On our way to Bukhara from Ellik (a 10 hour drive), we crossed the Amu Darya river (the fabled Oxus that Alexander passed in his campaign in the region) which flows into the Aral Sea. We passed vast cotton fields – this was the cotton picking season – and many people from the cities come to the countryside to pitch in with the cotton-picking (especially the students).
Kids, whenever they spot an outsider, come running and shouting ‘hello’ and then look for the tourist to give them something – a pen, or some sweets (‘bon bon’), or even coins. After I ran out of the Indian coins which I used to give to the kids, I used to feel bad at not being able to give them something. At Khiva, a few kids came upto me – I told them, in what I thought was effective sign language, that I did not have anything to give them – one of them came upto me and very coolly pulled out the pen that was jutting out of my pocket! After that I always kept sweets with me so that I would not be divested of my other belongings.
Most of the people speak Uzbek or Russian or both. But very few people on the street (even in Tashkent) speak English. This made simple tasks such as looking for a monument, or a shop, or the directions to a particular street, really difficult and challenging - even though my usually adept sign language failed. But after a few days I could start recognising words that every North Indian is familiar with ‘choi’ (tea), ‘Azeez’ (dear), ‘vatan’ (homeland), ‘darwaza’ (door), ‘tarbuz’ (watermelon), ‘usta’ (teacher), and so on.
In Delhi we’ve all heard of Bukhara (in the context of the daal), but it is one of the most famous silk route cities so I was quite excited to be there. At its peak, Bukhara had bustling bazaars, caravansarais, over 100 madrassahs, and over 300 mosques. Many of these survive even though there is an overflow of touristy souvenir shops. The city is supposedly 2500 years old and there is a lot of history around.
There are two famous landmarks of the city – Chorminor and Kalon Minor. The former is a beautiful compact structure with four beautiful minarets (it was the gate for a long-gone Madrassah). It is perhaps the defining image of Bukhara.
Kalon Minor is a 47m tower minaret built in 1127 – it has survived the centuries because it has foundations that are over 10 metres deep. Chingiss Khan was so impressed with it that he ordered his soldiers not to the touch it when they sacked Bukhara in 1220 (the city again fell to Amir Temur in 1370). Right next to the minaret are the imposing Kalon Mosque and the Mir-i-Arab Madrassah. It is a lovely place to hang around – especially in the second half of the day when the tourists are done for the day and the locals mill around the large square.
I had a lovely lunch (with beer naturally) at a rooftop restaurant overlooking the square, mosque, madrassah, and the minaret. It was definitely one of the most picturesque meals I’ve had. I loved it so much that I was back the next day for a generous helping of ‘choi’ as I alternately read my book and finished off postcards.
The last Emir of Bukhara built a lovely palace outside the city - he gave up with power to the Russians and in return was allowed to retain his title and lead a luxurious life – the palace had a pool where, according to those in the know, his concubines would frolic in the water and our Emir, observing from a special raised platform, would throw an apple. Whichever concubine caught the apple got the ‘privelage’ of ‘spending the evening’ with the Emir.
The centre of Bukhara is very very touristy (with lots and lots of souvenir shops) but I really enjoyed getting lost in the back-alleys (where tourists usually don’t visit). The centre of the city is the Lyabi-Hauz, a wee pool which has a number of outdoor restaurants around it – perfect place to have a beer, especially at night with the reflection of the monuments in the pool. At one point there were over 200 such pools in the city but all (except for very few) were drained off for fear of diseases and infection.
The highlight of my time in Bukhara was a visit to a 16th century Hamom (Hamomi Bazari Kord) for a great steam-up and a massage. The steam room wasn’t too hot (35 degrees – the same as the maximum for Delhi these days). Then I was pasted with a ginger honey concoction (that burnt) and was asked to lie down on a really hot slab. While on that slab I got a epiphany I get once in a while whilst travelling – I had to pinch myself to believe that I was really in a steam room of a 16th century Hamom in Bukhara. That is what makes travel so much fun.
One afternoon there was a vicious sandstorm that even clouded out the sun and the monuments. It suddenly felt as if I had been transported back to the 14th century (even though there was sand in my eyes).
At Bukhara, I got chatting with one of the shopkeepers (after he figured that I did not plan to buy anything from him!) who told me that there are often large groups of Indian tourists who come to Bukhara ‘only for fun with ladies’ and they don’t even go to see the sights. What a shame! The next day, I bumped into some Indians (from the US) and they kept on asking me as to what I was doing in Uzbekistan. When I told them I had come to experience the history, they didn’t look convinced and kept asking me again and again, ‘but why Uzbekistan?’. I guess they suspected that I was there ‘only for fun with ladies’!
People on the streets would often ask me where I was from – the word for India is ‘Hindiston’. Their first response would be (depending on their age) – ‘Raj Kapoor’ or ‘Amitabh Bachhan’ or ‘Hema Malini’ or ‘Shah Rukh Khan’ (pronounced as ‘Shahrokh’). Their next question would ALWAYS be ‘Mussalman?’ (‘are you muslim?’).
From Bukhara we moved to a village called Sentab where we stayed with a family. En route we stopped at Nurata which is known for its holy spring water. It was a great place to visit as there were no foreign tourists (they spoil the whole thing, right?) but local pilgrims. On a hillock next to the spring are the remains of a fort where Alexander stayed on his return from India. After a brief stop, observing the locals fill up multi-coloured jerry-cans with spring water, we continued to Sentab.
The village, not a very small one, was ridiculously neat and clean (sometimes I feel ashamed how we in India don’t bother with civic sense!). The family we stayed with was very hospitable (naturally? They were making good money off us) and gave us a great spread of food (with plov and dumplings and beer and vodka). They had the prettiest little daughters (aged 5 and 2) who were rather amused by the foreigners. The family had built a beautiful raised stone machan that was next to the stream where we had our meals (we were there for a day and a half). Unfortunately, the season was not right so the stream was dry – otherwise I can imagine what it would be like to have a nice meal in that machan with gentle sunlight (or moonlight) wafting in with the soothing noise of the stream flowing by. The people in the village were extremely friendly and would readily pose for photographs (or in some cases even ask those with a camera to take a photo) – most people use a donkey for transportation so there were plenty of photo opportunities.
Next stop Samarkand.
