We arrived at the border post near Nukus, in western Uzbekistan on foot, walking across the 300m of no man’s land from northern Turkmenistan. There was no one about on the Turkmenistan side, just a couple of silent border guards; no porters or trolleys. Our luggage was heavy, the road rough and bumpy. But it was a glorious day, 34C and sunny, and as soon as we were spotted by a guard on the Uzbek side, he came running to help. That set the tone for Uzbekistan: friendly, helpful, jolly. He packed us into our waiting car to meet our guide, Kamilla Djalalova, who along with our driver was with us for the whole journey.
My husband, John, thinks anything less than three weeks on holiday isn’t worth the airfare. Normally I’d agree, but three weeks in Uzbekistan? Really? I’d gone along with it because he’s a history buff and mad about the Silk Road, and, fair’s fair, we usually go on holidays I suggest.
Like many a Brit, I couldn’t place Uzbekistan on a map and had no idea it has seen civilisations including the Persians, Greeks and Russians come and go. But the names of its cities — Khiva, Bukhara and Samarkand — sounded irresistible.
First the city of Khiva, where we stayed at the Feruzkhan Hotel, inside the walled citadel. It was once a madrassa — a religious school — and the students’ rooms have been converted into comfortable modern suites built around a cool shady courtyard (B&B doubles £61; booking.com). The highlight of the city was seeing Kalta Minor, Khiva’s best known minaret which was never completed. Amin Khan, who commissioned it in 1852, was killed three years later and work stopped. Near its remaining, exquisitely tiled 29m stump is a completed minaret, which you can climb to view the city — an invitation I declined.
From Khiva, it was a 270-mile, six-hour drive southeast to Bukhara — with roadside stops to sample the country’s sweet melons.
You could spend three weeks here and have barely scratched the surface. We had three days staying in the comfortable family-run hotel Latifa Begim, a few minutes’ walk to Lyab-i Hauz square, with its vast pond surrounded by madrassas (room-only doubles £70; booking.com). A 13ft-high bronze statue of the 13th-century storyteller Nasreddin and his donkey was a hotspot for selfies and a magnet for children. Within easy walking distance too were the Mir-i-Arab Madrassa and the Kalan Mosque and tower. The gorgeous mosque was built in the 12th century for 10,000 worshippers — although Genghis Khan used it as a stable, while more recently the Russians used it as a warehouse. Now, however, it’s back to being a mosque. In centuries past, emirs would have criminals hurled off the top of the minaret.
Bukhara is known for its cool, domed bazaars. There was jewellery, woodwork, silk, carpets and clothes, and every kind of food bazaar. Even the ubiquitous tourist stuff, such as intricately carved folding book stands and chess sets, was good quality. In the hat bazaar, John — an inveterate traveller and collector — bought a Russian military sailor’s cap.
Wandering the city streets everywhere in Uzbekistan is such a pleasure. No one pesters you: a single “no thank you” ends a conversation, coupled with a polite smile and a winning hand-on-heart slight bow of understanding. Djalalova proved to be knowledgeable, humorous and relaxed. She would tactfully extend an arm when I was struggling up enormous steps and she even kept a look-out for “Western WCs”. She had that essential quality you long for in a guide, someone who tells you what you need to know, resisting the temptation to tell you everything they know, and senses when you just want to stand and stare.
In Bukhara, we also visited the studio of Davlat Toshev, a renowned miniaturist and calligrapher, and bought two drawings by his students. We went to the top of a former water tower in a lift to view the city below and witnessed four members of a family-owned confectionery business pull, pummel, stretch and turn a lump of flavoured sugar the size of a car tyre into halva. We also visited the last remaining marionette puppet maker. John, naturally, bought two puppets.
As to the food. Veg is local and grown in the sun so salads taste great and hummus is excellent everywhere — the national dish of plov (rice, carrots and lamb) must be welcome in winter, but was less enticing at 40C. Barbecued lamb kebabs were ubiquitous and always cooked well done. The best restaurant we found, the Chalet, was in Bukhara, close to the main square, Lyab-i Hauz. I enjoyed sitting in the courtyard with water mist sprayed to keep us cool, the good local wines and charming staff. We ate manti — Uzbek minced beef, onion and potato dumplings, which were excellent (mains from £3; @chalet.bukhara).
• 17 of the best Silk Road tours
We left Bukhara and drove on to Samarkand, centre of the Great Silk Road and a magnet for romantic poets and adventurers, and where Alexander the Great fell in love with Roxana. But more than this, Samarkand is the city of the dreaded Timur (Tamerlane) who started life as a small-time bandit and went on to conquer a huge swathe of central and western Asia in the latter half of the 14th century. Known for his brutality, he made pyramids of his enemies’ heads and bombarded the Christian armies at Smyrna in Anatolia (modern-day Turkey) with the severed heads of their knights, fired from cannon.
But Samarkand celebrates the less bloody aspects of Timur’s life too. Though illiterate, he was fascinated by learning. He gathered philosophers, artists, astronomers, mathematicians and architects and set about making the city the most beautiful capital in the world. The necropolis Shah-i-Zinda, which houses the tombs of the women in his family, was the absolute highlight of our trip. Mausoleums in narrow passages are decorated with carved terracotta and intricate tiles of intense shades of blue. Timur’s mausoleum, vast, gilded and inspiring, contains his relatively modest tomb, inscribed with the words “If I was alive, people would not be glad”.
Timur’s legacy is everywhere in Samarkand. The Registan — a complex of madrassas built between the 15th and 17th centuries — was once described by the Indian Viceroy George Curzon in 1888 as “the noblest public square in the world”.
Ulugh Beg, Timur’s grandson, commissioned many of the city’s loveliest buildings, including the Ulugh Beg Madrassa, the first of the buildings flanking the Registan, and a huge observatory. He was a famous patron of science, employing 60 mathematicians and astronomers. But science has never been popular with religious authorities and Ulug Beg’s own son had him beheaded.
In Tashkent we checked into the Hyatt Regency. Generally we’d stayed in small inns run by locals, bang in the middle of town. But the Hyatt made up for any lack of charm with great comfort, a pool and a rooftop terrace where one could sunbathe in unseemly western fashion (room-only doubles from £245; hyatt.com).
We were driven around Tashkent, a city completely rebuilt in less than four years after the 1966 earthquake flattened it. It makes you grudgingly admit there’s something to be said for dictatorship — I couldn’t help thinking that in 15 years back home we have failed to get HS2 anywhere.
Tashkent is a mix of Soviet brutalism and ultra-modern international architecture. The State Museum of History of Uzbekistan was closed, sadly, so we spent the morning in the chaotic Yangiobod flea market, a mighty contrast to the clean and orderly city. You could buy anything there from old bathroom taps to Soviet-era paraphernalia.
From Tashkent we took a train (first class in huge armchairs, four to a compartment) through the Tian Shan mountains into the fertile Fergana Valley in eastern Uzbekistan. It must be one of the most beautiful journeys in the world, with the Syrdarya River far below, and range upon range of mountains round every corner, the furthest peaks shrouded in what looks like mist, or rain, but is desert dust. Five hours later (far too soon, I’d have liked that ride to last all day) we arrived in Margilan and drove straight to the Yodgorlik Silk Factory. Here we saw the skilful ikat process, which involves tie-dying the thread before weaving the cloth. Of course I ended up with a stunning pink and black kaftan and John with two cushion covers and an ikat wall hanging. We had to get two more cases to carry our loot home.
We stayed at the Hotel Asia Fergana (B&B doubles from £86; booking.com) and next morning met a second guide, Madina (who spoke the local dialect, which Kamilla did not). She wore a hijab, though not a veil. She explained that she used to dress in western style, but found that some tourists hit on her. “They don’t flirt if you’re in a hijab,” she said. Now she likes it, saying it made her feel safe and more respected.
We drove to the city of Rishtan an hour away to see the house and studio of a family of potters. Olim Narzullaev is a master potter and the seventh generation to make traditional stoneware. We watched a blind ceramicist throw a pot and intricately shape its edge just by touch. And we bought a dish, one we’d watched his son paint with a traditional floral design, with no template to follow, just his fingers rapidly doing what the men in his family had done for centuries.
• Read our guide to Uzbekistan
A three-week course in the history of the Silk Roads is not, I know, worth boasting about, and Uzbekistan is only a slice of it, but it was fascinating. Figures such as Genghis Khan and Timur that to me were as mythical as characters from the Arabian Nights came to life. I found the architecture, town planning, gardens, painting and ceramics all astonishing too.
We had the holiday of a lifetime, thanks to the bespoke itinerary worked out by Jamshed Safarov at the specialist Central Asia operator Veres Vert. There are some adventures I regret having to pass on though: I’d have liked to ride an Arab horse (maybe even a Bactrian camel); or camp out at the Gateway to Hell (a vast trench of blazing natural gas in the Turkmenistan desert); or to have slept on the floor of a yurt, maybe even drunk fermented mare’s milk. But I’m too old for all that. I’m lucky, at 85, to be up to three weeks of intensive sightseeing, travelling and marvelling. I want to do more. Kyrgyzstan? Tajikistan? And from Kashgar to Xian in China. Why not?
Prue Leith travelled independently. Veres Vert has ten days’ B&B from £2,000pp including transfers, domestic flights, guides, experiences and some extra meals (veres-vert.com). Fly to Tashkent
Have you visited Uzbekistan? Share your memories in the comments
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