Uzbekistan: A Silk Road Dream Realized
May 2012: Uzbekistan—an oil-rich desert nation—is a land of ancient trade routes, weathered caravanserais abandoned in the sands, and Silk Road-era cities adorned with some of the most awe-inspiring architecture in the world. For years, it had been a destination just out of my reach. My fascination with the Silk Road made me eager to visit, but my first attempt at securing a visa in 2011 ended in failure. At the time, the United States had fallen out of favor with Islam Karimov, Uzbekistan’s long-standing dictator, and I found myself among those denied entry. Karimov had ruled with an iron grip since the country’s independence in 1991, his name synonymous with authoritarian rule, political suppression, and chilling reports of dissidents being tortured or even executed—some allegedly by being dipped into vats of acid.
This time, however, I finally secured my visa—this time from Washington, D.C.—and set off for Uzbekistan with one primary goal: to experience the legendary Silk Road cities of Bukhara and Samarkand. These two desert strongholds had for centuries been key trading centers, linking the civilizations of the East and West. But for me, Bukhara held a particular allure—not just as a Silk Road hub but as a city deeply entwined in The Great Game, the shadowy battle of espionage, diplomacy, and war between the British and Russian empires.
In the 19th century, Bukhara was an emirate ruled by a brutal khan, one who made it clear that no foreign power—neither British nor Russian—would have easy access to his lands. British emissaries Charles Stoddart and Arthur Conolly learned this the hard way. Sent to negotiate with the khan, they were instead thrown into the infamous “Bug Pit”—a 12-foot-deep hole, accessible only by rope, where they endured months of torment. Guards routinely dumped scorpions, rats, and other vermin onto their heads. After a year of suffering, they were dragged from the pit—not to freedom, but to their execution in Bukhara’s main square. The city eventually fell to Russian control and remained part of the Soviet Union until Uzbekistan’s independence in the early 1990s.
I had three days to explore Uzbekistan. My journey began in the capital, Tashkent, where I landed after a flight from Moscow. From there, I took a domestic flight deep into the Kyzyl-Kum Desert to Bukhara—a name that had loomed large in my imagination for years. I spent two days wandering its ancient streets, where the ghosts of silk-clad merchants and weary camel caravans still seemed to linger. My accommodation was fitting for such a historic setting—the Mehtar Ambar Hotel, housed in a former caravanserai. Once a fortress of refuge for traders and travelers seeking protection from the elements, bandits, and wild animals, the caravanserai had been repurposed into a charming hotel, its thick stone walls whispering echoes of centuries past.
(Next, I’d make my way to Samarkand—but for now, Bukhara had my full attention.)
Black line was the route of my travel
The Currency Chaos of Uzbekistan
Uzbekistan’s inflation is so rampant that exchanging more than $100 at a time isn’t exactly practical—unless you have a backpack dedicated solely to carrying money. The largest banknotes available are so small in value that a simple currency exchange leaves you with an unwieldy stack of bills, turning you into an unintentional cash hoarder.
Changing money in Uzbekistan is a game of strategy, thanks to the massive gap between the official government exchange rate and the far more favorable black-market rate—often around 50% higher. The government, of course, tries to crack down on this underground economy, implementing strict regulations to discourage unofficial exchanges.
The process starts the moment you step foot in the country. Upon arrival, every traveler must fill out an immigration form declaring every last cent they’re carrying. When leaving Uzbekistan, another declaration form is required, detailing exactly how much money you have on hand. If you happen to be a single penny richer than when you arrived, you could face fines—or worse, jail time.
Yet, despite these strict measures, the black-market economy thrives. Hotel staff, taxi drivers, and even the guy selling ice cream on the corner are more than happy to exchange money at the higher black-market rate. With such a staggering difference between the official and unofficial rates, it’s hard to believe even government officials don’t take advantage of the system. I’d be willing to bet that even the president himself prefers the black-market rate.
That said, not everyone dares to take part in this unspoken financial dance. European package tourists, wary of getting into trouble, often stick to exchanging their money at banks, accepting the significantly lower official rate. Rumors even circulate about undercover police arresting foreigners for engaging in black-market exchanges.
In Uzbekistan, cash isn’t just a means of payment—it’s a logistical challenge, a source of frustration, and a bizarre introduction to the country’s tangled relationship with its own economy.
100 USD In Uzbek Currency
Staying in a Piece of Silk Road History
The word caravanserai comes from Turkish, meaning “caravan house.” These ancient inns once served as vital refuges for Silk Road merchants and traders, offering shelter and protection along the vast and often perilous trade routes.
In Bukhara, I had the chance to stay in a restored 19th-century caravanserai, a place that had once echoed with the footsteps of weary travelers, camels, and traders hauling their goods between East and West. Abandoned during Soviet times, it was left to decay for decades before being recently restored and transformed into a modern inn.
From the outside, the caravanserai appears as a massive, enclosed structure—a classic design for Bukhara. A grand arched entrance leads into a central open courtyard, once a bustling hub for travelers tending to their horses and camels. Surrounding this courtyard are staircases leading to the second floor, where rooms overlook the open space below.
This was where I spent the night. In the late 1800s, merchants would sleep in these second-floor rooms while their animals rested in the courtyard below. Though modern comforts have replaced the straw and saddle bags of the past, the atmosphere of history remains. Thick stone walls, intricate archways, and the same sense of security that once welcomed traders still linger in the air.
Spending the night in such a place, surrounded by centuries of history, felt like stepping back in time—briefly reliving the golden age of the Silk Road.
The caravanserai where I stayed
Morning Solitude in Bukhara
I woke early, drawn by the quiet mystery of Bukhara at dawn. As I wandered toward the main square of the old mosque, the city still slumbered, leaving the ancient architecture untouched by the usual hum of daily life. In the solitude of the morning, I watched as the first rays of sunlight stretched across the sky, casting a brilliant array of colors over the weathered domes and towering minarets. The square was completely empty, heightening the sensation of stepping back in time—like I had momentarily slipped into another era.
As I stood there, absorbing the stillness, an imam approached me with a warm smile. He extended his hand in the traditional Central Asian greeting—his right hand clasping mine while his left touched his heart.
“Where are you from?” he asked, his voice gentle yet curious.
“America,” I replied.
He chuckled, his eyes lighting up. “Ah, Amrika—welcome!”
It was a simple moment, but one that captured the essence of travel—an unexpected human connection in a place shaped by centuries of history.
Imam
Early Morning Bukhara
Early Morning Bukhara
Uzbek Father with Son
The Bread of Bukhara
Bread, the staple food of Central Asia, comes in many shapes and sizes, each region boasting its own unique variation. In Bukhara, the bread is especially large, thick, and doughy, a hearty reflection of the city’s rich culinary traditions.
As I wandered through the old streets, I noticed a Bukharan woman stationed at the same spot all day, selling giant slabs of bread from her wheelbarrow. The golden-brown loaves were stacked high, their surfaces imprinted with intricate patterns from traditional bread stamps. Locals passed by, stopping briefly to exchange a few coins for a fresh, warm piece before continuing on their way.
There was something timeless about the scene—the simplicity of daily life against the backdrop of an ancient Silk Road city. Here, bread wasn’t just food; it was tradition, culture, and history, baked into every soft, fragrant loaf.
Selling bread
Good Old Handy Soviet Cars
Bukhara’s Living History
Bukhara’s old city is a maze of mud-brick alleyways, alive with daily life. Unlike frozen-in-time historic sites, it thrives—children play, elders sip tea, and the scent of fresh bread drifts through the air.
As I wandered, locals greeted me warmly, shaking my hand and welcoming me to Uzbekistan. Their hospitality echoed the city’s Silk Road past, where travelers were always received with open arms.
Old City Bokhara
he Bug Pit of Bukhara
In the old days, the Khan of Bukhara had a gruesome method of punishment—a pit teeming with scorpions, cockroaches, snakes, and spiders, where prisoners were left to suffer, if not be devoured.
The dungeon’s infamous bug pit once held two British officers sent to negotiate the release of British slaves in the late 1800s. Offended by their lack of gifts and failure to acknowledge his self-proclaimed greatness, the Khan had them thrown into the pit, where they languished in darkness for months. Eventually, they were dragged out—not to freedom, but to be publicly beheaded in the main square.
Today, a clay figure lies at the bottom of the pit—a chilling replica of those who once endured its horrors.
Bug Pit
Old Bokhura
Built in 1514 as a mosque in Bukhara.
The ancient madrassa is still used today by students of Islam.
Storm Over Bukhara
One afternoon, I sat on a rooftop terrace, sipping tea as I watched thunderclouds gather over Bukhara’s main square. In the distance, lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the domes and minarets of this ancient Silk Road city.
As the desert storm crept closer, the air grew heavy with anticipation—a rare and unforgettable moment, where history and nature collided in a breathtaking display.
Bukhara in the Eye of an Encroaching Desert Storm
Journey to Samarkand and Beyond
From Bukhara, I took a train to Samarkand, the jewel of Uzbekistan and home to its most iconic landmark—the Registan. I wandered through its breathtaking madrasas before visiting the tomb of Timur the Great, the formidable conqueror who once ruled a vast empire from this very city. That night, I stayed at the Antica Hotel, a charming retreat nestled within Samarkand’s historic heart.
The next morning, I hired a driver for the five-hour journey to Tashkent, watching Uzbekistan’s landscapes unfold one last time. By afternoon, I was at the airport, ready for my next adventure—a flight to Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan.
Soviet era train I took to Samarkand-1st Class
Soviet era train I took to Samarkand-1st Class
Samarkand: The Crossroads of Empires
Samarkand is one of the world’s oldest cities, dating back to biblical times. Over the centuries, it has been conquered by nearly every great army—from Alexander the Great to the Mongols—each leaving their mark on this legendary Silk Road hub. Once at the heart of trade between East and West, Samarkand amassed immense wealth, its splendor renowned across the ancient world.
The city also gave rise to its own fearsome conqueror—Tamerlane the Great. Over just 30 years, he carved out a vast empire, ruthlessly subjugating cities and leaving mountains of decapitated heads in his wake. Under his rule, Samarkand flourished, adorned with grand mosques and monumental architecture, many of which still stand today. The ancient structures above, built at his command, remain a testament to his reign—a mix of brutality and brilliance that shaped the course of history.
Mosque with tigers painted on the facade
The Forbidden Mosque of Samarkand
The ancient architects of this mosque adorned its facade with painted tigers, a reflection of the local wildlife that once roamed the region. However, this artistic choice made the mosque controversial among devout Muslims.
In Islamic tradition, depictions of animals—especially in religious spaces—are considered sacrilegious, rendering the mosque unfit for worship. To this day, many believers refuse to pray within its walls, leaving it as a striking yet contested monument to Samarkand’s complex history.
Uzbek Tourists
A Playful Proposal in Samarkand
This group of cheerful young women eagerly posed for photos with me, giggling as they welcomed me to their city. Then, with mischievous smiles, they offered me their hands in marriage—on one condition: that I take them back to Amrika.
Uzbek Tourists
It was common for Uzbeks to approach me and greet me to help me feel welcome in their country just as these two guys did.
I had to pay the guard off with a cool 8 USD and he opened the gate allowing me to climb two hundred feet or so up the crumbling and spiraling staircase to the top of the mosque’s minaret.
Samarkand
Samarkand
Alone with Tamerlane
I woke early and made my way to the tomb of Tamerlane, stepping into the dimly lit chamber where one of history’s most ruthless conquerors lay at rest. For a while, I sat alone beside his tomb, the silence amplifying the weight of the moment.
It was humbling to reflect on the paradox before me—a man who once terrorized empires, conquered vast lands, and commanded absolute fear, now reduced to nothing more than dust and memory. Despite all his power, in the end, he was just another lifeless relic of history, his legacy lingering while his body crumbled away.
Gur-Emir Mausoleum/Tomb of Timer-lane the Great
Journey to Samarkand and Beyond
From Bukhara, I took a train to Samarkand, home to Uzbekistan’s most iconic landmark—the Registan. I also visited the tomb of Tamerlane the Great, standing before the final resting place of one of history’s most formidable conquerors. That night, I stayed at the Antica Hotel, a charming retreat nestled in the city’s historic core.
The next morning, I hired a driver for the five-hour journey to Tashkent, watching Uzbekistan’s landscapes unfold one last time. By afternoon, I was at the airport, boarding a flight to my next destination—Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan.