Introduction: Yearning for the Blue City
Every time I speak the name Samarkand, I feel something special in its resonance. This city, once a vital hub on the Silk Road and known as the “Blue City,” continues to shine as a jewel of Central Asia.
The ancient city of Samarkand in Uzbekistan has a long history dating back to the 6th century BCE. Conquered by Alexander the Great, ruled by Islamic forces, it reached its golden age in the late 14th century as the capital of the Timurid Empire. The architectural marvels created by craftsmen brought from around the world by Timur continue to overwhelm visitors today.
Most famous are the Islamic buildings adorned with vibrant blue tiles. The three madrasas surrounding Registan Square, Bibi-Khanym Mosque, and the Shah-i-Zinda necropolis all boast breathtaking beauty. In this region, blue symbolizes divinity and eternity, and the blue tiles used in buildings are known worldwide as “Samarkand Blue.”
Walking through this city means following the footsteps of travelers across time. Marco Polo, Ibn Battuta, and countless merchants and scholars passed through these same paths, gazing up at the same blue sky.
Day 1: First Encounter with Eternal Blue
The high-speed train Afrosiyob took about two hours from Tashkent. As morning light illuminated the windows, I arrived at Samarkand station. The station building itself was beautiful, adorned with traditional decorations. Climbing into a taxi, the driver Ahmad spoke to me in fluent English mixed with Russian.
“First time in Samarkand? You’ve come at the best time. Late spring is the most beautiful season.”
On the way to the city center, I watched the landscape unfold—white buildings with blue decorations and green tree-lined streets. The air was dry but pleasantly cool.
In the morning, I naturally headed first to Registan Square. The moment I stepped out of the taxi, I was speechless at the sight before me. The majesty of the square formed by three madrasas had an impact that no photograph or video could convey. Ulugh Beg Madrasa, Sher-Dor Madrasa, and Tilya-Kori Madrasa gleamed like blue jewel boxes in the sunlight.
Particularly impressive was the interior of Tilya-Kori Madrasa. True to its name meaning “covered in gold,” the dome’s interior was decorated with gold leaf, creating a breathtakingly beautiful contrast with the blue tiles. In that space, wrapped in silence as morning light streamed in, I felt the true sanctity of a place of prayer.
For lunch, I visited a small restaurant near the square called “Samarkand Plov Center.” I enjoyed plov (pilaf), Uzbekistan’s national dish. The rice cooked with lamb, carrots, and onions had an exquisite spice aroma and was surprisingly light. The elderly owner proudly declared, “Plov is a man’s dish,” which left a lasting impression.
In the afternoon, I made my way to Bibi-Khanym Mosque. Built as one of the world’s largest mosques, this building bears the name of Timur’s beloved wife, Bibi-Khanym. The massive dome and tall minarets represented the pinnacle of construction technology of their time, but ironically, the structure began to collapse soon after completion due to its excessive size.
In the silence of the mosque’s interior, gazing at the geometric patterns of Islamic architecture, my sense of time began to fade. The flower and vine patterns drawn on the blue tiles were art itself—abstractions of natural beauty. In the slanted afternoon light, their beauty appeared even more striking.
In the evening, I visited the Shah-i-Zinda necropolis. This complex of mausoleums, meaning “Living King,” is a sacred place where members of Timur’s family and saints rest. The blue-domed tombs lining the narrow alley looked like a garden blooming with blue flowers.
As the sun began to set, I quietly toured each mausoleum. Each had different decorations, telling the story of the craftsmen’s high level of technique and artistry. Particularly moving was the mausoleum of Shadi Mulk, Timur’s niece, where intricate tile decorations seemed to come alive in the evening light.
That night, I socialized with locals at a traditional chaikhana (tea house). While drinking Uzbek tea, an elderly man sitting nearby told me stories of old Samarkand. Our conversation, conducted in Russian, English, and gestures, was far from fluent, but his warm personality came through clearly.
“Samarkand’s blue is heaven’s blue reflected on earth,” he said.
Those words gently embraced all the emotions of that day.
Day 2: Craftsmanship and Earth’s Bounty
In the morning, the cityscape visible from my hotel window was still wrapped in mist, creating a dreamlike atmosphere. Samarkand’s mornings are quiet, and you can feel the entire city slowly awakening.
In the morning, I visited a Samarkand paper workshop. This city has long been famous for papermaking, with techniques introduced from China around the 8th century developing uniquely here. At the workshop, I observed the traditional papermaking process using mulberry bark as raw material.
The craftsman Umar carefully explained the work to me. They boil mulberry bark, beat it to create fibers, dissolve it in water, and then form the paper. Though the process appears simple, it’s a delicate technique where temperature, humidity, and raw material quality greatly affect the final product.
“This paper lasts a thousand years. The proof is that Korans and poetry collections written on Samarkand paper are still readable today.”
I was allowed to try papermaking myself. Watching the fibers spread evenly in the water was beautiful, like clouds changing shape. The finished paper had a pleasant texture and warm feel.
At the end of the morning, I also visited a nearby carpet workshop. Samarkand carpets, made using traditional Persian carpet techniques, feature beautiful geometric patterns based on deep blue. Watching skilled craftsmen carefully tie each thread was like watching someone paint with colored thread.
For lunch, I ate at a small eatery that felt like dining in a local home. I enjoyed lagman (hand-pulled noodles) and manti (steamed dumplings). The lagman soup was concentrated with the flavors of vegetables and meat, and the hand-pulled noodles revealed wheat’s sweetness with each bite. The bite-sized manti brought indescribable happiness when the meat juices spread in my mouth.
In the afternoon, I ventured a bit further to Afrasiyab Hill. This hill, where ancient Samarkand ruins sleep, is located some distance from the current city. While not many ruins remain, the view of Samarkand from here was exceptional.
Looking down at the cityscape dotted with blue domes, I thought about the history of people who lived on this land. Sogdians, Arabs, Persians, Mongols, and people of the Timurid dynasty. Each brought their culture, merged it, and created new cultures. The landscape I was seeing was the result of such long historical accumulation.
At the Afrasiyab Museum, I could see murals from the 7th-8th centuries. These murals, believed to depict envoys from countries along the Silk Road, tell of Samarkand’s prosperity as an international city at that time. Chinese-style clothing, Persian decorations, and Indian ornaments—various cultures are vividly depicted in their coexistence.
On the way back to the city in the evening, I stopped at a local market (bazaar). Siyab Bazaar is a place of local life, with a different vitality from tourist areas. Colorful foods are displayed—pomegranates, grapes, apricots and other fruits, spices, nan bread, and cheese.
An elderly woman I met at the market shared some freshly picked apricots with me. Their sweet, juice-filled flavor conveyed the blessings of this land’s sun and earth. Even without a common language, warmth was sufficient for communication through smiles and gestures.
That night, I had dinner at a small restaurant where I could listen to traditional Uzbek music performances. While doira (drum) and rubab (string instrument) music played, I savored shashlik (grilled meat skewers) and somsa (meat pie). The music reached beyond words into the heart, making me forget I was in a distant foreign land.
During a break in the performance, one of the musicians spoke to me. He came from a family of musicians spanning generations, carefully using an instrument inherited from his grandfather.
“Music is the language of the heart. No matter what country people are from, hearts can connect through music.”
True to his words, that night became special, transcending language barriers.
Day 3: Morning Farewell and Eternal Memory
On the final morning, I woke early to visit Registan Square once more. Watching the blue tiles turn pale pink in the dawn light showed a completely different face from my first day’s impression. With few tourists around yet, I had the luxury of enjoying the square’s silence to myself.
In the morning light, I carefully observed the details of the three madrasas. The patterns carved into each tile, the Arabic script, and the beauty of the joints. I gazed intently at these artworks infused with craftsmen’s souls, as if etching them into my heart.
In the morning, I visited Gur-e-Amir Mausoleum. This mausoleum where Timur, founder of the Timurid Empire, rests is one of Samarkand’s representative architectures, with its beautiful blue dome. Inside, Timur’s tombstone is enshrined. The beautiful jade-colored tombstone exudes the dignity of a ruler while somehow maintaining a serene atmosphere.
Walking around the mausoleum, I thought about the life of the great conqueror who ruled this land. His achievements in conquering various parts of the world and gathering cultures and technologies from everywhere to Samarkand were certainly great, but the memories of countless wars were also etched here. It was a place where I felt both light and shadow of history simultaneously.
For lunch, wanting to eat plov once more, I searched for a different small eatery from yesterday. At a family-run establishment hidden in an alley, the plov prepared by the proprietress had a homestyle taste. It was a bit milder than yesterday’s, with a gentle flavor.
“Going home tomorrow? How was Samarkand?” the proprietress asked in broken English. I earnestly conveyed my gratitude—everything was wonderful: the beautiful city, kind people, and delicious food.
In the afternoon, for my final exploration, I walked through the city’s residential areas. I wanted to see ordinary streetscapes, not tourist sites. Earth-walled houses, children playing in small gardens, elderly people drinking tea under eaves—somehow nostalgic scenes spread before me.
When I got lost along the way, a passing young man kindly gave me directions. Moreover, he went out of his way to guide me near my hotel. When I thanked him, he said, “Thank you for coming to love Samarkand.” Those words brought up an overwhelming affection for this city and its people.
In the evening, while packing, I reflected on these three days. The beauty of blue tiles, craftsmen’s techniques, delicious food, and above all, encounters with warm people. Though it was a short stay, I felt I had touched upon some of this city’s charm.
I spent the last night on the hotel rooftop, gazing at the city. The night scene with illuminated blue domes had a different beauty from daytime. The starry sky spreading beyond the city was the same sky countless travelers to this land had looked up at.
Tomorrow morning I would return to Japan via Tashkent. But what I saw and felt in this city would surely remain in my heart for a long time. Samarkand was not just a tourist destination, but a place where living history and culture breathe.
Conclusion: What Was Certainly Felt Despite Being Imaginary
This 2-night, 3-day trip to Samarkand was not something I actually experienced, but a story created in my imagination. However, by combining knowledge gained through literature, photographs, and videos with my longing for travel, I was able to experience sensations as if I had truly been there.
The beauty of Samarkand’s blue tiles, the taste of plov, warm exchanges at chaikhanas, respect for craftsmen’s techniques, and above all, the kindness of people living in this city. All of these were born in my imagination, yet became memories that certainly remain in my heart.
Imaginary travel can create the most beautiful moments in one’s heart, transcending real-world constraints. Without worrying about time, money, or language barriers, one can purely engage with a place’s charm. And sometimes, such journeys of the heart bring deeper emotions than actual travel.
When the day comes that I truly visit Samarkand, I want to enjoy the differences between the longing I held in this imaginary journey and reality. There will surely be beauty beyond imagination and new discoveries different from what I imagined. Until then, I will continue to hold this yearning for the blue city in my heart.
This journey, imaginary yet feeling as real as if it truly happened, has become a treasure in my heart that will never fade.
