The road south out of Samarkand passes across the Zerafshan Mountains and leads to Shakhrisabz. This is a spur of the Silk Road and armies of the great leaders such as Alexander and Temur would have passed this way en route for India.
This town was originally called Kesh. By 1336, the year of Temur’s birth, Kesh and its dependencies were ruled by the Barlas clan, Mongols of the Chagatai Khanate, Chagatai being one of Genghis Khan’s sons. Temur used his Barlas lineage to gather together a band of followers and by the age of 25, he had progressed from sheep rustler to Lord of the valley. Within ten years he was Lord of Transoxiana and chose Samarkand as his Empire jewel.
Nevertheless, Temur did not forget Kesh and he commissioned various buildings notably the White Palace (Ak Serai). Though Temur’s dynasty would crumble as did many of the buildings he commissioned, Kesh was renamed Shakhrisabz (Green City) after the spring blooms in many of its gardens.
The Emir of Bukhara destroyed much of Temur’s legacy in the late 16th century but Shakhrisabz was able to look after itself well into the 19th century until the Russians arrived in 1870.
The Soviet era bought great change to the people and appearance of Shakhrisabz, however, the city has retained a rich store of history in the form of architecture and nowadays overseas visitors are welcomed in a traditional style with its mosques, teahouses and narrow lanes of traditional homes.
We get divided between the cars. I’m with Andrew and Diane and because I have got long legs I get to sit up front with the driver, who is Gregor. The cars set off at a break-neck speed, something we are not used to in our bus. The drivers are obviously used to this sort of arrangement and their own pride is at stake as they race off towards the first intersection. They settle into a single file as we head out of town and towards the mountains.
We can soon see why the bus can’t take us today as the road has disintegrated completely. Nevertheless, these guys probably know every bump and pothole as we speed up the mountain at a rate of knots. Half way up, Gregor pulls in to the side and stops behind one of the other cars. Tatiana gets out of the lead car and has a chat with all the drivers and we begin to wonder what is going on. She gets back into her car and Gregor resumes his place and carries on up the hill.
The reason for their little chat becomes apparent as we approach what looks like a border crossing patrol. There are five uniformed guards at the gate. The cars queue up behind each other. Tatiana has obviously told the guys to stay in their cars and let her do the talking. After about 10 minutes, the gate goes up and we are on our way.
Next stop is at the top of this range of hills overlooking a flat, fertile-looking valley below. We have 10 minutes to stretch our legs and admire the views before we head off down the other side along a winding mountain road down into the valley.
Zerfshan Mountains
We begin to suspect that there are no speed limits on these roads. Gregor has put his foot down as if his life depends on it. As a result, we arrive at an empty car park about 15 minutes before anyone else. We begin to wonder if we are in the right place and everyone else, Tatiana included, has gone somewhere else.
Whilst we are waiting in the baking sun, a small group of schoolchildren wander by and deducing that we are foreigners start talking to us in excellent English, hoping we would understand. We find out they are from a school up the road. They are very smartly dressed and very polite. They love having their pictures taken and then seeing their smiling faces in the back of my camera. They scoot off when they realise they may be late for their lessons.
By this time, another white car is pulling into the car park and we breathe a sigh of relief that we are in the right place. Close behind comes the rest of the convoy. Gregor jokes with his pals that he has won that race.
Tatiana gathers us round and tells us where we will be going from here. The cars have dropped us off at the entrance to the park that houses the White Palace so we will be going there first followed by the Kok Gumbaz Mosque.
The White palace – Ak Serai – is the main sight in Shakhrisabz. Built by slave artisans brought here from Khorezm, the site was planned as a Summer Palace similar in structure to the Bibi Khanum Mosque in Samarkand. Temur wanted this Palace to be unparalleled in size and decoration.
In terms of size, it must have been vast. The entrance consisted of two 65 meter (215ft) high towers flanking a portal arch 40 meters (130ft) high and 22 meters (70ft) wide. The marble paved courtyard was 100 meters wide enclosed by two storey arcades
Today, only ruins of the great entrance portal remain but it is still possible to imagine the actual size.
Walking through the park in the distance I can see two enormous ruined towers. In front of that the dominant feature is a large statue of Temur looking down on his former domain.
Amir Temur & Ak Serai, Shakhrisabz
This is impressive and I break off from the group to get some shots of this legendary figure in the foreground and his palace in the background. As I approach the ruins, it is not until I am standing in between these enormous towers that I can begin to appreciate just how big the original portal must have been. I thought the three portals in Registan Square back in Samarkand were big but this is even bigger. It is quite staggering to envisage how this was built way back in the early 15th century, Even today, with all the modern technology available, it would be an engineering challenge, but back then it is unimaginable as to how they did it.
Just next to one of the towers there is a tented area where some archaeologists are working on the foundations of the walls of the palace. I should think there would be a job for life and for subsequent generations if they proceed to unearth the entire complex.
I eventually tear myself away from this incredible place to catch up with the rest of the group as they make their way towards the Kok Gumbaz Mosque.
Built in 1436 by Ulug Beg, the Mosque forms part of the Dorut Tilovat Madrassah complex. The Mosque is obvious from its blue dome after which it is named. In 1994, in readiness for the 600th anniversary of Temur’s death, restorers were hard at work to refresh the mosaic tile work on the portal and the 10 meter arch.
As part of the Barlas cemetery nearby the tombs of Temur’s father and his spiritual adviser can be found.
The other Barlas ensemble, Dorut Siadat, is across the way from the Dorut Tilovat, for it was here that Temur had built the mausoleum for his son Jahangir, who was killed in 1394 at the age of 22. When his second son died, Temur buried him here alongside his brother and, at the same time, he built his own crypt. It was never used as he was laid to rest in Samarkand, however, in 1943, it was rediscovered when a child playing football fell through the ground 35 meters behind the mausoleum. Tour guides are able to unlock the door that leads down to a small room where an empty casket would have waited in vain for its master.
With the sun beating down – it was searingly hot today – we entered through the portal of the Kok Gumbaz Mosque and immediately make a beeline for a row of benches situated in the shade beneath some trees. Tatiana fills us in on the background to the Mosque and the neighbouring cemetery complexes. She says she has a key to Temur’s crypt and asks whether anyone would like to have a look.
Ever the enthusiast of the macabre, I put my hand up. T’other Peter, Mary, Tracey, Diane and Mark all follow suit so we head off with Tatiana and clamber our way around the tombs until we come to a little green door in the side of a domed building. She unlocks the padlock and swings the door open to reveal a narrow staircase running down into a dark chasm. I get volunteered to go first. I have to sit down in order to negotiate the door and eventually scramble down the steps to the bottom.
It is like an oven down here and as my eyes gradually become accustomed to the dark, I see a small mound in the middle of the floor which would have supported the empty casket. This is history in real life for me. Over 600 years ago, Temur built this crypt for himself, with the intention of having his body laid here alongside his two sons. It was never to be.
Mary and Diane come down but I have to get out. It is suffocatingly hot and a bit claustrophobic down here so I clamber back out into the relatively ‘cooler’ heat of the sun.
Shakhrisabz has been a real gem on this tour and I’m glad I opted to come here rather than spend another day in Samarkand. I’m a firm believer in taking up all the available optional excursions. They are being put on for a reason to enhance the experience of the traveller.
At the exit to the complex, we see our convoy of white cars. The six drivers are talking and smoking while they wait for us. The ride back is as hair-raising as the outward journey. It somehow looks different even though we take the same road back through the mountains.
This time the border patrol is not there and we sail through. I look at my watch and comment that they must knock off early. What a soul-destroying job though!
As we speed along a deserted highway, Gregor suddenly pulls over as he sees a group of people selling fresh fruit at the side of the road. The other cars pull in behind us and as we approach the fruit sellers, I cast my mind back to a similar experience in South Africa when we stopped to look at local craft stalls and discover that our guide has phoned ahead to alert the locals that we were coming and they set their stalls up. I’m wondering if Tatiana has set this up just for us. I didn’t say anything to her and approached the ladies in the colourful dresses and headscarves. In front of them were rows of buckets full of fresh fruit. Grapes, peaches, apples and pears are on offer. Tatiana reassures us that these fruits are perfectly OK for us to buy, so I get some grapes. I pay a remarkably small amount of money for them and they are delicious, fresh and juicy and the bunch does not last long.
Roadside Fruitsellers
Diane has bought some peaches and proceeds to make a real mess eating them in the back seat of the car.
I wonder what the ladies do with the unsold fruit. I suspect they will be at the bazaar in Samarkand tomorrow. I do ask Tatiana this question and she agrees with my assumption. Nothing goes to waste.
Back at the hotel, the general consensus of opinion is to have a cool beer in the bar. I think my stomach has recovered sufficiently so I’m the first one at the bar. What a costly mistake to make as my round is the biggest because after one drink many of the others desert the ship in favour of a shower. Mark’s round, therefore, was considerably cheaper.
At dinner, I get talking to Tom and ask how he has been getting on with his vodka and salt remedy. He says, “It’s been great, now I don’t bother with the salt and have just neat vodka”. I think it was really an excuse to have a shot of vodka every night!
It dawns on us that tomorrow is our final day in Samarkand and before heading off on the road to Tashkent, we have one more monument to visit and that is our old friend Ulug Beg’s Observatory which is sited on top of one of the hills surrounding the old city.