Of all the places I’ve been in my life, nothing moves my spirit like Samarkand and the Registan. It’s a magical, mystical place for me.
It is easy to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of tourists in baseball caps turned backward, European tongues competing for attention in the madrassas , and the honking of horns as cars jockey for space. But for me, Samarkand takes me back and, like a baseball pitcher blocking out all the external incursions into his psyche, I can block out all that periphery and feel the ancient caravans and the ambiance that goes along with it. The modern bazaars and food markets, help because there is a cacophony of noise as there would be in the olden days, not French nor German nor English…just Uzbek, Takik and Russian..all tongues literally foreign to my ear and my brain. The clothes are modern fabrics but are still traditional and feel ancient with their colors and brilliant displays of patterns. And so, I can envision fires burning at nighttime with tents pitched while camels loll lazily tethered to some restriction to their movements…I can smell the air with all the good and bad odors which emanate from a place where thousands of humans and have congregated. In my mind, there is mystery and intrigue at every corner and danger is not very far away….I was not a reader in my youth, and so I don’t know exactly from where these images came to me. I like to say, I remember them because I was here before, but maybe that’s just my wild imagination again…But for me, it’s not important where the genesis of these feelings began in my brain, all I know is that when I was here two years ago, I felt it, didn’t get enough time here then, and it was the one “Place/thing” I wanted to see again on this trip that is so filled with people.
Since we were on a tour two years ago I didn’t have control of my time…hurry up to go here, only to jump quickly back on the bus and head for the next spot…I so wanted to just linger at the Registan..to be the giant sponge and just soak it all up…to sit and watch. Well, this time, that is exactly what I did…several trips back to the Registan, sometimes with our friends, sometimes just Carol and I…sometimes in the morning light, sometimes after dark when artificial lights lit the towering gateways, but still cast a wonderful aura over the entire huge square…
Groups of elderly ladies in colorful dresses and head scarves and fabulous faces filled with lines from years of hard work and difficult lives plod their way through the square as if on some personal hadj, not to Mecca, but to their glorious past…I love these old faces. They never fail to smile and show their kind, generous natures…They are never scornful of us for intruding upon “their” place, they always seem delighted to share it with us…..Young moderns in boutique clothes….school kids in their uniforms….old men with their beards and long tunics…and the ever present tourists like myself give the Registan an air that is totally unique to my mind…I love it here.
We didn’t do a whole bunch of other things in Samarkand…we spent most of our times with our three flatmate friends, Zulfiya, Madina, and Yulduz, but that was time well spent and it was an opportunity to see all the little quirks of personalities which give people the real character. I’ve chatted with them for so long on facebook that it was nice to see them as people and not just words on the page.
Samarkand is a busy, bustling place…an early morning walk was full of honking horns, billowing bursts of diesel exhaust belching into the air as school kids walked by with their white shirts and black skirts or pants. Women swept the sidewalks with short brooms of some kind of thatch about 2-3 feet in length which force them to bend over to clean the leaves which have fallen during the night. The city is very clean and women swept even where I couldn’t see any reason for them to do so.
Madi and Zuzu wanted to show us their institute and when we went to Madi’s where she works on her masters degree in Spanish, Carol was absolutely besieged by students who wanted to speak with a real Spanish speaker…She was surrounded by delighted students eager to get their sentences heard. They hung on every word and didn’t want her to leave.
Madi and Zuzu have been facebook friends for over a year, so I had some knowledge of them, but their third “flatmate,” Yulduz, was an absolute delight…when we got to the flat, she was just leaving, but prepared tea for us before she departed…wearing the traditional long tunic with matching pants and a head scarf, she seemed to be a conservative young Muslim woman…getting to know her, I found a wonderfully, sweet, intelligent woman who is full of life and energy and still remains true to her very devout Muslim faith…she can laugh, joke, and poke fun at life and her surroundings…she opened up more as our time together progressed, and the serenity of her face was so calming to watch….she lives in a village about an hour away from Samarkand…has a 5 year old son who lives with her mother while she works on her Korean Masters degree. Her husband works in Russia to support the family and so she must be strong to keep everything in balance and still progress towards her goals in life. I admired her strength, courage, and gentility. She is a fine young woman who remains true to herself, her family, and her faith.
Taxi rides continue to be an adrenalin rush as we race across town…they are cheap, fast, (very) and convenient…you never have to wait for more than a few seconds before one shows up…stand by the side of the road and a yellow taxi, (official) or white (the color of choice of almost all cars) unofficial taxi will roll up flashing its lights to let you know it is available…move your hand out from your body, and they will swerve across several lanes of traffic to beat the others just behind them all vying for that fare…We rarely paid more than $2 for any taxi ride across any of the cities. One amusing occasion was when we were picked up by a man who, in his broken English told us that he was an ex-policeman of 20 years, we chatted about America….he has relatives there, and in the end refused any payment for the trip across town.
When people ask us where we are from and we tell them “America,” they all grin and so very often say: “Ah….America….I have family there….New York…..Brooklyn.” It must be a very Uzbek place because we now know of hundreds of families who live there from all over Uzbekistgan.
In a move towards the west, there is a new law which mandates that English is to be the official 2nd language of the country…replacing Russian…English teachers are to be paid more than other teachers, and all teachers are being required to speak English….it is a sign of how far the country is moving from its Soviet past to a more western pattern…
Language patterns are very diverse…Samarkand and Bukhara are Tajik cities…They were once part of Tajikistan, but soviet map makers and policy makers being what they were, carved up Tajikistan and made part of it Uzbek territory…The “Stan” part of all these names means “land of,” so Uzbekistan is the land of Uzbeks, Kyrygzstan is the land of the Kyrygz…etc…well, definitions of territory mean nothing to the people…here in Samarkand and in Bukhara, the signs are in Uzbek, people speak Tajik, and people at home often speak Russian….One friend Speaks Russian to her Father, Tajik to her mother, and English to her friends…when her father speaks to her mother, he speaks in Russian…when she answers, she speaks Tajik….my friend didn’t even speak Uzbek until she began school…such is the nation.
So, I was able to achieve my goals in Samarkand…combining time at the registan while getting to know Zulfiya, Madina, and Yulduz…to Quote my favorite wordsmiths, Yogi Berra and George Bush….
“Déjà vu all over again,” and “Mission Accomplished”
Since we were on a tour two years ago I didn’t have control of my time…hurry up to go here, only to jump quickly back on the bus and head for the next spot…I so wanted to just linger at the Registan..to be the giant sponge and just soak it all up…to sit and watch. Well, this time, that is exactly what I did…several trips back to the Registan, sometimes with our friends, sometimes just Carol and I…sometimes in the morning light, sometimes after dark when artificial lights lit the towering gateways, but still cast a wonderful aura over the entire huge square…
Groups of elderly ladies in colorful dresses and head scarves and fabulous faces filled with lines from years of hard work and difficult lives plod their way through the square as if on some personal hadj, not to Mecca, but to their glorious past…I love these old faces. They never fail to smile and show their kind, generous natures…They are never scornful of us for intruding upon “their” place, they always seem delighted to share it with us…..Young moderns in boutique clothes….school kids in their uniforms….old men with their beards and long tunics…and the ever present tourists like myself give the Registan an air that is totally unique to my mind…I love it here.
We didn’t do a whole bunch of other things in Samarkand…we spent most of our times with our three flatmate friends, Zulfiya, Madina, and Yulduz, but that was time well spent and it was an opportunity to see all the little quirks of personalities which give people the real character. I’ve chatted with them for so long on facebook that it was nice to see them as people and not just words on the page.
Samarkand is a busy, bustling place…an early morning walk was full of honking horns, billowing bursts of diesel exhaust belching into the air as school kids walked by with their white shirts and black skirts or pants. Women swept the sidewalks with short brooms of some kind of thatch about 2-3 feet in length which force them to bend over to clean the leaves which have fallen during the night. The city is very clean and women swept even where I couldn’t see any reason for them to do so.
Madi and Zuzu wanted to show us their institute and when we went to Madi’s where she works on her masters degree in Spanish, Carol was absolutely besieged by students who wanted to speak with a real Spanish speaker…She was surrounded by delighted students eager to get their sentences heard. They hung on every word and didn’t want her to leave.
Madi and Zuzu have been facebook friends for over a year, so I had some knowledge of them, but their third “flatmate,” Yulduz, was an absolute delight…when we got to the flat, she was just leaving, but prepared tea for us before she departed…wearing the traditional long tunic with matching pants and a head scarf, she seemed to be a conservative young Muslim woman…getting to know her, I found a wonderfully, sweet, intelligent woman who is full of life and energy and still remains true to her very devout Muslim faith…she can laugh, joke, and poke fun at life and her surroundings…she opened up more as our time together progressed, and the serenity of her face was so calming to watch….she lives in a village about an hour away from Samarkand…has a 5 year old son who lives with her mother while she works on her Korean Masters degree. Her husband works in Russia to support the family and so she must be strong to keep everything in balance and still progress towards her goals in life. I admired her strength, courage, and gentility. She is a fine young woman who remains true to herself, her family, and her faith. 
Taxi rides continue to be an adrenalin rush as we race across town…they are cheap, fast, (very) and convenient…you never have to wait for more than a few seconds before one shows up…stand by the side of the road and a yellow taxi, (official) or white (the color of choice of almost all cars) unofficial taxi will roll up flashing its lights to let you know it is available…move your hand out from your body, and they will swerve across several lanes of traffic to beat the others just behind them all vying for that fare…We rarely paid more than $2 for any taxi ride across any of the cities. One amusing occasion was when we were picked up by a man who, in his broken English told us that he was an ex-policeman of 20 years, we chatted about America….he has relatives there, and in the end refused any payment for the trip across town.
When people ask us where we are from and we tell them “America,” they all grin and so very often say: “Ah….America….I have family there….New York…..Brooklyn.” It must be a very Uzbek place because we now know of hundreds of families who live there from all over Uzbekistgan.
In a move towards the west, there is a new law which mandates that English is to be the official 2nd language of the country…replacing Russian…English teachers are to be paid more than other teachers, and all teachers are being required to speak English….it is a sign of how far the country is moving from its Soviet past to a more western pattern…
Language patterns are very diverse…Samarkand and Bukhara are Tajik cities…They were once part of Tajikistan, but soviet map makers and policy makers being what they were, carved up Tajikistan and made part of it Uzbek territory…The “Stan” part of all these names means “land of,” so Uzbekistan is the land of Uzbeks, Kyrygzstan is the land of the Kyrygz…etc…well, definitions of territory mean nothing to the people…here in Samarkand and in Bukhara, the signs are in Uzbek, people speak Tajik, and people at home often speak Russian….One friend Speaks Russian to her Father, Tajik to her mother, and English to her friends…when her father speaks to her mother, he speaks in Russian…when she answers, she speaks Tajik….my friend didn’t even speak Uzbek until she began school…such is the nation.
So, I was able to achieve my goals in Samarkand…combining time at the registan while getting to know Zulfiya, Madina, and Yulduz…to Quote my favorite wordsmiths, Yogi Berra and George Bush….
“Déjà vu all over again,” and “Mission Accomplished”
