“Samarkand is the wonder of the earth, but Bukhara is the wonder of the spirit.”
(Uzbek proverb)
A Night in Bukhara, History in Tashkent
On the night of October 26, 2024, around 1 a.m., I was sleeping deeply in a warm, welcoming room at the Minzifa Hotel in Bukhara — unaware that history was passing by.
In Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan, two people were trying — and failing — to assassinate Komil Allamjonov, one of the country’s most prominent reformist politicians.
It wasn’t the fall of the Berlin Wall. But for Uzbekistan, it was certainly a historically significant moment. For me, it was a curious episode I only learned about after leaving the country — one I now like to recount, even if just in passing.
Political Intrigues and Fragile Futures
Memorial Complex of Imam Al Bukhari in Bukhara Uzbekistan travel
The attempted murder, which I discovered through the Italian podcast “Altri Orienti” (Episode 107 – “The Uzbek Conspiracy”), speaks of political intrigues, international connections, secret services — all the elements that fascinate anyone drawn to the hidden mechanics behind the headlines.
But beyond conspiracy theories, this attack reveals a country still navigating its political passions with little restraint, caught in a fragile post-Soviet transition: an unstable balance between stagnation and modernization, between international alliances that will inevitably shape its future — a future that might, one day, look westward, toward Europe.
Walking the Silk Road
Interior view of the Samanid Mausoleum in Bukhara.
Meanwhile, just 570 kilometers away from that violent event, I was sleeping soundly the sleep of the traveler who’d walked for hours through the very streets once trodden by the hooves of Genghis Khan, who destroyed this land, and Timur (Tamerlane), who helped revive it, especially culturally.
Trampled, above all, by the feet of camels and the footsteps of merchants and travelers who, carrying goods between China and the West, traced the legendary Silk Road.
And what better destination for those who love to travel — whether Bukhara or Samarkand — to truly taste the essence of journeying?
Where else, if not along the Silk Road, can you feel part of that ideal community of men and women who crossed the borders of time, braving unknown lands, treacherous deserts, mountain passes, and bandits — all to reach a distant goal? It hardly matters whether driven by curiosity or profit: it’s an ancient, heroic, deeply human movement.
Breathing the Soul of Travel
The Khoja Gaukushan Ensemble in Bukhara.
Ah yes… walking through the old town of Bukhara, among ancient, nearly crumbling houses, with rainwater spilling from wooden eaves directly into the streets — the kind UNESCO is quietly trying to restore — amid sandy-toned buildings made of sun-dried mud and straw, and the scent of fresh local bread hanging in doorways, spreading through the alleys each morning like the very fragrance of life… here, you truly breathe the soul of travel.
You almost expect to see a caravan of camels arriving from the East, to smell spices in the air, to hear the excited haggling of merchants.
Merchants and Souvenirs
In truth, there are very much here. They sell spices, yes — but above all, souvenirs for the new caravans of tourists now crossing the country.
Stalls appear everywhere — even in the inner courtyards of madrasas, those imposing Islamic schools — and a faint echo of religious teaching sparks a spontaneous thought: why didn’t any prophet ever think to chase the merchants from the temple?
As we said: the merchants are here, selling traditional Uzbek tubeteikas (skullcaps), silk and cotton scarves — Uzbekistan being one of the world’
s largest producers — and the famous astrakhan fur, so prized and so cruel that if people truly knew how much blood it costs, they’d likely not only refuse to buy it, but avoid the stalls altogether.
They sell paintings — which I’m utterly fond of — books, ceramics with camels and caravans, and of course, modern fridge magnets, beloved by the average tourist.
It’s pleasant to wander among trinkets and knick-knacks, to drift from shop to shop, accompanied by the vendor’s discreet presence — never pushy.
Of course, the moment you buy even a pin, their skill emerges in full force, and you end up leaving the shop laden with useless objects — which, turning necessity into virtue, you convince yourself are the perfect souvenirs for your team… or your kind old neighbor back home.
After all, aren’t we in a city of trade?
From Markets to Monuments
The Mir-i-Arab Madrasa in Bukhara, Uzbekistan, featuring its iconic turquoise domes
And just as you leave behind the soft murmur of the stalls, the sweet scent of spices, and the quiet chime of souvenirs, Bukhara reveals its most solemn face. Like a curtain slowly rising, the streets widen, giving way to visions of turquoise domes, slender minarets, and intricately carved portals that seem to emerge from an ancient dream.
It’s the moment when the market’s chatter fades behind you, and you enter the realm of true history — one carved in stone and tile.
Every step brings you closer to a world where caliphs, emirs, poets, invaders, and sages once passed beneath the same arches, sat in the same courtyards, prayed in the same silence.
And then, Bukhara reveals its most fascinating face: that of its monuments, which, while majestic even in daylight, at sunset transform into guardians of suspended time, where every brick, every mosaic, every arch tells a thousand-year-old story.
Guardians of Time at Sunset
The Kalyan Minaret, stands prominent and features intricate geometric patterns.
The golden light of dusk caresses the bulbous domes of the madrasas, painting them in cobalt and turquoise reflections that seem to glow from within. The minarets, tall and stern like sentinels of knowledge, cast long shadows over ancient cobblestones, while a cold breeze carries fragments of sacred calligraphy and the scent of burning incense from the suqs.
In these moments, Bukhara is no longer just a city.
It becomes a daydream, a labyrinth of emotions where past and present intertwine seamlessly.
The Lyabi-Hauz, with its reflective pool surrounded by ancient plane trees, welcomes visitors like an oasis of peace amid the flow of time. The Ulugh Beg and Abdulaziz Khan madrasas, facing each other like guardians of lost knowledge, whisper of students who studied astronomy when Europe was still in the Middle Ages.
And then there’s Po-i-Kalyan, the “Foot of the Great,” dominated by the Kalyan Minaret, built in the 12th century and spared by Genghis Khan — so the legend goes — because it was “too beautiful to destroy.”
It’s here that you truly feel the breath of history: a place where every stone has witnessed conquests, prayers, markets, revolutions.
Listening to the City
Bukhara is not visited only with the eyes.
You listen to it in the silence between steps.
You feel it in the air, thick with spices and antiquity.
You live it in the heartbeat that quickens when, turning a corner, you face a dome that seems painted by the sky itself.
It’s a city that doesn’t shout.
It whispers.
But if you know how to listen, it reveals everything.
Photos by Guglielmo Zanchi (Pluto)
