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BBC News
4 hours ago
- BBC News
The fertile Silk Road valley few travellers know
In recent years, Uzbekistan has embarked on an ambitious nationwide tourism boom that is transforming much of the country. But its beating heart is in a stunning and largely secluded valley. It's dawn in Tashkent when the hulking Soviet-era train groans into the station and shudders to a halt. I've taken several crowded trains across Uzbekistan by now, but this one, bound for the eastern city of Margilan – the gateway to the Fergana Valley – is devoid of foreign travellers. Inside, I sit beside a family of three. The matriarch, Gulnora, wears a striking headscarf patterned in bold geometric motifs. I point to it and say, "Ajoyib!", the Uzbek word for "great". She smiles and tells me she got it from the valley we're headed towards. The day before, at Tashkent's blue-domed Chorsu Bazaar – one of Central Asia's oldest markets – I came across a mound of strawberries. Though small in size, they tasted like bursts of spring. Sticky-fingered, I asked the vendor through Google Translate, "Where are these grown?" He immediately answered, "Fergana." On the train, I offer the last of my strawberries to the family. Gulnora smiles again and opens her own box in response. Inside is a rainbow of fresh and dried fruit: mulberries, apricots, apples, oranges and strawberries, all coming from the valley. She then pulls out a small ceramic quarter plate and arranges a small feast for us. Cradled between the Tien Shan and Alay mountain ranges, the Fergana Valley stretches across eastern Uzbekistan, southern Kyrgyzstan and northern Tajikistan. It is one of Central Asia's most fertile regions; this lush intermountain basin, irrigated by the Naryn and Kara Darya rivers, has nurtured both crops and culture for centuries. It is also the birthplace of Uzbekistan's celebrated silk, ceramic and fruit production – a veritable holy trinity that forms the backbone of Uzbek culture. Like much of modern-day Uzbekistan, the Fergana Valley lay along the fabled Silk Road, serving as a conduit for trade, ideas and artistry between China, Persia and the Mediterranean for centuries. In recent years, Uzbekistan has been leaning into its Silk Road roots with an ambitious new tourism drive that is seeing its historical trading hubs of Samarkand, Bukhara and Khiva developing at breakneck speeds. But while relaxed visa restrictions, more connecting flights and the arrival of the nation's first major international biennial has placed Uzbekistan on more travellers' radars, critics point out that its flashy recreations of traditional Uzbek culture run the risk of turning it into a veritable Silk Road theme park. Yet, away from the nation's sanitised new resorts and ersatz "ethnographic parks", a quieter cultural revival is unfolding in the Fergana Valley. This traditional hub of Uzbek culture receives only a fraction of the visitors who flock to Uzbekistan's major cities, but it remains a living museum of craftsmanship. Ikat textiles from Margilan, one of the valley's oldest cities, are worn across Uzbekistan as skullcaps, headscarves and modern shirts and dresses. Meanwhile, ceramics from Rishtan are used in households across the country to serve food and tea. Fruit from the valley is a staple of Uzbek hospitality and cuisine, with dried apricots and raisins served alongside tea and pomegranates and cherries mixed into plov, Uzbekistan's national dish. I put my hand on my heart, as many Uzbeks do, to thank Gulnora for her company on the train, and disembark in Margilan to find my guesthouse. Appropriately named Ikathouse, it is lined with traditional wooden divans draped in vibrant ikat textiles. I soon learn that the property belongs to the family of Rasuljon Mirzaahmedov, a fifth-generation ikat weaver who has collaborated with fashion designer Oscar de la Renta to create a collection featuring Fergana's signature adras (cotton-silk blend), atlas (satin ikat) and baghmal (velvet ikat). More like this:• Khiva: The Silk Road City most tourists miss• The dark side of Uzbekistan's tourism boom• Life in Karakalpakstan: The 'stan within a stan' Margilan is the birthplace of Uzbek ikat, one of Central Asia's most complex textile traditions. Known locally as abrbandi, this silk-weaving tradition stretches back 1,000 years and was plied along the Silk Road as early as the 11th Century. While the ikat technique came to Uzbekistan after the Arab Conquest in the 7th Century, legend has it that Uzbekistan's long love of silk began in the 4th Century when a Chinese princess smuggled silkworm eggs in her hair when she eloped to the Fergana Valley. Unlike other places in Uzbekistan today, the labour-intensive weaving in Margilan is still done by hand. At Yodgorlik, one of the city's oldest silk factories, silkworms munch steadily through piles of tender mulberry leaves, growing fat until they spin delicate cocoons of raw silk. "We only use cocoons that the larvae have left behind," explains Luiza Kamolova, Yodgorlik's director. "If we kill the larvae, we kill the future of Uzbekistan's silk." The silk is then washed, stretched and tightly bundled into skeins and resist-dyed in successive stages with natural pigments: onion skins for yellow, madder roots for red, indigo leaves for blue and pomegranate skins for brown. Artisans bend and sweat over massive steaming cauldrons all day, coaxing colour into thread to build intricate patterns that emerge only after the fabric is woven. The result is a delicate, feathered blur that is worn across Uzbekistan in both traditional and contemporary fashion. "If you think of Uzbek ikat, you think of Fergana Valley," says Charos Kamalova, founder of Teplo, a marketplace in Tashkent that showcases designers from across the nation. "Every designer working with traditional textiles uses fabrics from the region. It is just a given." At Yodgorlik, a blue-and-white silk scarf is drying in the courtyard. "It is inspired by the colours of the Rishtan ceramics," an artisan tells me. "Have you been there yet?" Two days later, I am welcomed to the city of Rishtan by a giant ceramic pot standing in the centre of a roundabout. According to locals, the sculpture is inspired by a local four-handled pitcher called bodiya chuqur bodiya used across Uzbekistan to boil water for tea. At Koron, a nearby ceramic showroom, I wander through rows of vibrant pottery: bowls, tiles, jugs and glazed pomegranates in every shade and size. "The pomegranate is sacred in Uzbekistan," says Ravshan Tojiddinov, Koron's founder. "We give it at weddings for fertility, paint it on ceramics for good luck and eat it to remember that life is both sweet and sharp!" At Rustam Usmanov's workshop – the part studio, part school of one of Uzbekistan's most respected potters – I watch students sketch patterns beside stacks of half-finished vessels. "The clay we use in Rishtan has a natural reddish-yellow hue." Usmanov explains. "The entire city is quite literally built on it." This local clay is shaped and dried for up to 10 days, coated with white clay and then fired at 920C. Intricate plant-based motifs are then hand-painted before a second firing at 960-1000C locks in the alkaline glaze, revealing the intense blue tint that makes Uzbek pottery so distinct. "Every Rishtan ceramic tells a story," one of Usmanov's students tells me. "Birds are for freedom, fruits for abundance, and the jug – for water, milk, wine – is life itself. These are not just decorations, they are blessings entering the Uzbek household." Usmanov sees me photographing a yet-to-mature pomegranate hanging from a tree in his workshop's courtyard. He offers me some dried apricots, walnuts and apples, before echoing what Gulnora and so many others have told me: that the nearby city of Fergana boasts some of nation's best fruit. Hopping out of a marshrutka (shared minibus) at Fergana, the valley's namesake city, I see fruit trees everywhere. Grapevines climb across mudbrick homes, cherries droop from overhanging branches and small apricot trees bloom in courtyards. On street corners, I see locals rinsing strawberries in communal basins, children chasing runaway plums down alleys and old women shaking mulberry trees to collect the berries for jam. At the farmer's market, the offerings are dazzling: rows of sun-blushed peaches, crisp apples stacked like pyramids, purple grapes heavy on the vine and baskets of strawberries so fragrant they perfume the air. "Everything you see here was picked this morning," says a local vendor. "We grow for our families first, then the market, then whatever is left is sold for export." Thanks to the valley's rich alluvial soils and long sunlit days, Fergana's strawberries, cherries, apples and pomegranates develop a natural sweetness and fragrance that is difficult to replicate, making Uzbekistan the top fruit-producing nation in Central Asia. As I prepare to leave the valley, a small moment crystallises everything I have seen and tasted. At a roadside stall just outside the Margilan train station, an elderly woman wearing a dazzling ikat headscarf is selling freshly picked mulberries in gold-rimmed ceramic bowls, their juice staining the curved blue glaze. In that instant, I see how seamlessly Uzbekistan's holy trinity weaves itself into everyday life here. In the Fergana Valley, ikat is more than a machine-made costume worn for photos in front of the glittering new Silk Road Samarkand; ceramics are more than just souvenirs to shelve back home; and fruit is more than a welcome platter at a new caravanserai-style hotel in Bukhara. In a world speeding towards curated visuals and surface-level experiences for tourists, Fergana feels like an antidote — and that's what makes it well worth the detour. -- For more Travel stories from the BBC, follow us on Facebook, X and Instagram.
Telegraph
9 hours ago
- Telegraph
My three-week tour through five of the strangest countries on Earth
The five 'Stans', independent nations since 1991, are influenced by their neighbours, but distinctive and fascinating. Each is a complex melange of tribal cultures, linguistic groups and geopolitical pressures. Binding them is the Silk Road, which left a wealth of architectural wonders as well as a culture of bazaars and warm hospitality. The topography is as diverse as the human geography, comprising deserts, snow-capped mountains, steppe and the fertile Fergana Valley. They are also surprisingly easy to explore. I've just come back from a three-week group tour that encompassed all five. It was essentially a road trip; a whistle-stop ride through some of the strangest, most thrilling and undiscovered places on the planet. Here's what I learnt about each of the five. Turkmenistan: dystopia in the desert When does quirky become disturbing? The standard Western take on Turkmenistan is that it's North Korea lite. I wanted to see it through unjaundiced eyes, but Ashgabat, the capital, didn't help. On landing at the airport, you first run a bureaucratic gauntlet, queuing for an hour to give away almost £100 to cover a visa and Covid test, having already shown you were 'invited' by a local tour firm. Our hotel was in the Olympic Village, a large district full of stadia and convention centres. In 2017, Ashgabat hosted the Asian Indoor and Martial Arts Games, and billions were spent making the capital appear first-world. Result: roads, malls, mega-hotels, fake modernity. No one walks, not because it's hot, but because the blocks are immense. All cars in the centre have to be white. They also have to be clean, if the driver wants to avoid a fine. Also, all cars are taxis, claimed the guide, in that you can stop anyone and ask for a lift. Whiteness is a theme here, as is marble. The independent nation's first president, Saparmurat Atayevich Niyazov, imported millions of tons of it to build government ministries, mosques, a massive Ferris wheel and monuments. Many of the latter are on roundabouts (the guide cited a presidential decree that 'no roundabout should be empty') and feature centrepieces such as a giant arch, a golden globe inside a frame of auspicious eight-pointed stars, statues and a giant replica of a book he wrote to instruct his people. None of this looks classy so much as cold. Ashgabat was levelled by an earthquake in 1948. It was de-Sovietised in the 2000s, but it has also been artlessly stripped of character and any patina of time. In the end, it felt like a combination of 1984's Oceania, Gilead in The Handmaid's Tale and The Truman Show. From here, we were bussed across the Karakum Desert, which George Curzon (future Viceroy of India), visiting in 1888, called 'the sorriest waste that ever met the human eye' It wasn't that bad, and there were lots of dromedaries to break the monotony, but the appearance of an ominous sandstorm did cause some alarm. Our main goal was Turkmenistan's most famous 'sight' – the Darvaza gas crater, also known as the Door to Hell. A man-made burning gas field, caused when drilling punctured a natural-gas cavern and a roof collapsed, it was initially ignited to prevent poisonous gases from spreading. When Turkmenistan began to open up in the 1990s, it became a sort of dark tourism attraction. Sadly – or happily – it is currently dying out. Crossing the northern half of the desert brought us to Daşoguz. A smaller version of Ashgabat, it had bits of marble here and there, a few OTT hotels and more of the same mall-restaurants serving shish kebabs and salads. Sixty miles to the northwest on the left bank of the Amu Darya (Oxus) River was the Unesco World Heritage Site of Kunya-Urgench – notable for its towering minaret, mausoleums, mosque ruins and the gate to a caravanserai. Deserted in the early 18th century, it's a dustily evocative ghost town. There were no other visitors. We crossed the border. Uzbekistan: shimmering Silk Road sites The big-hitter of the Five Stans, Uzbekistan can fill a two-week tour by itself. Benefitting from good railways, this is the country posh firms tend to focus on. Its roads are of varying quality, but gold, gas and oil bankroll a fair degree of development. I got to see the famed trio of ancient cities – Khiva, Bukhara and Samarkand – and found them enthralling. Khiva is small and still has its ancient wall. Whether you walk the ramparts or drift around the maze of pedestrianised streets, it's beguiling. Despite the best intentions of the guide, it was hard to keep track of the multitude of mosque and madrasa (Islamic school) names. The Kaltaminor memorial minaret, ringed by turquoise, green and white tiles, is especially beautiful. This, and many other structures in Khiva, are highly photogenic – if you can ignore the souvenir stalls that have sprouted up all over. Bukhara has a major archaeological site in its heart surrounded by large, lively squares, with souvenir stalls sited (sort of appropriately) under towers where Silk Road traders plied their wares. Its big draw is the Ark, a citadel where two British agents, Captain Arthur Connolly and Lieutenant Colonel Charles Stoddart, were imprisoned in a verminous pit before being brutally executed by order of the Emir of Bukhara. Outside its walls stands a gorgeous minaret from which numerous malefactors were flung. Like other Uzbek centres, Bukhara is a visual whirl of tiling, domes and lofty iwans (entrance halls) – its four-towered Chor Minor is one of the most photographed buildings in the region – but the all-brick Samanid Mausoleum was the most entrancing architectural attraction; tenth-century bricklayers knew a thing or two about geometry, physics and understatement. Samarkand is probably the Stans' most fabled destination. It's an elegant modern city with ancient sites dotted around, and a convivial place to walk around. The Registan is the most magnificent public square in Asia, perhaps anywhere. You have to buy a ticket to enter, mind you, but there are no unsightly stalls. Other must-see sights include the Ulugbek Observatory, built in 1420 by Timur's star-gazing grandson, and Shah-i-Zinda necropolis, a pilgrimage site. Visiting the three cities was eye-opening, but crowds are crowds and it was a relief to roam around the desert castles of Khorezm – sand-coloured ghost-cities in what climate change has made the middle of nowhere. I also enjoyed a random, unheralded stop at the Rabati Malik caravenserai – a bona fide Silk Road roadside inn beside the bumpy Bukhara-Samarkand M37 highway, between the petrol stations and fast-food joints. Tajikistan: Rahmon is watching you The World Heritage Site of Sarazm might date back 5,500 years but, after Uzbekistan's in-your-face glories, its scattering of rough foundations under corrugated canopies and adjoining patchily curated museum were underwhelming. The gurning mug of president Emomali Rahmon adorns the latter's façade, as it does every roundabout, public building and bazaar entrance. Ruling the poorest of the five Stans since 1994, Rahmon bolsters his dictatorship by means of a personality cult. The Tajiks are descendants of Bactrians, Sogdians, Scythians – Silk Road peoples par excellence. They speak a variety of Persian, while their neighbours speak Turkic languages. This might seem no big deal, but guides in the Stans like to make a point that their country is the oldest/strongest or most admired/feared. Three days wasn't long in Tajikistan, but enough. The highlight was a drive into the Fann Mountains to visit the Seven Lakes, though we only saw six as the road petered out and we didn't have time for the hike to the last. Fed by the Shing River, the lakes, which range from deep blue to bright green, lie beside a winding road hemmed in by vaulting cliffs and canyon walls. At lake number three we stopped to eat a delicious stew at a campsite beside rushing white-waters, and one brave member of the group took a dip in the gelid lake. While the scenery was undeniably dramatic, the road was hairy and busy with tour buses – Tajikistan visas are hard to get but that isn't keeping people away – and there were pylons all the way. Our driver was a veteran of the Soviet Afghan war; his experience at the wheel of tanks filled him, at least, with confidence. A far less nervous ride followed the next day, as we passed from Panjakent up the valley of the Zeravshan River and then turned north for Khujand. It was the most impressive piece of road so far, dynamited through the rocky slopes. On the left were high brown mountains and on the right the lofty Fanns, snow-stained and rugged. Tidy villages were wedged in beside pale green fields. Wherever the land was reasonably level it was tilled. People have been refining agricultural techniques here for millennia. Stopping for lunch at Istravashan, we saw where a local mayor had levelled what remained of the hilltop site of Mug Teppe – possibly founded by Cyrus the Great. Now a sterile reconstruction, it was a classic case of misguided heritage tourism. Tajikistan felt like the most religious of the five Stans. Clothing was more traditional for both sexes, though I saw very few burqas. People touch their heart when they meet tourists, which is an endearing way of interacting and more sincere than 'have a nice day'. Kyrgyzstan: wild upland beauty Great mountain ranges cut across Kyrgyzstan, including the Fanns, Tian Shan, Pamirs and Karakorams. The country apparently once styled itself as a future Asian Switzerland. It's more of a Bolivia in development terms, and early experiments with democracy have given way to authoritarianism. In terms of physical geography, it lived up to expectations. A visit to the village of Arslanbob, surrounded by soaring peaks, involved an easy ramble through semi-wilderness. An old walnut forest was the main 'sight' here, though locals had gathered in large numbers to ride on ziplines and in Lada jeeps, and take photographs in front of a waterfall. A very long drive on horrible, barrier-free, boulder-strewn roads took us up to the pasturelands around Song-Köl Lake. Here, at almost 10,000 feet above sea level, we slept in communal yurts, visited a local shepherd, saw petroglyph sites, and admired hundreds of cattle, sheep, goats and, above all, horses. I hiked up to a series of outcrops above the lake. Tiny flowers in improbable colours – blue, deep burgundy – carpeted the golden-green grassland. Small birds announced my presence at each jutting tor. I sat down to contemplate views over the mountains and the hazy far side of the lake, utterly alone. Kyrgyzstan had landmark mosques and minarets, too, but its chief assets were more left field. I enjoyed a short swim in Issyk-Kul lake, where a former Soviet pioneer camp was mouldering on the beach. I saw an ornate Dungan mosque and had dinner in a Uighur house, and visited my first Russian orthodox churches. In the Barskoon Gorge, I admired two Soviet-style monuments to cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin. Central Asia is full of bombastic statues of old warriors and recent dictators, and at least the celebrated spaceman achieved something (though he never visited). Along the way, we ate in service stations and Spar supermarkets; Central Asia hasn't got round to gastronomy. One day there will be a coffee table book about Kyrgyzstan cemeteries. The mini necropolises in earthy tones seem to rise out of the desert floor. Tombs are decorated with red stars and etchings of the faces of the deceased. They are never visited by families once the funeral is over. Kazakhstan: deep canyons and flat whites This was the country I had most anticipated when contemplating a trip to Central Asia. I knew it was massive – the ninth largest nation on earth – and thinly populated. I knew it was largely made up of steppe. I imagined the openness, the big skies, the far-off horizons. Alas, this tour wound up with just two days in Kazakhstan, and all I would see was Charyn National Park and the biggest city, Almaty. The former was stunning, and very popular with local tourists. I had a walk around, surveyed a deep canyon that would have been more impressive if it hadn't been such a hazy, wan day, and scored a good, pricey flat white at the on-site café. If this was my first taste of modern urban living in 20 days, Almaty offered more of the same. A proper cosmopolitan city, with electric vehicles, Irish pubs, posh wine bars and glamorous people, it was a reminder that, while travel is often about seeking out the different and undeveloped, there is comfort in finding good food, craft ale and sourdough bread. I walked around the centre without a map, and saw branches of Marks & Spencer and Next. I visited the national museum, in need of brain food. The last official group lunch was a self-service canteen; adventure tourism firms don't go big on food. Afterwards I googled 'Almaty best café' and went, with three co-travellers, to a joyously pretentious place called Fika ('Whimsical interiors meet Soviet-era industrial detailing,' according to Wallpaper magazine). We toasted a trip of a lifetime and then went to the hotel to sleep in preparation for the 2am ride to the airport. Chris Moss travelled with Exodus (020 3553 6116). The 23-day Five Stans of the Silk Road group tour has departures from May to October. Local guides, transport, accommodation, entrance fees, breakfasts and some meals are included. From £5,149, plus £727 for return flights. Budget at least £120 for visas for Turkmenistan and Tajikistan. Tips, while not obligatory, are expected; allow £60-£100.
Argaam
15-06-2025
- Business
- Argaam
Miahona to move forward with phase 2 of Uzbekistan sewage project
Miahona Co. signed an addendum on June 12 in Tashkent to its development agreement with Uzbekistan's Ministry of Investment, Industry and Trade and Uzsuvtaminot joint stock company, the company said in a statement to Tadawul. The addendum confirms the parties' intention to proceed with the second phase of the agreement. It also outlines plans for joint cooperation in developing water and wastewater treatment plants in the Fergana Valley and Jizzakh region. According to the statement, Miahona and its Uzbek partners agreed to complete and accept the first phase of the project, which includes prefeasibility studies and a techno-commercial proposal submitted by Miahona. This phase remains subject to confirmation during the next stage of the project. The parties also expressed mutual willingness to proceed with the second phase, which involves conducting detailed due diligence and feasibility studies for the updated project pipeline. The timeline for this phase has been extended by one year beyond what was previously announced. Miahona said the addendum strengthens its international expansion strategy and supports its commitment to delivering sustainable water solutions. According to data available with Argaam, Miahona initially signed the development agreement on Sept. 29, 2024, with Uzbekistan's Ministry of Investment, Industry, and Trade. At the time, the company said the one-year agreement aimed to explore opportunities to develop four new wastewater treatment plants and assess the potential to take over the operation and maintenance of five existing water and wastewater treatment projects in the Fergana and Jizzakh regions.
