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.