Buying snow Bukhara

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Buying snow Bukhara

There is no straightforward overland route from Bishkek in Kyrgyzstan to Tashkent in Uzbekistan. Here you have to wait for seven hours until a connecting train arrives at 1. Lugovoy feels so remote — a Kazakh country town, with cows and old cars, and a backdrop of the beautiful snow-capped Tian Shan mountains. Since we were in a new country, we had to go through our standard arrival procedure — get local currency, new mobile SIM cards, coffee and food. It could have been terrible but we ended up having a great evening. One tiny shop let us store our packs there, another changed money, a little cafe outside the station made us coffee and vegetarian food and later on the station manager invited us for coffee in his office. Eventually, we were the only people waiting at the station. It was a great feeling waiting alone on the platform, in the middle of the night, with a couple of friendly old dogs for company. I could feel where I was standing on the map of the world. He tells a story in the book about how when Russia was setting up their railway system they sent a couple of fellows to London to check out the trains there. On arrival at Vauxhall Station they mistakenly thought Vauxhall was the word for station. I have no idea if this story is true but I was delighted when I saw it on the train station in Tashkent. We were so exhausted when we got to Tashkent aka Toshkent that all we wanted to do was sleep. We had a big sleep for a couple of days and then ran away to Samarkand. Sorry Tashkent! Maybe next time. It was completely destroyed by Genghis Khan in but rebuilt. Its hard to find words big or impressive enough to describe Samarkand. The Islamic buildings mosques, madrasas, minarets, mausoleums are huge soaring edifices of architectural wonder with intricate details. We stayed in a comfortable modern apartment at the bottom end of University Boulevard, a wide and majestic avenue shaded by huge old twisted mulberry trees. It leads up, in a series of processional paths and steps, for approximately 4km — through the university grounds, with students and teachers strolling and talking earnestly, all the way past the Gur-E Amir, the Registan, the Bibi-Khanym mosque, and the ancient bustling bazaar to the Shah-i-Zinda necropolis. Along the way it passes by giant statues, bubbling fountains and through leafy green parks. Right now, the weather is perfect. A cool and green oasis in the desert. I fantasised about living here for a while and maybe teaching at the university. Whereas Samarkand is a city of grandeur and splendour, Bukhara is a more authentic cultural immersion. Wandering through the narrow, dusty streets lined with mud brick houses and ornate carved doors is a trip back in time. Everywhere you look is an exquisite mosque, a dome, a gate, a caravanserai. Bukhara is dry, dusty and hotter than hell. The middle of the day is uninhabitable and everyone goes home to sleep in the shade until it cools down again in the evening. The centre of Bukhara is the ancient pool of Liyabi-hauz surrounded by shade and eating houses. It comes alive at night with lights, fountains and music. It feels very exotic looking down from a restaurant balcony while sipping local wine. The majority of people in both Bukhara and Samarkand are Tajik Persian and Bukhara feels very much as I imagine ancient Persia — the courtyards, day beds with draped curtains, clothing, fruit and nuts, mint tea, gorgeous carpets and decorations. Every possible surface is decorated with carvings, paintings, coloured tiles and rich tapestries. The women wear colourful clothing and many have a full set of gold teeth. It all feels very luxurious, refined and poetic in Bukhara. The apartment we stayed in added to this feeling. It was like a luxury mini-palace. The hospitality from our host Sharif was extraordinary. Every morning there was a delicious vegetarian feast provided for breakfast that was enough food to last us all day. We were invited to his home to drink tea and again to have dinner one night with him and his beautiful wife Rano. Bukhara has a long history of being a spiritual centre. It was renowned for religious tolerance and diversity pre-Islam. Those monotheistic cults are so self-righteous. The call to prayer is not often heard anywhere in Uzbekistan. I believe it was banned for a decade or so but is apparently just starting to come back. I only heard it a couple of times and I missed it. The Bukharans are historically a settled people, rather than nomadic, and have been engaged in agriculture, crafts and trade for millennia. The wonders we saw and experienced in Bukhara could fill an entire book but one of the standout places for me was the Sitorai Mokhi-Khosa Palace where a long line of the Emirs of Bukhara resided. Their palaces were repeatedly destroyed and the current version was built by the last Emir in the early s. It houses a museum of cultural artefacts, including a fascinating collection of clothing and textiles. I finally discovered the story behind the traditional curled up pointy-toed shoes. The guide ony talked to JH. This happens all over the world and it annoys me a lot. He looked positively startled and disappeared soon after. On the train from Bukhara to Khiva, farmland gave way to scrub and then eventually petered out to nothing but desert. Arriving in the early evening, just as the sun was setting, we were transported into a fantasy novel. The house where my new hero lived in Khiva is now a guesthouse Meros BnB and I was so excited to be able to stay there. Khiva has a brutal past as one of the most important slave trading markets of Central Asia. It is even hotter here than in Bukhara and I can imagine it was a place of nightmares for the victims of slavery, like something out of Game of Thrones. There would have been no escape from here, surrounded on all sides by the unrelenting Karakum and Kyzylkum deserts. There is a traditional saying that you need to carry three things when you travel into the desert — a turban to use as a shroud, a knife to dig your grave and a ring to use as payment to the person who buries you. Sounds like good advice. Khiva is the essence of everything I hoped to find on the Silk Road — ancient, exotic, magical. I was mesmerised and in awe watching the sun set over the old city and the minarets bathed in pink and golden light. I count this as one of the most beautiful and special experiences of my life. Like Like. Having seen all your photos Jeanne I was so looking forward to hearing the stories behind them. Loved this what a fantastic adventure! Hi love your photos and commentry excellent. I think I will be following in your footstep in the near future as I has always been a dream of mine. It is an interesting way ti go from China. Is it possible to show where you have been on a map some time. This is a journey of a life time I hope it does get too hot. Enjoy enjoy. I had a fresh coffee to read with this latest installment. It is cold now, because I read the whole thing with my mouth open, imagining your descriptions and googling for extra imagery and info…. I want to go to the museum city so wondrous…. I kept a brochure for last twenty yrs of a Silk Road trip so I am finally enjoying it thanx lovely to read your travels and travails love Helga xx. Like Liked by 1 person. Jeanne, you have reached the part of your journey that most fascinates me. I have been reading about Persia and the surrounding cultures since childhood and have always longed to see the mysterious and magical sounding Samarkand and Bukhara. Your photography is excellent! I am inspired to get to the Silk Road sometime before I die! Even if I have to go on one of those poxy package hols! I think a poxy package tour would be fine lol. I am visiting here next month! Im not allowed to visit Iran so hopefully this is the next best thing! Blue tiled mausoleums in the Shah-i-Zinda necropolis We stayed in a comfortable modern apartment at the bottom end of University Boulevard, a wide and majestic avenue shaded by huge old twisted mulberry trees. Liyabi-hauz The majority of people in both Bukhara and Samarkand are Tajik Persian and Bukhara feels very much as I imagine ancient Persia — the courtyards, day beds with draped curtains, clothing, fruit and nuts, mint tea, gorgeous carpets and decorations. The hallway in our mini-palace apartment Rano and Sharif in their beautiful home with the very old traditionally decorated walls Bukhara has a long history of being a spiritual centre. Pilgrims at the Memorial complex of Naqshbandi, the revered 14th century Sufi teacher The Bukharans are historically a settled people, rather than nomadic, and have been engaged in agriculture, crafts and trade for millennia. Historical domed covered bazaar with Kalyon Minaret and mosque The wonders we saw and experienced in Bukhara could fill an entire book but one of the standout places for me was the Sitorai Mokhi-Khosa Palace where a long line of the Emirs of Bukhara resided. Sitorai Mokhi-Khosa Harem On the train from Bukhara to Khiva, farmland gave way to scrub and then eventually petered out to nothing but desert. Sun setting over the thousand year old walls of Khiva The house where my new hero lived in Khiva is now a guesthouse Meros BnB and I was so excited to be able to stay there. A ceiling in the Meros BnB guesthouse Khiva has a brutal past as one of the most important slave trading markets of Central Asia. Timeless Khiva Khiva is the essence of everything I hoped to find on the Silk Road — ancient, exotic, magical. Like Loading The Circumnavigation of Issyk-Kul. From the Aral to the Caspian Sea. Happy travels. Malp Like Like. Thanks Dorte x Uzbekistan is amazing. A great destination for a holiday Like Like. Enjoy enjoy Like Like. Thanks Av. JS gold. Haha glad you appreciated that bit x The history is totally fascinating. I kept a brochure for last twenty yrs of a Silk Road trip so I am finally enjoying it thanx lovely to read your travels and travails love Helga xx Like Like. I highly recommended it Helga. Xxxx Like Like. Uzbekistan and Iran are similar in lots of ways. Leave a comment Cancel reply. Comment Reblog Subscribe Subscribed. Adventurous Hermit. Sign me up. Already have a WordPress. Log in now.

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Buying snow Bukhara

Getting cleaned up felt great even more so as I made myself wait until I had cleaned off some serious mud from my bike. Bukhara was also one of the major cities on the silk route which I have been following for weeks. It was also in some ways a good time of year to visit in that there were not many tourists about giving me the run of the city. On the other hand on the final day it was snowy and icy and footing was treacherous. According to legend Genghis Khan spared the minaret in the picture above as he was so amazed by it. At 47m tall it was possible to see why. After a couple of nights in Bukhara it was time to head off again for perhaps the most famous city on the silk road: Samarkand. The first day was perhaps the least troublesome with some headwinds in the morning. It was not until the evening when I tried to find accommodation that things got a little bit weird for a time. Just past this there was a cheapish looking hotel where I enquired how much a night would be. It was only after about 5km that I realised that it was still only GBP 12 and that I probably should have just paid it rather than riding off into the falling darkness again. Carrying on I reached what I assumed was the edge of the city of Navoi which I knew I would be coming up on. Here I started asking if there was anywhere to sleep — I got pointed further down the road by one man. Then as I was speaking to the next group about 5km down the road a man came up to see what was going on. No one spoke any English. When the guy who came up realised I was looking for somewhere to stay he was pretty insistent I go and stay with him. So in the end, against my better judgement, I decided to follow him. I was in a small town in Uzbekistan and there were quite a few people around so I figured I would be OK. Aktam as his name transpired to be led me to his house and showed me where I could put my bike: somewhere safe outside and then let me take some stuff inside. Here I was happy to see some members of his family: his mother and a child who it would turn out was his daughter. I felt on safer footing now, as here was a family setting similar to those I had experienced before. I was about to make myself comfortable. Next thing Aktam is insisting I come with him, he is mentioning names of food and I assume he is going to take me somewhere I can eat dinner. I quickly put my stuff down and go to follow him realising that he probably is a little drunk. Off we go into the night and cross the road and head into an Uzbekistani off licence. Vodka in hand he led me back across the highway to an empty restaurant and into a backroom where four of his friends were already eating and drinking. This was not what I had had in mind when I had started looking for somewhere to sleep that night. Aktam must have drunk my share as he was worryingly shovelling it down — I could see it being a very long or very short night. Thankfully it tended towards the latter and once the vodka and food was done, about two hours later, we headed out. Some of us steadier than others. They had tended more towards random acts of hugging than violence thankfully. There seemed to be some confusion about payment as the waiter followed us for a while and seemed to want more money but that was just how I interpreted it. I was guessing for a lot of the evening what was going on and what was expected of me. Alcohol does not make people easier to communicate with. They both kept looking at him with a mixture of long suffering and embarrassment as he acted progressively more inebriated. By the end of the evening he was just sort of rolling around making mewling sounds. It was nice to be able to spend some time with the whole of an Uzbekistani family rather than just the men. The daughter who was six also gave an impressive impromptu gymnastics display — with cartwheels, the splits and various other uncomfortable contortions. She also let me wear her medal. This started out fine but then went epically wrong as the whole highway froze over. The smile would be wiped off my face in short order as my bike went sliding out from under me four times in the next couple of hours of riding. Luckily I only bruised myself properly once as I quickly learnt that going slowly was the best idea in this situation. Thankfully no one did and as the day went on more and more of the road came free of ice — I did spend about 20km riding on the wrong side of the highway as the sun had melted more of the ice on the other side of the road. Finally I reached Kattakurgan, a large town before Samarkand and where I hoped to sleep. Finding a guesthouse I could use turned out to be harder than expected and involved me following a helpful man in his car for five kilometres to a guesthouse. This was quite nice as I had my own room and there was even an indoor toilet. The people were very nice as well and one of the guests showed me where a restaurant was and ate dinner with me — insisting I take a photo of the two of us. I showed him a twenty and a fiver — he asked if he could have them. I made it clear as politely as possible that the value of these notes was equal to about , Uzbek som which is a wedge of notes about 2 inches thick and enough money for four nights accommodation. Making their value clear took some doing as he wanted to buy them from me and at first thought they were worth 11, som. I was going nuts and really really struggling along. So I stopped for a rest to eat something and check the last thing that might be having issues: my bike. Then lo, I felt my back tire and it was pretty soft…a puncture. I thought it must be a slow puncture and I considered what to do. The last thing I wanted to try and do was change my inner tube as it was freezing cold. Literally freezing cold — it was the coldest day I had ridden in. My water bottles were three solid blocks of ice on my frame — and my beard was frozen to my face scarf which was iced up with condensation from my breath. So in the end I pumped it up and hoped for the best. I figured at worst the inflation would get me to the next cafe where I could perhaps take my wheel inside to change inner tube. Surprisingly the air lasted the forty remaining kilometres to Samarkand and I only had to inflate it once more in the city just to get me the final couple of kilometres to the place I was staying. I was pretty chuffed and I felt like I was flying for the remaining kilometres to the city. It turns out that Samarkand does incredible architecture better than NYE celebrations as pretty much nothing happened. There were a few fireworks and that was about it. I had some drinks with the people staying at the hostel I had chosen. Coincidentally they were all Japanese — apparently Japan has a good deal on flights to Uzbekistan as nearly all the tourists I had met in Bukhara and Samarkand were Japanese. While NYE may have been a damp squib, the sights of Samarkand were not and I saw some of the first human wrought sights of the trip that truly took my breath away. There was the registan, the centre of the city with three massive medressas facing into a square. The Uzbek people in Samarkand were also very friendly, lots of people saying hello and trying to make conversation with what little English they had. These people also seemed very keen for me to take their photo for some reason:. I also had to do a bit of bicycle maintenance in Samarkand, having to replace my rear inner tube and tune my brakes. Then he came out having ground out a tool he could use. He then tightened up the loose part of my bike and all for less than a dollar. I was ready in bike and body if not particularly in mind for the next km of possibly icy and cold and very probably bumpy road to Tashkent, capital of Uzbekistan and my final stop in the country. Enjoyed reading this and several other posts — but it does beg the question, why you would opt to cycle in this potentially very cold part of the world during their winter? I have a pipe dream to cycling in Khazakhstan and the region of Russian just above Mongolia having seen a documentary on the area. I was originally going to head through Iran and Pakistan but decided against it because of visas. Kalon minaret and mosque: According to legend Genghis Khan spared the minaret in the picture above as he was so amazed by it. I managed to make it in time but it was hardly the three easy days I had been expecting. To Samarkand The first day was perhaps the least troublesome with some headwinds in the morning. These people also seemed very keen for me to take their photo for some reason: I also had to do a bit of bicycle maintenance in Samarkand, having to replace my rear inner tube and tune my brakes. Share this: Twitter Facebook. Like Loading Related posts. Leave a comment Cancel reply. Comment Reblog Subscribe Subscribed. Sign me up. Already have a WordPress. Log in now.

Buying snow Bukhara