It all started a year ago when I was visiting Romeo in Delhi - Romeo and his sister Juliet - are Indian dealers in Antique jewellery - among the heaps of ancient beads and amulets,Tibetan charms, Tribal bracelets, and south Indian gold I found a rather unusual and remarkable cuff .. made of heavy silver and covered in fine enamel work of tantalising blues and greens in floral and geometric designs. I was intrigued and asked about it. From Bukhara I was told - 19th century Uzbek.
I bought the piece and with it a pair of huge earrings of the same design and origin.
I took the pieces back to London and found myself studying them and wondering about them.
Finally coming to the conclusion I had to go to Bukhara and find out if craftsmen there were still making such fine work and if they were would they be willing to work with me on a collection of beautiful coloured enamel pieces on silver - drawing inspiration from the stunning tile work of the 9th century mosques of Samarkand. I have always loved central Asian Ikat textiles and have collected a few over the years and thought these too could become interesting inspirations for the jewellery ...
So, when a few weeks ago a small space presented itself unexpectedly, I grabbed the moment and after four frustrating visits to the Uzbek Embassy came away proudly holding a visa and off I went ...
My arrival in Tashkent at 2am was so exciting - a new country and a new culture and history and people and food and jewellery!! and what a fascinating history too...my mind has been full of stories of Moguls, Mongols, Greeks, ancient warrior nomads,. wave after wave of invasion, pillaging, massacres, the destruction of whole cities, libraries of ancient books, looting, a huge slave trade, scientists, astrologers, poets and the brilliant craftsmen from all over who came to work for the Emirs. It is hard to imagine how people are so warm hospitable and welcoming after a history of so much brutal violence.
The stories of the silk roads and the massive movement of silk, gems, spices from China to the Mediterranean and how delightfully easy to sit in the registan in Bukhara and imagine the camels coming in laden and the turbaned merchants in their Ikat coats, turbans and long beards coming to inspect the goods of foreign traders.
I spent a day in Tashkent and was charmed by its quiet tree lined streets and the eccentric taxi system where due to so many changes of road names, from Uzbek to Russian to Soviet to Uzbek again which means no one seems to know where anything is and the taxi's (there are 2 kinds, one with little taxi signs and the other is just any old car and it seems any old body who wants to earn some extra cash?) so you stand in the street and the next passing car (tiny and soviet) will whizz to a halt you say where you are trying to go, unlikely they speak English so trying to pronounce the names with a Russian accent helps, then you jump in - they may scream to a halt for another few passengers until they reach the area they assume you are going, if after endless circling and trying the destination can not be found, they give up with a solid gold toothed smile and you jump out and try some one else or if you are lucky you find it...
I went to museums and mosques, shops and markets and was so lucky to wonder into a shop called Human Hand - a collection of young Uzbek designers working in fashion and accessories. I look around and saw some interesting jewellery, I ask about the maker - am kindly directed to his studio ten minutes away and meet the utterly delightful Ulugbek - a talented and interesting man. We sit and discuss making jewellery - design, and then everything else from communism to his wife's thesis on ancient nomadic symbolism in embroidery..whilst sitting a young woman, a psychologist turned designer, grand daughter of Uzbekistan greatest writer poet pops in and while chatting I find out they also know Umida - a designer whose name I had been given through a friend. They invite me to join them at a dinner party at Umida's .. It was a splendid evening of young talented designers, film makers and art critic's all lovely, bright, interesting people it was a perfect evening, although much concern that I was heading to Samakand by myself the next morning by train, warnings about gypsies..theft..dangers..
I was thrilled to be riding on the train although hot, in an old fashion carriage with a Russian family and an old Uzbek lady, all food on the journey was shared and I watched the flat dry landscape pass transfixed. Past small farms with a few cows and donkeys, small herds of ragged sheep. On the horizon tantalising mountains could be seen . Old men in embroidered skull caps and ladies in long bright patterned kaftan's and loose trousered underneath got on and off the slow train.
Finally to Samarkand - a name so evocative and sensual. As I raced in a tiny taxi - to a Soviet style hotel were nothing worked, reeking of stale Russian tobacco and cockroach's scuttling in the bathroom, no electricity and stern staff - the city felt different in energy to Tashkent, faster,wilder.. more Tajik and there are fewer Uzbeks here.
I wondered in a dream around the famous registan of Samarkand - the huge tiled mosques are hard to believe, i laughed out loud with amazement at their beauty . .. the square was busy with Uzbek people wondering and enjoying - it seemed many country people had come to see the famous Mosques. Groups of older ladies laughing with their gold teeth flashing in the sun and dresses in the wildest patterns and coloured kaftans..they had painted black lines on their faces to join their eye brows in the the middle - looks good, wearing bright modern Ikats, the young girls are beautiful , tall and slim with wonderful cut short Ikat dresses and trousers, some turbaned old men with white beards sitting playing back gammon under the trees in the shade. I wondered if Afghanistan could every be like this - groups of bold confident women out walking, eating and laughing, working in public places and gathering to exclaim and examine my bracelets and rings and comparing jewellery with theirs.
One day I went out of the city to visit a small town market full of all kinds of people, horse and carts parked patiently and stalls of warm and delicious smelling round bread and vegetables and melons, gold hats with long gold tassel's to veil the face, ikats, carpets and gold embroidered jackets, it was an enjoyable visit.
There is a lot of horse meat on the menu here, along the road we passed a few fine small horses. What joy it would be to ride here..
I visited mosques and madrassahs of perfect proportion and faultless design, some leaning minarets with such glorious tile work that makes you just sigh in awe, gardens and pubic parks with fountains and tree's for shade and beauty abound in the city.
I feel a little ill in Samarkand, maybe the heat.. but then off again ... by car with the charming Aziz to Bukhara .. a 4 hour drive in the heat. Every day the temperature seems to be raising - since the Aral sea disaster apparently the climate has gotten much hotter. We chat about the Arab spring and I find to my surprise that no one I talk to here approves of it - seeing the revolutions as very bad, or backed by the Russians or Americans, there does not seem to be the belief that they may have been started by the people themselves. We talk about Palestine, terrorism and the fears of it in Uzbekistan, the Soviet times and life since Independence...a very interesting journey.
We arrive in a very hot and beautiful Bukhara. I go to a sweet old guest house with original painted murals and courtyard and very thick cool walls.
Exploring the city was so exciting, you just keep walking and come upon more and more stunning intriguing surprises - courtyard caravansaries with 2 floors of rooms and stone ponds of brown water with gangs of little boys swimming and diving in with shady trees surrounding the water.
I found a museum in a beautiful old house with floor to ceiling windows and tiled floors, tiny alleys with leaning old buildings and places to stall camels, turquoise tiled domes dot the skyline, minarets like light houses for the caravans coming to the city over the desert.
I sat on a bench under the mulberry trees and watched the evening come and crowds of people having their evening stroll, grandparents with little children running in circles, young lovers holding hands, groups of women gossipping and chatting, old men joined me on the bench's to watch. It is heaven , peaceful and full of good life.
I eat at an outdoor restaurant on the bank of a pond with weeping willow trees and stone steps to the pool, the raised wooden beds were you can lay on carpets and eat from the small table the delicious dishes of fresh tomatoes and aubergine and garlic.. yogurt and beetroot and drink green tea and watch the families eating and having such a good time.
I met an interesting couple from Belarus - she studying the politic in Uzbekistan - difficult but interesting.
I wondered and everywhere I went I met lovely people, getting into long conversations about life, about the culture, about jewellery..again the enamel bracelet continues its journey .. from Uzbekistan to India, to London and back to Bukhara .. but no one recognised the work, it moved from hand to hand, was examined under loops, past to antique dealers, grandfathers and experts .. and it came back as Russian from the Tsar time, to Tajik, to China.. but all agree not Bukhara.. maybe Khiva in the west there are some places they may have used enamel.. my search was not going well.
I looked at old Ikats and feel in love with their beautiful simple bold natural dyed colours and wonderful design. I looked at old jewellery and there was really nothing like the cuff...
I talked to workshops and they were keen to try but with it being illegal to export precious metals .. my mission was not looking possible.
met the utterly charming Behruz by chance - my friend Irene from Roma had told me about him but his number had changed and I did not think I would ever find him but I did. He sells stunning old textiles, ceramic's and Ikats - a complete delight, he took me to the famous Ark - the walled city where the Emir lived with 3000 citizens with 3 mosques, libraries full of ancient books, the gold coin minting workshop, the artisans, the harem, all beautiful, amazing restoration work, but so much was destroyed when the Russians invaded in the 19th century.
Behruz took me down small winding lanes and under small arches and through courtyards to a 16th century hamam. In I went through dark low stone passages that opened to a dim room with sunlight filtering through latticed stone windows. Thin elegant wooden beams colonnaded the room and were hung with amulets to keep away the evil eye, bunches of chamomile, small scented triangle talisman, and eye beads. An old lady with hennaed hair lay on a wooden bed watching me undress and took me down stairs into a tunnel , that opened into small doomed rooms with stone floors the heat was staggering and I had to breath carefully to not panic and flee the heat and claustrophobia. I was washed, scrubbed and covered in a ginger, pepper, cardamom, egg mix, washed again and left to lay on the hot stone floor while the other rooms were washed down, I chatted to another lady being cleaned, she handed me a pot of yogurt to put on my face, the naked lady scrubbing me told me her son may be off to London as a champion chess player,
It was heaven.
Days later I left on the train - by now the city had grown so hot that the air was heavy, the wind was hotter, I got heat rashes - it was staggering, in a few days it will up to the 50's, it was interesting to be in that heat to adjust your movements to the slowest pace, to talk slowly and drink hot green tea from old Russian
tea pots in the shade.
The train was so hot that I thought I may die, the train ground to a halt in the middle of no where and sat groaning - sweat dripped down my back, chest, legs, face, I lay on the bench in an airless cabin with a huge fat old lady who closed her eyes and went very still - it was agony - when finally the train did start again nearly an hour later the tiny breeze that came in from the small window offered some relief.
Back to Tashkent to have more meetings with Ulugbek re setting up a work shop together . There is potential but need to really explore this.
So the mystery of the cuff is still unsolved.
