Bukhara Blues: A Drummer's Dizzying Detour

okay, so. bukhara. who knew? i was supposed to be in berlin, laying down tracks for some indie band, but my agent, bless his chaotic heart, mixed up the dates. somehow, i ended up here. central asia. specifically, bukhara, uzbekistan. the numbers - 1221714 and 1762136882 - those were just scribbled on a napkin by the guy at the airport who sold me a questionable samosa. i’m not even sure what they mean. probably just his lucky numbers.

it’s… damp. i just checked and the air hangs heavy, like a wet wool blanket. it’s 7.9 degrees celsius, feels like 7.05, and the pressure is high - 1020. humidity’s a solid 92%. you know, the kind of weather that clings to you. i’m pretty sure my drumsticks are absorbing moisture. not ideal.

but honestly? it’s incredible. the old city is a maze of narrow, winding streets, all terracotta and turquoise. i spent a good hour just wandering, getting hopelessly lost, and occasionally dodging a donkey cart. i stumbled upon this tiny teahouse, tucked away in a courtyard, and had the strongest green tea of my life. seriously, it could kickstart a rhino.

“Don’t trust the carpets,” a woman with a thousand wrinkles told me, sipping her tea. “They hide secrets. And dust.”

I’m staying at a guesthouse - “Minor’s House,” it’s called. it’s… rustic. let’s go with rustic. the plumbing is… an experience. but the owner, Minor, is a legend. he’s got stories for days. he keeps telling me about the ancient silk road and how bukhara used to be a major trading hub. apparently, it was the place to be for spices and silks.

if you get bored, samarkand and khiva are just a short drive away. i’m thinking of hopping over to samarkand tomorrow. Minor says the Registan Square is breathtaking.

I overheard some tourists complaining about the lack of wifi. honestly, it’s a blessing. forces you to actually look at things. i’ve been sketching in my notebook - trying to capture the light, the colors, the sheer vibe of this place. it’s definitely inspiring. might even write a song about it. something with a heavy backbeat and a mournful oud melody.

“The pigeons are spies,” a drunk man slurred at me outside a kebab shop. “They report back to the government.”

Someone told me that the local plov (rice dish) is the best in uzbekistan. i’m skeptical, but i’m willing to try it. i’ve also heard that bargaining is expected in the bazaars. apparently, you can knock down the price by at least 30%. i’m terrible at bargaining. i’ll probably end up paying double for a handful of dried apricots.

poi kalon complex is a must-see, apparently. and lyabi-khauz is supposed to have a great atmosphere at night. i’m checking out chor minor madrasah tomorrow.

pro-tip: learn a few basic uzbek phrases. it goes a long way. and bring cash. most places don’t accept credit cards.

gear list:

drumsticks (obviously)
sketchbook & pencils
rain jacket (that dampness, remember?)
universal adapter (uzbekistan uses european plugs)
phrasebook
a healthy dose of curiosity

check out tripadvisor for bukhara: https://www.tripadvisor.com/Tourism-g298504-Bukhara_Samarkand_Region-Vacations.html

yelp doesn’t really exist here, sadly. but you can find some local forums here: https://www.uzbekistan.travel/en/

and for some more travel inspiration, check out: https://www.lonelyplanet.com/uzbekistan

so yeah. bukhara. it’s not berlin. but it’s… something else entirely. i’m gonna go find some plov. and maybe avoid the pigeons.

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