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The snow-capped peaks of the Kyrgyz Ala-Too range form a magnificent backdrop to Bishkek — visible from every corner of the city, they draw you in while you’re walking along Bishkek’s sun-baked streets. A number of valleys descend from the mountains towards the city. We made a short three-day trip into the Alamedin valley. . . . → Read More: Around Bishkek 
We shared our ride out of Murgab with the family running our homestay: they were visiting some relatives in Kyrgyzstan and we tagged along for the journey. The last section of the Pamir Highway, into Osh, is probably the most beautiful; the road climbs to a pass at 4655m, and then slides by lake Karakul and its eponymous village. There’s a place named Karakul in every Central Asian country — the name means “black lake” in Turkic languages. We stopped in Tajikistan’s Karakul for the mandatory round of tea, bread and yogurt, and crossed into Kyrgyzstan; at the relatives’ home there was another, much bigger round of tea, bread, yogurt, jams, snacks and fruits. . . . → Read More: From the Pamirs into Kyrgyzstan 
We left Bachor and got back on the Pamir Highway, making our way into the heart of “the roof of the world” as this range, along with some others, is nicknamed. The road climbed onto the Koi-Tezek pass at 4272m, and then spilled onto the Pamir plateau: endless wide valleys surrounded by hills, almost completely barren, with rare patches of green around meandering streams. Driving through this fallow landscape, one could mistake it for our own Negev desert, until a sliver of snow appears on the northern slope of a hill or a Kyrgyz shepherd’s yurt pops up behind a road bend. Our driver stopped on the way at a friend’s house for a cup of “shirchai”, the Pamiri tea prepared with milk and salt, and a plate of delicious yoghurt. In the afternoon we reached Murgab. . . . → Read More: Murgab 
After spending one day exploring Dushanbe and weathering the heat of the lowlands for the last time, we got up at 5 AM the next morning to make our ride to Khorog, at the foothills of the Pamir mountains. It’s a long way: 16 hours by jeep on some quite rough roads. Our driver looked no older than sixteen, which didn’t give us a lot of confidence, but he made up for his lack of experience by driving very slowly. Nevertheless, every half an hour or so we were pulled over by the police; each time the driver took some cash out of his pocket and quickly settled the matters. It’s amazing how prevalent in these parts is this state-endorsed form of highway robbery. . . . → Read More: Into the Pamirs 
Tashkent received us with open arms. A good friend of mine has a brother who lives here, so he picked us up from the train station and lodged us in his home. Sasha lives with his wife Ira in an apartment in a very typical Soviet block, in a typical Soviet neighborhood, reminding me very much of my childhood in Moscow. Sovietness aside, Sasha’s home is cosy and pleasant — colorful wallpapers, parquet floors, and a little rug in every spot where one might be appreciated. Sasha and Ira made every effort to make us feel at home, which we did, and it was for us a welcome break from the usual hostels and touristic homestays. . . . → Read More: Tashkent – Dushanbe 
Khiva, Bukhara and Samarkand are the three grand pearls on Uzbekistan’s necklace, and are quintessential Silk Road destinations. The mud walls, colorfully tiled medressas and tapered minarets have become iconic — after all, this had been the center of the medieval Islamic world for centuries. Many of the most famous scholars of the Muslim era, such as Ibn-Sina (Avicenna), whose book on medicine had been the standard textbook for medical students until the 18th century, and Al-Khorezmi, who gave the name to the algorithm, have come from these parts, and studied and taught in these very medressas. Nowadays these humbling structures stand as remainders of a glorious past, many used as souvenir shops, hinting at a less than glorious present. . . . → Read More: Khiva, Bukhara, Samarkand 
A taxi took us from the city center of Aktau to the train station through miles and miles of bleak desert landscape, populated by low shrubs, sparse houses, dusty lanes, and factories, dozens of them, their smoke stacks and conveyor belts still standing, dormant forever. Aktau was a lively industrial center back in the day, when a nuclear power plant was providing ample power for its factories and desalination plants (Aktau’s only source of water); after independence, when Kazakhstan became the first country in the world to voluntarily relinquish nuclear power, most of the industry stood still. Aktau now serves as a base for offshore drilling operations, and the factories sit quietly rusting and disintegrating on its outskirts. . . . → Read More: Entering Uzbekistan 
In Baku we quickly finished the Uzbek visa business, and started gathering information about the ferry across the Caspian to Kazakhstan. We knew that it’s a tricky business, but we had no idea what a rough adventure was expecting us. . . . → Read More: From Azerbaijan to Kazakhstan 
To pass time while our Letter of Invitation for the Uzbek visa was being prepared, we visited the village of Xinaliq in northern Azerbaijan. Xinaliq is stuck firmly in ages we no longer remember. The Serkerov family with whom we stayed lives in a small house; the basement is occupied by their sheep, and the floor above by the family which all sleeps together in one room — Rahman, his wife Gulbahar and their three small children. The sheep provide everything in this house: their wool fills the mattresses and the blankets, their milk is made into cheese and their flesh and bones into soup. The cheese and soup, together with bread, are pretty much all the family eats, washing it down with copious amounts of tea made from herbs collected around the village. . . . → Read More: Xinaliq 
Sheki, a pleasant little town amid green mountains, far away from the deserts and the desolation of the Caspian coast, is mostly known for two things — the Karavansaray and the Xan Sarayi. The former is a restored old caravan inn, with a classic arcaded design, surrounding a lovely courtyard. It has been converted into a hotel, the modern equivalent of its ancient function. In this place we picked up, for the first time, the scent of the Silk Road which we are after; indeed in older times Sheki was an important traders’ junction, and many such caravanserais were operational. Now the glory days of the caravanserai are coming back, and we saw two more in construction, one a restoration of a 19th-century ruin, and another one completely new, made of concrete, but following the same old design. . . . → Read More: Sheki, Car, Lahic |
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Copyright © 2012 Alex Shnitman - All Rights Reserved |
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