Samarkand Epiphanies

Our journey to Samarkand was a few days ago by now, but it usually takes me a few days to download, upload and reload. Today was fantastic with a visit to a hand made silk factory in the Fergana Valley, but I've got to show you some other stuff first.

We stopped at this Tajik gas station on the way to the Uzbek border. At least you can tell how dirty your gas is.

This Samarkand bread, that has been a tradition for 1000’s of years, tastes just like a bagel. It is baked, not boiled, but is bagel-like in every other way. Maybe it is more of a bialy.
Nodera is the young woman on the left. She’s our gift from the American Embassy. She’s hip, smart, sassy, sexy and Uzbek. She takes care of us and knows how to do things “in country” that your standard diplomat may be clueless about.

With our crew of US Embassy drivers, we are usually catapulting through the landscape at about 70 miles an hour. These Uzbek guys with diplomatic plates don’t stop for anyone. They zoom through checkpoints and cops and tourists. I didn’t dare ask Abegg (name changed for security purposes) to stop so I could photograph this interesting ruin that was speeding by us in Samarkand.

Samarkand is known as the jewel of the Muslim world. It’s mosques and madrassas are truly spectacular. I didn’t feel up to the task of making pictures of the light, color and spiritual energy in these sites. It seems I could only record shadows and silhouettes.

I wasn’t the only one having trouble meeting the visual challenge. This girl was climbing where she wasn’t supposed to in an effort to get a perfect picture. I simply photographed her because only Allah is perfect.

The funkier un-renovated ruins always attract me. This mausoleum is in a row of ancient tombs that really felt like a power place. It didn’t have the glitter of the main Registan complex, but it is the prime destination for pilgrims in Samarkand.

One of my daily goals is to stick my camera into places that it shouldn’t be. The workers quickly kicked me out of this room, but I did manage to get this picture of the bust through the debris.

I was trying on this hat at a tourist store and then this local kid put it on and I threw in the towel. No camel hair hats for me.

The highlight of our trip to Samarkand, yes, even better than karaoke in the Uzbek night club, was the visit to the 8th century reconstructed paper mill on the outskirts of town. This is a mill where paper is hand made from mulberry trees. The pulp is generated by hand with the help of water power and hours of artisan expert labor.

I'm starting to explain the process after the wood has been peeled and boiled for a long time. Actually I'm not positive if they beat it to a pulp or cook it to a pulp first. I do know this is where the mulberry wood is beaten to a pulp. These pulpers are run by a water wheel outside the window.

This is the guy who orchestrates the beating to a pulp.

This is the room where the paper is lifted sheet by sheet from a slurry of pulp. It is then pressed, and then dried on the window panes. They use sea shells to polish the paper after it dries. You can see how worn out the shell is from all that polishing.

The grounds of the paper mill are totally idyllic. We sat outside and had lunch with the owner of the mill. They made us the best meal so far in Uzbekistan. I was sick the next day. Go figure.