Tashkent: A Siren’s Song

As ambassadors for England, travelling to a little-known country with completely different customs and traditions, we had to be considerate on our arrival into Uzbekistan. As it turns out TK Maxx have a whole rail dedicated to shirts specifically tailored for occasions such as this, and for some reason no one was buying them. So as we stepped off our second plane, probably looking like diplomats or hard working business men, we thought, “We’ve done this right.”

Day 1

Walking out into the pleasantly warm Tashkent morning from the terminal, we found ourselves a taxi driver and after a lot of haggling agreed on a price. After quickly establishing that the man held style in a higher regard than his passengers’ safety, thanks to the seat belt fasteners being covered with a snazzy carpet, we set off to the hostel. With a lot of navigating by me because he didn’t know his way around his own city, we arrived at Art Hostel without a scratch. The hostel was pretty good with single bed dorms, a large spread for breakfast and good showers. Also, there were free homemade biscuits which might be the best part of the whole stay for me. 

After dumping our bags in the hostel, we had some time to kill before check-in and we weren’t just going to sit around when these pins of death, these quads of fury, these calves of utter chaos were at our disposal, ready to whisk us to whichever part of the city we fancied. 

Realising we desperately needed some Uzbek Som, we went in search for an ATM. Unfortunately, it turns out that Uzbek banks regard Mastercard with as much contempt as I do Brendan’s singing. So, without any banks to get money out of we went to some hotels, finally being directed to the famous Hotel Uzbekistan. This monumental Soviet building overlooks the main square at the centre of Tashkent. Its brutalist architecture curves around part of the square, clad with geometric patterns the exterior has an imposing presence among some of the surrounding buildings. 

Inside it was very pleasant, we grabbed some Som and headed back to the hostel via a dirty great statue of the late great Amir Temur (I still haven’t looked up who he was or what he did but everyone seems to think he’s a sterling bloke). A hefty carb-filled meal later and my brain was shutting up shop for the night, and no number of biscuits could bring it around. 8pm and I was a goner. 

Day 2

This was the day to get our tickets for the next leg of our journey. However, in reality the process was easy like a Sonntag morgen, apart from the fact that reading the details of the ticket (which were written in glorified hieroglyphics) was nigh on impossible. But we were 90% sure we would be going to the right place once we found the correct station, so the rest was all just minor details. 

Walking back from the station we spotted what could only be the unmistakable silhouette of a cathedral. The structural embodiment of devotion to that bloke in a robe who had a party trick every middle-aged woman would kill their first-born child for. The ability to turn water into wine. I’m looking at you mum, don’t fall off the wagon while I’m away. Not again. 

After being told in no uncertain terms that photos were prohibited (God’s sick of the paparazzi) we entered the courtyard in front of the main tower. It was a large Russian orthodox cathedral and once inside it was unlike anything either of us had witnessed before. The main room had no seats or pews and it was completely open to wander around. As with many cathedrals, your eyes are immediately drawn upwards, in this case to the intricately painted ceiling and the large golden chandeliers hanging from both the central dome and the altar. In one of the side areas through some archways, the priests began singing in low melodic chants, with the women in the room joining in to form an incredible chorus which echoed through the halls. This combined with the strong incense that wafted around creating shafts of light above the altar, contributed to a humbling and awe-inspiring atmosphere. 

Thinking our collective brain sponge could soak up a little more culture we headed for a museum. Our first choice was the art museum which was closed, but luckily there was another museum just around the corner. So, much to Brendan’s dismay, we headed straight for the Geology museum. We spent a good amount of time in there. I tried to teach Brendan about the fascinating inner workings of this oblate spheroid within a computer simulation that we call home and he tried to stop himself grabbing a hefty chunk of gabbro and smashing his brains in with it. Wandering around the rock-filled rooms was interesting. I couldn’t understand any of the labels on the exhibits and our guide was less than helpful (in fact I would go as far as saying aggressively disinterested), so it was more of a self-lead tour. 

Once the tour was over we exited and the sparkle in Brendan’s eye told me he needed a drink. It wasn’t the sparkle of mineral water or even a nice refreshing iced tea. It was the carbonated sparkle of an alcoholic beverage. As if by magic an Irish Pub appeared from the haze and we made our way there faster than you could say “burgeoning alcoholism”. The Irish pub was neither very Irish nor particularly pubby but downstairs it did have a nice bar and upstairs a large restaurant with a balcony overlooking one of the tree-lined avenues that are so typical of Tashkent. We sat there with a couple of beers and chatted up a storm.

That evening we had dinner on the strip, where lights hung over a pedestrianised path through a park with restaurants and bars to one side. The serenity you may be imagining right now was slightly marred by the very heavy techno remixes to rock classics such as “Eye of the Tiger” and “Smells Like Teen Spirit” blaring out to every corner of our courtyard and beyond. Nevertheless, it did get us in the mood for later that evening when we happened upon our song of Uzbekistan, “Siren Song” by MARUV. Not a good song by any stretch of the imagination but once you get to 44 seconds in, there’s no turning back.

Day 3

Having met Argentinian Julian and French Pierre (of course he’s French) the night before and realising they were the only talkative people in the whole hostel, we headed out for a day of 26,000 steps, amazing food and a big ol’ flag. 

We left the hostel early, Pierre sporting flip flops and Julian in deck shoes, blissfully ignorant of our particular brand of city exploration. They weren’t prepared to play what I like to call “Bipedality – the battle of pins”. We started our walk to Chorsu bazaar and found ourselves exploring new areas of the city in no time. On the way, we stumbled across yet more brutalist Soviet architecture. The first of which was the Friendship Palace. It sat at the end of a large square and its design was formidable. I stood and felt almost belittled by its presence but I think that was the point. This architecture manifested the power and dominion that the USSR wanted to show throughout the state. An architectural focal point from which to project the political rhetoric of the time.

We kept walking and got to the bazaar without too much hassle. Once there it was obvious that this was a local market and had not been spruced up for tourists which made it really interesting. We left the road and traversed a maze of narrow walkways between tarpaulins which were draped over the clothing stalls. With Brendan on the lookout for some wavey garms his eyes were on a swivel. Once we made it through the market’s answer to Matalan, we went up some stairs to gaze upon an incomprehensible number of vegetables and spices. A little wander through there and I was excited to go into the main dome and gaze upon whatever treasures it may contain. It did indeed contain treasures. Meat. Lots and lots of meat. 

Unfortunately, we lacked any method to transport fresh animal flesh home, so departed to the metro. Worried that our previous inability to use basic public transport in Panama City would come back to haunt us, we were cautious. However, there was no need. The metro was incredibly easy. It was 1200 Sum (12p) for a token and that got you unlimited rides on any of the three lines as long as you didn’t leave the metro to go back to the surface. To make it even better we didn’t need to ask for anything. You just gave enough money for however many tokens you wanted and a lady gave them to you. No terrible attempts to speak Uzbek needed. 

The metro stations were something else in Tashkent. Each one was stunningly beautiful and uniquely designed, showing an artistic and architectural care normally reserved for places of worship. Beyond my rapidly forming plans to become a Tashkent trainspotter in order to spend more time in these subterranean shrines to commuting, I was surprised how clean and well organised the platforms were.

Regrettably we had to ascend back to the surface world and to our next destination, the Minor Mosque. We walked in and wandered around loving the pristine white exterior and the intricately carved wooden struts around the courtyard. Then we went inside the main building. This was our first time in a mosque. The large round room with plain walls was completely silent and immediately you could feel how the worshippers would feel connected to God in such a space. The domed ceiling was extremely ornately decorated and I spent a while just staring up at it in silence. We all left feeling that it was a very special place. 

After all that silent reverence we fancied a beer at the Irish pub, but Julian had spotted a restaurant down the street called “Afsona” that looked pretty nice and busy. So, after looking at the menu we went in. It was a beautiful restaurant inside and the food was incredible. Drinks were had, meat was consumed and we were all very happy. A quick jaunt via the history museum on the way home (which was very insistent that Uzbekistan is somehow amazing at everything in every sector) and that was it. The end of our day out. We got some beers for that evening and watched the final Game of Thrones episode in an unused swimming pool room sat on a mattress on the floor. Game of Thrones’ ending may have left people with mixed reactions but Tashkent united us all in a shared appreciation for the city. 

Final Thoughts

Tashkent is a city filled with perfectly manicured parks. The constantly spitting sprinklers and workers on the grassy areas make this one of the greenest and cleanest cities I’ve been to. As you walk around at any time of the day you feel safe and relaxed. This simple yet under appreciated feature of a big city made our first stop in Central Asia a gentle awakening to a new trip and a new culture. We spent three nights and four days here but we could’ve easily done another two. However, thanks to the shocking and unforgivable lack of a Spoons, my hand has been forced to give it a 1/10. Such a shame.