Silk Road Diaries (Part I): The Delta.
April is the cruelest month, Breeding lilacs out of the dead land - T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land
Khorezm, Uzbekistan. - Desert Raga in D Minor
During a few weeks of springtime, when the Central Asian plains shed skin from its icy winter plaid to a robe of scorched desert sands, the old cities of the Silk Road are in bloom. Walnut, apple, fig, and mulberry line the streets of the old merchant towns and parks briefly sparkle in lush and green before summer's heat arrives.
Leaving town and its oasis to venture into the desert is like setting out at sea from an island, submitting to the vast omnipresent horizon and a star spangled dome encapsulating it as night falls. Distances become elusive and temperatures drop as the heat leaves the arid soil.
We are at the border, which seems to be a perpetual state in this part of the world, a continuum of land vaguely marking the ever changing lines in the dust between some of the great empires in history. An old woman beside me has put down her ragged bundles of twined blankets and carefully taped plastic bags, looks back and waves at a dot like figure in the distance. I stand in her way, awkwardly trying to help her moving the bulky load forward and simultaneously step aside. Our eyes meet briefly and I realize she is nearly blind. Her face, shaped by years of wind, and her friendly dim eyes - melancholy and stoic - offer a hint of a long life lived in the desert, the home provinces and their dry splendor, once part of what I learned to know as the Soviet Union. This is where ancient cultures, their languages and cities have been cast into new realities, time and again. Not until our days have these deserts and caravansaries assumed the shape of the young independent nations that we see on the map today.
Most of Central Asia was part of USSR until its official dissolution in the early nineties. Since then, the independent nations of Uzbeks, Kazakhs, Turkmen, Tajiks and Kyrgyz have parted ways - often enough with the same political headliners and dominant clans at the helm as before, but with a newly acquired quest for national identity.
The vast stretch of land between the Caspian Sea and the mountainous western provinces of China has intrigued travelers, merchants, settlers, monks and warriors for thousands of years. It is a land of seemingly shifting constants, of sand and stone, timeless desolation and some of the most stunning legendary towns down the road interconnecting Europe and the Far East. Nurturing the legacy of mighty conquerors from the Persians to the Ottomans, Arabs, Mongols and Russians; Central Asia is at the heart of what we refer to as the Silk Road, silk being one of the desirable commodities that Europeans as early as the Roman Empire would acquire from China. Ceramics, Indian spices, tea as well as art, philosophy and religious views would follow the westbound caravans, an exchange that to the Chinese dynasties meant a steady supply of fine Arabic and Turkmen horses for its armies.
Colonized by Tsarist Russia during the second half of the 19th century, the former khanates of Central Asia were molded into the big sub-Siberian province of Turkestan under the rule of General Konstantin von Kaufman and his Russian armies; Turkic languages being spoken by most peoples of the region with the exception of the Persian speaking Tajiks. These conquests were part of a rush for power and influence in the East between Tsarist Russia and the British Empire, the latter colonizers of India and what later became Pakistan. Not entirely unlike the arms race between the Soviet Union and the United States about a hundred years later, this territorial tug-of-war of imperial intelligence and might in the border lands would become known as the Great Game - coined by British writer Rudyard Kipling - or Bolshaya Igra in Russian.
The river Amu Darya, or Oxus, is the source of culture and livelihood to the region of Khorezm. It is what the Nile is to Egypt - and hopelessly dry as the surrounding land seems - it is the base of existence for everything that lives here. The river once marked the border and point of encounter between the Persian Empire in the southwest and the tribes of Transoxiania to the northeast, in the same way as river Rhine would between the Roman Empire and the German tribes in Europe. The mountain water of Amy Darya animates the desert and divides it into the red Kuzul Kum to the north and black Kara Kum to the south. The result of this desolate crossing in the sand is a high culture of splendid architectural beauty and great scientific importance, with Khiva at its core.
The city of Khiva lies just south of the green river banks and appears like a glazed mirage of beige, green and turquoise springing out of the desert. It is the most intact and remote of Central Asia's Silk Road cities, and the walled inner town, Itchan Kala, displays more than 50 historic monuments as well as its crenellated walls and four city gates. The exquisite colored tiles of the Kalta Minaret, the deep and murky wooden interior of the Jummi mosque and seemingly endless ornamental patterns of walls and columns inside the Tash Hauli harem are enough to spellbind visitors to this pinnacle of Islamic architecture.
The brutal tales of harsh justice that reached the outside world from this dry hub of merchants and slave owners - mainly told by Western imperialists seeking to subdue the Khanate and its people - appear in stark contrast to the calm and low-key friendliness of the locals. Well known for its carpets and quality handcraft, the Khivan selling technique is anything but hotheaded and intrusive. Perhaps 70 years of Soviet rule has tamed the merchant instinct, though to the visitor, it merely adds to the impression of Khiva as a place that allows for contemplation and enjoyment of its many graces at a slow and enjoyable pace.
To wander after dark inside the stone labyrinth of old Khiva, under the stars, with a cold moonlight faintly polishing the solid stone walls and portals, is a dulcet experience that stays within long after returning from these silk woven desert trails. The bristly morning sun shooting through dusty arches, cool air against the burning light of noon, the buttery smell of pumpkin soup, garlic stuffed Pilaf rice, the unassuming sincerity of the people and ever-present Zoroastrian patterns and symbols visible on walls, doorways and carpets: this is a day in the life of the visitor to Khiva.
Zoroastrian traditions are still alive here as a pre-Muslim religious belief that connects Central Asia to the country of Zoroastrian origin, Iran. Founded by the prophet Zoroaster - or Zarathustra - it is one of the world's oldest religions and it has influenced many lines of thought, among them that of philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche. The fire-centered tradition of Zoroastrianism was the predominant religious practice here until the arrival of Islam in the 8th century. Other luminous ideas that made their way along the Silk Road were those of Khiva's own son Al-Khorezmi (c.780-c.850). Born in the time of Persian reign, he was a mathematician, astronomer and geographer who's findings reached the western world in the 12th century latinized as algorithm and algebra. These ideas are arguably among the most influential trade ever to have travelled along the Silk Road.
Central Asian discoveries in mathematics and astronomy had an enormous impact on scientific development in Europe hundreds of years later. For a land so shapeless and defined by vanishing horizons, it almost makes sense that its great minds would take to the logic of numbers and the relative certainties offered by mathematical truths to orient themselves and their contemporaries. As to the explorers of the sea, the most reliable source of information regarding one's whereabouts in the desert has been the firmament and its pattern of stars, the moon and how their reflected light expressed in numbers and geometry relates to one's position on earth. In bright daylight these things are invisible to us, but come nightfall, it all becomes clear.
The dry lands of oceanic timelessness keep changing at a slow pace that can hardly be seen until everything happens all too fast. Not even the vital river is a constant in this arid landscape, but has been subject to radical change over time as a consequence of grand scale irrigation projects. The result is the gradual disappearance of the Aral Sea, counting as perhaps the greatest man-made environmental disaster in modern time. Instead of reaching its goal further north at the border between Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan, the mighty Oxus dries out along its course, perishing like a curling snake in the desert, grasping at the end of its flood line. What remains is a pitiful watermark in the sand, ever more vaguely indicating the path to nowhere.
Khorezm is the delta region, still blessed by the river and less occupied with being Uzbek, but cultivating an identity of its own. The Turkmen border lies less than ten kilometers from Khiva, but the straight line vaguely corresponding to the course of the river was never intended to hold much significance when drawn back in 1924. The purpose of this arbitrary stroke of the ruler at a drawing board in far away Moscow, was to divide the vast province of Turkestan into smaller administrative units - a division signed by Stalin himself, then in charge of nationalities within the union under Lenin. Today, the border rather imposes a problem on the region, dividing kinship ties, clans and national interests between Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan, former Soviet states, each roughly the size of Sweden with resources of gold, gas and oil that have yet to be fully assessed and extracted. These resources, along with the strategically important position of the young nations, make for delicate negotiations and crucial roles to be played on the international political scene, which has led to concern over a new Great Game taking place in Central Asia.
Further south along the line in the sand, where it meets the actual riverbank, the Uzbek-Turkmen border reaches what has been the mutual sacrifice in the imperial game of the last two centuries: Afghanistan. Persian in culture and language along with the Tajik people, the mountainous country south of the Oxus was considered too difficult to conquer and control by the colonial powers, and therefore made for a suitable buffer zone between the mutually distrustful empires. Looking closer at the map, we see an odd looking shape, similar to a pan handle, making out the easternmost part of Afghanistan as it borders Tajikistan, Pakistan and China. This is the Wakhan Corridor, carved out of the drawing board by the British and Tsarist Russia for the sake of keeping the two empires apart - if only by a mere 25 kilometers - and thereby ending the old Great Game with a compromise.
Recurring transgressions have been made all along though, and the ambiguous aspirations of foreign powers to alternately control the mountainous region at the same time as leaving it to its harsh fate, has left Afghanistan dysfunctional, unruly and to a great extent dependent on cross-border drug trade. The bitter crops of these imperial ambitions and later entanglements is what the international community is reaping today.
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A melancholy chord rings out; an oriental harmony of strings, undulating around a resonating base, a searching melody flickering about the humming keynote. Akin to the sitar and bagpipe, the wide range of string instruments originating from Central Asia - Uzbekistan in particular - embroider a suggestive tonality, straying from its path, yet staying true to its given course. Like a caravan or a river, the melodies do not climax or end, but merely wander on, meandering and eventually ringing out.
We come to a halt at the border, where things tend to take time. A foreign visitor carrying local musical instruments and carpets - both equally exquisite crafts of Central Asia - will spend a long time explaining and verifying the origin of purchases made. Receipts and certificates signed by a sales person must be produced for the authorities, lest the goods be confiscated. Forms are filled out and passports scrutinized before the waiting can begin in earnest. Dry heat. Barbed wire. No photo. After weeks of traveling between the relaxed merchant towns of the old Silk Road, the border comes as a blunt awakening to a highly present Soviet past, or a long forgotten piece of reality not quite fitting into the puzzle.
A gigantic portrait of leader Berdimuhamedow - the successor of late Niyazov, or Turkmenbashi - surveys the proceedings with a dazzling smile. Visas are payed in cash - US Dollars - by the counter. Russian is the lingua franca. Strict procedures, no irregularities. Just time, moments passing and a tentative courtesy between travelers and the border officials, like school children playing their parts in a theatre play. Eyes meet and I wonder just who the other person might be when not put in this dutiful disposition. John Lennon's Imagine enters my mind for a moment. The lady beside me laboriously pushes her bundles and bags in front of her. Waiting for the procedure to run its course may seem like being thrown back into the old days of the Union, but in those times one visa would count for all member states, a single ticket to a whole empire encompassing a frontier longer than the Equator.
We carry on, with all the time in the world to ponder whether the dusty road across the border is worth the wait. In the end, it is. This 491,210 square kilometer desert is home to just over five million people, compared to more than thirty million in Uzbekistan. The five clans that comprise the country are represented by five different carpet patterns on the deep green national flag, and the newly expanded capital of Ashgabat counts as the biggest architectural body of white marble in the world.
The old capital, Konye-Urgench, is of greater historical interest and lies just a two hour drive away once past the border. The site is at the western end of what can be described as the crossroads of the Silk Road - Samarkand being at the eastern end. On either side of this main stretch, caravans had to decide how to go about the Caspian Sea in the West and whether to go north or south of the Tibetan Plateau in the East. Between these forks in the road, choices are fewer, and the power struggle for control of this highway of trade between China and Europe has been just as fierce as one can imagine, or worse.
In short, Konye-Urgech rose to prominence in the 10th century, and remained so until the Mongolian warrior Genghis Khan attacked the city in 1221. In 1337, Timur - also known as Tamerlane - sacked the city even more thoroughly making Khiva the new center of the region, with a subsequent historical relocation to Bukhara and Samarkand. In the long run, these events would move the center of power over the inner Silk Road from the west end to the east, as well as opening up Siberia and Central Asia to Russian conquest once the Mongol, Timurid and Turkic dynasties were weakened.
Accordingly, Central Asia then and now, seems to have maintained a peculiar position in the world, straddling distant centers of power as a place far from everything, yet at the heart of every matter.
When Bartolomeu Dias became the first European since antiquity known to have sailed around the southernmost tip of Africa in 1488 - just four years prior to Columbus reaching America - things changed. The newly discovered sea route between Europe and Asia cast the Silk Road in a different light, and the slow roads over land lost some of their importance. The opening of the Suez Canal in Egypt almost four hundred years later had a similar effect, as it shortened the naval undertaking of reaching the Far East practically by all of Africa.
Today the Silk Road is still alive and well, although silk has become of slightly lesser importance. Fossil fuel resources in the region are known to be substantial, and there is vast foreign interest in establishing commercial agreements and constructing pipelines in order to enable transportation to sea ports in the region through Afghanistan to Pakistan, or alternatively through Iran or Georgia, to the ports of Turkey. As the Central Asian states are not members of OPEC, they can have a significant impact on global oil prices.
To the West, this means a continuation of a problem that has been prevalent for over 2000 years; a threatening negative balance of trade with the East. The Roman Empire had to grapple with this in trading with China, as the demand for eastern goods widely exceeded the corresponding interest in the offerings of the West. In the 19th century, the problem was dealt with by introducing opium to the Chinese market, ensued by a ban on the drug by Chinese authorities, leading to the Anglo-Chinese War or Opium Wars. Today, opium - and its derivative heroin - is mainly produced in Afghanistan from where it travels west, causing addiction and social tragedy.
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What about the carpets, then? Leaving Central Asia without buying a silk carpet can prove difficult, though the prices manage to discourage a few. In Uzbekistan, the mulberry tree is an integral part of the scenery. Its leaves are the sole diet of the silkworm, or Bombyx mori, which originates in northern China, and that produces silk. The precious raw material is harvested, spun into a fine thread and made into extraordinarily beautiful carpets in all conceivable sizes, patterns and occasionally combined with cotton or camel hair. In the art of carpet production, neighboring Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan are fierce contenders.
The Silk Road is not a road, but a vast web of tracks and paths spanning Europe and East Asia. It is a concept, or a flow that narrows like a sand filled hourglass in Central Asia. This is the crucial point of the journey between the Caucasus and China, where the alternatives become fewer and the one road ahead is all there is. The cities that have developed here have done so in the spirit of survival, trade, and a wide range of cultural input and scientific acumen.
Rudyard Kipling famously claimed that East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet, but in fact, they meet all the time - and have done so all along. The differences are often exaggerated or imaginary, and many advances in science, philosophy, architecture and more are founded on the fruits of this ongoing exchange between cultures.
Some general differences in the aesthetics are, however, worth mentioning: There are restrictive rules - not fully observed - regarding the representation of human figures which have spurred the Eastern development of subtle lacework ornamentation known as arabesques, or elaborate patterns of scripture seen on the Persian inspired domes, murals and mosaics. This has led to the evolvement of the ever-continuing serpentine shapes that seem to go on forever rather than reaching a destination. In comparison, Western art, with all its human figures engaged in activities or staring into the future - appears to be more fixed in space and time, with a visible starting point and an end - up and down, head to toe. The same can be said about music, where the caressing meditation, curling tunes and constant base resonating through the East contrast with the distinct structured build-up, climax and ending of western tunes, from the symphonies of Beethoven to the hit singles of Johnny Cash. Even here there have been some notable blends, as the psychedelia of the late 60's was shaped by eastern influences and adapted by The Beatles, Rolling Stones, The Doors and many others.
Things arise and continue in an endless succession of repetitions; sometimes we will see events through from start to finish, more often we just get a glimpse from somewhere in the middle. The Silk Road makes the slow breaths of time visible to us through the dust whirling along the dry roads, mile after mile between the caravansaries, from one season to another. Springtime and autumn come like blessings between the extremes; It is a time of recovery from what has been and preparation for what is to come. The air is refilled with life after a relentless cold winter for as long as it can, until the heat conquers all, once spring is sprung.