Uzbekistan beckons
WE looked as if we were setting off on a weekend jaunt. Most of us were white-haired, pensioners, and quite a number had dodgy knees. But this was a Saga Holiday and Saga holidaymakers are a resilient and adventurous bunch. ‘Aren’t you daunted?’ I asked Margaret, a feisty octogenarian. ‘I mean, Uzbekistan is not exactly your usual holiday destination.’
‘There’s nothing daunting about Uzbekistan, dear,’ she said. ‘I crossed the Mongolian desert a few years ago.’
Our Heart Of The Silk Road itinerary promised the fabled caravan cities of Central Asia – Samarkand, Bukhara and Khiva, whose fantasy turrets and domes have long held a spell over Western travellers.
This was once the imperial playground of Tamerlane, warlord-turned-emperor, who ruthlessly conquered all the petty fiefdoms of Central Asia before launching a building programme like no other in history.
Central Asia was a land where oriental potentates carved out city-states that they ruled with autocratic splendour. I’d always dreamed of visiting these farflung realms but was daunted by the logistics of travelling to a place where most people speak only Uzbek or Russian. But now, after a seven-hour flight to Tashkent, I was heading towards Bukhara with my 12 intrepid companions and a guide.
We arrived just as the fiery sun was slumping into the scrubland that surrounds the city.
In the deepening twilight, the cliff-like ramparts seemed to march off into the night and the medieval mud-brick citadel was stacked up as a series of silhouettes. In the Middle Ages, Bukhara was home to the greatest intellectuals of the Islamic world but by the 19th century it had degenerated into a city-state ruled by a capricious despot named Nasrullah Khan, who murdered his family and chief adviser.
If only Bukhara were more accessible it would be awash with tourists. Yet we had the city to ourselves. Even the bazaars – stashed with spices, rugs and jewellery – were devoid of visitors.
Our guide, Devron, gave us all the juicy bits from history, including how medieval criminals used to be hurled off the top of a minaret each Friday. He also explained how Uzbekistan has been transformed since gaining independence from the Soviet Union in 1991. It is moderately Muslim, but women are forbidden from covering their faces, and alcohol is on sale in restaurants and bars. Giles Milton can’t decide which is more impressive: the wonders of the Silk Road – or his band of fearless OAPs
The following morning, Devron took us to a mausoleum which houses the tomb of Bukhara’s unofficial saint, Bahauddin Naqshband (try saying that after a few vodkas), and it was awash with pilgrims. It transpired that the principal object of curiosity was our group. Scores of pilgrims asked to be photographed with us. ‘They’ve never seen English people before,’ explained Devron. ‘They’re amazed by you.’
We left Bukhara by train for a three-hour journey to Samarkand, the most famous city on the Silk Road. Its future was guaranteed when Tamerlane selected it as his capital in 1370.
From that date, the city never looked back and it wasn’t long before stunning mosques and madrassas began to be built.
Nothing prepares you for your first glimpse of the Registan, the city’s massive central square. It’s flanked by majolica domes, lop-sided minarets and tileclad facades that reflect and refract the sunlight like gigantic kaleidoscopes.
Another must-see is the observatory of Ulugh Beg, perhaps the most brilliant astronomer ever.
Part of Ulugh Beg’s sextant is still in situ. Long before the invention of the telescope, this vast measuring instrument enabled him to calculate that the Earth’s axial tilt was 23.20 degrees – a calculation confirmed by modern computer analysis.
Our final stop, Tashkent, struggles to compete with the colourful Silk Road cities. It’s a strange hybrid of Uzbek, Soviet and imperial Russian.
The Stalinist Uzbekistan Hotel has undergone a facelift, but it’ll take more than a lick of paint to transform it. Altogether more elegant is the former mansion of Grand Duke Nikolai Romanov, the exiled grandson of Tsar Nicholas I. I wandered through the backstreets, where blackmarketeers gave me a rate for my dollars that was more than double what was being offered at the hotel. I became a millionaire in an instant, and spent the rest of the afternoon swaggering about with a bag full of tattered banknotes.
We flew home with the feeling that we had visited an extraordinary place. My companions agreed that Uzbekistan seemed to have dropped from another world.
‘We had Bukhara to ourselves. Even the bazaars, stashed with spices, were devoid of visitors’