To Hell and Bukhara

After three days in Samarkand, we were ready to take the train to our next stop on the Silk Road, Bukhara. As we were rushing to board, however, Abby slipped off the (single, very high) step leading into the compartment. Instead of falling to the platform, she fell backward directly onto the tracks and fractured her skull. She was insensible for perhaps the most frightening 10 minutes of my life, and about 20 minutes after that we were in an ambulance headed straight to Samarkand’s finest hospital.

We stayed there a few nights while Abby recovered. While there were no amenities apart from a private room with its own washroom, the medical personnel were very attentive, and they took good care of Abby (apart from the ENT doctor who missed seeing the wad of cotton jammed up in her ear canal for two days). They also wouldn’t take a penny from us for her treatment. When Abby felt ready, we discharged ourselves and went to rest in Tashkent before proceeding to London on medevac for follow-up consultations.

So, what’s to see in Tashkent? Markets, of course!

First we have Chorsu Bazaar. Basically, if you eat it, they sell it.

If you don’t need onions or more onions, they have potatoes, spices, produce, and someone who’ll give you the stink eye for photographing the produce.

The real action is in the central building, which was built in 1980.

You want meat, you got it. You want bones, you got them. You want enormous sausages? You got them, too. Just be sure you know what critter you’re getting all of them from.
Also, delicatessen meats and cheeses, multiple varieties of farmer’s cheese, and photogenic pickles.

Next: more Chorsu Bazaar.

There ain’t no cure for the Samarkand blues

Yes, this next post was supposed to be about markets, but I haven’t exhausted my supply of Samarkand-based puns yet.

These are photos from the Shah-i-Zinda necropolis. According to Wikipedia,

The name Shah-i-Zinda (meaning “The living king”) is connected with the legend that Qutham ibn Abbas, a cousin of the Prophet Muhammad, is buried here. He came to Samarkand with the Arab invasion in the 7th century to preach Islam. Popular legends speak that he was beheaded for his faith but he didn’t die, took his head and went into the deep well (Garden of Paradise), where he’s still living.

Tombs and mausoleums.
There is a lot of blue tile.

Samarkand, and the Living Is Easy

We recently went to Samarkand, Uzbekistan to visit friends who were working in Tashkent. Samarkand was to be our first stop on a tour of the major Silk Road cities. Let’s see what Samarkand has to offer.

This is Registan Square, the heart of ancient Samarkand. The three madrassahs flanking the square were built between the 15th and 17th centuries.
The square is a popular backdrop for newlyweds having their photo taken.
This is the interior of the left-most madrassah, the Ulugh Beg, built by the astronomer/mathematician sultan of that name in 1417-1420. We had coffee in one of the alcoves–former dormitories that have been converted to shops, cafes, and storage areas.
Detail of the dormitory balconies.
This is the exterior of the Sher-Dor Madrassah, built 1619-1636 by a sultan who does not merit his own Wikipedia page.
One of the unusual features of the Sher-Dor Madrassah is the external façade with its images of faces, tigers and deer. Typically, Islamic art is proscribed from showing living creatures.
The interior is pretty impressive.
The courtyard mosaics are far more interesting than the commerce.

Next: the market.

The view at night is dramatic as well.

More festivals in (better) film photography: Gai Jatra

The festival of Gai Jatra is a day in which people mourn relatives who have died in the past year. It is similar to Halloween, in that it is a day for the dead and children dress up in costume. Specifically, they dress as cows, or paint on mustaches: “Gai Jatra” means “cow festival,” and it originated in the 17th century as the king’s attempt to console and amuse the queen after their son died. (In Hinduism, the cow is the symbol of motherhood.) The tradition caught on, and every year, children and their families parade through the streets carrying memorials of their loved ones while dressed in fun outfits.

In Kathmandu, Gai Jatra includes an additional Halloween-like tradition, in that the children receive gifts of food from festival attendees, presumably because a mourning family isn’t going to cook for itself. For some families, marching bands are also part of the cortege.

In Bhaktapur, it’s a whole different story. Instead of cows and kids, families build enormous towers bearing the portrait of the deceased, and young people parade through the city performing a dance, called ghintang ghisi, in which they arrange themselves in two long queues and hit sticks together. By the end of the day, the processions attract an enormous crowd.

If you didn’t know it was a festival, you’d think it was a riot.

Some festivals in film photography

Here are a few shots from two festivals that took place earlier this year: Bata-Savitri and Ropain.

During the Bata-Savitri festival, married women fast and pray for the health of their husbands. They also tie colored threads around trees and make offerings to the goddess Savitri Devi.

Some of the wives who were sitting around the tree looked very young; the older ones, on the other hand, clearly had had enough of Bata-Savitri over the years.

Ropain is the rice planting festival. We missed the main festival day, but still were able to see some farmers at work.

I’m starting to wonder about the color fidelity of the film I’m using, but we’ll have to see how it goes.

More adventures, etc. with lots of hiking

Day 3 began at 4:45 AM when we woke up, pulled on our heaviest clothing, and began our hike up Poon Hill to catch the sunrise. Poon Hill rises to 10,531 feet above sea level. (Granted, we were starting at about 9,430 feet.) Abby remarked that, in Nepal, this is called a “hill,” while in the U.S. east of the Mississippi, people would call it a “mountain.” Maine’s Mount Katahdin is 5,269 feet high. Vermont’s Mount Snow is 3,586 feet. And Georgia’s Stone Mountain? A piddling 1,686 feet.

Come on, people.

Anyhow … as we neared the top, I turned around and saw this:

More photos, from the top:

The mountains as the sun begins to hit them.
And a little while later.

Once we’d had our fill of the view, we went back down, ate, packed, and set off.

The same mountains from further away.
There’s a “This is Uncle Ted at the front of the house” Spanish inquisition vibe here …
… so this is the mountains with prayer flags.

We arrived in Tadapani that evening. Tadapani is a tourist village built on the edge of the valley. There’s nothing to do there except eat and sleep, but it offers beautiful views of the sunrise if you get up early enough, which is what we did.

After that, we ate, descended the mountain, found our van, and went back to the airport to catch our flight home.

One last image:

More adventures in film photography, with pictures of mountains

Back in November, we went hiking in the Annapurna Conservation Area Project (ACAP), a mountainous area about 100 miles northwest of Kathmandu that borders China. We spent four days hiking through the mountain region, completing about 40 km.

We flew into Pokhara and took a van to the entrance of the ACAP, and began our hike.

We could see the mountains from the airport.
Amazingly clean water; in contrast, the river in Kathmandu, the Bagmati, is completely polluted.
Nayapool village at the entrance to the ACAP.
Rice farmers along the way.
The house’s owner happened to come out as I was taking the shot.
The clouds moved in and out during the first afternoon.

The village at the entrance, Nayapool, is filled with guest houses, tea houses, and restaurants, and there are many more such businesses throughout the park. Because of COVID, however, nearly all of them were empty while we were there. Sadly, the government had launched a “Visit Nepal 2020” campaign which incentivized a lot of proprietors to sink all of their assets into their businesses right before the country closed down …

After walking about 8 km or so—the guide went easy on us for the first day—we spent the night in a village called Tikhe Dhunga. It was very quiet, given that most of the buildings there are guest houses. On the other side of the river, our guide told us, there had been a late-night landslide in 2006, in which 28 people were killed. The next morning’s trek out of the village was very steep—up 4,000 stone stairs to the next village—and the first part was dotted with memorials where houses had been.

One of the memorials listing the family members who were in their home when the landslide came.
A view of the Annapurna mountain range and the very steep hills. The mountain center-right is Machhapurne, “Fishtail” in Nepali.
Another view of the Annapurna mountain range.
On the way, I passed a village woman stringing flowers for puja garlands.
An abandoned trekkers’ cafe.
At Ghorepani, we got a preview of the next day’s view.

In the evening, after about 11 km of hiking, we arrived at our next stop, Ghorepani. We settled into a mostly empty hotel to spend the night in anticipation of waking at 5:00 AM the next morning to watch the sun rise—from Poon Hill, 1,150 feet up.

Next: Trudging 1,150 feet up Poon Hill to watch the sun rise, and what we saw after that.

Maha Shivratri

The sadhus recently came to Pashupatinath to prepare for the Maha Shivratri festival. Maha Shivratri celebrates the marriage of Shiva and Parvati, and it is one of the most important festivals in the Hindu calendar. According to Wikipedia, “unlike most Hindu festivals which include expression of cultural revelry, the Maha Shivaratri is a solemn event notable for its introspective focus, fasting, meditation on Shiva, self study, social harmony and an all night vigil at Shiva temples.”

In the days leading up to the festival, the sadhus and their entourages pose for photographs in exchange for tips. And, this being a Shaivite festival, many sadhus also spend their time smoking very strong hash.

Madhav Narayan

Madhav Narayan observances:

Ghat entrance.
Another group of musicians.
Women bathing at the river’s edge. The white shroud at the left is a corpse awaiting ritual washing and cremation.
Devotees standing around a fire.
The devotees say prayers by the river before walking into town to start their procession.
The devotees roll toward the river as women lay down white sheets ahead of them.
Rolling.
Some devotees do a form of salutation instead of rolling.
The path leads down to the river.
The devotees continue their roll or salutations down to the water’s edge and then climb in.
They wait …
Then, at the signal, they dive in.
Lots of splashing and bathing.
The devotees offer prayers.
Show’s over.

Navadurga festival, Bhaktapur

There in a festival in Bhaktapur called Madhav Narayan which celebrates one of the avatars of the Hindu god Vishnu. It is famous for the sight of male devotees rolling from the center of town down to the Hanuman River to show their devotion to Vishnu. The festival was nearing its close, so I went to Bhaktapur the day before to be at the riverside early in the morning.

It turned out that the city also is in the middle of its Navadurga festival. Navadurga is a mask dance ritual/street carnival. To celebrate Navadurga, dancers representing nine demonic avatars (durgas) of the goddess Parvati run around the city. I wasn’t aware of this until I wandered across a performance in one of the smaller squares of the city. The one in the red mask is one of the durgas; I assume the other is Shiva, since this appeared to be some kind of courtship dance.

The goddess awaits her husband.
The performer had to be guided as the masks are pretty cumbersome.
I had to push around to the front as best as I could; the dancers only played to the band, not to the rest of the crowd.
Collecting tips after the show.

After the show, I walked around the city for a few hours, and then returned to the same neighborhood on my way to dinner. As I passed, there was a loud commotion as young men rushed Shiva back into the square. They ran up and down, and then scampered off.

I continued up the road to a large square which I hadn’t visited before—Bhaktapur is much larger than I’d realized. At the main temple, there was a group of old men were singing and playing devotional songs, so I checked them out before finding some dinner.

After my meal, I was returning to my hotel when I heard another commotion. The street parade of durgas, drums and cymbals was heading toward me.

Naturally, I followed them. The revelers wound through some alleys and eventually ended at a temple where the musicians started pounding even louder. The dancers took off their masks and went inside, where they received offerings and more tips.

Next: Madhav Narayan

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑