The Road to Samarkand

It was a sunny morning in Tashkent when we set out for Samarkand. The city is located about 187 miles southwest of Tashkent. Just the name Samarkand conjured up exotic images in my mind, even though instead of traveling in a camel caravan, our mode of transportation was a modern motor coach. Still, I knew we were traveling the same route that traders had followed for centuries. 

 

A modern road brought us to the outskirts of Tashkent and we were soon surrounded by trees and flat agricultural land. In this area, the primary crops are fruits, vegetables, sunflowers, wheat, and feed corn. It’s almost all small-scale farms, i.e. nothing like the collective farms of the Soviet era. I noticed men and women bent over hoes, breaking up the soil in the parched fields. Rainfall is limited to the winter months, Batir explained. Most of the year, mountains in the northeast and southeast of the country block the rains. In order to grow their crops, people rely on irrigation. When the entire region was part of the vast Achaemenid (Persian) Empire, over 2000 years ago, underground irrigation canals carried water to the fields. The irrigation system existed until the canals were destroyed by the Mongol conquerors, beginning in the 13^thcentury. 

 

When we noticed a cotton field, Batir told us that under the Soviets, the whole country had to be planted with cotton. When the Soviet Union took control of the region and created Uzbekistan in 1920, farm land was collectivized and all agricultural land was devoted to cotton. People even had to uproot orchards and groves of fruit trees in order to plant cotton. Uzbekistan’s role was to produce cotton that was sent to Russian textile factories. The entire population of the country was involved in the cotton harvest as forced “volunteer” labor. Batir recalled that when he was in school, he was sent to pick cotton for several weeks every year along with his classmates and teachers. 

 

Unfortunately, the Soviet agricultural policy had disastrous effects for Uzbekistan. First of all, cotton depletes the soil of nutrients, making it difficult to grow other crops. Furthermore, the Soviets never developed an efficient irrigation system. Instead, they diverted water from the two main rivers leading to the Aral Sea which borders western Uzbekistan. As a result, this body of water, once the third largest lake in the world, began shrinking and essentially dried up by the 1990s. 

After a couple of hours of driving through the fairly monotonous landscape, we stopped to talk with farmers selling their melons on the roadside. They urged us to try different varieties, all of which were sweet and juicy. 

 

As we continued on our journey, the road became bumpier and the landscape became more and more desolate. Aside from a bit of green here and there from scrub bushes, it was all khaki-colored. 

At lunchtime, we pulled into the Toj Mahal rest area (just like along interstates in the U.S.). The specialty of the main restaurant was kosa samsos, a nomad-style version of the samsas I’d eaten in Tashkent. These were enormous balls of dough, filled with a mixture of meat (beef or lamb), fat, and onions, and cooked in a tandoor oven. When you break open the samso, the cooked dough serves as a bowl and you spoon out the steaming contents. I guess a heavy, greasy meal is just what you need if you’re going to be galloping on horseback across the steppes but it’s not quite what you’d like to eat when you’re going to be sitting for another couple of hours on a bus. 

 

Judging from the number of local people eating there, somsos are very popular in this part of the country. (It was also the only restaurant in the vicinity.)

Shortly after we resumed our journey, our bus got a flat tire. It must have driven over something in the road. I wondered, though, Was it mere coincidence when just up ahead on the shoulder of the road, we could see a tire displayed as an advertisement for a tire shop? In any case, our resourceful trip leader eventually flagged down a public intercity bus and we traveled the final hour to Samarkand in the company of locals who graciously squeezed together to make room for us and our carry-on luggage. 

It was quite late in the afternoon when we finally reached our destination, the Sultan Boutique Hotel in Samarkand. There was only time for quick look at the surrounding area before sunset and dinner. 

 

Fortunately, we were just a short walk from one of the main historic sites, the Mausoleum of Amir Temur (better known in the West as Tamerlane), built in 1401. Samarkand was the capital of his vast empire. With the sun low in the sky, the monument was bathed in gentle light. Tranquility pervaded the scene, a vivid contrast to what is known about the fearsome brutal conqueror. 

 

 

The decoration of the façade, with glazed tiles, reflects the Persian stylistic influence.

 

I noted the elaborate muqarna (honeycomb architectural features) at the entrance. 

Under a dome of gold leaf and mosaic, Amir Temur and several relatives rest peacefully in their tombs.

 

A display area contained an informative map showing the extent of Temur’s empire, while a timeline detailed his military campaigns in the late 1300s. 

I looked forward to learning and seeing more in Samarkand over the next two days.