar. (2,800 Som to the dollar to be exact.) Unfortunately, they don't seem to have any larger notes, so I came away with an enormous stack of 1000 Som notes, which looked like something out of a heist movie and reminded us of being in Zimbabwe ten years ago. Thank goodness they don't bother much with smaller denominations. As it was, folding a day's worth of cash into my wallet was a challenge: $20, or 56,000 Som, being about a centimetre thick. The other problem with such large stacks of cash is that when someone hands over a tower of loosely wrapped wedges and tells you they're 100,000 Som bundles, you're inclined to believe them. Something I now regret to the tune, I think, of some 60,000 Som.
Later, after a rest and time to catch up with the blog, etc. we went out to explore the city a little and to buy a sort of two day pass, which Juli had read about, that grants you access to the majority of the main sites in the old city plus one, the summer palace, just outside of it. We also stopped off for tea and cake, and later, after wandering round some more, dinner at a restaurant that was part of a cultural heritage centre, which we later saw featured in a music video on Uzbek TV's equivalent of MTV.
Khiva is a delight to wander through: there are no cars, everyone smiles and says 'hello' and everywhere you go, every corner you turn, there's another photogenic old mosque, madrassa, or minaret waiting to be discovered.
Day 48 (Khiva)
The next morning we set out again to see more of this wonderful ancient Silk Road city. We spent the whole day exploring the city: climbing up this tower; popping into that museum; going wow at the many beautiful tiled walls and painted ceilings. Juli took about a million photos (thank goodness for digital cameras) and if we can upload them all without overwhelming whatever internet connection we get next, you can share in our delight.
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| Domes of Khiva in late afternoon light |
I’d like to mention one charming highlight, although it has nothing to do with antiquities. We had lunch in a small cafe that stands on its own just outside the West Gate. I think it must have been a family run business, as there were children helping out. In particular a young (about 12) girl and her younger brother (maybe 10). The sister spoke some English and lead off with the usual ‘where you from?’ and got on to ‘Where you go?’ so I got out the map of the world I’ve been carrying. They weren’t particularly interested in that, but the young boy in particular immediately homed in on the countries from which his favourite football players came, and that of their club for whom they play. We had a brilliant 45 minutes or so with him saying a footballer’s name and nationality (sometimes prompted by stickers from packets of bubble gum) and me pointing to the country and/or city plus him checking the player’s national flag from the bubble gum cards against all the flags of the world printed on the bottom of my map and linking them to the countries again. When that game tired, he then started to look for Uzbekistan and it’s neighbours, plus Russia (of course) and Korea. [There’s lots of Korean money (and products) in Uzbekistan.]
Day 49 (Khiva to Bukara)
The news over breakfast was of trouble in the Pamir region of Tajikistan (our next country) which would likely mean a detour as the famous Pamir Highway – one of the world’s most spectacular drives – is currently closed to foreigners.
I see on re-reading this post that I wrote earlier about how the roads in Uzbekistan were so much better than those in Turkmenistan? Forget it. As I write (towards the end of a really long and tough drive day) we're bouncing along a pretty good one. However, earlier today, I couldn't have written a word as I simply couldn't have focussed on my phone's little screen. Not because my eyesight is failing, but because my eyeballs were being bounced out of their sockets. Will reckons that particular stretch is the worst in Central Asia. I hope so, as I'm not sure he'd have too many passengers left after very many more days like today. (Always assuming, of course, the remaining passengers would have a driver.) There's a smashing new road being built alongside the old one - we think with Korean money - but they seem to want to finish the full length of it (300+ Kms) before letting vehicles use any of it.
I also wrote how Uzbekistan was so much greener. Well, to coin a phrase, it seems the grass is always greener on the other side of the border. Certainly this bit of Uzbekistan was just as dry, sandy and featureless as the majority of Turkmenistan. Actually, not completely featureless: every now and then, in the middle of nowhere, with nothing else around it, just back from the road you would see a small concrete structure with two small windows and two doors marked ‘M’ and ‘F’. How random is that?
With just 60Kms to go to Bukara, but only a couple of hours of daylight remaining, Will followed a small track off the main road and, after many bone shaking hours, effectively declared that enough was enough. At least for this day.
Day 50 (Bukara)
Very early start today (alarm set for 4.00am) to make it into Bukara as early as possible, which made sense as we only have a day here. Really, this is another two day city like Khiva, but with time still to make up, we have to take what we can get.
After checking in, Christopher discovered that the hotel was able to organise a walking tour with a local guide for a flat rate of just eight dollars. We gladly took advantage of his initiative and, after stowing our baggage in our room, joined him, some others and our guide for the rest of the morning. She took us to see some of the main sights and gave us information to enable us to see some other by ourselves later. She also told us a little of the history of Bukara and how it sits within the context of the Khiva and Samarkand, the latter for which we’re we’re headed tomorrow.
Bukara is not as compact as Khiva, meaning you have to do a lot more walking through traffic, but it is a bit cooler, which makes the walking a bit more bearable. It’s also a different colour to Khiva: more ochres and creams in the tiles; not just blues and greens.
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| Unusual animal forms in Bukara |
By 4.00 in the afternoon, we were all in and came back for a shower, a rest and a little light blogging. Hardly surprising, given the long drive day yesterday, the super early start this morning and all the sight seeing (plus suvee shopping) today. We have a rather more civilised departure time tomorrow, but I think we’ll have an early night all the same.
Day 51 (Bukara to Samarkand)
Bukara to Samarkand is not such a distance as khiva to Bukara, plus the roads are better again and the landscape greener (irrigated) and more cultivated.
We were given a very nice room in an almost new hotel, but some way from the city centre, so after showering and resting, we walked got a taxi to take us to the centre of things to find somewhere to eat. Before we even across the threshold of the restaurant we chose, we were directed ‘Upstairs!’ with all the other foreigners, where we enjoyed a whole chicken and watched some of the Olympics on their big TV screen. It was the final of the men’s Vaulting, which was won by a Korea. This very much pleased a Korean women who was also dining there that evening. She literally wiped away tears of joy as she sang along to her national anthem.
The return journey back to the hotel was a bit harder than the first. We had been assured that any taxi driver would know where to take us, but this was not our experience. The first driver – a young man – seemed confident enough, but was immediately on his phone for instructions. We thought that would be it then, but his next move, without another to us, was to turn down a less well lit street, pull over and switch off his engine. This concerned us somewhat, but not as much as when first one then a second young women got into the taxi with us. It was at this point that, as they say in the tabloids, the author made his excuses and left. (With his wife, I hasten to add.)
Taxi two, which, to his annoyance, we flagged down at a busy junction, Was a much older man (perhaps late fifties) which gave us bit more confidence. It shouldn’t have, as after some gesturing and thoughtful ‘Hmmm’s as he looked over the map we gave him, on which our hotel was marked, he still wasn’t sure. Things looked up a little when, after he gestured to Juli to borrow her reading glasses, the ‘Hmmm’s turned to ‘Ah’s, but still no joy.
After some minutes of this, a police van pulled up alongside us. Whether it was because the traffic lights were red (unlikely) or because they wanted to know why this taxis was sat there, I don’t know. Any way our taxi driver got – with Juli in pursuit of her glasses – to get help. Fortunately either they (or possibly the two miscreants in the back of the van) knew the way and before we knew it, we pulling up right out side our little hotel, or rather its older sister, which, thankfully, was only a short walk away from ours.
Day 52 (Samarkand)
The next day – a full one to explore Uzbekistan’s large and ancient capital city – we set off with some of our truckmates on a full day (or possibly only a half day – ‘we’ll see how it goes’) walking tour that we’d arranged the day before. Our guide, who spoke excellent English, was very knowledgeable and I’ve written loads in my Moleskine notebook; I’ll try and give you a flavour.
- Samarkand was the centre of Tamburlaine's empire. (NB: We call him Tamburlaine, but the Uzbeks call him Temur. It seems the ‘laine’ bit is a corruption of ‘lame’, which was affixed to weaken his dread reputation and comes from the fact that he was badly wounded in his right arm and leg on one of his many campaigns.)
- Apparently, he was quite a restless chap, and was always off campaigning somewhere or other. Probably accounts for why is empire was so vast. (Istanbul in the east to parts of China in the east; Southern Russia in the north to the northern India in the South.)
- Temur had a favourite grandson, whom Temur groomed for succession, including taking him off on campaign with him, though that didn’t go so well for the air apparent. Temur built a mausoleum for this now dead favourite grandson, in which Temour himself was later buried. (We visited it.)
- His body was exhumed for study and late re-buired by Russian scientists in during the 1940s. These two events are said to correspond with Russia’s entry into WWII and with a famous victory that lead to their ultimate success, thus fulfilling an ancient curse.
- Temur built three enormous buildings (one mosque; two madrassas – he was keen on education) with huge arched porticos, arranged round a large public square called the Registon. (We visited them too.) The dome of the mosque is unusual in that instead of being smooth, it has 64 ribs (one for every year of the prophet Mohamed’s life, including inside his mother’s womb.)
- Temur, who died on campaign in China from a cold, was eventually succeeded by another grandson, Ulug Beg, who was a keen Astronomer. He taught at one of the previously mentioned madrassas and built an enormous observatory for charting stars, and including a 70m high instrument for measuring the length of a year. (We visited what’s left of it.)
- In the afternoon, we visited the Necropolis, a long and narrow street of many mausoleums, some of which date back to the 8th century. It has 40 steps. (40 is a significant number in Islam: 40 days of wedding celebrations; 40 days of mourning; 40 is the age at which a man is reckoned to be fully mature and wise; 40 is the age Mohamed was when Allah give to him the Koran.)
- One of the mausoleums is that of the cousin of Mohamed who Prophet described as being most like the himself in both likeness and personality. It is a very holly place for Muslims and has a mosque all of it’s own.
- After that – flagging a bit now; no doubt you are too – we visited the tomb of Daniel. (As in the lion’s den.) He actually buried in Iran. Temur went to get him, but the locals said no, as they believed it gave them strength, health and luck. Not one, I suspect, to take no for an answer, Temur compromised (not one to compromise either, I should have thought, but there you go) and just took some of the soil from around Daniel’s body. It must have worked, as when brought to Samarkand and re-buried, the soil brought forth a spring, the water from which is said to have curative properties, especially for skin complaints. (I love these stories.)
- Finally, we visited a small craft workshop (who saw that coming?) where they make paper from Mulberry bark. Apparently, the finished product is good for two thousand years. (I think I’d want a re-assignable guarantee with that, for preference, written on Mulberry paper.)
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| Registan, Samarkand |
Dinner that night began as a farce (too boring to describe) at one restaurant, but ended well with a nice 2nd meal at the Olympics restaurant and a taxi bus big enough for all of us, driven by an enterprising young man, who knew exactly where our actual hotel was.
Day 53 (drive to Tajik border)
Without really knowing what was going to be possible in terms of border crossing, owing to the Pamir situation, we headed for the closest one. As previously tweeted, this turned out to be closed to us, as was the next closest. As we drove, we saw beautifully cultivated (and irrigated) green fields being worked by men and women using hand tools. We also saw tobacco leaves drying by the road side and a sign announcing the British Uzbek Tobacco Company.
Lunch today was at another of these roadside restaurants, that seem to spring up in the middle of nowhere, run by another enterprising young man, who proceeded to fleece us for a very poor meal that cost more than our good one (with beer) in a proper restaurant the night before and left us owing money to others. (That’s what you get for going with the flow and not asking the price first.)
That night we camped in a marsh, well away from civilisation. Good stars; bad mosquitoes.
The next post will most probably be in quite a while: we're still not sure where we go from here (Dushanbe) or when we'll get to the next hotel/hostel with wi-fi. (Most probably Osh in about a week, but it could be Bishkek in about a fortnight.)
Stay tuned for the next exciting installment to find out.
TTFN - N
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