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An 0830 start for the drive to Shakhrisabz which is 270km, or a good 4-5 hours drive, from Bukhara. We had a leisurely start and stopped off at the strangely unique 4-minareted Chor Minor, or Madrasa of Khalif Niyaz-kul, situated on an esplanade close to Labi-hauz. Chor-Minor ie 'four minarets' is a well-preserved structure built by Khalif Niyaz-kul, a rich inhabitant of Bukhara. The date given for construction of 1807 is not exact as no one really knows but the design of Chor-Minor is unusual and has caused a great deal of debate about its real function; school or dwelling?
The main edifice cornered with the 4 towers is a mosque and in spite of its unusual outward shape the mosque has quite a standard interior. On the esplanade to the right is a pool, most likely of the same age as the complex of buildings. Each of the four minarets has a different shape and some say that elements of the decoration reflect the religious-philosophical purport of four world religions. Maybe so, but Rusty says they were built by Khalif Niyaz-kul, one for each of his 4 sons, and that the reason for the difference is to reflect the individual character of those sons. Whatever the answer, the building is unusual in its design and was well worth the minor detour on our way to Shakhrisabz. Once a major city of Central Asia and primarily known today as the birthplace of the 14th century Turco-Mongol conqueror Timur, the name Shakhrisabz means 'green city' in Persian.
The trip was straightforward and we stopped of at a service station for gas so, David Bailey here, walked over to a man sat on top of a fuel track and asked him if I could take a picture! Well, how often do you see a bright blue truck with a man sat on top by the road side. I also took the opportunity to go for a wee which took quite a long time as I had to navigate lots of trousers/boxer buttons and, let's face it, I was gasping for it.
After our break we started the drive that took us over the mountain pass to Shakhrisabz. The countryside on the way turned from city to meadowy fields, the bright green grass rolling gently by until it started to climb and meld with the encroaching rock of the mountains. The Pamir range attains a height of 3300m but the Finger of the Pamir pass through which we traversed is a mere 1600m. We can take this route as we are in our faithful car with Mormin at the wheel, but large buses, unable to navigate the tight turns and steep incline have to take a detour which means it takes them 4 hours to reach Samarkand instead of our 2½. As we climb, the weather started to turn and I just had time to take a snap of a 'circular' shaped rock with a whole through the middle before the clouds rolled in and the rain is ruining the Saturday afternoon barbeques of the weekend holidaymakers. At least they also got some thunder and lightning to add a little extra atmosphere to the dramatic downpour.
As we descended the other side of the pass, the weather slowly improved and before we knew it we were back in the baking sun, the only evidence that it's been raining are the sand speckle stains on the car paintwork.Lunch was another home-stay affair but I'm dying for a wee when we arrive (remind me not to drink coffee at breakfast) so off I pop to the loo again while Maria and Rusty find a table. I have another trouser/boxer short button faff, and a rather long but satisfying wee, and when I'm walking to our table I overhear Maria telling Rusty 'He's got a very delicate stomach but is too proud to say anything. There was a time when we were in Iran when...' 'I'm not too proud at all Honey' I interrupt. 'I just needed a wee and yes I have been gone for a long time'. Maria and Rusty then spent the rest of lunch discussing my toilet habits with the driver and anyone else in the packed restaurant who cared to listen, but she's secretly worried that I've eaten something that disagreed with me; she thinks I have diarrhoea but am too embarrassed to admit it. 'He's a very proud man and would never say anything' she continues despite my protestations of 'do I look ill to you Sweetheart? Another 4-course lunch later, we drove a short distance to Amir Timur's Ak-Saray Palace, well what's left of it anyway.
Before describing the sites we saw today, it's worth explaining that Shakhrisabz was one of Central Asia's most ancient cities and Alexander the Great chose to spend his winters, and met his wife Roxanna, in the area in 328-327 BC. More importantly, however, Shakhrisabz was the birthplace of Timur on April 9, 1336.Timur was born into the family of a minor local chief but went on to become one of the world's greatest conquerors on a par with Alexander the Great and Genghis Khan. He regarded Shakhrisabz as his 'home town' and planned it eventually to be the location of his tomb. However, during the Timurid period the centre of activity shifted to Samarkand, more of which later. The Emir of Bukhara, Abdullah Khan II, mostly destroyed Shakhrisabz in the 16th century and, according to legend, did so in a fit of rage over the death of his favourite horse that died from exhaustion on a steep approach to the city.
The Ak-Saray Palace (White Palace) was Timur's Summer Palace and was planned as the most grandiose of all Timur's constructions. It was started in 1380 by artisans deported by Timur from the recently-conquered Khwarezm. Unfortunately, only traces of its gigantic 65 m gate-towers survive, with blue, white and gold mosaics. Above the entrance to the Ak-Saray are large letters saying: 'If you challenge our power - look at our buildings!'. The palace is a truly magnificent construction and we walked around the site in awe, wondering what on earth the place must have looked like in Timur's day. Outside the gate, and covered from the bleaching sun, are 3 'tented' areas, under which survive original decorated floor tiles.Only part exposed for the benefit of visitors, it's incredible to look at the works of art and contemplate just how old they are.
Visible from the gate, approximately 200m away is the bronze statue of Timur standing proudly erect but with his left leg bent slightly to hide the fact that it is shorter than his right leg. Rusty told us that he lost the height in that leg as the result of a battle injury but I'm not sure I agree. Whatever the cause, however, the fact that it gave rise to his more common name in the west of Tamerlane (from Timur the lame) is undisputed.Ahh, I hear you say.So that's Timur.I was wondering why I'd never heard of him.If it's any consolation I was the same initially.'Who is this Timur chap' I kept wondering to myself until, that is, Tamerlane was mentioned!
From there we took the car to the Hazrati Imam Mosque. In the garden is a huge tree apparently planted in 1370 and as we discussed the history of the tree and the adjacent mosque we spied a huge group of French in front of us so we decided to head behind the Hazrat Imam Emsemble to a bunker with a door leading to an underground chamber.The chamber was discovered by archaeologists in 1943 after a lad playing football fell into it when the ground gave way beneath him. We had been eagerly awaiting to see this structure, the final resting place of the legendary leader, and were a little surprised to find the tomb was a small, somewhat unobtrusive building that could easily be skipped by the ill-informed visitor. We walked down a few steps, Rusty pulled the short cord hanging from the ceiling and there it was at last, Timur's resting place in all its glory, the single stone casket nearly filling the dimly lit room. Except it wasn't! It wasn't even the resting place of one of his sons. In fact, there was nobody of any importance buried there at all! Inscriptions on the stone indicate that it was indeed intended for Timur but the conqueror was buried in Samarkand, not at Shahrisabz, and mysteriously, this tomb contained two unidentified corpses. Islamic custom dictated that a tomb could not be left empty so two local women, who were no doubt thrilled at the opportunity to be given so honourable a task, were allegedly killed and buried there instead. Our quest to see Timur's tomb continued.
A short walk east took us through rose manicured gardens to the blue domed Kok Gumbaz Mosque/Dorut Tilavat Complex. The mosque is a Friday mosque and was built in 1437 by Ulugbek in honour of his father Shah Rukh. Its name means 'Blue Dome'. Located immediately behind the Kok Gumbaz Mosque is the so-called 'House of Meditation', a mausoleum built by Ulugbek in 1438 but apparently never used for burials.
We headed east of the mosque and to the blue domed mausoleum complex called Dorussiadat (Seat of Power and Might), which contains the Tomb of Jehangir, Timur's eldest and favourite son, while the adjacent mosque is said to house the tomb of a revered 8th century imam Amir Kulal. As far as I recall, the mausoleum is quite plain and contains a simple, white marble tomb so a couple of quick snaps and we were off.
On the way to the car to complete the journey to Samarkand I couldn't resist posing by a nearby toilet sign to hammer home the point about my urinary habits.
Before we arrived at the president Hotel, Rusty laughed when he told us he thought it looked like an American Prison. 'Wait and see and you'll know what I mean' he chuckled. It certainly looks impressive from the outside so expectations are high. Our bags were collected promptly and we entered the rotating doors to find not a US prison but HMS Titanic in all's its gold-rail decked glory. Immediately I want to run to the bow of the hotel ship, climb the railing, spread my arms wide and shout at the top of my voice 'I'm the king of the world'. Alas, the glory is fleeting and I realise that I've actually boarded the life raft, am hanging on for dear life, legs flailing, whilst Maria blows the whistle in a vain attempt to be rescued!
The receptionists are more interested in their mobile phones than they are in the customers and we nearly blew an engine room gasket when they told us that wifi was available in the lobby but cost €6 per hour! They have to be kidding!Not even the Beverley Hills Wiltshire charges that!! We instead opted to go out to an internet cafe with wifi and asked reception for an address of a suitable establishment. A young, gaunt looking but switched on lad told us to go to Jin.
After spending 10 minutes discussing the merits, or not, of the hotel pricing policy, we finally made it to our room, which was okay actually, but found the porter still waiting in the 7th floor corridor with our bags. We let him in, he dropped off our bags then hangs around, standing to attention, waiting for a tip. Damn cheeky b*****! We got rid of him, freshened up then went downstairs to get a cab to Jin.
We got to reception to ask them to call us a taxi and the useless girl who was super glued to her mobile told us Jin does not have wifi so she gave us the names of two other establishments instead. Due to the extensive building work going on in Samarkand the taxi driver had to drop us about 50m from the first internet cafe but, fortunately, we asked him to wait while we checked to see if the place was open. We were in luck, so I went inside to what looked like a restaurant and asked the bar staff if they have wifi. They don't. S**t!! I asked at a PlayStation cafe a couple of doors down if they knew of anywhere with wifi and they confirmed the second address given to us at the hotel so we jumped back in the cab for another 10 minute drive across town.
I got to the cafe, went inside to what looked like another restaurant, asked the bar staff if they had wifi and they told me that they didn't!! What the hell are these people on! I got back in the cab, told the driver to take us back to the hotel but changed our minds on route and told him to take us to an internet cafe, anything where we could access email; we'd given up caring at this point. We arrived at Fortuna, told the driver to collect us at 2000 and went inside. At 1920 we were all done and paid the 2000 Som ($1 USD), happy that the hotel can stuff their €6 per hour charge. Now we didn't have a taxi so we started walking in the direction given us by a kindly gentlemen, towards a main street just up the road where we can easily find a cab. 10-minutes later we were still walking and it started to rain, thunder and lightning; we didn't have coats!
After another 5 minutes we reached a cross-roads and flagged down a beaten up heap of a car and got back to the hotel where we gave reception a piece of our mind and asked to see the manager first thing in the morning.
Rusty was waiting for us so we said hello and headed on out to the family home for another fabulous dinner.
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