Update (Jan 2026): This post recounts my 2022 Uzbekistan trip. I’ve lightly refreshed a few details for clarity, but the detour described here happened during Samarkand’s SCO Summit preparations.
Uzbekistan was the final stop on my two-and-a-half-week journey through Central Asia. After traveling through Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan, this was where the trip came to a close — and it felt fitting. If there’s one country most synonymous with the Silk Road, it’s Uzbekistan.
Cities like Samarkand and Bukhara weren’t just names in a guidebook; they were legendary crossroads where caravans traded silk, spices, and ideas for centuries. Traveling with a small group with Atlas Obscura, this portion of the trip focused on both sides of the story: the Silk Road past, and the Soviet-era mosaics and monumental architecture that still shape Central Asia’s present. Uzbekistan promised both — and delivered.
For a 4-day Uzbekistan itinerary, this route packs in an incredible amount of history.
Kazakhstan → 2 Days in Almaty
Kyrgyzstan → 7 Days in Kyrgyzstan: From Bishkek to Osh Along the Silk Road
Tajikistan → 3 Days in Khujand, Tajikistan
We left Khujand in the morning and drove to the Oybek border crossing, the main checkpoint between Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. Exiting Tajikistan was straightforward enough; once inside Uzbekistan, the real challenge began.
Our tour leader got word that the direct route to Samarkand was closed to non-Uzbek citizens. The reason? Samarkand was preparing to host the Shanghai Cooperation Organization Summit in mid-September 2022, with Putin, Xi, Modi, and other world leaders expected to attend. Security was tight, and entire stretches of road were suddenly off-limits.
What followed was one of those travel days that disappears into motion. We detoured around restricted areas, doubling back and circling wide stretches of road, stopping occasionally for lunch and short breaks but spending most of the day watching the landscape slide past the windows. Hours blurred together, the sense of distance stretching along with the road.
By mid-afternoon , we passed through Jizzakh, where roadside stands sold fuel by the liter in reused soda bottles — a practical workaround in places where official gas stations are scarce and supplies unreliable. Otherwise, it was mostly the road, unspooling endlessly ahead.
By the time we finally reached Samarkand, it was nearly 5:30 p.m. Another day had eaten itself up in transit.
Still, there was one reward waiting. After checking into our hotel and washing off the road dust, we headed out for an evening walk. My first glimpse of Samarkand came at Registan Square.
Three immense madrasahs frame the plaza, each one covered in mosaics of turquoise, blue, and gold tiles. Even in the fading light, they shimmered. This was the heart of Samarkand’s old Silk Road glory — a place where merchants, scholars, and travelers once gathered, and where power and learning once radiated out across the region.
Standing there, I knew the detour had been worth it. After such a long day on the road, stretching my legs in Registan Square and catching that first glimpse of what I’d be exploring over the next few days felt like the best kind of reward.
We began the morning with a walk down University Boulevard, a tree-lined avenue that links many of Samarkand’s main sights. Our first stop was the statue of Amir Timur, the 14th-century conqueror who made Samarkand the capital of his empire, shown here seated and overlooking the boulevard.
From the statue, we walked on to Gur-e-Amir Mausoleum, which immediately felt grander and more ornate — the walls and dome shimmering in deep blues, the interior glowing with gold leaf and carved detail. Standing inside, it was impossible not to feel the weight of history. This is where Timur himself lies, alongside family members and successors, and it remains one of the most important Timurid monuments in Central Asia. The intricacy was astonishing, right down to the delicately carved wooden window frames.
After leaving Gur-e-Amir, we headed to the Registan Ensemble. Seeing it again in daylight was even more overwhelming than the night before. The square is framed by three immense madrasahs — Ulugh Beg, Sher-Dor, and Tilya-Kori — each a masterpiece of tilework, symmetry, and scale. If I had gone on about Gur-e-Amir, this was another level entirely. There was so much to take in that it felt almost impossible to know where to look first.
Walking through, I kept craning my neck. The scale, the mosaics, the symmetry — it’s almost too much. This was the heart of Samarkand’s Silk Road era, where merchants, scholars, and travelers once gathered, and even now, there’s a sense of that lingering energy.
After lunch, we made our way to the Bibi-Khanym Mosque, once among the largest mosques in the Islamic world. Built by Timur as an imperial showpiece, it still feels massive — the entrance rising above you, the courtyard wide enough for thousands. There’s both grandeur and a slightly worn beauty to it, like you can still picture Timur showing it off as the pride of his capital.
From there we wandered into one of the mausoleums at Shah-i-Zinda. If Bibi-Khanym was about scale, this was about detail — tiles in shades of blue so vivid they almost glowed, every inch patterned and inscribed.
Later, we grabbed dinner at The Blues Café, not far from our hotel. That evening, we found ourselves back at Registan Square, just hanging out and listening to a few musicians playing on the steps — the perfect ending to another day in Samarkand.
We left Samarkand in the morning and began the drive west toward Bukhara, stopping first at the Rabati Malik Caravanserai. Built in the 11th century, this roadside inn once served as a resting place for Silk Road merchants traveling between Samarkand and Bukhara. Today, only parts of the grand portal remain. The structure stands alone in an open, empty landscape, making its original scale easier to grasp without much effort or imagination.
From there, we continued to G‘ijduvon, a small town famous for its pottery. We visited a family-run workshop, where the techniques have been passed down through generations. It’s alway so mesmerizing watching a potter at the wheel—shaping their clay with such ease. The walls were lined with plates, bowls, and vases in rich blues and earthy tones, decorated with traditional geometric and floral designs. After the demonstration we browsed the shop, admired the handiwork up close, and then grabbed a quick lunch before getting back on the road.
By afternoon we had reached Bukhara, where our first stop was the Nodir Divan-Begi Madrasah, part of the Lyab-i Hauz complex. The courtyard was lively, with shops and stalls tucked inside the old arches, and its façade was another rare example of animals in Islamic art — peacocks with spread tails surrounding a sun.
We also visited the Samanid Mausoleum, one of Bukhara’s oldest and most beautiful monuments. Built in the 9th–10th centuries, it’s small compared to the grand mosques of Samarkand, but unforgettable in its detail. The entire structure is made of baked brick, each one set in different patterns so that the walls themselves become decoration. Depending on how the light hits, the patterns shift — simple materials transformed into something extraordinary.
Before the day was over, we made our way to the Kalyan Mosque, part of the famous Po-i-Kalyan complex. Its vast courtyard and towering minaret felt like the heart of Bukhara — less about decoration than about sheer presence. The courtyard is ringed with arched walkways, and just beyond them the Kalyan Minaret is so tall you can see it from all over the old city.
We eventually headed to a restaurant our guide recommended, only to be turned away—it was packed, and clearly the kind of place you need a reservation for. We tried a few other spots too, but struck out. Eventually we circled back to a place with a huge outdoor terrace. Every table was full, and we were starving by then, so we asked a couple if we could share theirs. It was an awkward setup.
After a long day on the road, I’d been hoping for something a little more special. Instead, it was one of those places clearly aimed at tourists—and the food wasn’t anything to write home about. But it did the job.
We only had a little time left in Bukhara—just enough to visit the Chor Minor Madrasa before moving on. Located on a side street, this quirky little monument is nothing like the grand squares of Samarkand or Bukhara — four slender towers rising from a compact structure, each topped with a bright turquoise dome.
Across the street, a few small shops were selling colorful textiles and traditional doppa hats, their embroidery dense with pattern and color. It felt like a fitting last stop — and just like that, it was time to say goodbye to Bukhara.
Originally, the plan had been to drive, but after some consideration it was decided that the train would be a better option. And it might have been — except no one checked to see if food or drinks were sold onboard. They weren’t, and it turned into a long, dry five-hour ride. You’d think a guide would know these details, or at least prepare the group for them.
By evening we pulled into the station, hopped back into the van, and continued on to Khiva. We dropped our bags at our hotel just across the street from the walls of Itchan Kala and took a moment to regroup after another long travel day.
From there, we crossed the street and entered Itchan Kala, Khiva’s walled inner city. Stepping through the gates felt like walking onto a stage set. The clay-colored walls, narrow lanes, and minarets rising against the sunset all hinted at centuries of Silk Road history — caravans, scholars, and traders passing through.
We were originally supposed to arrive earlier in the day, but travel delays once again ate into our schedule. After days of early mornings and long drives, this final stop felt especially compressed. We wandered the lanes, took in a few highlights, and tried to get a sense of the place, knowing we wouldn’t have time to really dig in. It felt more like a first impression than a proper visit.
We ended our evening with dinner on the rooftop at Terrassa Café & Restaurant. The food was delicious, and the evening couldn’t have been better — clear skies, comfortable temperatures, and views across the rooftops and minarets of Khiva as night settled in. From above, the city felt calmer, almost suspended in time.
It was hard to believe that tomorrow I’d be heading home. This final leg felt rushed, like too much crammed into too few days. But looking back, I realized how much I’d seen in just over two weeks — cities, mosques, mausoleums, mountains, caravanserais. It was a whirlwind, yes, but also a good sampler of Central Asia.
Looking back, the Silk Road was everything I hoped it would be and more — a blur of blue-tiled mosques, wide open steppe, crowded markets, quiet courtyards, and unexpected moments along the way. Sixteen days went by quickly, but they left me with a deeper appreciation for Central Asia’s long, complicated history — from Timurid masterpieces to Soviet-era mosaics and monuments that still shape the cities today.
More than anything, the journey reminded me how travel connects people: the group I shared this road with, the local guides who opened doors to their cities, and the countless small encounters along the way. The road was long, the days were full, and the memories will stay with me.
Hi, I’m JoAnne—writer, wanderer, and lover of places that surprise me. I’ve traveled to 60+ countries (and counting), usually with a camera in one hand and a notebook in the other. I’m drawn to mosaics, markets, and mountains, and I write to remember what moved me. When I’m not traveling, I’m working on my blog Travels Afoot, trying new creative projects, or planning my next adventure.
