A stary walk in Bukhara

The sun shone through the arches of the central market, inviting us to go and watch it set.

We found a lovely spot to gaze over Bukhara's array of mosques, medrassahs and mauselea and watch the sun dip over the horizon.

As the sun disappeared and the crescent moon approached the crescent on the mosque, the birds also got the hint and disappeared into the night.

We drank copius amounts of green tea before sneaking into a mosque at night to watch the stars.

New Bukhara

The ministry of truth.

Beside the beautiful old city is the new Soviet city, through which my camera and I went for a quick wander on a beautiful fresh afternoon. I enjoyed this government  building, which almost perfectly illustrates what I had in mind when reading George Orwell's 1984.

A stadium of impeccable Soviet symmetry.

I also came across a symmetric stadium, and snuck inside to watch a nil-nil draw between Bukhara and Kizil Kum, which pleased me greatly; not because of the nil-nil draw, which was immensely boring, but because I love symmetry, stadia, and of course football. 

Football. More fun to play than to watch.

BA's Bukhara

BA Baracus: my tour guide.

Bukhara is the stuff of myth and I couldn't have been more excited to be there. This Uzbek city -- formally a Khanate -- was one of the big names in the Great Game of the 19th century. 

Here in Bukhara the most seasoned spys of the British and Russian empires would meet in various audacious disguises, often ending with their heads -- how can I say this? -- abstracted from their bodies.

I bumped into a local guy named BA Baracus, and he agreed to show me round what he called his 'Khanate' Bukhara. I couldn't help but think he was a disguised spy lost in time.

The autumn range from Bukhara.

It was autumn when I was there and most of the women were wearing these charming ethnic felt oufits. Bukhara seems to have lost its brutality over the centuries, but kept its charm.

BA and I met in the old town and he proceeded to show me around. There are mosques and medrassahs, markets and mausolea, and towers and squares; all this creates a beautiful and quite peaceful setting; it's almost excessively exotic.

Some lovely ladies, who were very keen to say 'hello', over and over again, 'hello hello', giggling, requested a photo with me. And then as they walked away, they had one more English phrase for me, followed by some energetic giggling:

    Hello. Hello hello. Hello! Hello. Hello hello. I love you! 

Me and some ladees in front of a medrassah and nearby market

 'I pitty the fool', said BA. 

We walked on to find yet more treasure; the tower below is almost twice as old as the mulberry tree in the centre of Bukhara. 

A moasiced medrassah beside a grand tower. See guide book for interesting facts.

I'm sure your guide book will reliably inform you that the tower so baffled Ghengis Khan that, on razing central asia to the ground, the great man, probably your grandad, decided to save this pointy piece of pontificator's project space for future generations. It's impressively tall. Below is some detail of the facade of the medrassah above -- mind blowing detail and some mysterious Arabic inscriptions.

A close up of the top-right of the main face of the medrassah.

Back to the mulberry tree: it has an affectionate sign nailed to it: 'this tree is 494 years old'. Presumably they replace the sign annually! Another mulberry tree is more sensibly labelled 'planted in year 1477'. BA went for a nap and I went for a cup of tea. What a lovely day.

Samarkand's secrets

Samarkand has a gazilion sites not too dissimilar from the Registan. There's complete beauts, rustic ruins, and some restored numbers; there's a bunch of archeological sites too. Serene courtyards and ornate decorations, really stunning stuff.

Me and some internals of a mosqualeum. Hello mother!

The outsides are all mosaics, and the inside are part mosaic part delicate paint and gold leaf. But, as beautiful as they are, it still doesn't take long to become immune to nice, old architecture. So I went in search of some normal things. Below is a collection of monuments to dead people; but in the foreground is the 'old town', walled off from the tourists; I was curious so dipped in through a rare door in the wall and found quite a maze.

Background: old things; foreground: normal things

The streets are thin -- just wide enough for a Lada to squeeze down -- and they feel like back streets because everyone lives in courtyards, so there's no front gardens. I quickly got lost in the maze; there's very few ways 'out'.

I enjoyed wandering round and using my three words of Uzbek to say hello to people as I walked. It soon got dark and a power cut meant no street lights; I couldn't see more than a metre ahead.

I needed some help.

I continued saying hi to everyone, and a group of jolly people in the street spotted the foreigner and started shouting at me ... CHAI CHAI! HELLO HELLO! And so I joined them for some chai on the street; we had a good old friendly 'international' natter, where the meaning of the words is unknown and irrelevant but the sentiment carries just fine.

Chai club, LtoR: Me, girl, man, man, imam, Baxodur

Baxodur, on the right, arrived later with fabulous English. It's hard to describe how charming it is to find a group of friendly strangers offering you tea when you're lost in a pitch black maze one evening in Uzbekistan.

So after some chai and chat, Baxodur and I went off to find a way out of the friendly dark maze, because I was genuinely lost. On the way we stopped off at a mosque, which the local Imam showed me around. I was standing there in my socks when the unanticipated conversation came via Baxodur, who was translating from Uzbek; I was balancing my conscience with my manners:

Do you believe in god?
No.
Why not?
Ummm. [long, slightly uncomfortable pause]
God created everything, therefore you should believe in him.
Ummm. [slightly shorter but still quite long pause]

Anyway, we shook hands and walked on, discussing how many mosques there are in Uzbekistan, and whether people go to church in England. Before I left the old town maze we stopped off at one more place, but that's another story.

Registan benches

On to Samarkand then, Central Asia's former city of glory. It's nice to see the thing that's on the cover of the guide book -- even if the book itself is worth less than a pile of dung -- so I went straight for the Registan, a public square surrounded by three magnificent medrassahs.

A 16th century Mad Russian

This is blue chip tourism, but I know you only came here for the bench reviews, so let's get on with business.

A stunning sight, with wrought iron body and varnished wooden seat, seen here near the Registan.

Above I can be seen relaxing on this fine long-wheel base multi-seater, taking in, frankly, a stunning view. Seen in the background are the other two mad cappers, the left one being 600 years old and covered head-to-toe in mosaics, as are the other two young ones (merely 500 years old), and they all contain a serene courtyard meeting all the needs of casual hat shoppers.

Mad hatter?

Anyway, I digress, back to the benches and on to one of my all time favourites, winner of the contented bench competition in the quiet courtyard of a fifteenth century kepassah, this lovely lurcher is sitting silently, humbled by its stunning surroundings but it keeps its integrity, matched by its elegance, and the tea set combo just tops it all off!

Tea time.

No room at the Shinkansen

Ignoring the advice of guide books, including such priceless mindlessness as 'in Central Asia trains are late, noisy, and dirty', I left Tashkent fairly quickly to find Uzbekistan's jewels.

There was no room on the bullet train, pictured above, so I had to watch as this Spanish wonder departed to Samarkand (clean, on time, and without a whisper) as my ride to the same city was due twenty minutes later. It was worth the wait.

 

Enter the S H A R Q. Absolutely beaut and generally in a different league to a Virgin Pendalino.

What a load of Toshkent

Pipping Kabul to the post by a few thousand peeps as Central Asia's largest city, Tashkent, or Toshkent in the Uzbek language, is the capital of Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan's little brother: smaller, more corrupt, and with oodles of treasure.

Tashkent is charming in a subtle way. That's the kind of thing a guide book would say. It's got a subtle pace; an underground heartbeat with the rhythm of a frog; not just a place to pass through; the more curious traveller will be rewarded by some hidden gems. The quietly confident nonchalance of a modern laid back central Asian capital.

Classic hotel; standard Daewoo.

What a load of crap! It's a typical Soviet city. Big boulevards; loadsa concrete; plenty o' trees; and the odd loveable monstrocity such as the hotel Uzbekistan above; and everyone drives a Daewoo.

Uzbekistan's answer to the £50 note

Bekzod and a m-m-m-m-m-...mosque?

The currency is bizarre, not just because it's cheaper to buy at a bazaar than a bank, but because the most efficient way to carry fifty quid is to stash your combat trousers full of toilet paper; the largest note is worth 30 cents.

Anyway I was hosted in Tashkent by the wonderful Bekzod, host extraordinaire, and we enjoyed cruising around Tashkent taking in the sights, not least the big mosque (or is it? More on that later ...) and the grand Soviet chorsu bazaar (below).

A stunning setting for a bazaar, which I hoped would fulfill my high expectations; in Astana everything good seems to come from Uzbekistan; fruit from Tashkent is always marked up a bit more. Ooooh Tashkent, the cradle of civilization; Tashkent the great exporter of fabulous fibrous fruity goodness; Tashkent the France of central asia. In reality Chorsu is less Bordeaux bazaar and more Calais Carrefour. Grubby, tough, tasteless, grissle disguised as dried apricots; and possibly the cause of my food poisoning later in the week.

Chorsu bazaar.

Neverthless, I had a week to visit Uzbekistan; oh the places I'd go.

That thing

After a refreshing walk in the white mountains, with none but the four of us to be seen for endless miles in all directions, we set up camp somewhere in the vacuous expanse that is Kazakhstan. We gathered round the fire and enjoyed drinking and telling stories.

The big dipper threatens to pour water on our fire.

The stars came out in countless numbers and circled over us as we watched the moon set and, subsequently, the milky way set.

I awoke in the night and went for a quick trip to the John. On my way back to the tent I was struck by that thing. It doesn't happen often, and it's been a while for me so it seemed all the more profound. It's usually prompted by a celestial sight, which triggers the sensation of basic reasoning - which is more likely to be the recounting of a science lesson than it is actually original thought. 

As the fire glows, the milky way sets over our tent.

The moon setting, and subsequently the milky way setting, and the view of a trillion stars, all of different colour and brilliance, gave me a real visceral, spacial sense of the galaxy and how we're sitting on a rock that's spinning, while flying, in a vast expanse of nothing - something even bigger than Kazakhstan! - with a few negligible concentrations of mass here and there, and how small a part of this magnificent mechanism I really am. I didn't know anything new; I didn't understand anything differently; but it all seemed so real and profound that I had the sensation that suddenly things were more clear than before. They weren't; they were just more fresh; but even that is exhillerating! Then I went back to bed.

Wild horses

After the hunming dune we camped by the river and cooked outdoors, lush. After a night of being bitten we drove across some stunning scenery, on our way to the white mountains.

Vast vastness. Not a soul in sight. Mass massiveness. Huge giganticness.

 It may seem like an empty expanse but it's not - it's just not very densely populated. We chased a wild horse for about 20 minutes, which was really exciting.

Mick Jagger.

Camping without neighbours.

We went for a jolly long walk in the white mountains, which did not let us down as they matched their description just fine. Additionally, they offered an array of wonderful vistas.

White mountains. They do what they say on the tin.

Gap. Year.

Thanks to Sergei our guide, for his great cooking, driving, etc.

Hey Dune!

Hey Dune, made of sand.
You take sand and make it hummm.
Remember to let us climb your slopes,
Then we can start to make you humm.

This dune in Altyn-Yemyel national park is known to 'sing'.

Hey Dune, don't be afraid.
You were made to sing a great song.
The minute we cause an avalanche,
Then you begin to hum along.

Chris makes progress up the dune

And anytime you feel the pain, hey Dune, refrain,
Don't carry your sand to Kyrgyzstan.
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool
By taking his world to, say, Uzbekistan.

The top is rewarding, but the way down is the highlight.

Hey Dune, let us slide down,
Your beautiful wind swept sides.
Remember to let us climb up your slopes,
Then you and I can start to elide.

Dune, where's my car?

So let it out and let it in, hey Dune, begin,
You're waiting for someone to perform with.
And don't you know that it's just you, hey Dune, you'll do,
The movement you need is on your sand slopes.

Aaaaaaaaaaa si wennnnnnnnnyaaaaaaaaaa

Hey Dune, made of sand.
You take sand and make it better.
Remember to let us climb up your slopes,
Then we'll begin to make it
Better better better better better better, oh.

If you dig your elbows in, it humms magnificently. Remarkable.

Then you can start to make it better.

Me, posing for my mum;
and Chris the redeemer in the background.

Na na na na na, na na na, hey Dune...

National park bench

Human endeavour at its best.

At the entrance to the Altyn-Emel national park, a few hours' ride from Almaty, lies this wonderful exhibition of human endeavour. And in front of it, for those in need of a rest, is a bench.

As we waited for the gate keepers to finish lunch, we were allowed plenty of time to admire this fine endeavour. So inspiring. The three headed wolves obviously symbolise, well, something. The arm from nowhere grabbing the central wolf's upper jaw represents, uh, I dunno. 

And the goat atop this fine piece of showmanship? I also don't know. But we're not here to talk about art, we're here to talk about one of life's more important elements - the public bench. And here is a simple yet elegant innovation - a blue backless, armless, binless bench with slatted seat, arranged at a slightly acute angle giving the sense of an arrow - the arrow of time; the arrow of progress, the blue arrow. Incredible.

Bench facilitates detailed view of human endeavour

KA-ZAKH-STAN

    Kazakhstan 1
    Ireland    2
Sports correspondent PBJ.

KA-ZAKH-STAN. FIFA. GOOOAL.

This was a world cup qualifying game between Kazakhstan (in blue), Ireland (in their alternative white strip) and FIFA (in their usual yellow colour). FIFA only had three players, two of whom stayed on the edge of the pitch the whole time, and the other did a lot of running but was very hands-off. If he had got the ball I don't know which goal he would have shot at.

Left: vaguely famous; Right: FIFA

Anyway Ireland looked strong at the beginning. Kazakhstan grew in confidence but were still the underdogs when they snuck in a header near the end of the first half. The crowd went predictably wild and chants became louder. Such as GOAL GOAL GOAL, and KA-ZAKH-STAN. My favourite was dum dum d-d-dum d-d-d-dum KZH-STAN. I even heard a bit of OLE, OLE-OLE-OLE.

The crowd switched ends at half time and all was a bit boring as the K-dogs defended their lead and the Greens got frustrated. FIFA continued to underwhelm. 

Cultural exchange. There was a good atmosphere. GOAL GOAL GOAL!

After a goal mouth scrap, the ball being shakily scouped away, the referee ordered a penalty to Ireland and gave a yellow card to a man in blue. There are no replays in real life, so it remains a mystery what happened - maybe a handball or a foul, but surely that would be a red card? Any way Robbie Keane cooly put it away to level the scores with a few minutes to go. Suddenly there was some dynamism and, tragically for the blues, Ireland put one away near the end. Kazakhstan were tired and desperate at the end, surely regretting their earlier time-wasting antics. 

Stadiums. I love stadiums. This is a nice one.

On the way out there was an impressive sea of busses to take all the fans back to the other side of town - where real people live - while I was lucky enough to take a short walk home.

FIFA!

Turraah Tien Shan

Sunset on the road back to Bishkek, with yurts by the road

We headed out of the country via Bishkek, the road to which, pictured above, was terrifying. The mountains died down and all became flat. 

Tien Shan: if you listen carefully, they sound just like a golf.

We crossed the border into Kazakhstan and were welcomed by a large picture of El Presidente. As we drove towards Almaty I looked back across the fields and, when I looked carefully, I could see the faint peaks of the Tien Shan high up in the sky, like clouds. You can see why they're called 'celestial mountains'. I'd love to go back some time.

Osh bazaar

Osh bazaar: it's in Bishkek.

Osh bazaar: colourful

Osh is on the other side of the country from Bishkek. A high altitude melting pot with ethnic tensions that often spark riots and revolutions in phase with El Ninio. We didn't go to Osh. We went to Osh bazaar, in Bishkek.

I was expecting a big noisy open place but in fact it was lots of intricate, intimate, pseudo-corridors of market stalls. Sewing machines on the stalls, beams of daylight coming through gaps in the ad hoc canvas over-hanging roofs, bright and beautiful colours, and all somehow in tune with the serenity that is Bishkek and Kygyzstan's general MO. 

The bazaar was a great place to walk around and suck up the atmosphere. But it wasn't a good place to buy shoes, as we found out to Gulnur's expense.

Osh bazaar: gap year.