See Samarkand and Die! My Great Silk Route Travels Continue in the City of Timur

Saturday, April 26, 2019
Samarkand, Uzbekistan

See Samarkand and Die! My Great Silk Road Travels Continue in the City of Timur The Lame:

     Salaam Aleikum from Samarkand, Uzbekistan!       
     I did not sleep too badly in the City that Amir Timur made famous—Samarkand: despite the kitschy Chinese decor in the Asia Samarkand Hotel (think garish colors and ugly light fixtures). I woke up several times during the night and did not feel entirely rested by the time daylight was breaking. 

     In keeping with Khurshid’s advice, I got out of bed, had an early shower and got dressed to catch my first glimpses of the Registan—Samarkand’s great showpiece. He had told me that the sun would be at the perfect angle at about 7.15 am—should I be a photography buff, this would be the ideal time to be there. I thought it would be a good idea to get there before the place became invaded by tourist hordes.

Early Morning Stroll to Registan:

     So I dressed warmly and left my hotel for the quick five minute walk to the venue. To my enormous disappointment, the sky was heavily overcast—so any hopes of getting the perfect pictures in the perfect light were dashed. I arrived at the great big car park and was surprised to find that several tour buses were parked there. Many had already disgorged passengers in what I thought might be a way to see the complex for free without having to pay a hefty entry fee—but I could be wrong.  

I saw a small mausoleum first and then, as I negotiated my way around a neat garden filled with poplar trees, I came upon the high ceramic-tiled walls of one of the Madrassas (Islamic schools) that make up this place. I had not read enough about it to know what I was looking at; but as I worked my way closer to the main square, I caught my first glimpses of the buildings with which I would become very well acquainted by the end of the day. 

    I took a bunch of pictures from many angles and became deeply enchanted by the confection of ribbed domes, towering minarets decorated with calligraphy and Madrassa walls completely covered by ceramic decoration in different shades of blue. I was just about to leave, past the few energetic joggers who were running around the complex when the first fat drops of rain began to fall. They further dashed my hopes of enjoying what most people think of as “sunny Samarkand”.

Breakfast at Asia Samarkand Hotel:

     Since I was back at my hotel by 8.00 am, I decided to get straight to breakfast which had already attracted quite a few of the guests. The buffet was huge and offered a massive selection of very tempting items. I settled for a piece of Omlette, chicken sausages, vegetable ragout, fried cauliflower, rolled buckwheat crepe, lavash (bread roll filled with diced potatoes) Samarkand bread with cheddar cheese, beef cold cuts, peach juice and lemony mint tea. I took my time and ate well in the hope that I would have a light and very late lunch. 

     Next, I went up to my room and picked up my bags which had been packed already and proceeded to check out. My guide Khurshid was expected to pick me up at 9.00 am but he did not show up till 9.20 am. When he did get there, he apologized and told me he had to suddenly take on an Italian “delegation”. It seemed from the get-go that he is very enamored by the diplomatic missions that he leads on tours.  

  Off To A Silk Paper-making Factory:

     I would soon realize that Khurshid was not at all interested in me. His focus was a group of Italians whom he kept referring to as a “delegation”. It turns out that he runs his own business in tour-guiding—something he has been doing for over 21 years—and is well-known among the tourism business community in Samarkand. Apart from speaking English (which he does not do well at all), he speaks Italian (in fact, his Italian seems to be far better than his English). He gave me no no explanation at all as to where we were headed until I actually asked him and his response was “Good question!” He then proceeded to tell me that on his way to pick me up from my hotel, he had noticed a vast crowd in the environs of the main sights—he, therefore, made the decision to drive me out to the farthest spot on our travels for the day...and there, he said, we would meet the “delegation”. 

     I was, in fact, taken to a Silk Paper-Making Factory. Now I have traveled enough to know that all tour guides end their tours taking you to come place with which they have a connection that will give them a commission on the purchases of the tourists they lead to the store. Ok, fair enough. I know that this is standard international practice. But to do this, first thing in the morning, before we had seen every one sight, was a bit brazen, I thought. Still, I said nothing.

     At the venue, we did meet the Italians.  They turned out to be a group of five—two couples, one of whom had their grown-up son traveling with them. One of the couples seemed to have a diplomatic connection: the husband was based in Astana in Kazakhstan. The other couple were their friends. The latter had arrived from Milan to spend a week in Uzbekistan in the company of their diplomat friends. They were going the same route as I was: Samarkand to Bukhara (but they were also moving on to Khiva—which I was not doing). 

     Khurshid thrived in their company. For most of the day, I felt neglected as he spoke in short snatches of English to me and gave the bulk of his attention to commentary in Italian with the group whom he treated as if he had known them forever. Besides this, as I said, his English was far from fluent and was also heavily accented. He gave me only minimal information and I was very grateful I was carrying my Lonely Planet Notes as they certainly supplemented the meager information he gave me. 

     In the Silk Paper-Making factory, I learned how not a single part of the mulberry tree was wasted. Although it is well-known that the leaves are the only food upon which the silkworm will feed, the twigs and branches are used to make silk paper. The bark is soaked and then scrapped so that the inner pulp is boiled, then beaten to a pulp through the turning of a large water-wheel which is assisted by the flowing Siyob River that runs through the factory. The pulp is then strained through a sieve and ends up creating sheets of paper. These are fashioned into a number of items such as greeting cards, posters, even handbags, dolls, etc. Everything was atrociously priced—they were charging 10 euros for a tiny paper doll that could be hung as a Christmas ornament. Prices were quoted in euros as there were huge groups of French and Italians that kept pouring in.

     I got away from the din and, at Khurshid’s advice (I noticed that he kept sending me off to do things on my own so that he could focus on his interaction with the Italians), I took a stroll around the complex and enjoyed seeing the geese that were at one end of the property that was very charmingly landscaped with Japanese bow bridges over running streams—the canals of the river. When I rejoined the group, they were enjoying a cup of hot tea (which I refused as I did not wish to stay awake at night).

     We left in separate transport—I would be driven by Khurshid all day while the Italians would be in a six-seater van with another driver. Khurshid informed me that our next stop would be in Afrosiyab to see the Tomb of Daniel.

         

Daniel’s Tomb in Afrosiyab:

      In the car, I got a bit of an explanation from Khurshid. The Siyob is the river that has flowed through Samarkand since ancient times. Afro means “Beyond”. So this part of Samarkand was “Beyond the Siyob”—it is the ancient part of Samarkand that goes back to the Biblical period. All that remains of it is a ruined wall on a grassy hill. We passed by the entrance to a Museum where I believe the remains of a wall fresco that describes an ancient battle can be seen—but we did not go in there. 

     Instead, we were headed to the Tomb of the Prophet Daniel who is sacred to three religions—Islam, Judaism and Christianity. He is the same Biblical figure who survived the stint in the lion’s den. The story goes that two pieces of his bones were brought to Samarkand as relics and were interred in an 18 meter long tomb (to confuse grave-robbers and prevent them from being stolen). It also appears that a natural spring came quite suddenly from the earth after his remains were buried. This is now considered holy water and a large number of Muslim pilgrims were taking bottles of it home. 

     The tomb itself is quite arresting. It can be seen in a long house that was specially created to conceal it. It is covered by a long green cover that is richly embroidered. Outside, there is a pistachio tree that had apparently been planted centuries ago and was completely dead. A few years ago, the patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church paid a visit to the venue as a pilgrim and immediately the tree began to produce foliage and, a few years later, pistachio nuts as well. At the base of the hill on which the tomb lies, the faithful can drink of the holy water and pray for miracles. 

Visit to the Shah-i-Zinda: 

      Back in the car, we drove to the next attraction—A necropolis that contains remains of many of the members of the Temurid dynasty. This is one of the show-piece attractions of this city and I can only describe it as awesome. Up on a hill, a large number of people from the history of Amir Timur (known to the rest of the world as Timur The Lame or Tamberland) are buried in Islamic fashion, i.e. in the ground. The spots of their mortal remains, however, are denoted by the construction of tombstones exactly above the actual graves themselves. 

     What is astounding about this place is the grandeur and complexity of the decoration.  Awesome cobalt blue and turquoise blue decoration on a number of mausoleums showcase the brilliance in ceramic creativity of ancient and contemporary craftsmen. Constructed along a narrow lane, most of these monuments were in a miserable state as a result of natural destruction (earthquakes) and the passage of time.  Lot of black and white photographs exist of this vicinity seen in near-ruin. However, realizing their cultural importance, attempts to rebuild them have been made since the time of the Soviet ownership of this region. 

     After Independence, the indigenous Uzbek government has devoted vast sums of money to reinstate the area to its former glory. In the process, they have preserved these ancient crafts and skills and provided employed to a vast army of artisans. No too mausoleums are the same and some are far more ornate than others. They are lavishly decorated on the outside in various shades of blue—from turquoise to cobalt. Khurshid told me, when I asked, that blue is the color of the heavens—where good Muslims hope to go after death. So what you see today, after careful restoration, is various techniques of ceramic craftsmanship from embossed tiles, honeycomb patterned pieces (macarabe) that fit like jigsaw puzzles together, Persian-style inlaid floral motifs and decoration and loads of geometric ornamentation created with glazed tiling. The place is so photogenic that it is impossible not to keep clicking—and no pictures can do justice to its extravagance which is also a holy place of pilgrimage for the area’s Muslims. I found myself completely blown away by this site—by its Oriental architecture and its uniquely breathtaking decoration, both inside and out. But for the awful crowds from neighboring Tajikistan and Kazakhstan that arrived in noisy droves that simply mobbed the narrow lane along which the mausoleums are situated, I would have been able to spend far longer here than the time Khurshid gave us to see everything.  

Lunch at Joni Osh:

     I have to say that although I had eaten a very good breakfast and was not hungry, I was grateful for the opportunity to sit somewhere to rest and Khurshid selected a place called Joni Osh for our lunch of Plov  He kept telling me that it was very different from that of Tashkent (but in the end, it was not really very much different except that the hunks of meat are placed around the mound of rice and not shredded). It was eaten with very runny plain raita flavored with dill and tomato salad. Again, it is clear to me that he has some kind of connection with folks at this place. We were not asked to pay any money and my travel agent had told me clearly that I would need to pay for my meals. So I was a bit confused. On the other hand she had not told me that I would have to pay the entry fees to each monument and I ended up paying at each place—the fees varied from 10,000 som to 40,000 for the Registan. I was glad I had changed $100 at the counter in the Grand Mir Hotel in Tashkent for I was doling it out like peanuts throughout the day.

     I was grateful for the company of the Italians at lunch.  They turned out to be very friendly and they made attempts to include me in some of the conversation. Had they not been around, I think I would have had to endure the noisy company of Khurshid exclusively and that would have been pretty irksome.

 Off to see Ulugbek’s Observatory and Museum.

      With lunch done (and all of us feeling far too stuffed for our own good), we drove to the site of the ruined remains of Mirza Ulugbek.  He happened to be the grandson of Amir Timur and he succeeded his grandfather to the throne to rule as emperor. However, he was also a brilliant mathematician and astronomer and is rated as highly as Ptolemy and Tycho Brahe who preceded him and Halley who followed. He set up an observatory that enabled him to trace the movement of the sun across the globe as well as the variations of the lunar calendar.  Not much is left of the brilliant observatory he set up (I had seen a model of it at the Museum in Tashkent) except the long curve of one of the structures he built to read the heavens. This structure inspired Raja Man Singh of Jaipur who built the Jantar Mantar in the 17th century. The curving remains of his concrete observatory is preserved in a special structure—all the visitor can do is gaze down at it from a height behind a grill and take pictures. 

     Opposite this structure is a brand-new Museum that effectively lays out his greatness, his significance to scientific astronomy and the impact of his work. This space also contains a number of Korans and other books in beautiful calligraphy. He was so wedded to the pursuit of knowledge (at a time when Islam celebrated the acquisition of knowledge for both males and females) that he built a Madrassa as part of the Registan complex at Samarkand and personally taught Math there. 

A Visit to the Gur-e-Amir Mausoleum: 

     Our sight seeing in Samarkand was well under way when we returned to the monument that I had seen spotlit last night—the stunning resting place of Amir Timur. Long before you enter the space, you will be swayed by the beautiful ribbed dome, towering gateway and calligraphied walls. I have to say that it was far more striking last night when the light lent it a soft romanticism. 

     A word about Timur: He is the 14th century military general who married into the family of Ghenghis Khan and saw himself as the Mongol’s successor. He spent most of his life based in Samarkand from where he strategized on the conquest of neighboring regions—all of which met with much success (if you discount that fact that he was shot by an arrow in his leg which rendered him lame for the rest of his life). His invaders went as far as Delhi in the East and Eastern Europe in the West. While he was a brilliant tactician, his reign was not without its share of brutality and he is known to have buried his enemies alive. As a contradiction to his cruelty, he was devoted to the creation of architectural greatness and went on to commission a vast number of structures that proclaimed the glory of his reign and the capabilities of the artisans of his era,.

    Timur’s great great grand-son, Babur, arrived on the Indian sub-continent to found the Mogul dynasty that brought the grandeur of Islam to India. He is known in the West as Tamberlaine or Tamerlane—a corruption of the phrase Timur The Lame. So revered is he in Uzbekistan that there is a grand equestrian statue to his glory at Amir Timur Square in Tashkent which also graces the paper currency of the Uzbeks. A similar statue—not equestrian but, this time, seated on a gaddi or throne—is to be found in the center of Samarkand and we drove by it several times.

     Inside, we were completely taken by the main hall under the main dome where the Emperor lies buried under a lovely black jade tombstone. It is surrounded by those of his closest and fondest family members. Lots of gilding inside makes this interior different from the ones at Shah-i-Zinda  which were mainly in shades of blue. A map gives the visitor a good idea of the location of each of the descendants of Timur, but it is the sheer beauty of the interior decoration that grips visitors as they take in the splendor of the decoration. 

An Excursion to the Mosque of Bibi Khanum:

     We moved on then to the mosque of Bibi Khanum, who was the favorite wife of Timur. A very long walk, after we parked, took us along a touristy shopping mall to the site. The place is associated with a large number of legends—it is difficult to say what is fact and what fiction. But when one passes through the gigantic gateway, you enter a pretty tree-filled courtyard.  In the courtyard, there is a huge stone stand for a Koran which existed but was plundered and taken away to Isfahan in Iran by Nadir Shah—the same one who plundered Delhi in 1735. Apparently that Koran is to be found in Iran even today. Women lacking fertility and wanting children crawl around its legs.

     It is worth recounting the legend here: Bibi Khanum decided to surprise her husband Timur by the construction of this mosque to honor him on his successful campaign in India. She hired an architect to get the work done and she came daily to the site to watch its progress. The architect fell in love with her and delayed the completion of the project just so that he could continue to see her daily. When she urged him to finish it, he told her that he had fallen in love with her and asked her for a kiss as repayment for his talents. She brought a number of glasses to him and told him to take a look at them—she said that women were all the same inside-i.e. kind and good-hearted—despite the differences in their appearance. So she offered him any of her slave girls for his pleasure. He responded by bringing her two glasses—he filled one with water and one with wine. He told her that both of them looked exactly the same, yet one (water) did nothing for him when he drank from it; the other (wine) left him with a burning on his lips and his heart. The same, he said, was true of women. Only one of them could make him burn with love.  Khanum was so impressed by his logic that she finally permitted him to kiss her as she really did want to see the mosque complete by the time Timur returned.  It turns out that the kiss was so passionate that it caused her to blush—a blush that remained permanently on her cheek. When Timur did return, he wondered at her glow and realized that something had happened in his absence. She told him what had transpired and Timur had the architect imprisoned and subsequently killed.

     Today, large numbers of visitors come to see the mosque but cannot enter it. Restoration work is on inside and it will be a long while before they can see the interior gleaming again. Across the road, Bibi Khanum lies buried in a small mausoleum. 

Shopping in a Local Bazaar:

     I suppose it would not feel as if we had strayed into The Arabian Night’s until we had surveyed the goods, bargained with the traders and left with our hands filled with the legendary goodies of the region from one of the open-air bazaars. Accordingly Khurshid led us to one.

     For conveniently adjoining the mosque is a busy open-air bazaar and Khurshid gave us half an hour to browse through it and buy anything we might desire. We ended up tasting a massive variety of eats from walnut-stuffed dried peaches and the salted kernels of peach and apricot seeds to pieces of nougat and halwa. I was able to browse through some of the clothing stores from where I bought a T shirt for Russel. We were all very tired by the time we were done and I did actually spend a good part of the half hour sitting down and resting my feet as the fatigue was really beginning to get to me. I was relieved when the Italians suggested that we enter one of the cafes (known as a chaikhana) to get a coffee. While the Italians nursed their espressos and cappuccinos, I bought a slice of walnut cake which Khurshid told me was baklava but turned out to be just a sponge cake with walnuts sandwiched inside. It would see me through to a very light dinner.

Finally, Samarkand’s Poster-Boy, Registan: 

     I had come to Uzbekistan because the pictures taken by my Fulbright colleague Gerald Sheffield of the Registan when he had made a presentation at the Fulbright conference in Cochin, on the architectural delights of the town, were so enticing that I thought to myself, I simply must see this fabled land. Well, I can now say, quite enthusiastically, “See Samarkand and Die!” This was what struck me after a day devoted to an overload of Islamic architectural exuberance. Wen we were at the Registan, finally,  the same complex that I had seen at the crack of dawn, the thought struck me—I had seen Samarkand...I could die! I was bowled over by the Al-Hambra in Granada, Spain, and thought I had never seen anything so beautiful—well, I was mistaken. The ceramic work of this region defies description.

     The Registan, literally meaning “Sandy Place”, was built in the reign of Amir Timur around the 14th century. It was meant to be a complex of Madrassas which are traditional Islamic schools for the study of religion. Somehow when approached from the front, the impact is completely different from that which I had felt in the morning. Visually grasped as it is meant to be—as a three-sided architectural masterpiece of symmetry and beauty, it left us unable to stop ourselves from taking pictures.

     There are three Madrassas in this complex: If you are facing it, on the left is the Madrassa of Ulugbek, the astronomer emperor, his signature stamped on the edifice by the application of stars as its most striking  decorative motif. The grand doorway is flanked by two minarets. Inside, through the archway, you will enter a courtyard that has been taken over by contemporary traders. The Madrassa was traditionally characterized by student rooms or dorms on the top floor and their classes just below. The emperor himself taught Mathematics here and is known to have encouraged men and women to develop inquiring minds...truly, it was a time when the practitioners of Islam saw knowledge-acquisition as a way of glorifying God. 

     Today, the modern-day tourist can browse from one shop to the next through every imaginable form of human craftsmanship from jewelry to pottery, from textiles to embroidery, from magnets to paintings to expensive carpets. All of the romance of the bazaars of the East were here for the shopper’s pleasure. I whizzed through these structures as I was already flagging quite badly. I went through this building with Khurshid but then he sent me off on my own and told me to return to the main square at 7.00 pm. This left me with about an hour to see the other two Madrassas. Note that Khurshid stayed around with the Italians although he told me that he tells people to split up to enable them to do what they prefer to do.

     I lost no time in going to see the exquisite mosque at the back of the Madrassa that is in the middle of the complex—the Tilla-Kari (Gold -covered) Madrassa. It is the highlight of this complex and justifiably so. Truly, words cannot do justice to the beauty of the mosque that is only a show piece today and not a functioning house of worship. The ceiling and the walls are entirely covered with gilding in the form of papier mache and ceramic tile. Glowing under strategically-placed chandeliers, the effect is simply stunning. The dome is topped on the outside by a recently-added (during restoration) gigantic turquoise blue dome.

     On the sides of this structure are small niches filled with black and white photographs of these structures and the huge destruction done upon them by time. As a contrast, colored pictures taken from the exact same location show how much restoration has been done and what fine effects have been achieved. I could hardy drag myself way from this incredible space.   

     On the right hand side, is the Sher-Dor (Lion Gate) Madrassa which is denoted by ceramic decoration that, in defiance, of all Islamic tenets the prevents the depictions of human or animal life, presents animals (lions that look like tigers) and prancing fawns. There is the rising sun at the very top—a symbol of light and enlightenment in a Madrassa or school. This symbol has been appropriated by Alisher Navoiy University in Tashkent where I am currently teaching and where the mission is the propagation of Uzbek language, literature and culture.

     As instructed, I arrived at the square and found members of my party at 7.00 pm seated on the patio of the Ulugbeg Madrassa. I joined them and was told to pay 40,000 som for entry into the complex. A guard came up and told us that we had a few minutes more to sit there as the complex closes at 7.00 pm. However, the superb illumination comes on at 7.30 am and it is really worth the wait to see the buildings in that light. You realize then why this is the poster-child of the city and Central Asia’s best-known monument. We climbed to the viewing platform to take some more pictures, because, honestly, no one seems to get enough of this venue. Truly the soft golden glow of the lights makes the entire scene memorable. 

     I have to say that the weather was very cold and was made worse by the intermittent rain. I was very grateful for my layers—two cardigans and a light down jacket and my warm silk scarf. I was also glad that I had carried pantyhose to wear under my trousers. All these combined to keep me comfortable.

    I was absurdly happy to feel the chill of the weather in my bones—clearly I am missing the temperate zone too much after what seems like just one long single season in Bombay after nine months in the city of my birth. The sights of flowering chestnut and lilac tress are making my heart sing and I am glad to experience, in a small way, the heart-lifting sights of spring in Samarkand. 

Dinner of Shorba Before Getting My Train to Bukhara:

     Members of our party were taking the same train that I was to take to Bukhara in the evening—the 9.00 pm bullet train that would arrive from Tashkent. They wanted to have lemon tea, with which they seem to have fallen in love, as a precursor to their parting from this fabled city on the Great Silk Route. Tea that was hauled on camel-back all the way from China and India was incorporated into the lives of these Oriental people who drink it all day in gallons. Tea shops called Chaikhanas have mushroomed all over to cope with this custom.

      Khurshid led us to a chaikhana where the Italians settled with steaming bowls of lemon tea and I decided to have Shorba (soup)—a clear beef broth flavored with plenty of dill and featuring boiled potatoes, carrots and hunks of beef. It was served with bread and made a very good supper after our filling plov lunch.  We were joined by two Japanese girls that Khurshid befriended before he took me to the train station for my bullet train ride to Bukhara.  

On the Bullet Train to Bukhara:

     It appears that I was very lucky in getting this ticket on the Bullet Train as all tickets on these trains are booked solid months in advance. It appears that only the influence of the folks at the US Embassy enabled me to travel on this train (or so Khurshid told me)—boy, did I feel lucky! I will make it a point to say a special Thanks to Dinara at the US Embassy Travel Desk when I return tomorrow to Tashkent. 

    Anyway, the Bullet Train known as the Afrosiyab, is a fairly new addition to Uzbekistan Railways. So far, it runs from Tashkent to Samarkand and then on to Bukhara. It is expected that another leg will be added soon to Khiva—which is the other site of tourist interest in this country. I had never heard of the place and, chances are, I probably would not have had the time to conclude it anyway. 

     The train is sleek and similar to Japan’s Bullet Trains—you are greeted by a stewardess and shown to your seat which is very luxurious. Tea and other snacks are served (for payment). There is a TV set to keep you occupied. The journey took an hour and 40 minutes.  I pulled out my iPad and began writing my journal and then actually nodded off to sleep for about an hour. By the time I awoke, we were close to arrival at Bukhara. 

    I was picked up by a driver named Nazrulloh who could not speak English but who led me to my hotel for the night where I had made a booking—Hotel Fernando. It was close to midnight and there was not even a Receptionist to greet me. A waiter handed me my key and led me to my room—a very plain space but at least there was heating and a comfortable bed although the pillows were like hard Himalayan mountains. I did not waste any time as I was exhausted when I went straight to bed, but the awful pillows made it very hard for me to fall asleep.

     Until tomorrow...