lost in the dust of samarkand: a street artist's diary
you ever wake up in a place and feel like you’ve stepped into someone else’s fever dream? that’s samarkand for you. the air tastes like history and cumin, and the light is this weird golden haze that makes everything feel slightly unreal. i just checked and it's 7.86°C there right now, hope you like that kind of thing. i’m shivering in my paint-stained hoodie, but hey, that’s part of the charm, right?
"if you want to understand this city, you have to get lost in the bazaars,"
some old man told me while handing me a steaming cup of tea. i didn’t understand a word he said, but i nodded like i did. that’s how it goes here-half the time you’re just pretending to know what’s happening.
i spent the morning sketching the Registan, but honestly, no drawing does it justice. the tiles are so intricate they make your eyes hurt in the best way. someone told me that the best view is from the rooftop of the *Sherdor Madrasa, but i got distracted by a stray cat and forgot to climb up. typical.
if you get bored, Bukhara and Tashkent are just a short drive away. but why would you leave? the streets here are like a living museum, and the people are so warm you forget the temperature. i overheard a rumor that the Siab Bazaar has the best non bread in the world. i ate three loaves just to be sure. (verdict: it’s true.)
i tried to find the famous Ulugbek Observatory, but ended up in a random courtyard where a group of kids were playing chillyak. they laughed at my terrible attempts to join in, but hey, at least i got a story out of it. that’s the thing about samarkand-you think you’re here for the history, but it’s the people who stick with you.
"the real magic of samarkand isn’t in the monuments, it’s in the whispers,"
a local artist said to me while we shared a plate of plov*. i didn’t get it at first, but now i think i do. it’s in the way the light hits the domes at sunset, the way the bazaars hum with life, the way strangers become friends over a cup of tea.
i’m sitting in a tiny café now, watching the world go by. my hands are stained with ink, my sketchbook is full of half-finished ideas, and my heart is full of this weird, beautiful chaos. samarkand doesn’t just let you visit-it grabs you by the collar and says, "stay a while." and honestly? i think i will.
if you’re planning a trip, check out TripAdvisor for more tips, or just wander until you get lost. that’s what i did, and it worked out just fine.
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