We hopped on the train and went to Bukhara, a dusty desert oasis, wonderfully vibrant but sleepy at the same time. It is not as modern and grand as Samarkand and is thought of as the cultural and religious capital of Uzbekistan, home to many poets and artists for centuries.
We stayed in a beautiful 19th century building, still owned by the same family, the Komil Boutique Hotel. This is where we had our breakfast every day; unfortunately the photo is pretty crappy and does not do the room justice. The building also had several courtyards where we spent hours sipping tea.
It is a fairly small town, full of medressas, mosques and mausoleums, all within easy walking distance.
Colourful wooden pillars adorning the Bolo-Hauz Mosque, built in 1718. I don’t think I have ever seen so much wood on a mosque before. Speaking of mosques, the only thing that disappointed me is that we were never woken up by the morning prayer calls. I’m not being ironic; it is the most exotic thing, waking up at five in the morning being reminded of your faraway whereabouts.
This was my favourite medressa, the Char Minar. Petite, compared to the other ones, tucked away in an alley surrounded by a flower filled garden. It was so quiet with no other people in sight. In Bukhara, we saw Western tourists for the first time since leaving home; there are hordes of sweet senior citizens in tour groups fulfilling their dream of the Silk Road. There were some backpackers as well. Luckily of the more civilized kind, mostly our age, being more interested in culture than cheap Singha (as many backpackers in Thailand) by the load. Does this imply that Joen and I are civilized? I am not so sure myself.
Speaking of beer, I must admit that we not only sipped tea, but also had a few cold ones at this rooftop restaurant. We were a bit wary at first, drinking alcohol, since this is a very religious place, but much more secular than we thought, as explained by some non-debauched looking locals, who didn’t mind drinking alcohol themselves.
Lunch break. Bukhara is also filled with bazars, for some reason I didn’t end up buying any silk at all. I’m kicking myself now, how could I not buy silk (I’m nuts about silk) in one of the most important towns of the freaking Silk Road? And it was bloody cheap.
The Uzbeks love football. As soon as we mentioned that we were from Sweden, they instantly shone up and said Zlatan! English is not the lingua franca of the world, football is.
BFF