In Rishton in the Fergana Valley we could not stop exclaiming at the exquisite ceramic potteries that we saw in Mingboshi Ceramics, one of the many artisan shops: bowls, plates, tea sets, even a mural made of ceramic of the old Silk Route. It was a huge compound where artists worked non-stop: preparing the local clay said to be perfect for ceramics, drawing the initial plans for the pottery, painting the finished products from the kiln, etc. Another surprising visit in the Fergana Valley was the archaeological site in Aksikent, a 9th to 12th century BC fortified city by the river Syr Darya. This city was important in the life of Babur, a powerful Mughal ruler.

Samarkand was one unforgettable place that we visited. Having read and seen its monuments in books we were eager to see for ourselves this often-mentioned magical place along the old Silk Route where merchants traded and bartered as early as 130 BCE, riding their horses and camel caravans. The mausoleum of Amir Temur took our breaths away. Simply standing at the portal gate with its azure tiles, majolica ceramic mosaics and muqarnas (three-dimensional helix tiles) was enough to be transported into the world of Scheherazade. Crossing over to the mausoleum itself, we entered and were speechless as we took in the gold filigrees, the onyx walls carved with Arabian sacred scripts, the sunshine that shone through the rosette windows. Temur’s coffin was encased in a solid dark green jade, while beside him were the tombs of his sons, further were his grandson, and one of his most beloved teachers. There were marble ledges where one could sit, and I just sat and sat, not saying a word, absorbing all this beauty.

We, too, were able to read our poetry in Registan Square in Samarkand, walking distance from Temur’s mausoleum. All agog, we stood outside at the gates of the imposing madrassas, also done in blue ceramics and tiles. A’zam took us to one of the marble steps in front of one of the madrassas, and suggested we read our poetry under the blue Samarkand skies. Again, our voices rose and fell, in different languages, but with the same fervor.

In Samarkand, too, we personally met the famous painter Ahmad Umarov, who hosted some of our poet friends in his home. His residence had an art gallery, and we went around exclaiming at the different paintings. Many artists and writers came, too, and were it not for the language barrier we would have interacted with them more. Ahmad also had another art gallery in Samarkand, in the Artists’ Residence, where artists and craftsmen exhibited their works. Here I saw for the first time brush paintings by Ahmad using coffee powder, the artworks done in soft brown, a shade of sepia.

We also had a poetry reading around a bonfire, in the residence of Oygul Mamatova, the first Uzbek female novelist who had published her work. She also hosted some of our poet friends, and we had a delicious feast on our last night in Samarkand in her residence.