The next cities were a whirlwind of beauty, history, and culture, which began at 2:00 am when I disembarked from the train that I did not miss and picked up by a friend who kindly offered to take me around the city. After a few hours of sleep, we met back up, starting with a sumptuous breakfast of the fabled non; tandoori-baked Bukharan bread roasted to chewy perfection, fried eggs, local pastries, and fruit — featuring persimmons, which were a sweet and juicy first for me! We meandered through the magnificent Old Town, visiting endless mosques and madrasahs. I must say, though I had been amazed by the single mosque I experienced in Nukus, Bukhara was in a league of its own; Turkish-Islamic architecture, rich in high minarets, caravanserais, majestically swarming the city. I can’t begin to name everything that we saw, but for those interested, it included the Bukhara Fortress, Nasruddin Hodja, Magoki-Attari mosque, Nadir Divan-Beghi madrasah, Char Minar, Kaylan, and the Kok-Gumbaz mosque. My guide even took me to a synagogue, noting that “I can tell you’re Jewish, you look it.” I feel like that experience was supposed to have more relevance to me, but honestly not even my culture could compete with the gorgeous mosques that surrounded me.
We delved into every aspect of Uzbek life, discussing make-up trends (eyebrows are important), politics (the late president Karimov is still deeply and widely adored, despite being a “ruthless autocrat” that encouraged undemocratic aspects and corruption under his 25+ year rule), and religion (Bukhara being a mainly Muslim city with a substantial Jewish population, although it isn’t very religious; apparently religion not playing a large role in everyday life). In fact, Bukhara was just named the capital of Islamic culture for 2020 for its contribution to the development of Islamic civilization. The Uzbeks grew out of a mingling of ancient, settled Iranian populations with a variety of nomadic Mongol or Turkic tribes that invaded the region between the 11th and the 15th century. We ate consistently throughout the day, snacking on corn from street vendors, cake from a little German cafe, and my favorite — Uzbek plov, the main local dish, consisting of lamb, rice, and sweet carrots. We encountered dozens of tourists, nearly all Russians, with not a single Westerner in sight. “It’s not the season,” it was explained to me, “all the Germans and French come in the Spring, but the Russians come now because it’s still warmer than where they’re from.”
My tour guide was an English teacher who ran a tutoring center, so we decided to stop by and visit his students to give them a chance to practice their English with a “real” American. Sitting in a circle, I was asked question after question about life in New York, but them being students, it mostly focused on my education and what advice I had for them for getting into good American schools, and more importantly, how to get a visa. After my brain being appropriately picked, we respectively returned “home” to rest a while, and then met up for Uzbek barbecue and shisha. This time, we fell deeper in the rabbit hole of politics and culture, discussing the death sentence (which Uzbekistan doesn’t have) and how long a prison sentence should be (Uzbekistan doesn’t lock people up nearly as long as the US does), racism (people of color being so rare in the country that Uzbeks are more shocked to see them, with the concept of ‘racism’ being relatively unconsidered), democracy (Karimov was popular; does it matter if he was president for half a decade or if the elections weren’t 100% accurate?), and American slang (provoked by my new friend asking “what does ‘thug life’ mean?”).
Finally, I returned home, exhausted from an intense day of exploring and adventure, legs weak, stomach full, eyes and mind still overwhelmed at the beauty enveloping me — and my faith in men restored after such a wholesome experience with a new friend.
I awoke the next morning at 3am, quickly cabbed to the train station, and entered the cleanest and most beautiful train I’ve ever sat on — Amtrak could learn a thing or two from the Uzbek train system. I soon arrived in Samarkand, and after a short nap, embarked on exploring the city I had been dreaming of for the past two and a half years.
That first day, I walked for miles, marveling in awe at the architectural masterpieces characterized by their balance of traditional design and modern innovation. Unlike in Bukhara, the landmarks are slightly more spaced out in Samarkand, forcing me to traverse the city from corner to corner. Starting with the Registan, I entered the Tillya Kori Madrasah, the Ulugbek Madrasah, and the Sher Dor Madrasah. I made my way through a park, passing by an impressive statue of the late President Karimov, to the Bibi-Khanym Mosque and Mausoleum, and then through the Siab Bazaar. I passed through a beautiful cemetery, Shah-i-Zinda, (meaning "The living king," and connected the legend that Kusam ibn Abbas, a cousin of the prophet Muhammad, is buried here), until I reached the Gur Emir Mausoleum, at which point it started snowing — no, blizzarding would be a better word for it. I made my way through the sacred tombs, surrounded by incredible tile-work, each room with dazzlingly intricate patterns of blue and green, made even more stunning by the snow blowing around me. However, I did feel slightly sacrilegious with AJR blasting in my ears. After lingering through the mausoleum, I visited the Afrasiyab Settlement and the Jewish cemetery, eventually finding myself at the outskirts of town at the Ulugbek Observatory. It was a day of constant amazement and awe at the architectural wonders and religious sights, most of which dating back 600 years.
The next day, after a cozy sleep in my quaint yet very polished hostel, I went back exploring, retracing my steps and ensuring I didn’t miss a single inch of this gorgeous city. Along my way, two girls heard me loudly singing along to my Black Keys on the street and invited me out to lunch, wanting to practice their English. They sang their local music to me, and inquired about life in America — dating culture being their favorite. The people I’ve met in Uzbekistan have all been enormously kind and helpful to me, wanting to learn everything they can and share their views as well. It’s been especially surprising to hear their reactions when I note I’m a human rights major, themselves commenting on the poor human rights situation present in Uzbekistan. Under Mirziyoyev religious persecution and arbitrary arrests have decreased slightly, but still remains present, along with extensive forced labor practices in the countryside. It was inspiring to see the people critical and watchful of their country, yet still hopeful at the promising steps being made to reform the country’s awful human rights record.
After a few days in Samarkand, I took on the next country in my journey: Tajikistan. It was similar to the process of entering Uzbekistan, with a shared taxi to the border, crossing by foot, and then finding a car on the other side to take me to Dushanbe. But unlike the other drives I endured, this one was gorgeous, with five hours circling through mountains, initially purely rock and dirt and then transforming to towering snow, with the sun glowing upon them. I could hear Genevieve in my head saying, “that’s GOD up there.” The Varzob and Zeravshan rivers streamed through the hills, with the bluest, turquoise water I have ever seen accompanying us along the drive. Two young boys of 7 and 12 sat in the back, giggling while trying to make conversation with me. I polished off my book by Terry Pratchett an Neil Gaiman, Good Omens, during the ride, and to the extreme delight of the boys gave it to them after. With traditional Tajik music filling my ears and nothing but snowy mounds in sight, reminiscent of my birthday drive to Andorra, it was one of the happiest experiences this trip.
I arrived in Dushanbe late at night, to a hotel room that was way too nice for what I paid for (thank you Booking.com for the free upgrade), excited at what the next day would bring