My trip to Uzbekistan

On my trip I visited four major city: Tashkent, Samarkand, Bukhara and Khiva.

 

When I slept most of the day, but before I did I managed to hit a few sights. My plan was to hit a 2-3 major sights, then have some plov, then spend the night in a nice tea place overlooking one of the sights.

 

Well, "Man plans, and God laughs," as the old saying goes. And two days of constant rain rolled in. But rain or shine, a tourist must do what a tourist must do. And that is to explore.

 

So, Bibi-Khanym mosque, check. That's where Timur's second and favorite wife is buried. Well one place where she's buried and the mosque in her honor as well. This old lady, who look like she's from the 19th century, was my guide but also a fortune teller. She asked me to walk around this old Quran and make a wish which she assured me will turn true. Ok then.

 

Then, I visited Shah-i-Zinda, without the guide this time. But surrounded by a ton of Italian tourists, and in the rain. Very very impressive but since no guide, no story, so I don't relly know what i saw there, but it was nice. And I chatted with a nice Indian man who took my photo as well.

 

BTW, maybe too much info, but i decided not to shave for the last few days, and then today I noticed something, all men are clean shaved in Uzbekistan. So I googled it, and it turns out that men with beards get special attention in UZ. Men with beards are more likely to be devout Muslims and they get stopped often by the police. In fact, I witnessed exactly that later in the day. I think it's time for me to shave.

 

But anyways, then, I ventured out to try one of the best osh (or plov) places. A friend of mine said that I am not a foodie. He thinks being a foodie means trying out all super expensive San Francisco hot spots. I think being a foodie means traveling across the world to try authentic Samarkand osh, and then in the rain, an hour-long taxi rain, far from the tourist zone. So I did, took a taxi, drove to a far away place. I happened to be of course the only "white guy", i.e. the place was full of local men, very few women and everyone came here for the osh (plov is more like a russian name, locals call it "osh").

 

Osh was great. Salads were even better. Of course, I felt super full after that and tried to catch a taxi back. Since I cant get my Uber-like apps to work, I had to stand on the side of the road and waive my hand to find a taxi. Also, the way "Uber Pool" works in Samarkand, a taxi full of people stops by, you say "Registan", the driver shakes his heads and drives off. You repeat the some for about 10 times, until finally some driver agrees to take you. While he's driving you to your destination, he stops 5 more times and picks up or doeesn't pick up more passengers. After another hour in the rain looking for local art galleries (and not finding them), I finally end up back in the hotel and fall asleep.

 

That was yesterday, and today, on a rainy day, I think I am going to explore Shahr i Sabz, it's a 2-hour long day trip with a local taxi driver who convinced me to go. Wish me luck.

 

Salam!

 

I’ve got two more hours to wait here. Traveling for a while isn’t all rosy. You go through ups and downs. Eventually events back home catch up with you. Eventually, you get caught up with yourself. Bourdain out of all I think described that process the best. The days of deep introspection. Or maybe not so deep but introspection still.

 

It rained for the last two days. A bit of a change of plans. But also it was time to look behind the facade. Behind the for-tourists-eyes-only. So I thought I would spend a day with Ixtior, a taxi driver I met a couple of days back. Now notice that letters “x” and “h” used interchangeably here in Uzbekistan for his name is more like “Ihtior”. One way or another, we take a trip to… let me check my notes. Shahrisabz

 

Shahrisabz was nothing interesting. Some well-manicured tourist sites, a huge park dedicated to who else. Yes, Amir Temur. The founding father. But it rained, and the whole place was almost empty. Even the numerous little shops were closed.

 

So instead, the trip was more about a 5 hour long conversation with Ihtior. Rather I was mostly listening. Of course, taxi drivers in Uzbekistan are probably not much different than taxi drivers in San Francisco. Actually, a true story, a day before I flew to Tashkent, I took Uber in SF. The driver was from Uzbekistan and didn’t speak a word of English or Russian. I kept saying, “plov! Plov! Plov!” He kept saying, “osh! Osh! Osh!” That’s how I finally understood that “plov” isn’t an Uzbekistani word, “osh” is.

 

Anyways, back to the windy roads south of Samarkand. I learned that Ihtior served in Afghanistan with the Soviets in the 80s. Learned about what his kids do, about the pandemic. And his dear sister, who died of COVID. And his wife. And how much she gets paid, and the car he wants to buy, a Chevrolet Cobalt (made in Uzbekistan, by the way). I shared that I’ve been to Ukraine and what’s happening there. And how brutal that war was. He didn’t know. And was shaking his head the entire road back. Repeating “1000 dead a day”. He told stories from his days serving on the border with Afghanistan and his comrades.

 

All that is pretty useless info I guess. But it is part of a journey. More so than seeing another mosque.

 

At some point, when we were crossing a mountain pass, Ixtior stopped for a few minutes. I took a few photos. What I didn’t realize is that on the horizon you could almost see Termez.

 

Termez was the border town with Afghanistan. Right in front of me, there was a long valley; on the left was Tajikistan and its capital, Dushanbe. On the right, Turkmenistan, one of the most closed-off countries with Turkmen-bashi dictator running it for the last 30(?) years. Right in front, Taleban Afghanistan with Mazar I Sharif, inhabited by the same Uzbeks and Tajiks living in Samarkand, and Kabul not too far either. That was probably the highlight of the trip.

 

The road was mostly uneventful. Especially if you know the way people drive in this part of the world. No seat belts. Passing on windy and rainy roads on the opposing side of the road centimeters from the oncoming traffic. The Japanese tourist I met in the hostel was very concerned about the lack of seatbelts in cars. Head-on collisions on a windy mountain road with big semi trucks. Seat belts won’t help. And we passed tens of them today’s. Luckily, those who don’t drive well don’t make it for too long. So I trusted Ixtior would get me home safe and sound. And he did.

Anyways no major discoveries today. I did learn a new joke though from Ixtior:

Putin is in hell. Getting cooked for weeks in a giant pot. So hot in hell that he’s begging to let him out. “Please, please would you let me out just for a day??!” Finally, the devil agrees to let him out of hell for just a day. Putin gets out of the super hot pot and lands in Moscow. Everyone is celebrating something in Moscow. Putin walks around and everyone he meets is super happy and joyful. Putin goes to a small cafe and asks for a cup of coffee. “How much do I owe you?”, he asks the waiter. “Ten hryvnas”, the waiter replies.

 

I guess I also learned how local silk paper is made and talked with local ceramist who explained the entire process. But that’s another story and who has time for that.

 

Oh and I also tried local shashlik! My only regret is why I ordered only one. That’s why I’m cold and hungry in this empty train station. Well maybe tomorrow I will order two. For 20 hryvnas. In Moscow.

 

Salam!

 

Yesterday was another long short day or a short long day. That means the day only has one part, morning to afternoon, no evening. My first real "business trip" day (well, i did do some research and meeting in Tashkent). And that means I am meeting local artists.

 

First off the bat, I just randomly met a person I found online a few months ago, her artwork, then been searching her on forums, ended up connecting with her husband (but I wasn't 100% sure), and here I walk into a small workshop and see a familiar face. We chatted at length in a mix of russian, French, and English. She's the niece of a famous local artist whom I will try to meet today.

 

Next, I met with two other artists. One we spoke with for a few months already, also found him online. I met his son, saw him selling a few of his works to the Indian tourists, chatted with Indian tourists, saw him switch from English to French in an instant with French tourists, shared our condensed bios, and we agreed to meet again.

 

Then, another one, who was selling his works for thousands, apparently. Me being me, of course, I tend to ask tricky questions, like: Could you please show me the difference between a good and an average work? What type of brush do you use here, what is it made out of, have you heard of Japanese woodblock prints? What about Nepalese thangkas? Old Apple interviewing school yeah, i don't understand why he'd charge $5k for his work, i think he's full of it. "Oh, where did you get this composition?", "I copied it from the internet", he said. Dude, common

I always remember that I interviewed 178 people back at Apple, and hired only 8 of them (1 out of 22). Working with artists is no different: you get to see and talk with thousands of people. How do you select the best ones? well, you ask questions and listen to what people have got to say.

 

After that, I visited another place I researched for a while before. Met more people, asked more questions. Took some photos, asked more questions, took some videos. Haha. I am like an art spy. I think they might have given me a look like "who is this guy and what does he want?" Well, I am going to try to meet with the owner of this school this week as well. He's an important person in the local community. Hope I will make it out alive

Salam!

These are actually made by the iconic Japanese brand Onitsuka Tiger. And I have (and had) close to ten pairs already. Their colors are pretty cool and some color combinations are very hard to find. They sell out quick. Both here and in Japan.

So who cares about my shoes anyway. Nobody. Usually. But yesterday I had a meeting with a very important person. And I noticed the people who were hosting me noticed my shoes. They looked down upon them of course. Who am I to wear a pair of dirty sneakers to this important meeting. Laceless no less!

 

Well I could care less. It noticed the person I was meeting had Bugatti shoes on them. I didn’t know Bugatti makes shoes. I guess they do. An interesting choice. They say shoes tell a lot about a man. Maybe.

 

There was one other time where I felt like I was part of some sort of shoes Olympics. It was Art Basel Hong Kong. I was also getting dismissive looks from the gallerists exhibiting there (I was just a visitor) since everyone dressed to impress. It was funny to me though that all those fancy gallerists wore nice white-soled shoes. The only problem was all of them were wearing the same white-soled shoes.

 

Yup shoes tell you a story. Or as Mac Miller used to say, Nike On My Feet.

Turns out I picked the right dish off the menu, the famous green noodles of Khiva or Shivit Oshi. Local noodles mixed with herbs like dill plus a stew of meat and potatoes. And I had to order the local carrots salad as well since I’ve been seeing it an every local bazaar. Uzbekistan is number 2 exporter of carrots in the world.

 

Remember it will be on the test. And I also learned that used to be one of the main slave trading centers on the Silk Road.

 

While I was typing this post a wedding party set up right next to me for the photo op. So adding a couple more photos i just snapped.

 

Salam!

 

While having another variety of plov, Khorezm this time, an American seating next to me was struggling to pay with a credit card. So I suggested he’d try a debit card as in my experience that’s more likely to work. The older gentleman from New York had this unimpressed facial expression and wasn’t too chatty either.

 

But he did ask me what was my highlight of the trip so far (although he quickly left before listening to what I had to say). I struggled for a second. I should probably say that it was all that awesome Timuruid architecture but I don’t think it was.

I think the highlight was the locals themselves. They are super easy going somehow. The folks I spoke with on the train. The ceramist I just spoke with. My taxi friend Ixtior. The multiple guides I had. You know how you come to Burning Man to see all the cool art but leave most impressed with the cool vibe and super nice people? So far Uzbekistan has been like that. I don’t see too many angry people around. If any. Kids are playing football in the dust. Ladies don’t get upset when I negotiate for prices. Men seem to be respectful and follow a certain honor code. Women go about their business and don’t want your green card. People don’t take an extra penny or a tip when helping you. Teenagers seem chill and laugh all the time.

 

The little moments. I’m walking down the street in Samarkand and out of nowhere something hits me, like a small rock. I look up and see three teenagers across the street. I’m thinking, “are they bullying me? Am I doing something inappropriate?” But I see one of them gasping like a little boy who just did something inappropriate in front of his parents. Hands on the mouth and probably saying “Oh shit” in his native tongue. I figure it wasn’t intentional and raise my eye brow pretending I’m upset. Yet they figure I’m just pretending so we both start laughing. One of the teenagers runs up to me, stretches his arm to shake mine and apologize. We move on.

 

Or another one. I am at the market, trying to spend my last money and buy a few gifts. I find this cute pillow cover with a nice pattern. “How much?”, I ask. “80,000 som”, the older lady says. I’m, “Ok”, and give her the money. Then once I put the pillow in my shoulder bag I remember and frustratingly with myself “Oh, I forgot to bargain again!” She bursts out laughing, “Fine, fine”, she gives me the 5,000 back, still laughing.

 

So yeah, those are the highlights so far.

 

Salam!