Samarkand
We check out of our hotel at 7 am and get a taxi to the station. Gillian has to keep reminding me that we are in Asia now and the culture is not one of warmth and openness. We have noticed a huge drop in temperature in terms of interactions with people. People tend to avoid eye contact and officials are quite stern. The Railway Station is a grand building in the old Soviet style and protected by substantial iron railings. Admittance is through a guard house where two severe uniformed officers check your train ticket and passport. Then your bags and body are screened. Once through security you have to present your tickets for stamping. You then sit in a waiting hall until the train is announced. At the door of the train a guard checks your passport and ticket again. Finally you can board. The train itself is comfortable and we are presented with little breakfast bags with powdered coffee and some plastic wrapped bread and doughnuts.
The train journey is uneventful. For most of it, the landscape is featureless scrub land. As we approach Samarkand, we see mountains in the distance. There is a scrummage of taxi drivers at the station exit. I dive into the tourist information centre and co-opt one of the staff, a young man who looks about 13 , to find us a taxi at a reasonable rate. He sorts us out and we are now relaxing in our hotel. We will organise the sightseeing for after lunch.
It seemed somehow appropriate that we should have travelled just under 40000 kms to reach Samarkand. The fabled city on the spice route has always had a certain aura and getting there through the centuries has been long and difficult, although it has to be said the old camel herders didn't have to contend with being mugged by Aeroflot employees and were probably a lot more comfortable on their camel saddle that I was jammed into Aeroflot child-sized aircraft seats. If I'm honest, Gill and I were struggling to maintain our enthusiasm when we arrived in Uzbekistan. This has been an amazing trip but being on the road takes a toll. Our hotel in Tashkent was pretty grim after some of the ones we experienced in Turkey. Our contact with people had been cold. We arrived at our hotel in Samarkand and flopped down on the bed, tired and a bit worn down.
We decided to pull ourselves together and get a taxi down to Registan Square. We emerged from the taxi and I don't think I will ever forget the feeling when I saw the whole square spread out below me. Only one other time have the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and that was at the Grand Canyon. The scale, beauty and sheer exuberence of the architecture were breath taking. We had seen beautiful mosques in Iran but nothing on this vast scale. It was all much bigger than I had imagined. Gill and I stood in silence, then looked at each other and smiled. We both knew what the other was thinking. " Yes, the long journey had been worth it." This was more than we had ever expected.
I entitled this journey "Finding Samarkand" because this city was more or less the end point of a long voyage of discovery. To stand above that square and see its amazing beauty was the reward for some of the less pleasant aspects of our time on the road. We had travelled a long way to see this and it lifted our hearts. This place was worthy of a journey of 40000 miles. Exploring the Madrassa brought even more wonder and joy. We looked up at huge intricately decorated gilded domes. We sat in shady courtyards and admired the multi couloured tile work. We strained our necks to look up at the huge blue tiled minarets. Very few of our travel experiences have been so exciting and full of emotion.
As we left the square we saw a shaded park with a cafe and decided to have an ice cream. As we were waiting a young girl came up to us and asked if we spoke English. She was with her family and obviously wanted to practise her skills. It turned out she was 16 and she spoke not only English, but also Russian and Korean. She insisted that we join her family at their table. We chatted for about 20 minutes. We were invited to their home about 30 minutes outside Samarkand but we had to decline. It was another beautiful moment in a wonderful afternoon. I think that all travel is about trying to find moments of joy and wonder. It's not always easy because the very act of travel is wearing. Your reserves are eroded as the miles tick by. Samarkand has revived us and reminded us that the joy of discovery is made all the sweeter by the long journey that preceded it.
We had a lovely dinner by the pool last night and a violinist serenaded us as we ate. When I was younger I would have hated that but here it somehow seems right. I must be getting old or soft! I have caught up on sleep so am feeling full of energy this morning. We decided to go to the Shah-i-Zinda necropolis. The taxi ride took about 20 minutes so we had a mini tour of Samarkand. The complex itself was as magnificent as Registan Square, only more intimate.
We had several Uzbeck families want to take photos with us as Gill seems to have a knack of making contact with total strangers. She sits there with a happy smile on her face rather like a cute puppy who wants to say hello. People respond immediately and the next thing we are having a photo session. One uzbeck man well into his 60's made clear his disappointment when Gill pointed me out as her husband. However he was delighted when I offered to take his photo with Gill. We grabbed a taxi for the journey back to the hotel. At a large bazaar the driver stopped and picked up another passenger who sat in the front. He was deposited a few miles down the road and a young women took his place. When we got out she continued her journey. I expect the driver was glad to have two extra seats to fill. Taxis are not exclusive here obviously.
There was a wedding in our hotel in the afternoon. Gill was having a swim in the pool but, not one to miss a wedding, she hopped out to have a look. The bride arrived in a huge wedding dress. I say huge in the sense that it had a hooped skirt which looked well over a metre wide. She also had a train of impressive proportions. I watched with bemusement as her brides maids tried to bundle her into the lift which was smaller then her dress by a significant amount. Guests seem to have to work hard at Uzbeck weddings. The master of ceremonies was making them all do a rather aerobic version of line dancing for what seemed like an unreasonably long period of time. Tight dresses and high heels didn't seem to curb their enthusiasm. Then they formed a conga round the bride. When we left they had just formed a circle and were rushing in and out with a beaming bride and groom in the centre. We left them to it, hoping they wouldn't be too exhausted to eat the banquet laid out in the dining room.
We have noticed a peculiarity of taxis in Uzbekistan. When we got into our first taxi in Tashkent we tried to put on our seat belts. Gill and I have developed a shorthand way of reminding ourselves to belt up. "Princess Diana" is the code. The driver saw us trying to attach our belts and laughed and shook his head from side to side indicating we shouldn't bother. We discovered why when we failed to find any anchor points for the belt. Subsequent taxi journies revealed that no other taxis had any anchor points either. We are mystified by this as we assume they were deliberately removed. Oh well, we have to accept these cultural differences.
When we arrived at Registan square for the concert we found that the entire square was closed with security barriers everywhere. We negotiated our way through as the word 'concert's was luckily the only one the police guard understood. We were picked up on the far side of the square by another police officer who escorted us into the courtyard of the madrassa. The concert was already under way and we were shown to a lone row of benches in front of the stage. There were six other adults and two small children and that was the entire audience. There were more performers that spectators. Five musicians played Uzbek music, a quartet of male singers sang Uzbekistan songs, a female solo singer sang Uzbeck songs and a dancer in national costume danced an Uzbeck dance. It was a charming performance as the artists gave their all for a tiny audience. The male dancer got the entire audience up to dance. I have to admit it was a novel experience trying to follow the intricate moves of his dance. One of the moves was not dissimilar to the palm slapping on the elbow in the Haka so I wasn't a total failure as an Uzbeck dancer.
The setting sun blazed on the tiles in the huge archway above the stage. I looked around and the whole huge madrassa courtyard was almost deserted. After the concert we stood talking to a couple with two small children from Brazil. They were going to be on the road slightly longer than us. I admired the fact they would bring their children on such a big trip. Dusk settled on the courtyard and all we could hear was birdsong and see the birds fly in and out of the lattice work of the tiled walls where, presumably, their nests were hidden.
We walked out into the square and as light pink sunset clouds floated over the minarets the floodlights suddenly came on. Beautiful as it had been during the day now it became a fairy tale place. We sat on a step and marvelled. I looked up to see a perfect crescent moon sitting beside the blue tiled minaret that towered above me. I found it hard to imagine anything more beautiful.
