I do not recall exactly when I first heard the name Bukhara, the seventh-largest city of Uzbekistan, yet each time it reached my ears, it carried a sense of romance, mysticism, and fantasy. Perhaps it was the stories I read of ancient times, a connection with my ancestors, or simply memories stored in the unconscious. Whatever the reason, Bukhara always felt strangely familiar.
This July, my wife and I finally arrived in the city of our childhood tales, late at night after an eight-hour train journey from Khiva. A Yandex taxi carried us to our family hotel. Tired from the long day, we decided to rest and prepare for the morning ahead. Little did we know, the day would turn out to be the record-setting walk of our tour.
After a refreshing sleep in a cosy room nestled among apple trees, we set out immediately after the morning prayers. With sunrise at 5:14, we began exploring a city boasting nearly 140 architectural monuments. Our hotel stood in a perfect spot, close to the heart of the landmarks we planned to visit.
Using Google Maps, we made our way to the famous square near the Ark of Bukhara. Although we had already learned from travel vlogs about the overpriced electric carts, we still fell for a driver who persuasively offered to take us around all the famous sites for 200,000 som, showing us a laminated printed card.
“Isn’t it too much for a ride? Google Maps shows that the places are not far from each other,” I said. To my relief, he agreed to lower the fare to 125,000 som. A good discount, I thought, although my wife wanted to push further. Bargaining has never been my forte.
Despite some prior knowledge of the places and their proximity, we could not resist the offer. Early in the day, our driver, Abdul Rehman, sweetened the deal by offering to act as our photographer and to wait patiently wherever we wished.
“You see, it was a good deal,” I told my wife, who was still examining the card.
Our first stop was Chor Minor, the place with four minarets, also known as the Madrasah of Khalif Niyaz-Kul. Some chronicles suggest that it was designed by an architect who had four daughters, each minaret decorated differently in their honour.
On the way, we passed the Bukhara prison (Zindan), built in the latter half of the 18th century during the Mangit dynasty. In front of Chor Minor, we came across a small shop filled with Russian crockery and decorative pieces. Among the items on display were military uniforms, medals, books, and personal diaries of some Russian soldiers.
The prices seemed steep, but given their historical value as souvenirs, understandable. We decided instead to capture the moment with photographs before heading to our next stop.
Navigating through the narrow streets, we soon reached a dead end marked by concrete columns about two feet high. The driver paused and suggested we continue the rest of the trip on foot.
Ahead stood two imposing structures: the Abdulaziz Khan Madrassah and the Ulugbek Madrassah. Their intricate façades drew us in. It was easy to imagine that in their prime, these buildings had been centres of learning in architecture, engineering, philosophy, literature, and religious studies.
The early morning light was perfect for photography, and I eagerly began taking shots of the geometric, floral, and calligraphic patterns. Yet when I reviewed the images, I realised that they failed to convey the full splendour of what stood before us.
“The grandeur of these buildings can never truly be captured in pictures,” I said. That realisation prompted me to put the camera aside and focus instead on absorbing their beauty and magnificence firsthand.
The tour continued as we approached the famous Poi Kalan, often referred to as the Tower of Death. Some chronicles attribute the name to the fatal fall of a king. Legend holds that criminals were once executed by being hurled from its height.
Records show that Genghis Khan entered Bukhara in the harsh winter of 1220 AD. The day was bitterly cold and windy. As he passed the minaret, his cap blew to the ground, forcing him to bow before the tower.
“I have never bowed before anyone; this minaret has made me bow. Spare it,” he is said to have declared.
Thus, Poi Kalan survived, even as much of the city was reduced to ashes.
Next to the minaret stood the grand Kalyan Mosque. Entry cost UZ 15,000 per person, and the ticket checker offered to act as a guide for UZ 40,000. His English was fluent. He later said that he was a schoolteacher working part-time as a tourist guide.
He told us the madrassah had been built on the remains of the structure destroyed by the Mongols. In one of its rooms, now lost, Imam Bukhari was said to have delivered lectures. Standing there, we tried to imagine that moment in history.
The mosque’s façade was exquisite. Right in front of the main building stood a covered hexagonal structure built specifically for the sultan to offer his prayers. It struck us as unusual since in Islam worshippers normally pray in the same rank and under the same roof. But kings, it seemed, had their own ways.
Opposite the mosque, the Mir-i-Arab Madrassah, with its striking turquoise domes, dominated the view. We were astonished to see so many magnificent buildings clustered together, each enhancing the splendour of the others. It was difficult to picture how breathtaking the scene must have been in its prime.
Lost in the beauty of the place, we suddenly remembered the cart we had hired and the driver waiting for us. Reluctantly, we returned.
The ride lasted about two hours, taking us through all the destinations on his list. We ended at the Lab-e-Hauz Complex, an ensemble of madrassahs with exquisite architecture dating back to the 16th and 17th centuries. By then, it was time for breakfast.
Back at the hotel, our landlady was waiting for us with a simple spread: melon, samsa (similar to the Pakistani samosa), a boiled egg, and bread, with tea or coffee as we wished. One detail stood out: tomatoes.
People in Uzbekistan, we noticed, eat them with passion, serving them even to tourists at breakfast.
Wasting time was not an option in Bukhara. We set off again at 11:30.
We began once more encountering a familiar figure from our childhood stories: Mullah Nasreddin Hodja (1208–1285), famed for his witty anecdotes with a moral edge, a sage wrapped in humour. His grand statue, mounted on a donkey, stood in front of the Nadir Divan-Beghi Madrassah. With his laughing face and playful posture, he seemed to be inviting tourists to take a photograph.
Standing close by, I murmured to him, “O wise man, take a rest now—you have been at it since 1979, the year the statue was erected.”
On the façade of the Nadir Divan-Beghi Madrassah, phoenixes appeared to take flight. The symbol suggested that a learned man rises like a phoenix—a reminder displayed on the wall for all to see and acknowledge.
I was reluctant to leave the site, but with much more still to cover that day, we decided to postpone photographing the façades until the next morning, when the light would be kinder.
Our next destination was the mausoleum of one of Bukhara’s most revered saints, Shaykh Baha-ud-Din Naqshbandi, located about five miles outside the old city. The taxi dropped us directly at the entrance.
A sense of calm hung in the air. Families gathered to visit the grave and offer prayers. At one point, verses of the Quran were recited, and the visitors fell into a quiet, collective listening.
The wooden ceilings and columns were spectacular, their perfection almost impossible to believe. The site radiated peace for all who entered.
From there, we asked the driver to take us back towards the city, to the Bolo Haouz Mosque near the Ark of Bukhara. Originally built in 1712, its interior has been carefully renovated.
The craftsmanship was remarkable. One of the caretakers, noticing my eagerness to capture the splendour of the main hall, switched on the lights so I could take better photographs. I did not waste a moment—even lying on the floor to capture the dome from within.
The colours, stucco work, and muqarnas were flawless. Calligraphy and inscriptions ran across the walls in elegant harmony, while the burst of colour on the mihrab was dazzling, almost beyond imagination. The entire interior was utterly mesmerising.
The camera seemed underpowered.
“Remember the morning lesson, Yasir: it is not possible to capture the beauty of these places in photos,” I reminded myself.
Lying on the floor, I decided to put the camera aside for a while and simply absorb the splendour of the main hall.
We were alone inside; nature had gifted us a rare moment to look inward and reflect on our own deeds and actions.
Stepping out into the corridor, the carved wooden pillars caught our attention, holding us there for another half-hour.
We chose to explore the area on foot and make our way to the birthplace of one of the greatest scholars in the Muslim world, Imam Bukhari.
On the way, we passed the Poi Kalan Minaret and the Mir-i-Arab Madrassah. Fresh angles, shifting light, and new shades conspired to keep us lingering. How could we not?
An hour spent among these iconic structures passed like a fleeting minute.
Despite the heat—40°C that day—our excitement to roam the architectural marvels pushed us on.
Following Google Maps, we reached the Hoja Zayniddin Mosque, beside which lay a wide depression in the ground, around 15 feet deep. The place was deserted in the scorching afternoon sun.
Inside the mosque’s main hall, we found a boy seated quietly in a corner. He gestured towards the ground outside, saying that people believe Imam Bukhari’s birthplace lies somewhere within that compound.
Yet there was no signboard, no plaque, and no marker of any kind. For one of Islam’s most revered figures, there was nothing to indicate the site—a silence we found difficult to understand.
We returned to our hotel, tired but still enchanted by the beauty of Bukhara.
After a brief rest and a chance to recharge our phones, we set out once again for the Ark of Bukhara to catch the golden hour and sunset against its fortress walls.
The entry ticket was expensive, but our purpose was to see the place and the cost quickly faded to the background.
Walking along the pathways and galleries, we finally reached a spot where the sunset could be admired in all its glory. Yet the newly added iron dome structure jarred against the timeless lines of the Ark. Such, perhaps, are the oddities of modernism.
We left the spot in search of another vantage point from which both the Poi Kalan Minaret and the Kalyan Mosque could be seen in the golden hour.
The ground was uneven, but many enthusiastic photographers had already gathered with their equipment, hoping to capture the perfect shot.
I repeated to myself the lesson about the camera’s limitations. Though I took a few clicks, I soon decided instead to savour the view—perhaps the scene of the day, the year, or even the decade.
A Chinese visitor, equally impressed by the spectacle, approached me and asked if I could take his photo. Afterwards, we chatted for 15–20 minutes.
His fluent English made the exchange easy and enjoyable. He said that he lived in Japan and ran an online business. His wife, meanwhile, was caring for their three-year-old daughter. She must have felt as relieved as mine did when he finally returned after those extra minutes of photographs and conversation.
Both of us had wanted to know more about each other.
By then it was time to look for dinner.
The Poi Kalan Minaret still drew crowds, its surroundings alive with activity.
We walked back to the Lab-e-Hauz restaurant and found the pond-side seating completely occupied by foreign tourists. By good fortune, we managed to secure a high spot from which we could enjoy our meal while listening to live singing.
“Lucky to have such a vantage point,” my wife remarked.
Our plan had been to choose something light on both the stomach and the wallet. It turned out otherwise.
The meal cost more than expected, and I ended up with stomach trouble that night due to the richness of the food. By the grace of Almighty, the problem was short-lived; the medicines we had carried for the trip worked.
Our sports app showed we had covered 17 kilometres that day.
What a day in Bukhara.
It was finally time to rest.
Bukhara is a truly lovely place. We had not imagined the kind of architecture, aesthetics, and life that awaited us in the city of Imam Bukhari.
A friend of mine once remarked that there are two kinds of tourists: those always on their feet, roaming the streets with little time spent indoors, and those who prefer the opposite, relaxing and taking it easy.
We clearly belonged to the first group.
After such a hectic day, however, we decided to slow down the next morning and asked for breakfast at around 09:30.
The typical Uzbek breakfast awaited us once more, lovingly prepared by the elderly landlady.
After eating, it was time to head out again and roam the city.
We once more encountered the figure of Mullah Nasreddin Hodja, pausing to take a few photos with the help of a tripod-cum-selfie stick.
From there, we made our way towards the Arc of Bukhara. It was another hot day, with many tourists — especially women — opting for minimal clothing.
Our goal was to find two madrassahs, Abdullah Khan and Modarykhan, which face each other near the Bolo Haouz mosque. Google Maps guided us well.
When we arrived, we found only another couple taking photos. Perhaps the location of these madrassahs was less prominent, which explained the absence of crowds.
The façades of both buildings were outstanding.
How could such marvels have been conceived, let alone built by human hands? I was in complete awe.
Offering the noon prayer (Zuhr) at the Bolo Haouz mosque felt like another way of bidding farewell to the beautiful place.
The main hall was almost full, yet a profound peace and calmness prevailed.
After spending a couple of hours wandering the streets, we returned to our hotel to collect our luggage and set out for our next destination: Samarkand, the cultural capital of the Islamic world.
Bukhara had left a lasting impression.
Its ambience carried a special touch, moving us deeply.
As the train carried us onwards, we realised that Bukhara had given us more than memories: it had offered lessons in beauty, history, and faith.
Its timeless charm lingered in our hearts, urging us to return one day and walk its streets once again.
https://www.thenews.com.pk/tns/detail/1348309-walking-through-a-city-of-legends