Touching Down in the Uzbek Oasis

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  Samarkand, Uzbekistan
Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Uzbekistan Airways. I'm sure these words struck some fear in our parents' hearts as soon as they saw them on our itinerary. Little though we wanted to admit it, all four of us had thrown our air travel expectations to the wind before lining up to check in for our four-hour flight from Moscow to Samarkand this morning.

We were pleasantly surprised. After being escorted (for no apparent reason), to the front of the long and saran-wrapped baggage-laden check-in line in Moscow, the attendant broke into pleasant English and converted our hand-written tickets into disappointingly normal boarding passes. Customs and passport control were uneventful, except that the security guard had to physically move me out of the metal detector because I could not understand a word she was saying (which turned out to be "step aside--you are good to go!" or something slightly less polite but to that effect.)

After getting in trouble for commemorating our flight before we took off ("no photos on plane!") I passed out from exhuastion, waking up just in time to help Scott fill in our detailed Uzbek customs forms, which are only available in Russian

Uzbek Airways (Photo: Zoe Chafe)

. We are very aware of the poor relations between the US and Uzbekistan (which date back to a violent 2006 protest and massacre in Uzbekistan which the US heavily criticized, leading to the withdrawl of aid money and less military cooperation) and wanted to be as careful as possible. A few minutes later we were again pleasantly surprised as the passport control officer greeted us with a big smile and a few sentences of English.

But first--one of the best moments of my day: flying low on the approach to Samarkand--a city first settled in the fifth century BC, ravaged by earthquakes and conquests, temporarily named the capital of Soviet Uzbekistan, and forcibly resettled to its present-day population of 400,000--the dry land gave way to rivers and green fields. I could see farmers guiding cows through their rows of crops and tractors kicking up dust nearby. A river cut a deep gorge in the pale dirt, lined by rows of stone houses. Graveyards dotted the landscape. And then the city--wide lanes buzzing with marshrutniye (minibuses), sparsely strung with houses, courtyards, and ruins. I was overcome with the most exhilirating feeling of a completely unknown place--something that I now know has a short half-life and is therefore all the more cherished. (We humans are too adaptable sometimes...)

Our few hours in Samarkand have not disappointed. After the usual scramble to find local money ($1 = about 1300 som) and a taxi away from the airport (okay--this landing was a *bit* more challenging than usual--no ATMs or money changers available in the 1-plane airport, so we had to be a little creative) we entered our haven: a B&B set far back on a narrow street. First, the carved wooden door, a portkey in whitewashed walls. Next, cool moist walkways offered instant respite from the 93 degree afternoon

B&B Courtyard (Photo: Zoe Chafe)

. And then: the garden. The heart of the hotel and surrounding family homes. Tomatoes, corn plants, heavy apples on the tree. Travelers congregating on three sides of the plants. Room doors gravitating open towards the heavy coolness. Our room overlooks one of the gorgeous structures for which Samarkand is so famous--the cobalt spires of Guri Emir Mausoleum just visible over the surrounding roofs.

A cup of hot chai (tea) by the garden. A brief glimpse into the daily rhythm of the place: women washing laundry under overhangs, the owners checking availability on a canopied resting-bed, gray-water splashing out of the kitchen onto nearby plants. We plot our next moves: dinner and walk around this beautiful and still very mysterious place. We try to place the city's feel in context (Harare, thinks Kate--Zanzibar as well). We spill from our narrow lanes onto wide squares and gardens. No one place is particularly green, but people flock to the benches and walkways and this part of the city seems alive despite its historical draw.

Dinner is outside on a vast covered balcony overlooking the Registan (google for pictures; ours to come later!): big circular nan, almost donut-like with their sunken centers. Laghman--noodles, meat, and carrots in a rich oily dill-y broth. Other mysterious meat-filled dumplings, with yogurt on the side. Cabbage-wrapped lamb. Baltic beers. Scott makes friends with the restaurant owners, in the process of asking for the bill, and comes back to announce he's done a shot of vodka with them to cement their 5-minute old friendship. We feel even more convinced that we *really are in Central Asia*! The trip has truly begun. We could not be happier. I could not feel more fortunate that this opportunity has come to fruition--nor that I have such stellar travel companions.

Spasibo to all that have played a role in making this trip possible, especially those who have lent their excitement and moral support. We are bringing your thoughts with us, and hope to bring our moments and memories back to you....

Zoe

Post your own travel photos for friends and family More Pictures

Breakfast (Photo: Zoe Chafe)	B&B Garden (Photo: Zoe Chafe)	Guru Emir by Night (Photo: Zoe Chafe)	Nan for sale (Photo: Zoe Chafe)
Samarkand topography (Photo: Zoe Chafe)	Part of the Registan (Photo: Zoe Chafe)

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