The City Beyond my Dreams

It's six in the morning Uzbek time and the atmosphere in Samarkand is intoxicating. Having woken to attempt to relieve myself of the effects of last nights bottle of local brandy, I was captivated by what reached my ears. A sound of chanting -- perhaps no more than a call to prayer -- presented a sustained base, set against the occasional waking calls of animals. Unable to contain myself, I was lifted down the street taking me past court yards where groups of Uzbeks in felt caps fell together in groups lulling in what appeared to be mourning.

At the end of the road the path bows at the feet of Tamerlane's Registan. The constellations and fragile new moon were humbled by the scale of the arches and minarets they brought to life. Skirting the police barriers, I tenderly reached out to touch the blue fired clay which shimmered in the half light -- a touch which was electrified by the skull stacking history which made this the greatest monument in the world of its time. Not a should was in sight, so I cautiously skirted one wing of the complex to find a back entrance.

The back door took my into the square of the Registan, which is flanked on three sides by structures which I cannot possibly describe with justice. Indeed the sheer scale of the place, like everything in Central Asia, was beyond my imagination, trumping all expectations. Furthermore, I had the whole of the Registan to myself. I walked slow out to the centre of the square to draw the huge arches in, until I heard a shout.

The shout came from the opposite end of the court yard. I could not possibly have regretted being here, but the Uzbek police are amongst the foulest in the world. My documents were in order, so to avoid a situation I politely approached the police man, who had called to me. Instead of the usual run down we had experienced at metro stations in Tashkent, the police man shook my hand and welcomed me. He offered me, for a small fee of course, the opportunity to climb a minaret at sun rise.

That gives me enough time to write this note. So I am now off to climb one of Tamerlane's leaning minarets, to look over the city beyond my dreams. Yet the day has still not even begun.