The Silk Road, Julie Christie and me
The Silk Road was calling me. ‘Field research’ was my excuse. But, even though my day job means I’m now obsessed with trade and Empire, I wanted to see more than that. I wanted to see the fabulous azure blue buildings…..the ones in all the guide books. I just hoped it wouldn’t be too much like a theme park. My country of choice was Uzbekistan, a major stop on this 4,000 mile trade route connecting Asia, Africa and Europe.
Samarkand
Tashkent (or Toshkent as the signs said, which just made me snigger childishly) wasn’t for me. Too Soviet and too noisy. But then I was off to Samarkand - a five-hour journey by coach. Only 20 minutes in, there was a comfort stop. Not sure what everyone else wanted but I’d just eaten breakfast; I’d given my bladder a stern talking-to making it clear there was a five-hour expectation on it; and I had enough water to drain the Aral Sea (again). So instead I thought I’d withdraw some money from the ATM. Oh yes, how confident was I strolling up to the machine to withdraw 100,000 som. Only to find this was the equivalent of about four quid. You had to load the noughts on until the machine beeped in protest to get anything remotely meaningful. I hoped no-one saw. I strolled away just as confidently, hiding the solitary note in my hand.
Samarkand, what a beauty. The former capital of Central Asia. The first stop was the tomb of Amir Timur (or Timberlane as history has dubbed him). So famous I’d never heard of him. But he was the founder of the Mughal Empire in India although it seemed to take 200 years before the Mughals I knew (Akbar, Jahangir, Shah Jahan etc.) entered the equation. Genghis Khan didn’t seem to feature much anywhere which was a surprise. I was pretty sure he’d marauded through this territory. I fear he might have been cancelled. The Samarkand cultural programme included a wine tasting, comprising ten samples, except after the sixth snifter the rest were cognacs. Maybe there were only six types of wine in Uzbekistan? Each sample was delicately paired with little cheesy biscuits in the shape of fishes. Needless to say, we all left slaughtered, giggling our way back to the hotel.
That evening we went to a light show in Registan Square, the main stop for merchants on the Silk Road, except it was the show minus the lights. A couple of young Uzbek guys whiled away their time, practicing their English on me. They dealt very well with my South London accent but I fear I was a disappointment in the football category.
Registan Square, Samarkand - a major stop for merchants on the Silk Road
Next stop was Bukhara. On the way we dropped in on a 14th century caravanserai. On the Silk Road, you walked by night to escape the heat, and stayed at a caravanserai….a sort of Air BnB…. during the day to rest your camels and yourself. And it was here that I learned something which shattered my dreams about this romantic route. It turns out the Silk Road wasn’t even a road but many roads….and it carried much more besides silk (which of course I should have known if I’d thought about it). But worse. It wasn’t even called ‘the Silk Road’ when it was being used. It was given this romantic and mystical name a few hundred years after its heyday in the 19th century by some German bloke. Should I be thinking now of names for the M25?
Oh Bukhara! I didn’t think it would be possible but I liked you even more than Samarkand. You were somehow a bit more ‘lived in’. I drank saffron tea in the Old Silk Road Tea House and imagined myself to be Joanna Lumley gushing about this beautiful city. Everything everywhere was gorgeousness. I tried a hamman bath. I envisaged a spa experience. Rather, it was like being put through a hot wash in the washing machine, then flayed on the river bank stones., followed by a fierce spin cycle.. I was though cleaner than a new pin.
Bukhara
The final stop was Khiva. Turns out, Khiva, you were my favourite. We stayed inside the fort, in an erstwhile madrassa (a university/school) dating from 1858. Khiva looked like a theme park….but it was real life. There was a settlement here from the 10th century. And apparently the man who invented the algorithm and algebra came from here too, Al-Khwarizmi who lived between 780-850 AD. So we have him to blame for all those unfathomable school lessons around the world, including mine.
And then we tried some hats on. All the tourists do this. I hoped none of them had head lice. But looking at my reflection in the mirror, I knew I was answering a calling. I should have been Julie Christie in Dr Zhivago….a film I’ve never actually seen. In that 30 degree heat, I was right there in the snow and crisp blue sky, admiring the wintry landscape from a horse-drawn carriage. I must see that film.
Acrobats against the backdrop of an ancient madrassa
After yet more amazing madrassas, mausoleums, and mosques, it was off to an acrobat show for the final night. Several generations balanced their way across a rope (including a five-year old). Safeguarding policies are clearly unheard of here. And a final supper under a golden moon, the sparkling stars, and looking at the beautiful city of Khiva, which apparently translates to ‘wow’. It certainly was.