Bukhara: a very nice place

After spending some time in Bukhara and wandering through its impressive collection of madrasas, mosques, and mausoleums, I understand the paramountcy of religious excursions. Through the history and detail of great beings who lived, and through the tiles and towers designed to inspire devotion, the feeling of being surrounded by a greater goodness is abundant in Bukhara. 

Many times, we watched dozens of men of all ages, answer calls to prayer with beads in hand and shoes lined up along the carpet edges. Elders sat in chairs while others remained on their knees. They prayed among ancient, yet gloriously tiled buildings, among foreign and local tourists, kids flying kites or driving Power Wheels, and among jovial vendors. It was special and important, but also seemingly no big deal. 

Everyone we met in Bukhara was friendly and eager to chat, though there was one waitstaff who had an uncanny resemblance in both looks and mannerisms to Orin from Parks and Rec. He was morose and stared a lot, offering few words other than "no." Overall, Bukhara's friendliness was the biggest thing we noticed. Grannies handed out candies to the kids when they left a neighborhood wedding celebration. Kids begged to have their pictures taken while practicing their English or Russian. Bathroom attendants made sure there was plenty of toilet paper on hand.  Advice on things to see and do was plenty, so every day in Bukhara felt like a very good one.

Based on our experience, a stay at Komil Boutique Bed & Breakfast is our own piece of advice. Stop by the Studio of Applied Arts on Arabon St. (not 100 yards from Komil B&B) to meet artists and their work. The Meat House, owned by a man who trained at Hilton Head in South Carolina, promises high quality dishes and basically non-existent corking fee. We wished we had bought more tools from the blacksmith located a few steps north from the Tim Abdulla Khan Trading Dome on Khakikat Street. His shop was closed on the last day we were there, so we had to settle on the Museum of Metal Chasing's "gift shop" instead. 

Poi Kalon Mosque

Bolo Hauz Mosque

Poi Kalon Mosque southern view from the neighborhood

Poi Kalon Minaret and Mosque in background

Beauty salon space in vacant madrasa  

Space and cold

Mirzo Ulugbek Madrasa

Bolo Hauz Mosque Prayer Schedule

Bolo Hauz Mosque wood and tile work

Nodir Devon Begi Madrasasi

"The idiot." I can't tell what is more classy: 

that the donkey's butthole was as shiny brassy-gold as the saddle 

where 1,000s of tourists have sat upon, or that I noticed it.

 

Karnay horns at a wedding

 

Tashkent Victory Museum

Timing is everything. A year after they announced its construction, Tashkent's Victory Park (G'alaba Bog'i in Uzbek) opened last year on May 9, 2020 - VE Day for the Soviet Union, to commemorate not only the 75th anniversary of the Great Victory over fascism, but also the Uzbeks who sacrificed and gave to the war efforts. By official count at the Shon Sharaf Museum, nearly two million soldiers from Uzbekistan fought, 538,000 died, and 158,000 souls never came home. Afterwards, millions of evacuees and orphans also started new lives in this country.

Embracing a gray, crappy and cold Sunday, we bundled up for a visit. The roar of airplanes, tanks, and machine guns played over the loudspeaker as we walked past hammer-and-sickle studded fencing. Sounds of battle lingered while we walked past bunkers and into the trenches. Visitors snapped selfies with statues of the fallen and a few others posed on top of T34s. The park was otherwise empty. Soviet music started playing over the speakers as we found our way into the museum that is built underneath a huge obelisk and 20 foot tall wartime heroes standing around it.

The staff were particularly skittish about video recording, but photography was fair game provided you paid the fee. Inside, we ran straight into video footage of Hitler on the big screen. We looked at weapons, mementos, scores of official paperwork, models, and thousands of military medals. Provided we stayed on the marked arrows, we walked through seven years of history. Homage was played too to the women and children who stayed to at home, supporting heir troops abroad with depictions of women farmers and manufacturers. The most memorable part was a reenactment of Nazis losing in battle, bodies splayed in agony and fear and defeat.

Outside, patriotic music continued to play when we walked past train cars. From a distance we had worried the train cars represented something else. They were meant for transporting patients, wounded soldiers, and the fallen coming home, complete with waving and smiling statues. There was an audible sigh of relief. For us it was only two hours of merely looking at war and it was exhausting. Living and breathing it 24/7? My heartbreak is visceral.