Surprising Uzbekistan (Oct'11)

Samarkand has a long and interesting history – Alexander the Great visited it, Chingiss Khan sacked it in 1220, and Timur made it his capital in 1370 – that was when Samarkand’s golden period started as Timur built a number of beautiful monuments and made it a centre for the arts. The glory days continued till 1449 when Ulugbek (Timur’s grandson) died.

The defining image of Samarkand (and probably Uzbekistan) is the Registan (‘place of sand’). It is an imposing square with large beautifully-tiled Madrassahs on three sides. The insides of the Madrassahs are full of touristy souvenir shops but, despite that, it is a perfect place to hang out, observe locals, tourists, read a book, or nap in the sun (I did all of the aforementioned).

From Registan there is a nice pedestrian path (again full of souvenir shops unfortunately) that leads to the Bibi Khanym Mosque. The mosque, constructed during the last years of Timur’s life, was built for his wife, Bibi Khanym. The story goes as such – Bibi Khanym ordered the building of the mosque while Timur was away to surprise him on his return. The architect told her that he would complete it quickly if she let him kiss her. Reluctantly she agreed, and when Timur returned he saw the kiss-mark on Bibi Khanym’s face. Enraged, Timur ordered the killing of the architect (who reportedly escaped by developing wings and flying away). The questionable veracity of this story notwithstanding, the Mosque is really beautiful (even though it is one of the few unrestored monuments in Uzbekistan). It was, at one point, the largest mosque in the Islamic world.

Ulugbek (Timur’s grandson) was a great patron of Astronomy – in fact he used to teach Astronomy / mathematics at a Madrassah. In 1420, he built a three-storied observatory to chart the heavens. Unfortunately not much of this observatory remains except for the curve of a large instrument. There is a nice museum there and a large statue of the Ulugbek which is a popular place for newly-wed couples who get themselves photographed there (like in Russia, they visit all popular monuments to get their photo taken).

For me the most beautiful structure in Samarkand (Registan notwithstanding) was the Shah-i-Zinda which is a group of tombs – it is like an avenue of stunning mausoleums - each with lovely blue tilework. Timur’s cousins, sisters, and nieces are buried here as is a cousin of Prophet Mohammed. I bumped into a couple of (very pretty) Pakistani girls from Peshawar and we had a nice long chat including the usual criticism of our politicians!

Timur is also buried in Samarkand. He had built a tomb for himself in Shakhrisabz, a town south of Samarkand. But when he died (while preparing for a campaign to China), the pass between Samarkand and Shakhrisabz was snowed out so he was buried in Samarkand itself. His sons and grandsons are also buried in the same mausoleum. The black marker for Timur’s body was carried off to Persia by Nadir Shah in the 18th century. But Nadir returned it after it apparently bought him ill-luck. In 1941 Soviet archaeologists opened the crypt to examine Timur’s body. There they also found an inscription, “whoever opens this will be defeated by an enemy more fearsome than I”. The next day Hitler’s Germany attacked Russia!

The Uzbeks love their tipple – most people drink Vodka and they have a large appetite for it. There are, naturally, quite a few nice Vodkas available, but I preferred the local beer ‘Sarbast’ – it helped that it had 3 versions (red, green, and blue) – each with a different alcohol content (I preferred the red - 4.2%). I went to a couple of bars – they’re like any in the world except that they occasionally play Indian songs too (‘Jimmy Jimmy Aaja Aaja’ seemed to be a popular choice). I was reasonably popular on the dance floor (thanks to Bollywood!). At one restaurant I went to, whenever they played popular songs, people would get up and dance in whatever place they would find. A very friendly atmosphere – people are pulled up from other tables for dancing, random strangers (including those from India!) are invited for shots of Vodka or some puffs of the hookah. Very very enjoyable indeed.

From what I had read in the guidebooks before coming to Uzbekistan, I had expected to lose lots of weight during the trip as the food situation was supposedly quite difficult. Well, if you go with low expectations, you are bound to be pleasantly surprised. The food was quite good - the local dishes, for which it is very easy to get vegetarian options, are quite tasty but could do with some spices. I enjoyed Lagman (hand-made noodles with meat or vegetables), Tandoori Lamb (in a lovely local non-touristy restaurant in Bukhara), Shvitoshi (noodles with dil) and the ever popular ‘plov’ (pulao, duh).

However the best places to hang out are the ‘choikhanas’ (tea-houses) where the locals hang out to gossip. The atmosphere is very casual and friendly – people lounge around on the ‘day-beds’ and share the local news. Like everywhere else, lots of people would come to me and ask me where I was from and then they would rattle off the names of the Bollywood stars and Indian cities they knew. I found the people to be extremely friendly – in lots of countries locals chat up with tourists to sell them something or get money off them. But not in Uzbekistan – so many people came up to me to have a wee talk just because they were curious and wanted to know more about where I was from .

After Samarkand, I spent a relaxed few days in Tashkent. I was more and more impressed by the city – neat clean wide leafy avenues with smart and extremely trendily dressed people. Did I mention that the women are ridiculously beautiful? I’ve never seen so many pretty girls per capita. One moment you’ll see an oriental looking girl, next moment it will be a blue-eyed Russian blonde, next you’ll see a very European looking girl. All of them ridiculously pretty.

As one of my friends put it, the tag line for Uzbekistan Tourism should be ‘Surprising Uzbekistan’ – by each passing moment you tend to be more and more pleasantly surprised by the country. A definite thumbs-up.

Last note – While leaving Uzbekistan each tourist has to account for every night in Uzbekistan. For this each hotel gives you a wee slip that ‘certifies’ your stay there. Since I’ve been here for a total of 14 days, I’m having a tough time keeping all these slips (some of them are post-its with the hotels stamp on it). Hopefully they’ll let me out! You’ll find out soon enough.

Bukhara (not the daal) (Oct'11)

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.

"Kal ho na ho" in Uzbekistan (Oct'11)

My first impression of Tashkent (pronounced ‘Toshkent’) was what I saw out of my taxi cab to the hotel from the airport at about 5 in the morning - wide open clean streets. When I went walking later on during the day to orient myself with the city, the impression did not change.

As I walked around two things immediately struck me. The city was ridiculously clean (that was an impression I carried with me throughout my stay in Uzbekistan) and the people (especially the women) were extremely smartly dressed.

The centre of town is the ‘Amir Temur’ square with a large horse-back statue of Timur the Lame (which replaced one of Karl Marx). Usually known as Amir Temur in Uzbekistan, he is the national hero here. Born near Samarkhand in the 14th century he considered himself to be a descendant of Genghis Khan – one of Temur’s ancestors was married to the grand-daughter of the great Khan. Today, Temur is mostly remembered for his sacking and massacres at Isfahan, Baghdad, Damascus, and Delhi (the latter in 1398 when apparently his army killed over 100,000 people). But his contribution as a patron of the arts and a military genius is often overlooked. He was responsible for bringing artists to his capital Samarkhand from all over the world as he endeavoured to make Samarkhand a grand city. He used to plan his military forays years in advance and used ingenious techniques such as sending camels with burnt hay on their backs to cause confusion in the enemy lines, or growing food on the routes which he intended to take on his campaigns. He is also credited with developing a form of chess (Tamarlane Chess) with many extra pieces such as camels and giraffes. He was also responsible for popularising Kurash (wrestling). Of course he had a very strong India connection – apart from the sack of Delhi – he was the great-great-great-grandfather of Babur, the founder of the Mughal dynasty.

I made a couple of obligatory visits to a few museums. First stop was the Amir Temur museum which is dedicated to the history of the Temurid dynasty (founded by Temurlang). The History Museum of the People of Uzbekistan is a nice two-storied building that traces the history of this region from the earliest times till today. There was even a photo of President Karimov with our Manmohan Singh jee. But the most interesting museum I visited was the railway museum. To get there from my hotel I had to take the metro which was an experience in itself – the metro (the stations apparently were also nuclear bunkers) was built in the 70s and each of the stations is a work of art with marble, mosaics, and tiles. Since each station is different from the other (one will have pictorial representation of stories by Alisher Navoi, the other would have beautiful chandeliers), one could ride in the metro all day and go through all the stations and one wouldn’t be bored!

Anyway, after an open mouthed journey through a couple of beautiful metro stations, I got to the Railway Museum. The matronly lady, while giving me the entry ticket, asked me “Pakistani? Iranian? Iraqi?”. The moment I told her ‘India’ she said, “Hema Malini is Indian”. The Railway Museum has around 50 different locomotives from the Soviet Era. Some of them are open to the visitors and one can climb in to have a look (or take the obligatory photo).

Tashkent was virtually destroyed in a massive earthquake in 1966. There is a pretty nice monument built ten years later to commemorate the rebuilding of the city after the earthquake. 88% of the population in Uzbekistan is Muslim (though very liberal) and most of the sights in Tashkent are either Madrassahs or Mosques. These buildings are very well restored and preserved – the minarets in Uzbekistan are different from what I’ve seen anywhere else – with beautiful blue / green tiles and some of them shaped like smokestacks. The Khast Imom complex is a great pleasure to walk through – there is a huge mosque (Hazroti Imom Mosque), and Madrassah (Barak Khan Madrassah) and a Library Museum that houses a copy of one of the oldest known copies of the Qu’ran (dating back to the 7th century – from the very early days of Islam).

From Tashkent we moved to the ancient city of Khiva. There were three major Khan-ates in Uzbekistan (Khiva, Korkond, and Bukhara). Khiva was the last to fall to the Russians in 1873. Khiva’s main sights are in the Ichon-qala (inner fort) and this part of town is like an open air museum with beautifully tiled Mosques, Minarets, and Madrassahs. The city is enclosed within walls, with four main cardinal gates. And within this city is another fortress (the Kuhna Ark) – which is complete with a Mosque, Harem, mint, and jail. There is a watchtower from where one gets a nice view of Khiva and its stunning minarets.

Khiva’s signature minaret is the Kalta Minor which was begun in 1851 (the Khan of Khiva wanted to be able to see Bukhara from this minaret) but never got completed as the Khan died grinding the construction to a halt. Beautifully tiled in blue and green it looks a factory smokestack. The Juma Mosque is an interesting place to visit – it has over 200 wooden columns and a beautiful minaret.

Apart from the tourists who throng Khiva there are lots of wedding parties – the newly-weds go to the Pahlavon Mahmud Mausoleum to seek the patron saint of Khiva’s blessings (this 14th century saint started off as a wrestler hence Pahlovon). In Khiva one also sees lots of Surnattoy (circumcision) parties – the boys are all dressed in heavy robes with silken caps.

I had a surreal experience in Khiva when I was exploring the back alleys. One really old lady stopped me and asked for help with her mobile phone – she said something in Uzbek which I, naturally, did not understand. Then she thrust her mobile in my hand and asked me to sort out whatever problem she was having with it. Obviously the mobile characters were in Cyrillic and I was unable to help. But she would take none of my apologies and continued to ask me for help. Sadly, I couldn’t.

From Khiva we moved to the Ellik Qala (“fifty forts”) region which is barren and desert-like and has around 50 (duh?) sand castles from the 3rd-4th centuries AD. We visited a few – Toprak Qala and Ayaz Qala. There was a nice yurt camp near Ayaz Qala where we were forced to take a longer-than-anticipated break because the batteries of our bus needed charging. Killing time with beer and vodka and stunningly beautiful surroundings is not too difficult. I even tried my hands at an old Russian van. In that barren area, with yurts and camels strategically placed, I was reminded of my days in Mongolia.

We then moved to our yurt camp for the night. Again we got a 360° view of the desolate background which was lit up by the setting Sun. A campfire, with beer naturally, under the beautifully starry sky followed that was very very memorable. Though the same could not be said for the night as there were millions and millions (I’m not joking) of mosquitos.

On our 10 hour road journey to Bukhara, we encountered a narrow stretch (just wide enough to allow traffic to pass) when 2 trucks scraped each other and their respective drivers had a nice long fight and refused to budge. That was when our driver got into action and went and shouted (and I mean SHOUTED) at the two drivers to move their butt. It was funny how quickly they suddenly forgot their quarrels and squirmed into their buses and moved on.

Uzbek music was playing on the bus and suddenly the guide said that he had some Indian music and played “Kal ho na ho”. Certainly a high point for me (even though I don’t like Shah Rukh Khan!).

More from Bukhara.

PS: At the hotel I was staying in in Tashkent, the Under 16 Indian football team was also staying – they were playing in an Asia qualifying tournament. Seeing these boys from all different parts of India, I was reminded me of the film Chak-de.

Off the Silk Route (Oct'11)

I usually don’t do much research on the places I’m visiting (till I get there), but I managed some pre-reading to acquaint myself with Uzbekistan. The history of this country has a really interesting cast of characters – from Alexander the Great to Genghis Khan to Timur the Lame. With some Indian connections thrown in too – Babur and, of course, Lal Bahadur Shastri.

But Uzbekistan’s history, perhaps more than that of any other country, is inextricably tied-in with the silk route. For me, these words – silk route – conjure up images of long caravans of camels loaded with exotic goods traversing the dusty routes in Central Asia. After a hard day spent in the hot Sun, these traders-cum-travellers take a much-needed rest at a caravanserai. I also imagine a dusty market of Samarkhand or Bukhara where these traders, in long flowing robes and turbans, try and barter their goods to the wide-eyed locals under the gaze of the blue-domed mosques.

Ok ok, I am getting carried away.

The silk route was primarily a trading route between the then-known West and East namely,the Byzantium empire and China. This term was coined by a 19th C German geographer. Very often ‘silk route’ and ‘silk road’ have been used interchangeably - though most historians and academics prefer the former since there isn’t one road, and more importantly, sometimes there weren’t roads at all but dusty paths. There is general consensus that the trade on this route started around the 2nd C BC but like anything else in life (including the speed limit in the Universe, it seems), one is not sure.

The origin of silk has an interesting story – apparently one of the Chinese Queens accidentally dropped a silkworm into her tea and when she tried to pull it out – she got a silken thread – she had discovered the mystery of the silkworm. Uzbekistan is the third largest producer of the Silk after China and India.

Silk was sought after in the West and in the Byzantium empire. This was because its production was a Chinese monopoly as they guarded the secret of sericulture very closely – the rest of the world could only get their hands on it buying it from the Chinese. And that was the basis of the Silk trade (and perhaps, the Silk Route). It was only much later, in AD 550, that two monks smuggled back (from China) silk worm eggs hidden in their walking sticks. Slowly silk came to be made in the West also but the silk route still flourished because it was not, as many believe, primarily for the trade of silk.

So what was traded? Anything and everything – spices, teas, porcelain; ivory, textiles, precious stones, pepper; glassware, wine, carpets and even slaves. And, more importantly from a historical / cultural perspective, there was an exchange of ideas, skills, genes, diseases, inventions, and religions. Buddhism came to China (from India) via the silk route. Nestorianism (a sect of Christianity) also came to China (from Europe) through the silk route.

There were three major legs to this route – China, Central Asia, and the West. Covering 7000 kms, the route connected Chang’an (the then capital of China, now Xian) with Byzantium (now Istanbul). There were many off-shoots of this route – into Afghanistan, into India – that added to the variety of goods being carried and traded.

The route lost its importance in the 14th-15th centuries - many reasons are given for this - the decline of the Mongol empire and, more importantly, the opening of the sea route between Europe and India.

But the route retains its allure for tourists and historians.

I am one of the former.

So with that background I headed for Tashkent. The flight from Delhi is rather short – just 3 hours. But the timing was terrible – it took off post-midnight in Delhi and landed at about half-three in the morning in Tashkent. A good night wasted (considering I love my 8 hour sleep!).

The flight landing at 03:30 in the morning – there was a modicum of excitement I had to experience before I could get to my hotel. Immigration took ages. And that was not because I had an Indian passport (as has been my experience in the Schengen countries). What actually took time was the fact that there was a group of around 80 people on my flight (on some company sponsored jamboree) and I was not agile enough to cut ahead of them in the immigration line. So I had to twiddle my thumbs while these jumobreans were stamped in one by one. And when my turn finally came, it was a pleasantly short and smooth experience – the bespectacled gentleman at the counter shooed me in without a question or a second glance. Perhaps, I look the part of a seasoned traveller.

A word about the airport. Imagine something out of 60s Soviet Union and you have Tashkent Airport – complete with a ridiculous number of X-ray machines, cops, security guards, minders, plain-clothesmen. Even though I exaggerate, I am not really far off the mark.

I picked up my bag from the carousel and confidently marched towards the customs. Each ‘customs officer’ has a personal x-ray machine where he has an intimate look at the contents of your bags. He saw the form I had filled in and then with a look that said “oh you illiterate man” he asked me to fill it in duplicate. Once I did the needful, he went after the forms with all sorts of rubber stamps and scribbles and signatures.

Outside I looked for the guy holding a placard with my name on it. But there was none. So I began to worry – I had not converted my money into Uzbek money, AND my mobile was not working. So if this fellow, who was to ferry me to the hotel, did not show up – I was in an Uzbek soup. Then, as usually happens in such a situation, a few of those shady looking characters suddenly appeared and volunteered to ‘help’. Ya right! I ignored all of them while going through my papers to make sure that a transfer from the airport was included. It was five in the morning and I was in no hurry to get there (my night’s sleep had been spoilt anyways) so I decided to soak in the atmosphere. Then I noticed this guy with a sign that said ‘Ms. Chrath’. Could that be me? Gender and Name mutilated in one go. So I went to him and, deftly using sign language, explained that I was the Ms. and the Chrath he was looking for.

Obviously he did not believe me. He woke up a few unlucky fast-asleep people and after a few sleepy grumbles from the other side of the line, I was in the car to my hotel. This guy (with the Ms. Chrath placard) and his brother (who was driving) turned out to be extremely loquacious.

Their first question to me was ‘Are you Pakistani?’.

First gender and name screwed up. And now nationality. But obviously I didn’t mind it – after all it was five in the morning. When I corrected them on the nationality bit, they both fell into a pensive silence.

Wondering where this was leading, I tried to change the topic and asked them their names.

“My name is Ikhtiyar,” the older one said, “and this is my brother. His name is Shokhrukh”

He then broke into a smile and said, “Like Shahrukh Khan. Bollywood”.

Then both of them racked their brains to tell me more.

“Hum Tum,” said one brother

“Don,” said the other.

Given my utter lack of knowledge of Uzbek cinema I did not correct him on the ‘Hum Tum’ mistake.

Though all this Bollywood chat, I was worried that I had no local currency to give them a tip. So I politely asked them about the best place in Tashkent to change money. He gave me another smile and said ‘Here’. He opened the glove compartment and out came a few huge wads of the Uzbek currency (Som). In my guide book, I had read that it was perfectly ok to buy ‘off’ the market. So he quoted me a rate (“much better than the hotel”) – not believing him, but simultaneously not wanting to disappoint him totally, I bought some from him. Even though I bought precious little I got a ridiculously large wad of notes. Not surprising considering that 1 USD fetches anywhere between 1750 to 1800 Som. So even a 50 dollar change gets you about 72,000 Som in 1,000 Som notes!

I was reminded of the Italian Lira days!


So that was my introduction to Uzbekistan. After sightseeing in Tashkent - Khiva, Samarkhand, and Bukhara beckon.