Ice Mud and Good Company

The original plan was to drive 3-4 hours north by northeast on the R5 highway, past a military checkpoint, and park near a village named Pskom (or Pskem) and hike to Urungach Lake, located in the Ugam-Chatkal National Park. Google photos of the lake seemed so blue and fresh, and more importantly, peaceful. I was giddy to get away from work and enjoy some silence that only mountain life can provide. Mountains that on the other side, Mark wildly loves to point out, lead to Kazakhstan.

We left behind untypical 60 degree, sunny February weather and ended up in boggy ice-mud, fog, and an impassible road. Granted, we tried. Locked into 4WD, we made it only 1/4 mile before we got stuck. I got out in a hurry to guide while Mark backed the car down to safety. I chased the car in a pair of ill begotten Chuck Taylors and no jacket, regretting many clothing decisions I had made that morning.

Parking on a less icy side of the road, we thought we would start the hike there instead. Until, my daughter announced she forgot her boots and a local farmer named Johnny, wearing knee high rubber boots approached, urging us to change our plans. He insisted that avalanche danger was legit and that we would be better off trying again in May. He had a valid point, exemplified by wet clumps of snow falling off the trees around us. Having driven all morning, we opted to hike along the road, away from the snowpack. I couldn't decide what was more fun, slip-walking in the ice-mud where shadows still ruled winter, or trip-walking in mud-mud, the kind that makes your footprint larger than the one before it. The calming sound of the running creek put my crabapple mood in check. Uzbekistan is double landlocked plus it has a huge, dried out portion of the Aral Sea, so any sight of water is, honestly, deeply appreciated by everyone. It's hard to be a jerk when you are around water in these parts.  

We hiked into the village, catching up with Johnny along the way as he walked to his father's house. Johnny studied agriculture at one of the universities in Tashkent. While he speaks Russian and is an Uzbek citizen, his heritage is Tajik. In fact, most people in the village speak Tajik as their preferred language. Pskom farmers grow an assortment of fruits and vegetables, but particularly love their sour cherries and potatoes.  They cultivate walnut orchards, keep bees, and herd cows and goats - producing fantastic yogurt, cheese, and butter to go with traditional Tajik naan. Their loaves are bigger and flatter than Uzbek naan, like a large sized pizza crust. Johnny told us about his wife who teaches school in Gazelkent, and his children who study at university. Johnny is 40, by the way, and he laughed at Mark when he admitted he was 43 with kids still in elementary school. 

It wasn't the cerulean lake hike we'd hoped for, but we did walk away feeling peaceful and refreshed in a different way - the kind of peace that comes with meeting wonderfully kind, new people in a foreign country we are only starting to get to know. We parted ways with Johnny, who insisted he'd take us on an even better hike than the one we'd planned, the next time we return to Pskom. I hope he does.

 

NE on the R5 past the checkpoint where 

piles of blasted mountain lines much of the road.

The point where we realized we'd need to 

drive backward to get ourselves out.

Winter bees

Mountain runoff draining into the Pskom River

Walking with our new friend Johnny

Traffic

"Welcome to Pskom" in Tajik

Credit: Mark

Dachas and Sharsharas and Topchans

Nanay Sharshara

The owner called it a "dacha", a historically Russian term for mini vacation home. I might have called it a cabin, but upon discovering our weekend rental was made from storage containers, vinyl, and glued on siding for a brick look finish, I wasn't sure I could. Regardless what to call it, it was only a five minute drive from Amirsoy Ski Resort. The inside was like a fish stick: heated on the sides but cold in the middle. We had a grill that we couldn't use which overlooked Coin Slot Mountain and the dregs of Wonka's chocolate river and our view from the front was the highway above us. There were no towels, soap, or couches, but we did have hot running water, Netflix, and a fabulous sauna. Plus, the place had the most wild wallpaper; each room contained floor to ceiling menagerie of pattern. 

During this weekend, the weather was glorious but skiing was a mess. There had been no new snow so half the mountain was closed. The kids and I found out how hard it is stay upright when you hit dirt patches and we all winced when we saw the bottom of my skis after a particularly rough fall. Chunks of my soul were torn out, along with chunks of polyethylene. So when we discussed next day's plans, the decision was unanimous: we would go exploring instead, driving further into the mountains in search of a good hike and waterfall. As Mark and I lay in our twin beds that night, he found a town called Nanay, which had both. 

From Gazalkent, the drive is either an hour or hour forty on the R5 and R12 roads, both which hug the Charvak Reservoir.  See map for details on getting the Nanay Sharshara (Uzbek for waterfall). It doesn't matter which way you go because the mountain views are breathtaking, and the roads are... always full of character. 

Driving to the end of Nanay, we parked our car on the side of the road that had seen many rockslides that day due to the unseasonably warm weather and took off on foot. We either squelched our way through thick mud in the sun, or slid along icy trails in perpetually stuck in the shadows. It takes only about a 15 minute walk to the waterfall, but you can hike well past it too. Because the paths cut through tight mountains with many bends, the urge to "see what's around that next corner" is very tempting. Outdoor bed-like frames meant for tea and social gatherings called topchans dot the path, evidence that Nanay is a popular hangout in the summer. 

Tired, filthy, and satisfied, we returned to our storage container down by the river for one more night before heading back to Tashkent. Did we love our stay? Yes. Did we have good laughs? Also yes. Will we return? No, thank you. 

Photo credit: dacha owner

Storage containers on both sides, 

living room built in between - pretty cool idea overall.

Countertop with original plastic wrapping left on.

"Master bedroom"

The sh'tter

Post-It Note Hell

The inside was once the outside. 

Coin slots and cracks: 

results of erosion and construction

Admittedly a gorgeous sunset.

Credit: Mark

Mountain: our happy place.

Credit: Mark

Past the waterfall

Credit: Mark

Credit: Mark

Nanay, Uzbekistan

Temur Lane's Birthplace

With its conspicuous tidiness and its silent, unoccupied hotels lining the cobblestone roads, Shahrisabz Park (Complex? Square?) feels eerily nice but antiseptic. After a successful day of seeing the bits and pieces of Samarkand, our next stop was to drive over the mountains to a town called Shahrisabz, the birthplace and summer palace of Temur Lane (aka Temur the Great, Temur the Lame, etc.) 

Somehow we managed to find parking and walked between tall walls adorned with turrets, like we were about to be transported into a Renaissance Fair chock full of wenches, jesters, and knights. Instead, we were flanked by wedding parties, Mike Tyson's Punch-Out Arcade game players, and battery-powered extended-cab golf carts to shuttle people from one of the park to the other. 

It seemed like a lot of people, but because the space was so huge we had endless social distancing as we walked past the remains of the 65 meter towers- which we could see while still descending the mountain road leading into town. Beyond the towers was Temur himself, extra imposing on his pedestal. He watched over the brides standing in their hoop-skirt dresses and their tuxedo-tailed men posing for their wedding album. On the day, the kids counted 20 newlyweds. 

We walked past trees carefully planted in straight lines, fake boulders, and immaculate gazebos guiding us to the turquoise domed mosques on the other side. The biggest thrill was watching local kids play on the walls outside of one. They spoke no Russian, we spoke no Uzbek, but we managed to learn a few names while they chased each other, totally ignorant of the fact I was afraid they'd miss a ledge and crack their skulls open.  

Two long rows of hotels/hostels waited for guests on either side of the complex and there were many shuttered restaurants. Only a few convenience stores were open in this utopic flatland where I hangrily bought oranges, chips, and smoothies .  Thankfully there were two bathrooms (out of six) in service. I paid 1,000 som (10 cents) to use a real toilet and another 1,000 to use a Turkish one later on. No soap, no tp, no problem. 

On the way out of town, we passed a few stores of interest: wedding dress rentals, sporting goods, and chandeliers. It's just not an Uzbek city if these aren't in abundance.

Aspirational Plans to see the Samarkand Sites

The Registan of Samarkand was once the public square where citizens gathered to hear officials make announcements and sometimes conduct executions. It is surrounded by three madrasas that were THE place to study not just Islam, but also poetry, astronomy, science, art, and philosophy from the world's great teachers back in the day. Though the schools have long since closed, the tiny doors inside each madrasa house souvenir shops and old women who sweep the stone floors clean. The madrasas are spectacularly tall, old, and exquisitely tiled and Mark was giddy as he wandered the empty squares, taking photos from every angle he could manage. He posted far superior photos than mine on his Schlink Shots blog: https://schlinkshots.photo.blog/2020/11/29/samarkand-and-around-thanksgiving-2020-393917-6n-665832-3e-ish/

There's more to Samarkand than the gorgeous Registan. We visited the somber Guri-Emir Mausoleum which seems to breathe life despite being a sacred burial spot. The tomb of Saint Daniel is an unusually long extra tomb, built to accommodate his magic leg that grows a bit longer every year. We visited President Karimov's tomb and his passed family members, the Ulugbek Observatory, and the ancient site of Afrasiyab - the original Samarkand that flourished before the Mongol Empire. Unfortunately the museum we tried to visit was closed but we did get to meet the Museum Director who showed us a short video that told the story of three painted partially preserved murals that were discovered on walls thousands of years ago. 

Seeing it all in one day isn't an unreasonable ask, but it was only accomplished because we had two amenable kids who enjoy (or at least tolerate) our love of walking. I'd guess that normal people do it in two days. 25,000 steps and 8 hours later, we returned to the b&b too exhausted for dinner settling on wine, canned pineapple, smoked cheese, and cup-o-ramen, and a few episodes of Brooklyn 99 to polish off the day.

Passing through the bazaar

Uzbekistan is nut country

View from Ulugbek Observatory

Sher-Dor Madrasa on the Registan

Courtyard of Ulugbek Madrasa

Nightly 6pm light show

Steps of Guri-Emir Mausoleum

Women must cover their heads before entering

Guri-Emir Mausoleum and adjacent cemetery

Guri-Emir Mausoleum

Getting to know the Uzbek roads

Panoramic view of Zarafshan Mountains on the way to Shahrisabz.
Credit: Mark

With over 2.3 million people living in the capital, I shouldn't ever be surprised about hitting traffic, but I am. Only I don't just "hit" traffic, because the jam packed streets are always that way. Instead, I am forced to jump in like a round of Double Dutch when I see my entrance.  We navigate often incorrect maps of cooked and uncooked spaghetti noodles and get honked at for obeying traffic lights - even though there are cameras everywhere. Expensive tickets are regularly issued for speeding and running red lights, but that seems to stop no one. Often a turn lane becomes 5 or 6 lanes. If there's space, they will fill it. But I don't mind so much because Uzbek drivers, though they drive aggressively, are not threatening like drivers in America. I'm not afraid someone is tailgating me because they are angry and seeing red. They are tailgating because that is how it's done.  

All the same, I was relieved to be on the open road when we drove to Samarkand, the country's second biggest city. It's located about 4.5 hours south on the M39, a highway which eventually becomes a left hand-turn near the border of Afghanistan. We drove past huge expanses of hazy, winterized farm land where remnants of harvested cotton blew in the wind and fruit trees stood naked. The road side vendors had seasonal produce like gourds, apples, pomegranates, and potatoes, but also some suspiciously non-seasonal, like watermelon and grapes. Others sold jugs of red gel fuel, salted carp, honey, and huge jars of kurt - dried and salted cheese gum-ball sized spheres (size varies).  They keep well in the heat and pack well. One could argue they are an ideal road-trip food - indeed kurt was a staple for anyone traveling along the Silk Road back in the day.

Since this was our first time making a trip with our 20 year old car, we weren't exactly sure how far a tank of gas would get us. Along the way we passed a gas station that had 30-40 cars waiting their turn. Then we passed many more stations packed to the point that cars were lining up along the highway (off-ramps are not exactly a thing, but more of a split from the road). Was there a gas shortage? Should we be worried? We didn't really have a backup plan nor any idea where the next station would show up along the way. 

It turns out that many cars use methane gas around here. Big red tanks are installed in the trunks of the cars and they get filled like one fills a propane tank. According to the manager of the vacant b&b we stayed at, explained that the reason for the long lines was because big cities like Tashkent and Samarkand utilize huge quantities of methane for heating and fueling, thus reducing the pressure power of the pipelines outside of the city. Less pressure means it takes a lot longer to fill tanks.

We made it to Samarkand without issue, but realized quickly we'd need to plan for a benzine gas stop somewhere in the city. This proved to be surprisingly hard even after receiving directions to the nearest station.  A lot of them were either closed or out of business, and Google maps didn't do its magical job. It tried, but often led us to dead ends or roads that didn't exist at all.

Once we found gas, we were able to drive to a town called Shahrisabz, the birth place of Temur Lane located on the other side of the Zarafshan Range. Though the mountains are only about 6,000 feet in elevation, several feet of snow had already blanketed the houses and land while Fog and ice dominated the potholed road. We took advantage of 4WD but many brave tiny sedans blew past us on the hairpin turns. Getting on top of the fog meant fabulous blue skies, fresh air and views of sprawling mountains. I couldn't figure why I was in such a good mood.

I think any decent travel guide and blog should always mention that mountains nearly surround Tashkent and Samarkand. Granted, both cities are so smoggy that it is difficult to see them on a regular day, but we had no idea that we'd see them. It was a nice surprise and even better to be in them.

Zarafshan Mountains outside of Samarkand

Making our way to Shahrisabz

 Methane Gas Station

Sleepy cotton fields

Alleyway to our B&B in Samarkand

Pomegranates will brighten anything in this haze

 

Snow pants in the City

Timur Lane looked like he got pelted in the face with a snowball while riding upon his well endowed horse. I laughed out loud at the thought, but I clamped my mouth shut knowing his ghost could very well come back for a hearty round of torture. Timur the Lame had a bum hip and was missing a few fingers, but make no mistake: this 14th century conqueror was anything but lame. He was scary-smart, scary-brave, and scary-scary, decimating towns and villages all over South Central Asia.

The real reason I dragged the family out into 20 degree weather was to see 17 floors of Soviet style lodging: Hotel Uzbekistan. So very retro and aloof. 

We also walked along the city's canal to Memorial Square where the names of soldiers from the WWII are engraved on hundreds of pages of books. Paths within the site were wept clean of snow, but beyond that the granite steps were prime opportunities for broken wrists, elbows, or tailbones. Thank goodness for extra padding. 

Amir Temur Square

Credit: Mark

Credit: Mark

Turkiston Concert Hall in the distance.

Peaceful vision against the noise of traffic. 

The city never sleeps. Credit: Mark

 

Tashkent Botanic Gardens Walk

For about seventy cents a person, you can get fresh air in Tashkent's Botanic Gardens. The difference of clarity is astonishing and as winter approaches and the heaters turn on, dust and pollution constantly hang in the air. Inside the garden, you are buffered from the smog and city noise by a variety tall trees and thick plant overgrowth. Most plants are unlabeled, or were once labeled but have since faded. It's so fresh here, even the public drop toilets don't stink. We paid an additional fifty cents each to step inside the green house, well heated by radiators, but our favorite part of the garden was the side that backs to the city zoo. I can't identify trees very well, but of the caged birds beyond the fence, I could. Loud birds chirping and squawking made the whole experience feel a bit more wild and remote. 

Tibetan Cherry Tree

untouched photo