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Friday, June 11, 2010

5/22/2010 - 5/23/2010

Uzbek Family, Bukhara

Pillared Interior, Mosque, Bukhara

View of the Naqshabandi Shrine, Bukhara

So instead of writing about the sights and sounds of Bukhara, I decided to make this post a bit different and write about the people that I met. Bukhara, a city of shrines, synagogyes, differing communities, and a bustling small town city center, is filled with interesting and colorful people. In fact, the people rather than the sights of the city, is what interested me most. The following shares a few of my experiences with the people of Bukhara.

Scarves and Suras
She smiled and opened her to us as we entered the shop. Her skin, taut and tanned by hours spent in the Uzbek sun, glimmered in the low lights of her little scarf shop. As she turned to us, the softness around the edges of her features transformed her somewhat tired appearance into a kind and loving hostess. Her eyes crinkled and glimmered when she spoke. As she took my arm to guide us to her best selection of scarves, warmth and kindness exuded from her every movement. She asked us in a gentle voice where we were from and as we explained to her our various origins, her face lit up with every response. We statres to chat and she inquired about our studies, education is valued highly in Islam and this pious woman wanted to know what we were dedicating our lives to. Soon she asked us what it was like to live in America. She asked me if it was better there or here. I told her what I felt was the truth. Its the land of opportunity, just as they say, but only if you work, only if you have a job, and you are willing to work hard. I asked her the same question. She said, " after the Soviet Union fell, those who work earn, those who do not, starve." Her son is studying in Tashkent. All of their earning going towards his education and building their home.
As we bought scarves from her she talked to us about the Koran. She said, we have in the Koran many great suras. Here is one to bless you all. And she began to recite to us in Arabic and then translated into Russian "God has no children, has no belongings, in this way God is everywhere, in everyone, in everything. There is one God and he is Allah, and Muhammad is his Prophet."

10-Year-Old Bargain Driver
A little girl in a nearby shop comes up to me and starts to speak to me in near perfect english. She has such a profession demeanor, I could not believe my eyes and ears. Life has forced her to grow up quickly - working at such a young age. Needless to say she got me to buy fourhats and a scarf. I could not refus this little being, this little bargain driver with perfect english. She was a small being but with a great spirit and charm. Her hair was in a bun and she wore a shawl around her shoulders. She stood ram rod straight and was always complimenting and ready to jump at an opportunity to bargain a price with me. She truly was a little woman.

My Name is Stone
Stone, Nigina, the jewelry trader. She was a young woman selling Bukharian jewelry in a nearby bazaar. Her wide set almond shaped eyes were beautifully done with charcol and pink and purple shadows. She is going to Santa Fe she says, and then NY city for an exhibition on Bukharian jewelry. Funny how, by chance, we manage to run into her at a near by bazaar. Soon we fell into girly banter, exchanging make up tips and marriage. Studying English also naturally comes up. She really wants to practice everything she has learned, five different lanuages simple from selling jewelry to tourists. Its time for us to go, and as we say our goodbyes her jewelry glimmers and shimmers in the midday sun. She smiles and waves, hopeful we will come back one day to see her.

Sabina The Warrior
She calls us over, yelling out " you there, where are you from?" We say to her " America!" She throws up her arms and squints, " wow such pretty girls come here pretty girls come sit with me!" We sit down on the carpets of her sisters carpet shop and she exchange stories about our background. Her quick smile, short hair pinned back, boucning back and forth and she gesticulates with her arms telling us about her past. She was so interesting. Sabina the Warrior. Not a typical Uzbek girl, she spoke with a British accent, having left at 16 to follow her boyfriend, who became her husband, to london to study and work. She got pregnant then stopped working for a while. She returned after she became pregnant with a second child and needed help from her parents. She has been though quite a bit in her life and its easy to see that although she is a year younger than me, life has taught her to be brave and wise. She tells about so many things. She tells us about the treatment of women in homes. Working almost as slaves sometimes for their mother in laws. She explains how many of her friends end up in Russia selling products, including her mom when her father left the family. She tells us about a friend who left to Russia with her husband who then left her alone with a child. Being from a village and traveling for the first time on her own in a city she was lost. She worked for months without pay, was threatened, was almost raped twice and almost sold, trafficked to a brothel by Azeris and Tajiks living in Russia. Her life seems hard and yet she is a warrior. She is full of energy and spirit. Ready to fight with any situation that come her way. Thats how I will remember her; battling, kicking and screaming for what she desires in life.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

5/20/2010 - 5/21/2010


Sunrise at the Yurt Camp

Caretaker of the Ayaz Qala Yurt Camp

Sandstorm

Yurt II, The Girls Yurt

Children at Play in Khorezm
Tuprak Qala, Uzbekistan

We arrived in the Yurt Camp after scaling the Tuprak Qala and Quyulgan Qala. Climbing the Qalas was an adventurous experience. I love history, nature, and challenges, especially physical ones, so climbing atop of these ancients cities, was the perfect combination of all three. Built in the 4th century A.D., these fortresses provide insight into how the Khans of Korezm once lived. It was hot, and the sand beneath my feet crumpled as I climbed to the top of what was once a guarding tower. These places are archeological sights and so their stories are still being studied. Unfortunately, not enough people are interested in them, so excavations have stopped because of a lack in investment. More should be done for these sights. The history we could learn about the Khans would truly be extraordinary.

We got into our bus, walked across the flooding bridge of the Amu Darya, and arrived at the Yurt Camp two hours later. As soon as we stepped out of the vehicle we realized that the wind was too strong for us to climb the Ayaz Qala. Apparently, as we later found out after staying in our yurts for three hours, we arrived right in the middle of a sandstorm. It was impossible to see, to walk, to open your mouth and breathe in. The wind whipped the sand into your face, obscured your vision, and covered every possible surface on your body. My hair was filled with sand and looked like it was loosely dredded. My clothing, luggage, linen, pink pants were completely distressed by the wind and sand constantly beating against. The only refuge could be found in the Yurt, where the felt, straw, and clay, prevented the wind and sand from coming in.

The yurt was as I had imagined. Carpets lined the bottom of the circular interior, with mattresses, blankets, and pillows, available for our comfort. The girls and I pulled in our belongings, and exhausted by the constant pull of the wind, collapsed on our flat matresses. We played cards, attempted to go outside, but failed terribly as it was very hard to breathe and walk. The only way we could really manage it was to cover our faces completely with a scarf and breathe into the fabric. We made a few runs to the nearby bathroom, which as most bathrooms are in Central Asia, was a squat like device, and then tried to walk around the area near the Yurt. Almost like a mirage, we saw a camel struggling against the wind and sand in the distance and some donkeys cleaning eachother from the debree.

The next time we left the yurt it was time for dinner and we all piled into the fourth yurt. It was different and wonderful. Sitting on the floor cross legged we ate yogurt and plov with bread and tea. Tea was accompanied by raisins and nuts. Sweets must always be on the table for happiness and a good life. Later on, musicians from the region came to perform for us. A man with a beautiful voice and traditional Central Asian instruments, one of which was an accordian, performed songs in Azeri, Persian, Uzbek, and Kyril Kalpakian, an autonomous region in Uzbekistan. We were asked to dance and everyone got up and in traditional Uzbek style, which is quite similar to Azeri dance at its very core, and danced until we couldnt anymore.

Once the evening came to an end, we took a walk in the night air. The sandstorm had finally passed and all that was left was a beautiful breeze, the clear night desert air, and land for miles around us. We were in the middle of nowhere, as close to nature as you could be out here, and it was so peaceful, so beautiful. Some of us went to bed, others layed out outside on this structure that looked a bit like a stage but was for resting and sleeping. It was covered in sheep wool and was warm and comfortable. We stayed there for a while, talking about life, about careers and families, and slowly one by one, we went back to our yurts. Two of the members and I decided to stay out in the night air, to sleep on this stage under the night sky. We got our blankets and pillows from inside and fell asleep underneath the stars. It was one of the most amazing things I had ever done in my life. I feel asleep looking off a cliff into the desert, with the Ayaz Qala to my left and the yurt camp behind me, and the desolate landscape and lake to my right in the very far off distance.

I woke up the next morning to see the sunrise at 4:30 am. It was still dark outside but the world was starting to wake up. Little glimmers of light seeped into the dark night sky, giving the blackness a shade of gray and blue. The air was cool and crisp, and I nestled into my hoodie a little tighter as I stepped behind the yurts to watch the sunrise. As it got later into the morning, the colors of the sky began to change. The horizon was painted in pinks, white, shades of blue and deep purple. As I began to walk towards the lake, the sands of the little dunes crushing beneath my feet, the sun began to peak out of the horizon. Suddenly the sky exploded in yellow and orange, the pink dispursing, shooting out of the side of the sun as the sky transformed into blue and light. It was the most beautiful moment to see, the entire world waking up, the circle of the sun rising from the horizon of the desert to bring in a new day. It will be something I never forget.

Almost immediately the weather changed and the crisp air was warmed by the appearance of the sun. I felt the warmth of its rays warm my body as I trekked back from the lake. By this time most of our group was awake and sharing in the amazing moment. Some of us walked to the Qala, I opted to do some yoga with a few of our professors and I am very glad I did. My body really needed the stretch , and doing yoga while you are looking out upon a desert horizon, an ancient fortress, and a herdsmen with his goats, is truly an amazing and unforgettable experience.

After breakfast we all gathered back into the bus, said our goodbyes with the beautiful caretaker of the yurts and headed off through the desert to Bukhara. Until next time everyone!

5/19/2010 -5/20/2010


Shot Minaret, Khiva

Ichan Qala, Khiva

Pumpkin Filled Manti, Khiva

Naan Maker in a Tandoor, Khiva

Ichan Qala, Khiva

The city is a mueseum. Khiva, an old city that once functioned as a caravanserai, a resting stop for travelers of the silk road to drink, rest, and sell their goods, is a place of wonders. When you enter the gates of this city you are immediately transported into the times of old. The sand colored bricks, the fortress walls, the minarets and bizarres, all come to life as you step into this time portal. Here the past, the present and the future seem to meld into one and with a little imagination, the boy dressed in a soccer jersey and adidas sneakers stands next to a Chinese tradesman selling silk textiles to a Turkish merchant, and an ancient scene is recreated.

To get to Khiva, we took a flight from Tashkent to Urgench. From their we took a bus and drove an hour to our hotel, which was located right next to Ichan Qala, which translates to old city. Once the group was settled we gathered our cameras and belongings and headed out with our new guide, Mastura, to the Khiva, Ichan Qala. Mastura is quite a woman. Boisturous, energetic, out spoken, and a Sufi, she definitely enriched our experience in Uzbekistan. For every historical reference we got an anecdote. For every religious tale, we recieved a Sufi explanation. Her manner really, to some extent, reminded me of my older Aunts from back home. Same manner of gesticulating with her hands, same spirit, and worry over how much we all have eaten. Same warm hospitality.

We entered through the north gate to the city and the first thing to hit you was the immense dryness of the air. The city arises from what once must have been a desert like climate, providing an oasis to those walking along the silk road. Walking through the gate we saw a large group of Uzbeks dressed in suites. As we turned around we realized that a wedding procession was on its way to entering the gate. The bride, dressed in a very modern western white dress floated in on the arm of her husband. All tourists, workers, moved to the side walls of the gate to let them through. We were all mesmerized by this procession, not only by the very westerness of her dress but the sheer magnitude of people accompanying her through this ancient fortress.

As they passed us by we moved to our first destination; the shot minaret. This minaret is made of beautiful layers of blue tile. Never finished, its current height bespeaks of what it should or could have been had it been fully constructed. Various legends surround its creation, but none really resonate. Everything in the city is made of the sandy color brick in enormous sizes, and every inner oasis, inside home, is made of the same torqouise or variation of blue tile to decorate the home. Inscriptions of prayers and blessing in Arabic or Persian script can be found in these decorations and each one, though seemingly the same, varies in design and detail.

We visted quite a bit during this day. We saw the Muhammad Amin Madrasa, Mahmud Mausoleum, Islam Khoja Minaret, Tash Hauli Palace, Juma Mosque with 200 wooden pillars, and ate lunch at a national chaixona. By the evening, everyone was exhausted and awestruck from the heat of the city to the awe inspiring architecture and general wisfulness of the atmosphere.

After a light dinner, where in Mastura and I compared Uzbek traditions to Azeri ones, the group split into those willing to see Khiva at night and those too tired to do anything but sleep. I opted to see nightime Khiva and am so glad I did. The night air, cool and wonderful against my dry skin was the perfect way to see this ancient city dark and lit up by specially placed lightening. The sky was clear and stars could be seen above us. Children with their mothers who earlier this day were selling their products in the bazaar were sitting outside their homes drinking tea or telling stories and the men stood in separate groups playing Nardi, backgammon, or watching passersby. It was the perfect way to end my time in Khiva, the ancient Central Asian city of the Silk Road.