What Do You Think of the People of Uzbekistan?

I didn’t learn about Uzbekistan in school. It became an independent country when I was an awkward adolescent in eighth grade, more absorbed the discomfort of my braces than in the collapse of the Soviet Union. As per usual with ignorance, when we decided to follow the silk road all the way through “the Stans” and up into Moscow, I confess to feeling nervous.

It seemed so distant, so different. Who lives in this land-locked country, half a world away? What language do they speak? The lines, dots, and letters on our maps say so little about the nature of places on this earth. And so often we must travel to fill these voids with depths of hue, degrees of warmth, delicious flavors, sounds, and smells.

We left our guesthouse in Kyrgyzstan early in the morning to walk across the border on foot, hoping that on the other side, we would find a taxi willing to take us to Andijan. In Andijan, we hoped to find a train ticket to Tashkent, the capital of and largest city in Uzbekistan.

What we found was a fairy tale.

I wish we had stayed longer in Andijan. The websites we read made it sound like a stopover city, just a point on the map to serve us on the way to somewhere else. At first glance, I agreed. After only four hours on those city streets, I now know that it is a place of hospitality akin to fantasy.

Honestly, we felt like characters in a movie.

While dining in the exquisite setting of a mosque, cross-legged on a carpeted tea bed, we were greeted by two local doctors who asked to share our table and a pot of tea. They seemed delighted to meet visitors; we were delighted to hear their reflections. We learned about one gentleman’s excitement to be married in the spring, to someone his parents had not yet chosen for him.

They insisted on buying us lunch.

While wandering through the open-air market, marveling at the towering heaps of fresh bread, enormous sacks of spices, and melons hanging from grass thongs like giant, juicy beads, the people made us feel like part of the neighborhood. The sellers welcomed us, offered us samples, made funny faces, and—when language allowed—exchanged riddles with the kids. One woman, after exchanging a few words and countless gold-toothed smiles, insisted on giving me her address and phone number in case we needed anything.

Everyone seemed so happy we were there.

When we stopped for a cappuccino, we found ourselves surrounded by a half-dozen teens and twenty-somethings wanting to exchange their thoughts for ours. We chatted about our respective countries, politics, and—perhaps most importantly—American movies. I think I will forever remember the image of those earnest young people.

These students were relatively verbose, for few folks that we met spoke more than a handful of English words. Yet, in our one afternoon in Andijan, we lost track of how many passers-by offered the kindly refrain, “Welcome to Uzbekistan! Where are you from?”

I felt that at any moment, the people on the street were going to break out in song and dance!

We left for Tashkent, which turned out to be a huge bustling city without the magic we’d just experienced. But, Andijan hospitality appeared again when we met a group of law students on the train from Tashkent to Samarkand a few days later. Muhammad from Andijan insisted we meet him hundreds of miles down the track so he could cook us a meal. He explained:

“In Uzbekistan, we are very friendly, and we want always to offer the best hospitality. It is our identity.”

Many times throughout our stay in this country, we were asked, “What do you think of the people in Uzbekistan?” I had to reflect on what preconceived notions I had about the Uzbek people. In truth, I had none. I had never given this country a moment’s thought. But now I knew it for what it was, a bastion of kindness and welcome.

The guide books and websites assured us we would find stimulating history and awesomely beautiful architecture in Uzbekistan. They were right! The ancient silk road cities of Bukhara, Samarkand, and Khiva were like something right out of Disney’s Aladdin.

Take time to experience the hospitality of the Fergana Valley.

My favorite story, though, is the one unwritten—about the kindness of the people in Andijan and elsewhere. I encourage everyone to come to Uzbekistan, to fill their senses with the beauty there, and to especially take time to experience the hospitality of the Fergana Valley. It is the stuff of legend!