Issue link: https://bluemagazine.uberflip.com/i/25062
king the English language is a curiosity on par a Texan s tours, cultural shows and ir stands all sell ing the nonexistent "Silk Road." Speed tourers can do Samarkand in one day by ng an early morning Tupolev (essentially a Pakistani bus ith wings) from Tashkent, do the sights and then be back in your overpriced Tashkent hotel suite that night. Those with more time do the "big three"-one night in Samarkand (the big one), Bukhara (the old one) and Khiva (the fake on and come back with carousEls of slides of blue-tiled mosques, long-bearded men and colorful markets. If you put you camera away and just talk with the people, things are not so scenic or pretty. WHY MAPS DON'T WORK Any traveler who is thinking of visiting the CIS usually own, then soon discover the cost should be a little over one US dollar. A Japanese businessman once paid US$100 and it suddenly became the going rate for all cab rides for reigners. Such is Uzbekistan. What also makes Uzbekistan fun is the black market and their "soum" rrency. The highest denomination is worth about two dollars, so massive bundles are required to purchase even the most mundane item. It is not uncommon to see people""", ___ Iking around with shopping bags full of crisp new notes. You may also think the nd the general lack of signage, directions or helpful people makes first entry into Uzbekistan feel like Mother Teresa entering a San Francisco leather bar. Everyone stares nd stares and stares. When you do get someone to smile they reveal a Studebaker full teeth so gold you could comb your hair in the reflection. And I'm talking about the en. Those without gold teeth have that curious rotten hole in their front teeth by chain smoking bad Russian cigarettes. You'll find cab drivers want US$200 to take you to ,,,,",, people are fat here, they're not. They carry their money swaddled in cloths wrapped nd their waists. The black market will get you double the official rate and everyone II hit you up to exchange money. But that's enough about Uzbekistan, the land that rtesy forgot. ile visiting a posh hotel in Samarkand I bump into a crowd of wealthy American bus urists who had set up a quick trip across the Taj ik border. I figure out the only way to enter Taj ikistan without permission: hop on board a tour bus headed over the border for three images in mind: The great blue-domed ,v,'uu.=.a day trip, and then slip away. The tour is headed to an ancient Sogdian ruin just inside complex in Samarkand, the snowcapped mountains and e border of Tajikistan in Panjakent. Sogdians came from India and the word means ridiculous fiddle faddle about the magical Silk Road leading "Sunny Land." There are sti ll blue-eyed, fair-haired villagers 200 kilometers to the east off to China. And a map would lead you to believe that n at speak the ancient Sogdian of Alexander's time. only are these places attainable but it is just a hop and ski between them. Yes, the great blue-tiled domes and imposing fronts are worth a visit and, yes, there are great mountain ranges. But, no, there is no such thing as a Road, now or ever. The silk road was a series of intertwining trade routes that would meander between various cities in China and end up in Constantinople or elsewhere in Middle East. Just as Disney would have you believe that it i the "Magic Kingdom," Uzbekistan would have you bel that it sits astride the magical silk road. Uzbekistan are 60's-era, Soviet-shopping-mall I ask them if I can bum a ride. I don't tell them it will be one way. On the bus ere is one wealthy, well-dressed dowager who will be counting her 250th country y. Most folks on this tour have hopped through at least 60 countries. Some cheat and count island territories, or even Alaska, as separate regions but the gray heads and expensive hiking gear tell me that these folks are going to see as much as the world as ey can before they are stiff. They are doctors, lawyers, retired businessmen; they like e idea that I am just winging it and have yet to see the inside of my first bus or hotel breakfast buffet. I have nothing against bus tours or the people who take them, I just never found a bus tour going the same direction I was. We ease through customs as only a well-heeled, well-lubricated bus tour can. Passports are gathered in big stacks and the fact that mine doesn't have a single iota of The bad news is that the big cities in permission for Tajikistan doesn't seem to phase the Tajik border guards. The others have great pains to secure a one-day visa for this brief incursion We all know a wad of retro complete with smoke-belching buses, currency makes these legal incidentals unnecessary. smoke-belching greasy sashlik stalls and Across the border we pick up our Tajik hosts: a pompadoured, gold-toothed guide and smoke-belching, alcohol-breathed residents. The taxi drivers are among the most aggressivel corrupt, the hotels the most run down and the gener ambiance is that of waiting for the next revolution. in Tashkent is culture shock. Those not used to the alphabet will suddenly feel like a dyslexic three year As the bus heads to our first stop we get the entire history of the region from prehistoric times up until today. The folks on the bus are searching their guidebooks in vain because it would appear that few, if any, guidebook writers have come this way. We are in a low river valley with mountains on each side. In the middle is a low long hill where I imagine the Sogdians sat waiting to whump whoever tried to sneak past. The bus Hamrakul, a thin, elegant, gray-haired man who will be our narrator. ...