Day 67 - Wednesday 7th June - Tashkent to Samarkand

It was 320k from Tashkent to Samarkand. We refuelled before we left town. Before we had finished doing so, we were puzzled to see that a queue of cars had formed out the driveway and on to the street. Maybe everyone just wanted to join us. We filled with the only available option, 80 octane plus a bottle of “booster”.

There are 2 major rivers running through Uzbekistan. The Sirdariya out of the Tien Shan and the Amudariya (otherwise known as the Oxus in previous times) out of the Pamir. They both head inland to the Aral Sea. I say they head that way, because today they don’t make it. They are diverted into irrigation and hydro dams along the way. As a consequence. The Aral Sea has shrunk to little more than a puddle. Fishing fleets lie marooned on parched land hundreds of kilometres from the water. Its an environmental disaster of immense proportions. While there is some recognition of the issue, it does not appear that much is being done about it for a couple of reasons, the first being that it involves a number of countries along the rivers and surrounding the Aral Sea. 

The other challenge is that the water is currently used for irrigation of thousands of square kilometres of what would otherwise be desert. It blooms with water. In Soviet times it was committed to growing cotton. Uzbekistan was the cotton bowl of the Soviet empire. Today there has been a significant diversification of the cropping. Cotton is still a major crop, but is complimented with grains and vegetables. Production is intense.

As we head towards the main cities, the cars have changed. The old Ladas seem to be the agricultural vehicle of choice loaded with bails of hay or the roof is attacked with timber, pipes or trees. In the cities white, locally made Chevvy’s dominate.

As we headed south we had our first view of the Pamie range. Only the tail end fingers stretch into Uzbekistan. The bulk is to the east in Tajikistan, Afghanistan and Pakistan. It joins the Hindu Kush and the Himalaya. A long and slow dirt section that kept trucks to a crawl filled our cars with dust. 

We were into Samarkand just after lunch, in time for an afternoon of exploring. First stop was the Registan. On the way we drove through University Boulevarde, a wide, tree lined parkland full of students, gathered in small groups.  

Nothing older than the 14th century exists in Samarkand following Ghengis Khan’s levelling of the city when he conquered the place in the 13th century. Tamerlane took control back in 1370 and moved established his capital in Samarkand. Scholars estimate that his military campaigns caused the deaths of 17 million people, amounting to about 5% of the world population at the time. In Soviet times he was portrayed as a butcher. Post independence he is regarded as a hero of Uzbekistan.

The historical parts of Samarkand today date from his rule.

The Registan is the cultural focus of Samarkand. A large square faced on 3 sides by the imposing tiled facades of opposing madrassas and a golden mosque in the middle. It is the iconic heart of the town and image used to portray the Silk road. But there was no one there. The square was empty, save a few security police who were on the make to take us up the closed minaret for $10.

The facades of the buildings are imposing with their gold, turquoise and blue majolica and mosaic tiling. Intricate calligraphy adorns the edges with quotes from the qu’oran, various prophets or the funder of the building. But while the buildings nominally were constructed in the 14th century, by the early part of the 20th century they were in a serious state of disrepair and the Soviets did little to protect them, with the consequence that roads and markets were built around them. By the 1920’s and operating madrassa or mosque was closed by the Soviets.

With Independence, the structures have all been restored or rebuilt and like the Great Wall when you look at them today, you wonder whether you are looking at a structure of historical significance or a modern reproduction.

Following the Registan we headed off to the Mausoleum of Amir Timur, or in the vernacular Tamerlane’s grave. Not all of it has been rebuilt, but the main vault containing the tombs of Tamerlane and his grandson Ulugh Beg who was not only the second ruler of the Timurid empire, but also an astronomer of historical note. The Mausoleum with its gold and blue interior is a place of great beauty and serenity, if not age.         

Tony and I wandered back to our hotel down the leafy and cool University Boulevarde into the old town with its ramshackled buildings and broken foot paths where we foundthe still functional Catholic Church dating back to the 1880s.

On returning to the hotel, we found we had a problem. Zahid our guide reported that not only does the country have lousy 80 octane petrol, it does not have much of it. As a result of the shortages there was no petrol in town. All the petrol stations had closed. But not to worry yet as he was working on a solution, the black market. 

Day 66 - Tuesday 6th June - Tashkent

Since arriving Uzbekistan has been a revelation for the whole group. Maybe it was born of ignorance. Our arrival in Tashkent only reinforced that. The guide books has described our hotel as being central, located on the corner of a busy square. I had imagined congested traffic, with a statue of Tamerlane stuck in the middle of acres of barren asphalt, and Soviet grimness pervading.

The gardens, acres of brightly coloured flowers and the planned park lands as far as we could see from our hotel window came as a surprise. And the traffic was missing.

Tashkent, with a population of 3m, was the fourth largest city in the Soviet Union after Moscow, St Petersburg and Kiev. Today it’s just the largest city in Central Asia. It had been ruled by Islam Karimov before and after independence in 1991 until last year when he died. He must have been popular as he received over 90% of the vote in the few elections he bothered to contest. I understand that there was an opponent on one occasion, but he is no longer a resident of the country.

Like many newly emerged countries, history gets rewritten to suit the purpose. Many figures who had been banished under the Soviet regime have now emerged as national heroes. Tamerlane has gone from blood thirsty maniac to having his statue place prominently all around the countryside, while statues of Lenin, see to have disappeared.

But as far as I can see the Soviets did shape modern Uzbekistan (and the other Central Asian ‘Stans for that matter) and made them clearly different to the surrounding countries. The first is that the whole culture has a clear European flavour to it, in stark contrast to China which is just a hop over the Tien Shan away and India and Pakistan, just over the Pamir/Hindu Kush. This is particularly reflected in secular nature of the political system. We had imagined that the place would be far more conservatively Islamic. It is far more like Turkey was than we had imagined.

Alcohol is widely available. We had imagined that we would be struggling for a cold beer, and never imagined that Uzbekistan would have a thriving wine industry. The dress varies from city to country markedly. In the cities less than 5% of the women wore scarfs, while in the country they were more prominent. Jeans and T shirts are common place with the young.

I had also imagined that we would also be starting to feel the heat. But so far the temperature has not risen above the high 20s, and generally has been accompanies by a gentle, cooling breeze. The heat is dry, so the shaded areas under trees, is very pleasant.  

It would appear that inflation got out of control at some stage in the past as the most dysfunctional thing about the place is its currency. The Uzbeks have recently introduced a 10,000 Cym note, but it is rarely seen. The largest we have is a 5,000 Cym note, equivalent to $1. With smaller notes, everyone wanders about with a brick of notes wrapped in a plastic shopping bag as they won’t fit in your wallet. I am told there have been some discussions about consolidating the currency.      

We started our day on a bus to the Khast Imom complex a large square in the old city consisting of the Barakkhan Madrasah, Kaffal Shashi Mausoleum and the library of Islamic Literature, the centre piece of which is a VII century Koran. The book was compiled by one of the 4 disciples of Mohamed. Six copies we made, and this is the only surviving copy and said to be the world’s oldest Koran. It was brought to Samarkand by Tamerlaine, taken by the Russians and then returned by Lenin in 1924.

The Madrasah and Mausoleum had been in a particularly poor state of repair at the time of Independence. A main road had discected what is now a broad square. Karimov ordered the restoration of the Mausoleum, creation of the square and the construction of the new Hazroti Imom mosque. Like many of the historical sites we are visiting, it was difficult to determine what was old and what was new so pervasive has been the restoration of the dilapidated buildings which the Soviets had no interest in preserving.

We walked through the old town to the vibrant Chorsu bazaar. Like other areas we had visited the streets were lined with blank walls dotted by doorways. Windows were absent. The living areas opened onto cool and often vine covered courtyards.

A ride on the metro system is a must in Tashkent. Built by the Soviets, all the stations are decorated in an individual theme. The striking Kosmonaught portrays a history of Soviet space exploration. Another elegant one is dedicated to Alisher Navoi, a 15 century Uzbek poet.

We hopped across a couple of lines and ended up in Independence Square. Pre Independence it had been known as Lenin Square, the centre piece of which was now missing, a statue of the man. Flowers were blooming everywhere, as I walked down the tree lined avenues of the park back towards our hotel through the post independence war memorial dedicated to the thousands of Uzbeck soldiers who lost their lives on the Russian front in the second world war.

Next stop was the National Art Gallery. Another post Independence construction and again dedicated by Karimov. A large, circular building with the atmosphere of a cathederal. The entry cost was 10c. I resisted the temptation to pay an additional 60c for a license to take photos. There were security guards to check me in, and again in every room.  As I entered each room, the dozing guard rose to turn on the lights. I was the only one in the whole building, other than all the sleeping guards.

Past the statue of Tamerlane and I was back at the hotel in time to meet up with Aliya, our agent who had very efficiently organised the Uzbek leg of our journey. I had promised her a drive in the car, with the roof down. We headed off across the city to her office to show the car to the other staff. By the reception we got on the roads, not many had seen a car without a roof before.

In the middle of Ramadan the afternoon lethargy gives way to evening celebration. The restaurants were packed by 8.00pm as everyone who was obeying, hit the streets, to break their fast.  We found a popular family run restaurant around the corner from our hotel. No beer was being sold, but they would organise to go up the road to the bottle shop and get it for us if needed. We thought we would feel out of place if we did partake, so settle for juice. The dress of the patrons varied from the few women with headscarves, to men in shorts, and girls in very skimpy party dresses. And often all friends, sitting at the one table.

We had heard that there was a bar on level 17 of our hotel, so we set out to find it. Not daunted by the elevators only going to level 16, we found some stairs. There it was with an expansive view of the city. One barman, 4 patrons, cold beer and a few stools lining the window.  The adjoining restaurant looked as if it last functioned in Soviet times.  

Day 65 - Monday 5th June - Ferghana to Tashkent

Like the Nile and the Tigress/ Euphrates Valleys, the Ferghana Valley is considered one of the cradles of civilisation. The land has been tilled for over 3000 years. It’s a dry place, but with irrigation water from the Tien Shan, you seem to be able to grow anything here. Cherries and apricots are currently in season. Not sure about whether there is a season for strawberries, but there are plenty of them. Grape vines and nuts are also prevalent. They compete with wheat, a bit of rice and broad acre cotton. Large drains crisscross the valley bringing life to what would be an otherwise very barren place.

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Our first stop for the morning was at a pottery workshop in Rishtan. Ceramics has been a part of the area of the area for millennia and a number of notable potters have their studios in the valley because of the ready access to the local clay. XXX is regarded as a Uzbek Master artist. The quality of the work we impressive and difficult to resist.

Next stop was Kokand, once the capital of the Kokand Khanate. The Khanate folded into the Russian when in 1870. At that time it covered most of the eastern part of what are now the central Asian Stans. Part of Kazakhstan, all of Kyrgyzstan and the eastern part of Uzbekistan. In addition to political power it was also a seat of learning with some major madrassas located there.

It was the usual story when we parked the car outside of the local university to visit the old Khanate palace. The crowd of students milled around the cars for the entirety of our visit.

As we started to climb the pass between Ferghana and Tashkent at the very end of the Tien Shan, the landscape dried out. Grassland prevailed. We climbed to 2200m before the long and winding descent towards Tashkent. But before the city we drove through what a number of the group thought was the Latrobe Valley, circa 1987. Coal mines and power stations cheek by jowl, one after the other. And the sky had turned the appearance of China.

On the way, the speedo clicked over 100,000 miles. As it only goes up to 99,999.9 miles, I am the proud owner of a very low mileage car.  

Tashkent was unexpected. Wide, tree lined boulevards and green parkland escorted us to our hotel, the infamous Hotel Uzbekistan which was built by the Soviet Intour organisation in the 1970;s when they controlled all internal Soviet travel. The internet did not work, along with 2 of the 4 lifts and the aircon in the rooms laboured. But it was as we had expected it would be. The sanguine were amused, while the unforgiving were unhappy.    

Day 64 - Sunday 4th June - Ferghana

Our plans were to see the Marglian market. Described in the guide books as the best in central Asia. We also were to visit a silk factory as surprisingly we had traversed the whole of China and never had any mention of the fabric.

We gained another hour when we crossed the border into Uzbekistan and despite that the sun is already well above the horizon by 0500, so I am rising early. It gives me time to try to update the Blog and check emails. Although we had internet access, it was so slow, it did not work.

Uzbekistan is the 6th largest producer of silk. The Ferghana Valley is the main centre of production. Its also a large cotton producer, growing it in both the Ferghana and to the south of the Aral Sea, or what is left of it since its been drained to irrigate the cotton fields.

I am not sure whether the silk factory was a museum or a producer. They certainly had and showed us a number of museum exhibits for making the thread (old ladies with spinning wheels and steaming cauldrons of cocoons with unravelling threads), dye making, tie dying and a couple of ladies on old hand operated looms. It was Sunday, so difficult to interpret whether this was just a show for the tourists, or actual production.  There was also a large concrete building that had a roomful of mechanical looms for making silk parachute material.

Its Ramadan in the Muslim world at present and we were aware that the Ferghana Valley was a fairly conservative area, so not sure where we would get lunch, and were not that keen on buying stuff in the Market and eating it in front of everyone else. However we found a small local restaurant next to the market and had a bowl of Lackman (noodles and meat) and something that sounded like Shotput (potatoes in soup with meat), tea, bread and salad. $2 for both of us. It was actually a bit more than that on the official exchange rates, but as we have been exchanging money in unofficial places, we are getting nearly double the official rate.

The market was basically a produce market. Bread, fruit, vegetables, meat, eggs, milk, dried fruit and nuts. There was also a small section selling some very exotic knives. It was small in comparison to the Osh market in Bishkek, and not the place we had come to see.

We consulted the guide book, asked directions and headed off by ourselves to the Kumtepa Bazar. Surprisingly this was one of the few times on the whole journey that we have driven by ourselves. In China it was strictly verboten to drive without the guide. But now we have some freedom.

It was pretty easy to find where the market was. There were a million little local mini busses and cars parked everywhere. Luckily most were parked off the road. We found a spot an pulled in. By the time the engine had been turned off, the locals were 3 deep around the car asking a myriad of questions: where are you from, where are you going, what type of car is this, can I take a photo (this is a significant change to China, where the locals just grabbed you and thrust you in front of a camera with them). Loris was concerned that we would return to find that the wheels had been removed. I was less concerned as the locals had especially told us that it was safe to leave it. So we wandered off, leaving the crowd behind.

The Kumtepa Bazar, as well as the usual food market, had a large section dedicated to clothes, fabric, shoes and hats. I think plumbing supplies and hardware was also available, but we did not walk that far. I was after a new pair of socks (2 pairs for $1.50) while Loris wanted to see what silks were available.

The dress here was a lot more traditional than we had seen elsewhere, longer dresses and head scarves. No jeans or shorts.

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On our way back to the hotel we needed to fill up with petrol. But before we could, we were pulled over by the police. Fourth time lucky? After presentation of documents we were allowed to proceed, this time without the request for a selfie. We had been warned by our agent that the quality of the Uzbek petrol was not as good as the Kyrgyz. That only went some of the way. Most of the service stations were closed. I presumed that this was because it was Sunday afternoon. We drove around for 45 minutes before returning to one we had already stopped at and left because they did not have 95 octane petrol. The cars prefer 95 octane which we had mostly been able to get previously. In some cases 91 was substituted. Here there was a third pump with 80. Given that the other two (95 and 91) were dry we had no choice.

I am not sure what they run all the new, little, white Chevrolets on in Uzbekistan, but 80 octane seems low. About 90% of the cars on the road here are Chevys, and white, I understand for practical reasons is the colour of choice. Apparently Daewoo had a factory in Uzbekistan before they went belly up and were acquired by GM. Today the factory, in Ferghana pumps out Barinas and Cruises for the local market. The remaining 10% are old Ladas, or for those who can recall, they are a remake of a 1970’s Fiat. I had always considered the Ladas to be agricultural vehicles. This was confirmed with the loads that many are carrying: bails of hay stacked on the roof, backseat, in the boot, on the boot lid and then about 10’ high on the trailer that they were towing.

While looking for fuel, we were traversing the back streets of Ferghana and came across rows of new housing. While the city was planned and built in the 1930’s along Soviet planning styles, which meat that there were wide open spaces and lots of curving roads, much like Canberra, the new houses were small square boxes with a blank walls facing the street and an open courtyard on the inside. Designed for both privacy and to create a cool inner sanctum. Only problem was that every house was the same and there were square kilometres of them. May have been a problem after a late nigh identifying your house.

The hotel car park was shared with some guys who were running a car wash business. When we returned one of the guys pointed to an empty bay. Apparently he had already jet blasted the grime off 7 other cars and was waiting our return expectantly. It was good to get all the accumulated grime and mud off both the underneath and top sides of the car, with a vacuum, AU$4. Both parties were pleased with the deal.  

Day 63 - Saturday 3rd June - Arslanbob to Ferghana (Uzbekistan)

The early morning sun shone on the Tien Shan over our shoulders as we sat in our open air dining room eating our breakfast of rice porridge and pancakes with home made apricot jam. Local tea was in, coffee was out.

We were on the road as usual at 0800. The battery in Burgundy (Tony’s car) had failed the evening before, 100m from the home stay. Like most of the things that are failing on the trip, it had been replaced for the trip. The team mechanics wired in one of the portable power packs that we are all carrying to give the car power. We were not sure whether it would make the distance to Osh, the second largest city in Kyrgyzstan where we were stopping for lunch and the crossing the border to Uzbekistan. In any case we had plenty to swap if it drained.

The cattle, sheep and horses were on the road before us as we headed back down the hill to the highway. It seems as though you either drive a car, or ride a horse in Kyrgyzstan. The horses areyounger than the cars and certainly more plentiful. A means of transport, a work animal and a source of food. The Kyrgyz are known as the horsemen from the mountains, so it was with some surprise that we were passing rice paddies, wheat, other varied grains and vegetables as we headed for Osh.

On the way in Jalala Bad Tony found a roadside battery shop where he managed to buy one nearly small enough (it did after some minor rearranging of the panels surrounding the under seat battery box) to fit in the car.         

Shortly after I was stopped by police again for overtaking one of the other team cars when there was a single unbroken line. We had not crossed the centre line, but overtaking was verboten. I have found that obfuscation is the best method of dealing with the police when you can’t understand each other. They ask a question, you rummage and produce a new piece of paper or shrug and talk about the weather or what a lovely country this is. So far they have all given up at this stage. In this case they managed to find a senior policeman who did speak some English, so I showed him where we had been and were going. He let us proceed without fine.

Osh has stood at the crossroads of major transport routes for over 3000 years. To the north is the route we have followed over the mountains. To the east is the route into Kashgar in Xingjiang. To the south is what is now called the Pamir Highway which runs down through Tajikistan along the Afgan border with further southern links into Pakistan and eventually India. And to the west, the route we are following along the main branch of the Silk Road through the Ferghana Valley to Tashkent, Samarkand and Bukhara.

A Local cleansing the evil spirits from cars. 

A Local cleansing the evil spirits from cars. 

Despite this formidable history, there is very little to see for it, no pyramids, hanging gardens or ancient Buddhas. A rock hill dedicated to Suliman, a past hero and some Soviet tack. We had an hour and a half to explore the city and have lunch. It felt like a speed dating exercise. With Tony, Simon, TV Simon and Loris we raced up the hill, down through the old Islamic cemetary to the cities central park where an old Russian Yak passenger jet has been inconveniently parked. Then back to the museum, $1 for locals and $3 for foreigners. For this price we persuaded the reluctant attendants to turn on the lights. After 30 minutes we were back to the cars to have a quick bite before we headed off to tackle the formidable Uzbekistan border.

We expected to be waived through the Kyrgyz side, but took longer as some piece of paper was missing. It actually had never been issued, so we had to pay 1000 cum per car “environmental levy”. We scavenged for the currency as we all had been ridding ourselves of it, because of its lack of convertibility. With every coin and note we managed 5000 cum and persuaded the Customs to accept the balance in USD. When asked for a receipt we were told, no problem wait by this machine for 4 hours and it will appear. We headed for Uzbekistan after letting the officials drive the cars around the compound.

We waited at the Kyrgyz gate for 45 minutes watching a number of trucks stuck in no mans land between the two gate. Our Uzbeck guide had managed to cross into the Uzbeck Immigration and was talking to them, while Simon who spoke some Russian also managed to wander across and have a discussion with the officials. Eventually they were persuaded to open the gates for us an let us in for processing.

After the early setback, and having our guide to organise the Immigration and then Customs officials all went smoothly. Much better than we had expected. At Customs we had to declare all our electronic items, drugs and money and then have the searched and X-rayed. The process was pretty thorough, except for the fact that the male Customs guy would not search Loris’s bags, only mine. Not sure if this was a cultural issue or a practical one that only males smuggled.

It was then a 120k drive to our hotel in the town of Ferghana. We were getting tired and the 2 hour drive was a drain. The roads were better. In fact it was like when we left China, but in reverse. The whole visual experience was of a place that was substantially more prosperous than the last.

But the driving tactics were unchanged. The most interesting was when we were overtaken by a semi trailer who crossed double unbroken lines and then wove about for about 500m on the wrong side of the road at high speed, scattering oncoming traffic. We were pleased to reach our hotel.

As we pulled into the car park, we realised that we may have company. A number of large tourist buses occupied a considerable part of the available space. They were from Germany doing a 35 day cross country run north of the Caspian and Aral Seas down then down across the Silk Route to Xi’an and Beijing. As we entered the hotel we realised we had not seen so many Europeans in one place since Beijing. AS they had already taken all the seats in the hotel dining room, we wandered off down the road to a small local restaurant. Cold beers and skewers laced with large slabs of beef, mutton (with bones) or chicken were the order of the night.