In Bukhara! A Surfeit of Silk (and Other Treasures) on the Great Silk Road

Sunday, April 28, 2019

Bukhara

A Surfeit of Silk (and Other Treasures) on the Great Silk Road in Bukhara:

     In Russian, the language that dominated this region for at least a century and is still common parlance in all these parts, Bukhara is Boxoro. When I alighted at the train station, late last night, with the city in darkness, it was hard to pick anything out. In the morning, I awoke feeling as if I had barely slept. My lodgings at Hotel Fernando were spartan but I had paid almost nothing for them on bookings.com and all I had expected was a safe, warm and clean place for the night—these I had received. The bathroom was spotless. I showered and dressed quickly and hoped for a good breakfast. I was not disappointed. It was not five-star but it was more than adequate.

Breakfast at Hotel Fernando:

     I was very well looked after at breakfast by the Receptionist who doubled as a waiter. He offered me eggs and when I asked for mine to be scrambled, he gave me an egg white omlette swimming in fat! However, there was a nice bread basket with butter and cheese, fresh tomatoes and cucumbers, small pastry-like croissants and caramel-filled pastries, peach juice and a choice of tea or coffee (both of which I declined). I asked for lemon-mint tea but they could not understand what I needed. I ate a lot and I ate well. I realize that these one-day walking jaunts around spots you would associate with The Arabian Nights are tiring. You need an excess of food to provide fuel for such exhausting excursions. 

Getting to know my Guide:     

     My guide Dilshod arrived at 9.30 am on schedule. He turned out to be the sweetest guy—a college graduate who studied English, he has been guiding for about two years. His English is not fluent at all, but I can see that he is trying very hard. Through the day, I get to know a little bit about himself. He tells me that his father is a mason and that he began working with him at the age of 13, carrying and fetching bricks for him—at one point on our stroll through the Old City, he points out a brick wall that he constructed with his own hands while helping his father.  However, he soon realized that if he did not get a college degree, he would be doomed to doing hard manual labor like this for the rest of his life.  He, therefore, told his father that he wanted to go to university and get a degree. His father was very understanding and worked very hard to enable him to study. Today, he is grateful that he does the kind of work he does and isn’t building brick walls. He has plans to go to Grad school to get his Masters in English. He keeps telling me how honored he is to be guiding "a colleague"—he considers us to be colleagues since I am a university professor who also teaches English. 

     We go by car from my hotel to Old Bukhara where the driver drops us off. We enter a field where an amusement park has been set up. We ignore it and Dilshod takes me to our first item of interest. 

Viewing the Mausoleum of Ismael Samani:

     I have never heard of the Samanid dynasty but it turns out they ruled over the region that is Uzbekistan in the 9th century before the arrival of Islam. Ismael Samani was an important war lord who created a mausoleum for himself. The structure is in sand-colored brick in a basket-weave design with distinctly Zoroastrian motifs in the triangles and circles inside and out. Dilshod told me to see how different it was from the many Islamic monuments we would see during the rest of the day. It was constructed at a time when Zoroastrianism was active in these parts—it has been all but wiped out today. Circles, triangles and other geometric designs on the body of the structure with a cap-like dome make this small burial site very different from the opulent Islamic mausoleums I saw at the Shah-i-Zinda in Samarkand.  Inside, there is a curved grave stone but we are not sure whether it contains the remains of Ismael Samani or his son or grandson.

Off to see Ayub’s Well: 

     It is but a short walk to see Ayub’s Well. I have to say, at this point, that our sightseeing was done entirely on foot for all of Old Bukhara is a living museum, filled with buildings and monuments that have been retained in their original form. The city reminded me so much of Dubrovnik in Croatia where the entire Old City is contained within the picturesque city walls. Other than these sites and items of tourist interest, the rest of the city is a crumbling, sand colored habitation with nothing pretty to commend it. Still, it looks authentic, unlike Samarkand, which has been rebuilt so thoroughly as to have lost any of its authentic antiquity.

     Back to Ayub. The name is Arabic for Jacob. Dilshod told me a long tale associated with the Biblical Jacob arriving here in Bukhara and miraculously striking water at this spot which brought a spring flowing into this area and is now identified through a really deep covered well. This feat was considered miraculous in a region that is a desert and where the Aral Sea has been farmed for water and irrigated by the creation of canals to the point that it has now dried down to a trickle. A museum in this venue teaches visitors about the types of water springs found in deserts and their great value to the sustenance of human life. These structures, called  Saroyads, are found in the desert where man covered natural springs with sod domes to keep the waters cool. The entire structure is interesting because it is also made of sand-colored brick and topped not by a dome (this came later in Islam) but by a cone that resembles the cap worn by dervishes. It was constructed in the 12th century. 

Viewing a Memorial to Imam Al-Bukhari :

     We paused for a few minutes right outside Jacob’s Well to view a memorial to Imam Al-Bukhari who came from Bukhara (hence his name). He is one of the most famous and earliest of the scholars of the Koran and is revered in the Muslim world. He wrote the Hadith—interpretations of the suras of the Koran. The Memorial looks like an observatory. There is also a museum inside, but we did not enter it.

On to the Old City:

     We then walked at quite a leisurely pace with Dilshod telling me about Bukhara’s close connections with Tajikistan. In fact, Bukharis  speak Tajik as a first language, not Uzbek—although they do understand it in the same way that they understand and are fairly fluent in Russian. As if to make me understand the linguistic similarities between so many of the Central and South Asian languages, we pass by a butcher shop called Go’sht Do’koni in Uzbek which has pictures of animals and cuts of meat on its frontage. I understand immediately that it is a meat shop as we use almost the same words for it in Hindi or Urdu—Ghost Dukaan. I tell Dilshod this and he is delighted because he also took Linguistics in college and he informs me that the similarities derive from the roots in Persian of all these languages.

     It is a fairly long walk to the Old City and I catch my first glimpse of Bukhara’s most famous monument--the Kalyan Minaret. But it will be a long while before we actually get there. 

Entering the Bolo Khauz Mosque:

     Our first stop, once the narrow street opens out into a square is at the Bolo Khauz Mosque. This wonderfully picturesque structure has a lovey reflecting pool in front of it. We find a quiet and shady spot under a tree were Dilshod talks to me about the structure. I take one look at it and am immediately reminded of the patio of the house on Long Island that Louis Comfort Tiffany designed for a friend and which is now in the American galleries of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. The patio of the mosque is held up by 20 narrow wooden poles that are delicately carved at their base and are reflected in the pond in front of it. At the top of each one, you find the macarabe or honeycomb decoration, each segment of which is painted in a different color. There is exquisite ceramic decoration on the outside and on the ceiling. I am convinced that this was definitely the inspiration for Tiffany’s patio at the Bay View home. 

     Dilshod waits outside for me and chats with his lovely female friend, Munira, who is also a tour guide. He tells me to go inside and take a look. I take off my shoes and enter to find a huge French group inside. Their guide gives them a detailed analysis of the interior design by focusing on the stucco shades of soft blue and white that glow ethereally through the luminosity of a gigantic chandelier that hangs low in the center. There is a mihrab that has macarabe detailing. I listen to the commentary and understand every word in French and am grateful for the explanation. The Imam happens to be pottering around and when he sees what a huge crowd has gathered, he dons his official robe and poses right in front for a picture The guide thanks him and tells the group that it is rare for the Imam to be so obliging and that it is “tres gentil” of him to pose for the group. I use the opportunity to take a picture of the holy man. 

Off to See the Ark Fortress or Citadel:

     Outside, with my shoes on again, Dilshod introduces me to Munira. They are colleagues but they also did their Bachelors degree in English together from the same University—Bukhara State University. She is guiding a large Italian group who have gone inside the mosque too.

     Dilshod and I carry on, past the mosque and the water tower that has been turned into an observation deck with a massive ticket price. There I finally find a Tourist Information Center where I obtain a colorful map of Bukhara and an explanation of its main monuments. I am very grateful for this treasure as I could not find anything similar for Samarkand or Tashkent. We then cross the street and confront the vast dimensions of the Ark Fortress or Citadel.

     Despite his best attempts to make himself understood, I do not follow a lot of what Dilshod is sharing with me. He talks about two Amirs (Generals) whose names I cannot remember. They are associated with the city and with the construction of this massive structure dating through many centuries. It is called the Citadel of the Ark and is now a local history Museum. High sand-colored walls made entirely of brick (much of which have been restored in recent years) encircle the complex inside. We climbed up a slanting ramp that is simply mobbed by school groups. Dilshod informs me that many schools schedule their field trips on Sunday—which explains the young hordes. But there are also masses of tourists from the surrounding Central Asian countries—and it is clear to me that the Islamic heritage of Uzbekistan is intensely revered by its neighbors. I notice also that there are huge European groups of tourists—many Italians, plenty of French—but they are all sixty-plus. Clearly, these are wealthy, seasoned travelers who, in their youth, ‘did’ the world’s hot spots—London, Paris, Berlin. Now that they have finished with the more famous sites, they are turning their sights on to the road less traveled. 

     Dilshod and I went past the thick walls of the front gate. Like all fortresses, it is well guarded. There are niche-like rooms that served to prevent fires and other rooms that were prison cells. Today, they hold human vignettes to create a Museum. Inside the fortress, there are many different rooms including the Coronation Hall where there is a raised pedestal stage indicating the Throne of the Ruler. There is a courtyard devoted to the Stables. There is a narrow road leading to a small mosque, which has four mihrabs—these are niches that are built in the direction of Mecca so that the faithful can face them when praying. There is also a minbar—a structure with steps and a podium on which the Imam stands at the time of prayer. The inside of the mosque which is no longer used for prayer has been converted into a Museum that holds many precious editions of the Koran from the 14th century to the present. In fact, most of the rooms inside the Citadel have been converted into galleries to house a wealth of archeological and historical data and artifacts from ancient to modern times.

Off to See the Zindon or Prison: 

     We leave the vicinity of the Citadel behind which gives me a chance to admire the incredible layers of brick that hold the structure in place. At this point, we are walking along a dry and dusty street and it is here that Dilshod points out to me the wall he built while helping his father at the age of thirteen. We are heading to the Zindon or Prison which is a part of the Citadel although located outside it. It served the important purpose of keeping dangerous members of society at bay as well as proving the might of the ruler. 

     We pass by the Debtors Prison (which immediately reminded me of the imprisoning of Dickens’ father in debtors’ prison in London when he was 12). Dilshod explained that they were not ill-treated but were kept locked up until their family members could repay their debts and get them out or until they paid their debts by working while in prison as many of them were artisans with very special skills. In fact, many of the prisoners were not wrong-doers, explains Dilshod, but spies. Two of these were British, Charles Stoddard and Arthur Connolly—and for their pains, they were relegated to the infamous Bug Pit. I saw a deep pit in the ground that was covered by a bamboo grill. Food was sent down to them on ropes. Most prisoners died in this space from disease brought on by ticks, snakes or by scorpion bites as these poisonous creatures were introduced into the pit (hence, bug pit) to torture them. The British spies seem to have survived the Bug Pit and were eventually beheaded in public in the square outside.

Lunch at Inifan Restaurant:

      As we walk away from the Prison, Dilshod asks me what I would like to eat. “Anything except plov,” I tell him, “as I’ve simply had too much of it.” How about kebabs? He asks. “Fine”, I respond, but not Shaslik. Let’s make it chicken.” Yes, chicken kebabs, he can do, he assures me.  Next thing I know, he is calling his friend Firooz who is the manager in a restaurant called Inifan. When we get there, after about a ten minute walk, I discover that it is a traditional Uzbek place with a European twist. Sort of like Euro-Uzbek fusion cooking. It has atmosphere, being located in a sheltered courtyard. And from the rooftop, it offers lovely views of the domes and cupolas of this fascinating city. I request a cold Coke because it is very hot and dry—we are, after all, in the desert, in camel country—and I get one that is not as cold as I would like. I, therefore, request ice and I am very pleased when it is produced. We settled for chicken kebabs thread on gigantic and very lethal-looking skewers with fresh tomato salad and the lovely patir or traditional bread which is torn off in hunks and eaten plain. 

     It is a lovely meal. And it is enlivened by the fact that Munira’s Italian group joins us at the next table. We get talking and I discover that they are from different parts of Italy. Meanwhile, Dilshod had introduced me to his friend Firooz who is the manager and to the chef who emerges from the kitchen wearing his stylish torque. I compliment him on the food and they end up giving us a 30% discount. Dilshod offers to pay his share but I tell him that the meal is my treat. It is the least I can do for a young man who impresses me deeply by his industriousness and ambition. The bigger groups that come to this restaurant (and they keep pouring in) seem to have an arrangement with the management that gives them a three-course set menu with soup, a main (bread and kebabs) and chocolate cake for dessert. I believe they paid extra for drinks. 

     After the meal and a long rest that I badly needed, Dilshod is ready to go and I feel fortified enough to accompany him with enthusiasm. He suggests we start off at the Kalyan Complex and it is there that we go.

Viewing the Kalyan Complex:

     This complex, like the Registan in Samarkand, is quite the best-known part of Bukhara and the most crowded. It also includes a vast square with three buildings: The minaret is the focal point but it is flanked by two Madrassas, one on each side. On the left is a living Madrassa—a working Madrassa currently used by students exclusively for Islamic studies. We were not allowed inside.  I was so excited to be in a real working Madrassa as I have heard so much about them, in recent years. Yet, in peering through a stone grilled window and seeing a young Muslim student with a skull cap on and a handful of books pass by me in the courtyard, I realized that this place is no different from a yeshiva or school for Judaic studies. 

     On the opposite side is a Madrassa and mosque and we could go inside this one. A lot of these structures have been rebuilt (just as in Samarkand) as they were destroyed completely through the centuries. They are covered with lavish ornamentation that makes every single one of them visually striking—you really cannot get tired of them as each is different from the other. 

     We arrived finally at the Kalyan Minaret—it has a broad base but is not as tall at the Qutub Minar in Delhi. It has the same sandy color that derives from the use of sandstone slabs. There is an interesting story associated with this minaret and it concerns Ghenghis Khan. Known for being a wanton marauder who caused a trail of destruction every where he paused in his invasions, this is the one structure that he did not destroy in Bukhara when he passed through in 1220-21. Legend has it that he looked up to see the top of the tower and his hat blew away. He bowed down to pick it up and his army of soldiers that was riding behind him thought that he was genuflecting to it. So they too considered it sacred and left it alone. And that is why the Kalyan Minaret survived and has become the symbol of the city of Bukhara. Rumor has it that prisoners were often chucked down to their death from its height.

A Stroll Through the Market Streets and Trading Domes: 

       We walked out of the Kalyan Complex and strolled down the street that was filled with vendors selling souvenirs of every kind. However, when we passed by a large store that pronounced itself as the Bukhara Carpet Emporium, I pulled Dilshod into it and told him that I wanted to take a look. Inside, in exactly the same way as carpets are sold in Pakistan, we saw a woman explain the various aspects of silk carpet-making to a large group of European tourists. Spread out in front of us were a number of specimens, each of which represented the various recognizable designs of Bukhara’s famous carpets—from the geometric that are classic to this region to the Tree of Life design. I recognized the Bukhara carpet that we own at home in Connecticut as Llew loves carpets and has acquired quite a few over the years on his many visits to Karachi. We actually have so many of them scattered around our home that I am now quite familiar with the aspects that one ought to notice—such as how many knots per square inch are in a particular carpet. 

     We did not linger long in the carpet store as, of course, I had no intention of buying one and at the cost of $3,500 on average for a medium sized one, I was certainly not in the market for it.

      Instead, Dilshod and I popped into what was once a jewelry market; It is now used exclusively for traders of the famed Bukhara carpets. You get pure silk or pure wool—never blended. We walked out and along the market street where my eyes fell on the most exquisite golden silk stole that I simply had to buy as I fell in love with it right away. It was so soft and silken that it kept slipping through my fingers. I am glad that my only souvenir (other than post cards and magnet and a T-shirt for Russel) was this exquisite silk stole for I could not leave the ancient Silk Route without buying some silk.
     It is important to imagine as you saunter through these streets to try to imagine what it might have looked like when Bukhara lay at the very crossroads of the Silk Route--just as neighboring Samarkand did. What a busy bustling place it might have been then: when dromedaries of camels roamed into and out of the city, their riders spending the nights with food, drink and dancing at the many caravanserais (hostels) that mushroomed to provide for their needs. 

Discovering an Archeological Site:

     Past this shopping complex we arrived at another square where an attempt was being made to build a new structure. On digging, they discovered that they were on the ruins of another ancient building. That site is now being carefully excavated. I would imagine that a lot of Bukhara has layers of ancient construction concealed beneath it. It is what happens when a settlement has been in constant habitation for so many centuries.

On to the Labi Hauz Complex:

     We moved on then to the Labi Hauz Complex which is built around a small pond. The pond in the center used to be used by camels. Caravansaries (hostels for the traders who brought dromedaries of camels into the town as Bukhara and Samarkand lie at the very center of the Silk Route) dot this town and in olden days, this was actually used as a camel stop. Sculptures of camels are scattered around the pond to suggest this. 

     Also making up this complex is a building dedicated to a dervish whose name I cannot recall. Later on we came upon yet another one that is made unique by the phoenix and a pig-like animal on its entrance gate. This ceramic tiled decoration is similar to the Sher Dor Gate at the Registan in Samarkand—decorated with animal and bird motifs in defiance of the tenets of Islam. We entered and found that the courtyard was set up for an expensive dinner  and a stage that would provide traditional Uzbek music and dance later in the evening.

     At this point, Dilshod informed me that further down a narrow side street and away from all the noise and activity of the square is a synagogue.  It is still in use although there are only about 600 Jews left in Bukhara. We entered the synagogue, met the man who looks after it and chatted with him. He told us that this father was a child during the Holocaust and that he survived the concentration camps although he was beaten regularly on the slightest pretext. The synagogue is beautifully decorated. We saw the Torah which is actually exposed (in most synagogues that I have entered, it is concealed on an altar behind an ornate curtain).  We made a small donation and left.

     Back on the Square, we saw the sculpture statue to Khudja Nasriddin, an Uzbek comedian who was well known for his wit and humor. He is featured on a donkey. Thus park attracts a vast number of tourists and locals and is a popular hangout. 

Off to See the Chor Minor:

     We then took the car and left for the Chor Minor which was quite a ways away—I was glad we did not walk as my energy levels were seriously flagging by this point. The structure was built in the early 20th century by a merchant who wanted to leave something behind for his own future generations. The style was inspired by the Char Minar of Hyderabad and features four towers each topped by a crown of aquamarine tiles. There is a stork’s nest on one of them—symbol of the city and of freedom. 

     I paid 4000 som to climb up about 25 steps to reach the roof from where I hoped to get some good pictures of Bukhara but it was most unpicturesque. However, I got to see the ceramic tile work from up close. 

     By this point, we had reached the end of our walking tour of the city and, to Dilshod’s credit, he showed me all the sights without hurrying me through any of them. We entered the car and got back to Labi Hauz Square where Dilshod took his leave of me. It was 5.30 and I was not expected to take my flight till 10.45. I thought I would sit there in the square until 8.00 pm when I asked the driver to come back to get me. But by 6.30, I got bored and thought it would be a better idea to get to the airport early. Hopefully, I would get WiFi there and be able to read on my iPad. So I called Dilshod who called the driver and by 7.00 pm, I was being driven off to the airport.

     I spent about two hours at the airport before I checked in and discovered that my 10.45pm flight to Tashkent was late by 90 minutes. We finally took off at 12.15 and reached at 1.15 am. Mohammed was waiting for me—a professor at the University. He drove me back to the faculty housing where I reached at 1.45 and fell asleep at 2.00 am!

     What a whirlwind tour it had been! I felt as if I had been whisked on a magic carpet to another world—a world of fairy tales and fables. It would take me a while to process all that I have encountered, but for the moment, I was glad to be in Tashkent again where my last day in Uzbekistan promised to be rather special.

     Until tomorrow