Is Samarkand worth going – Kerk Boon Leng Photographs & Notes

Fresh from the fields: Melons start to hit the bazaars of Uzbekistan as early as June, but it’s the late-ripening winter varieties, arriving in September, that are renowned for their tantalising textures and tastes.


We travel not for trafficking alone:
By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned
For lust of knowing what should not be known
We take the Golden Road to Samarkand

James Elroy Flecker, The Golden Journey to Samarkand (1913)

To be honest, I hadn’t really thought much about Samarkand before I found myself there. It’s one of those names that gets tossed around in history books and travel guides—forever linked to the Silk Road, ancient caravans, bustling markets, and epic land crossings. Writers like Goethe, Byron, and Oscar Wilde spun it into the Western imagination as a distant, exotic land, dripping with both treasures and cruelty. A place that’s half-fact, half-fantasy, sitting somewhere between legend and history. But for me, Samarkand wasn’t exactly top of my list. It was more of a “maybe someday” destination—a place you figure you’ll hit when you finally decide to get lost in the forgotten expanses of Eurasia.

And then, in September, I went. The landscape was mellowing as the leaves started to turn from green to gold, and I wasn’t chasing some romantic vision of ancient traders or long-dead kings. No, I went because the opportunity came up, and you don’t say no when it’s for Samarkand, Uzbekistan. My friend Dilshod arranged for his buddy Abdujamil to show me around, and just like that, I was in. What I found was a city that both surprised me and confirmed what I half-expected: Samarkand is as grand and imposing as they say, but there’s something raw and real beneath the surface. It’s a city where history doesn’t sit quietly in the background—it’s in your face.

*In my humble reckoning, the shaded streets of Samarkand offer a more authentic glimpse into Uzbek culture and memory, than the tourist-driven “Silk Road” fantasy.*

*Working man snacks: fried bread with meat or potato fillings dipped into a salsa-type sauce and washed down with kuk choy (green tea) Chinese-style.*

Bibi-Khanum when completed in 1404 was one of the most magnificent mosques in the world. It collapsed in an earthquake in 1897 and by mid-20th century survived as a ruin until restoration by the Soviets.

Let’s be clear about one thing: Tamerlane—Amir Timur as the locals call him—still looms large over everything. Born 50 miles from Samarkand, he built his empire with blood and a brutal efficiency that would make even the toughest modern-day despot flinch. And yet, amid all the conquering, he decided to make Samarkand his masterpiece. You can’t run far without seeing his mark. Monuments, mosques, and mausoleums stamp his gleaming blue presence all over the city, shimmering in the sunlight and reminding you of the power he wielded. The place feels like a shrine to conquest.

But Samarkand isn’t just about Tamerlane. This city is older than his empire, older than most things you can name. Long before Timur, this place was home to the Sogdians—an Iranian people who built their own version of Samarkand before the Arabs rolled in, swords in hand and the Qur’an, and changed everything. The city’s history is layered like that—one civilization piled on top of another. You can feel it as you walk the streets—there’s something Persian in the air, something ancient beneath all the grand monuments.

And even though you’re standing in modern Uzbekistan, Samarkand feels more like a distant cousin to ancient Persia. People here speak Tajik, a near twin to Farsi, and the atmosphere of the city is steeped in that blend of Persian and Turkic culture. Samarkand, along with Bukhara, gives you a glimpse of Transoxiana—the land beyond the Oxus River—where every alley, courtyard, and market stall tells you a little more about a place that has been at the crossroads of history for thousands of years.

As the sun begins to dip lower at Shah-I-Zinda the light hits the turquoise tiles just right, casting an almost magical glow. It’s hard not to feel like you’re standing in the most stunning necropolis on earth.

*Although officially a secular country with a predominantly muslim population, Uzbekistan has been experiencing a revival in its religious identity after more than a century of Russian and Soviet rule.*

Organic vegetables sold at a stall in Siab (Siyob) Market. Even with Samarkand’s dry climate near the Kyzylkum Desert, old irrigation techniques, fertile land by the Zerafshan River and plenty of sunshine help produce great harvests.

Normally, I wouldn’t go on about fruit, but the melons here deserve a mention. They’re something else: sweet as honey, fragrant like something you’d bottle and sell as perfume, bursting with the flavour of the earth they grew in.

Sun, soil, desert—it all comes together in a way I wasn’t ready for. Melons of every size and shade, sold on the streets like the season’s finest delights. Honestly, they’re worth the trip alone.

*Picking the prize, Siab Market. Uzbekistan ranks 32nd globally in fruit production by quantity and it holds 12th place in melon export.*

Khoja Zudmurod Mosque (10th century) is steeped in legend, with stories claiming that Tamerlane buried the relics of St. George here. True to its name, prayers at this mosque are believed to bring the fulfillment of noble desires.

*Puppet seller at the entrance to Bibi-Khanum Mosque.*

I spent most of my two and a half days walking the tree-lined streets and exploring the hidden courtyards. These are the places where Samarkand still holds onto its quiet, Central Asian charm. The heyday of the Silk Road is long gone. The Russians rolled through in the 19th century, leaving parts of the city in ruins before it was rebuilt by the Soviets in their signature blocky, concrete style. Today Samarkand is a thriving, modern city, the third largest in Uzbekistan. But somehow, despite all that, there’s a sense that Samarkand has never really let go of its past. It’s still there.

Samarkand might not be the bustling trade hub it once was. The atmosphere has shifted—modernity has taken over, with Chinese-made BYD electric cars gliding down the tidy streets where camels and donkeys once trod. The bearded traders with their sunburnt faces and laden beasts are gone, now only seen in old photographs. But even so, Samarkand still has that weight of history pressing down on you. You feel it in the silence, in the stillness of the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees where time appear to move a little slower, if at all.