A Carpet Ride to Khiva: Seven Years on the Silk Road Read Free Page A

electronics featured an ad with two passers-by, both carrying Aiwa products, waving a cheery ‘Aiwa’ to each other with the tagline, ‘The whole world speaks Aiwa.’ The greeting was practised on the first tourists who visited Khiva, and they – assuming as I had that it wasa local greeting – responded with enthusiastic Aiwas, establishing its authenticity. These first tourists had also arrived armed with pens, which were now considered an expected gift from all foreigners accosted on the street. Often children would shout ‘A pen, a pen!’ at me, sounding much like I probably had during my language course in Tashkent.
    We walked past a series of small stallsselling souvenirs – a huge mud-brick wall to our right and an impressive madrassah to our left. Next to this was a large, squat tower layered with beautifully glazed bricks in shifting shades of green, turquoise and brown. This complex, built by Mohammed Amin Khan after a particularly lucrative pillaging of Bukhara, was on such an opulent scale that parts of the city walls were removed for its accommodation.Rivalry between the Khiva Khanate and the neighbouring Emirate of Bukhara was a reccurring theme in both Khiva’s history and its modern-day attitudes. Mohammed Amin Khan planned a minaret taller than any other, dwarfing the one in Bukhara, but never completed it. Some claimed that this was because the Khan realised that those calling the faithful to prayer would gain a tempting bird’s-eyeview of his harem. Others believed that the Khan had plans to assassinate the architect on completion of the minaret – ensuring that the Bukharan Emir could not commission him to build an even larger one. The luckless architect, fearing for his life, jumped from the minaret, turned into a bird and flew away.
    ‘Well, seeing as we’ve paid for our tickets, we might as well be tourists for theday,’ decided Catriona, heading towards a stall selling papier-mâché puppets. I was drawn to one selling carved wooden Koran-stands and boxes in different shapes and sizes. Having greeted the stall owner in Uzbek, I discovered that he spoke excellent English and that his name was Zafar. He praised my Uzbek, amazed at my simple phrases. I was used to flattery in response to my limited efforts, particularlyin Tashkent where few foreigners strayed from Russian.
    ‘You’ve only been here six weeks and already you speak more Uzbek than all these Russians who were born here!’ a Tashkent taxi driver had declared once, glaring at a passing mini-skirted Russian. ‘What are you giving me money for?’ he demanded as I got out of the car. ‘You are learning our language, you are our guest. Please do not offendme with money.’
    Far more impressive was Zafar’s English, which was self-taught and fairly fluent. He was about my age, with a ready smile and a quick wit. We got chatting as Catriona and Jeanette haggled at the neighbouring stall, and as we left he invited me to visit his home. Zafar would become a good friend and would play a significant role in my carpet journey.
    Jeanette took usnext to the Kunya Ark, or old fortress. We entered through another huge, carved wooden gate, past a magnificent iwan . These roofed, three-walled structures acted as primitive air-conditioners, capturing cooler northern breezes and circulating them. Most were simple but this one was part of the Khan’s palace, held up by immense fluted pillars decorated with intricate carving. The three walls werecompletely tiled, with stalks, leaves, blossoming lotuses and peonies winding around each other, covering each wall in mesmerising complexity. This was a place I would return to later, to discover potential carpet designs.
    We wanted to view the whole of the walled city from the watchtower. Entering through a darkened doorway and fumbling our way up a steep staircase built into the mud-brickwalls, we emerged blinking in the sunlight to a spectacular view. Ahead of us the large green dome of the