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Travel Log

Introduction

A child plays in a salt field during Nawruz celebrations (Zaki Alattar, March 23rd, 2022, Kegeyli UZ)

In fall of 2021, I received a curious email from a non-profit fund dedicated to supporting the region of the former Aral Sea. The head of the fund explained his interest in supporting a land where the sea was gone, but the people were not. Over the last half century, the Aral Sea had dried up to a tiny fraction of the world’s fourth largest body of inland water it once was.

The group was looking for environmental engineers to join them in an effort to install water filters and build and teach an Engineering through Education program for high school students in Uzbekistan. Born in the United States and raised primarily in Texas with a few years abroad in the Middle East, the nations of Central Asia were far from my mind. I loved studying world geography and world affairs, but like many others my first thought when I heard Uzbekistan was Where?(!).

A quick search on Google Maps revealed a nation tucked within Central Asia. Double-landlocked by Kazakhstan and Russia to the northwest, and Kyrgyzstan and China to the east, and Turkmenistan and Afghanistan to the south, Uzbekistan appeared as one of the most remote locations I could conceive of. Yet where the distance, both physical and imagined, may have deterred others, it compelled me to learn more.

4 months later, delayed by the Omicron variant and imperiled by the Russian invasion of Ukraine, I boarded my international flight without a clue for what lay in store. With a crack curriculum, a few hundred dollars, and a vague schedule for cities and sites, I stepped out on the tarmac at Islam Karimov Tashkent International Airport with what felt like warranted confidence. Little did I know how neither my prior research nor collaboration with our Uzbek partners would prepare for the journey that lay ahead.

Itinerary and Project Plan​

The original objective of the project was to install a salt-purifying water filter and lead a short two-week course on environmental engineering at an at-need school in Karalpakstan on a budget of $10,000. Our organization partners in Uzbekistan had found 3 such schools in cooperation with local schools and regional representatives of the Eko Party. We had selected what appeared to be the school most in need and designed a curriculum around. Along with the in-class lessons on water usage, transport, and monitoring, the students build and present their own environmental engineering projects at a science fair.

The trip would take 15 days. Flying into Tashkent on March 19. Arriving in Taskhent for a night, we intended to take the train to Samarqand for Nowruz celebrations. Returning to Tashkent that night, we had tickets to fly to Urgench the following morning, pick up the water filter, taxi to Khiva for a visit along the way to Nukus. In Nukus we would pick up school supplies and head to Kegeyli to begin our first lesson. We would remain in Kegeyli for 10 days, with a stop in Moynauk and Qonliqol before returning to Nukus to fly out to Taskhent at night.

On the Road

Unable to secure train tickets due to the holiday, we would have a pricey (relative to the train) and time intensive taxi to Samarqand. Wasting no time, we left in the morning. Road trips are no stranger to this native Texan. Yet the drive was quite unlike any other I had had. While the route was direct, the route was riddled with potholes. Driving at 80 km/h, we would make several stops when a sharp bump left the driver sure his car had been damaged. It had not and we continued. We would soon make another stop for a refuel. Pulling up to the station, our driver instructed us to leave the vehicle and step far away. The station operator then opened the hood of the car and plugged the pump directly into a tank at the front of the car. Getting back in the car, I saw that the fuel tank was still empty.

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A busy natural gas pumping station (Zaki Alattar, March 22, 2022. Kegeyli, UZ)

I quickly realized that we had not stopped at a petrol station, but a methane station. In Uzbekistan, most cars had been adapted to run on natural gas. Found in abundance in Central Asia and lacking the need for an expensive refining process like diesel, natural gas was the preferred fuel for nearly all vehicles besides industrial trucks. To reduce foreign imports and internal discontent, the government further subsidized the fuel. Natural gas is cheaper, emits fewer greenhouse gasses, and produces far less pollution. For all of the criticism of so-called ‘bridge’ fuels, at least there is clear progress on this front.

While we were parked, another image caught my eye. Every car in sight was a Chevy, and even each of those cars was one of three models. After inquiring further, I learned that there was a stiff import tax on foreign cars. While Chevrolet was an American brand, they had purchased a South Korean car plant in Uzbekistan after the fall of the Soviet Union. In effect, they were the only cars Uzbeks can remotely afford while also being incredibly expensive due to their monopoly in the market.

A row of trees alongside the highway (Zaki Alattar, March 22, 2022. Nukus, UZ)

Another peculiar feature of the Uzbek countryside is the predominance of trees along the roadside. A seemingly endless row of large trees line the highway, following us almost the entire 300 km route to Samarqand. Their base is painted a bright white, covered with talc up to the first meter, to protect the tree from pests. The painting is redone every year around the Persian new year, Nowruz, in a celebration known as ‘hashar’.

As the tracts of tree farms dissipated, the horizon appeared impossibly far with the world stretching out in all directions . The flatness of the steppes produce a sense that one is at the center of the world. Uzbekistan’s geographic isolation produces two seemingly contradictory features. First, the region’s remoteness from the coast shields its starkly arid landscapes from rain and humidity. Second, its centrality serves a vital hub along Eurasian land trade routes. Therein begins the story of Uzbek exceptionalism. No where was more emblematic of this dynamic than the ancient city of Samarqand

Samarqand

Several angles of the Registan and its madrasahs (Zaki Alattar, March 21, 2022. Urgench, UZ)

Samarqand is an unbelievable treasure of human heritage. The cityscape is dominated by monumental mosques, shrines, and palaces that date as far back as 1400 AD. Each is nearly perfectly preserved and a spectacle in its own right. Together, each of these jewels form an impeccable crown on par with if not more incredible than the relics in Paris or Baghdad. I found myself questioning my own attachment to Baghdad as the greatest hearth of civilization.

A plague of Timurlane’s conquests (Zaki Alattar, March 21, 2022. Samarqand, UZ)

These monuments were monuments of conquest and supremacy. For a few dynasties, Samarqand was the seat of power of the world’s most powerful empire. The face of that empire was Timurlane. I had heard stories and studied him as the butcher that burned Baghdad to the ground, massacred its civilians, and plunged the Middle East into a bitter dark age. Here he was the founding character of Uzbekistan, the symbol of their prowess and proof of their civilization. The division in perceptions of his legacy could not have been more stark.

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Urgench

Loading the water filter for transport (Zaki Alattar, March 21, 2022, Urgench, UZ)

Our stop in Urgench was short. We arrived at the airport, gathered our bags, and set out to pick up the water filter from a warehouse in a nondescript suburb of the city. Loading the 500 liter per day 5-tank filter onto the truck was a challenge for the 8 men there. We tied down the filter and paid the driver to transport it to a deputy of the Eco Party in Nukus who would hold it for us until we determined which school we would be installing it at.

A red algae tide in a wastewater canal (Zaki Alattar, March 21, 2022. Urgench, UZ)

Environmental degradation in Urgench was widespread yet felt unremarkable. Peering over a canal as the filter was being tied down, I was confronted with a thick red sludge. Asking the locals, they told me that it must be some chemical. While I am not an environmental biologist, it was clear that whatever was down there was alive, likely a red algae blooming in the nutrient rich and stagnant wastewater.

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Khiva

The Islam Khoja minaret towering over Khiva (Zaki Alattar, March 21, 2022, Khiva, UZ)

I found Khiva to be an oasis of civilization. The name of the city has been attributed to the biblical story of Shem, the son of Noah who discovers sweet water after digging a well in the desert. A complex system of wells, water wheels, and interior canals would pump water to the fortress city. It was also the site of enormous advancements in human thought. Within its walls, the towering historical figures of Ibn Sina and al-Khawarezi propelled the study of medicine, mathematics, astronomy, and religion. Closer to the present, Khiva became the seat of a cotton khanate. Its economic success drew the attention of the Russian Empire, who would sack the city.

Nukus

The stand-less section of the sprawling city bazaar (Zaki Alattar, March 22, 2022, Nukus UZ)

We drove directly to the market where we spent several hours in the bazaar collecting school supplies, gifts, and food for the week ahead. The selection of goods was small for such a large market. There were no water testing strips, little plumbing equipment, and even soccer balls were rare and expensive. There were very inexpensive t-shirts that we had custom hand stitched. It seems there was an upside to the massive cotton industry in the region after all. In fact, everyone dressed very nicely, likely due to this fact.

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Salt crystals sticking to elevated surfaces (Zaki Alattar, March 22, 2022, Nukus UZ)

Heading to our hotel for the night, I found myself surrounded by salt. Winds traveling over the former site of the Aral sea would carry salts hundreds of kilometers to Nukus. Any site not frequently cleaned would have a light layer of salt, clinging to whatever moisture or crevice it could find. We were told that the regional dish of fried fish could not be replicated anywhere else because only in Karakalpak would the fish be brined their whole life. It was not just the fish, all of the fruit and vegetables, and certainly the water (even the bottled water) tasted salty. You could even taste the salt in the air.

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Kegeyli

Children return from school across a salty landscape (Zaki Alattar, March 22, 2022. Kegeyli, UZ)

The village of Kegeyli would be our primary home for the following two weeks. Opting to stay in a new development complex over living amongst the villagers out of an interest in running toilets and showers, we felt a bit detached in our duplex. That did not keep us from walking the long sidewalk into the town but it did keep us a good distance from the students that we had come to teach. The town had a number of small shops, a central bazaar, and even a few bars.

Spectators stand on carts to watch a version of polo (Zaki Alattar, March 22, 2022. Kegeyli, UZ)

After dropping off our bags, we were told we would be heading to the school. Instead, we found ourselves at a gigantic Nowruz celebration attended to by all of the townspeople. Carts stretched far to the distance where spectators would watch men on horseback bat a sheep’s head in a sport considered the origins of English polo.

A celebratory lunch and toast in a village yurt (Zaki Alattar, March 22, 2022. Kegeyli, UZ)

We were led into a yurt for a celebratory dinner with the mayor. After a short speech and then a prayer, a deputy of the mayor broke out bottles of Vodka and began pouring each one of us a shot. In a fascinating inversion of American generational progression, the youth of Uzbekistan tend to be more religiously observant and less interested in drinking. A legacy of Soviet norms impressed upon older folk, I would see this time and time again with babuskhas going round for round in the markets while students headed to the nearby masjid for prayer.

The road and salty soil of Mekteb-12 (Zaki Alattar, March 22, 2022. Kegeyli, UZ)

We finally arrived at our target school Mekteb-12 albeit 4 hours late. My immediate thought as we walked down the pavement was Green Day’s ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams.’ Even though we were well into March, the long and bitter frost that was at the tip of everyone's tongue at lunch and dinner conversations had kept its hold on eastern Uzbekistan. The buds of spring had not yet formed, all we saw around us was dust, salt, and dirt.

Borehole and filled water bucket at Mekteb-12 (Zaki Alattar, March 24, 2022. Kegeyli, UZ)

Not far from the entrance to the school was the borehole they used as the primary water source for the school. It was a rickety and rusty device, and the water that came out after a dozen or so hefty pumps was a murky brown. Each morning, a school worker would pump water for the day. The turbid water falls into a ditch to irrigate the fruit trees and crops around the school yard. Once the water turns clear, the school worker fills two buckets, carries it 100 meters into the school, dumps it into a storage tank, and returns for more. He repeats this back and forth nearly 20 times a day.

Xumora demonstrates the school’s water system (Zaki Alattar, March 24, 2022. Kegeyli, UZ)

At school, the majority of water was used to heat the classrooms. Hooked up to a pump and an electric water heart, the water would circulate in PVC pipes to a series of radiators to provide warmth during the cold winter months. There were an additional two sinks that were used for hand washing or to fill up a kettle. While more clear, the water was still very salty (10%+). I never saw water consumed at the school and everyone including myself felt constantly dehydrated.

Borehole piping process (Zaki Alattar, March 26, 2022. Kegeyli, UZ)

Our main task was to create a more accessible source of water for the school. It would be infeasible and expensive to dig a pipe from the borehole to the school. Instead, we opted to drill a new borehole and pipe a short few meters directly into the boiler room (if you could call it that). That room would then also house the water filter and serve as a distribution point for other clean water uses. You can read more about the filter installation, class lessons, and projects in the summary [linked].

Moynauk

The abandoned Aral Sea (Paola Ripoll,, April 2, 2022. Moynauk, UZ)

With no direct road access between Kegeyli and Moynauk, we spent the night in Nukus. We headed to Moynauk bright and early, crossing the Amu Darya before sunrise to make it in time for a quick lesson at a school where the fund had installed a filter a year ago. After our visit, we took a stop at the Aral Sea Museum, where they had dragged a number of deprecated ships in the vast Aral Desert.

A visit to the Aral Sea Musuem (Zaki Alattar, April 2, 2022. Moynauk, UZ)

The site is haunting. The formations along the cliff side hint at the height of the former sea. One could not help but imagine the sight from the ridge of an endless body of water. The ships themselves lay restlessly as fossils from a former era, aching in their rust. They serve as a bleak reminder of the fecundity of a once prosperous port city teaming with life.

Sirojiddin atop an abandoned fishing boat (Zaki Alattar, April 2, 2022. Moynauk, UZ)

While most of the team explored the ships, our organizer took a jog in the desert and returned to exclaim that he had found water. He told us it was green and gooey. We joked he must have lost his mind out there, sucked into a desert mirage. When we returned, a few locals confirmed that a few small streams do still exist although they are likely from drainage. As we debated whether there was still water in the Aral Sea, I felt like we were arguing over whether there was life on Mars.

Qonliqol

A lesson and activity on water filtration (Zaki Alattar, April 2, 2022. Qonliqol, UZ)

After a wonderful set of performances, games, and a scrumptious lunch at the school in Moynauk, we left in the afternoon to a school in Qonliqol. Earlier in the week, we had installed a large 500 liter per hour water filter. We were returning to visit the students and give a short lesson on water filters. I explained 3 different types of filter systems, the tube suction system found in LifeStraws, the electrically powered pressure systems used in reverse osmosis, and gravity filters that we had students create live in class with sand, gravel, cotton, and activated charcoal. Afterward, we demonstrated the reverse osmosis filter in action, planted trees with the students, and made our way to Nukus for a late flight back to Tashkent.

Tashkent

Tashkent City under construction by Hilton (Zaki Alattar, April 3, 2022. Tashkent, UZ)

With only a few hours of sleep in the hostel by the airport, we headed out to Tashkent City shortly after breakfast for an art exhibit. Tashkent City is essentially an enclave within Tashkent that aims to be a new city with stunning glass high rise apartments, offices, and hotels. It reminded me a lot of the Dubai Financial Center, clearly looking to emulate its architecture in bid for tourism and foreign investment. At every entrance stood a security checkpoint.

After checking our bags, we were about to enter when Layla, the woman who had invited us to the art exhibit, ran into us. After introducing ourselves, she entered into a lengthy exposition on the spiritual importance of water in Uzbekistan. Layla spoke of 300 hundred Zooastrian water temples scattered across the Aral Sea dedicated to a once great matriarchy devoted to the water goddess Anahita. The matriarchy was crushed, the story goes, by the introduction of patriarchal Islam and the temples were lost to time. Yet the practice lived on through Sufi water art we would soon see at the exhibit.

Orifjonboy Masjidi in Tashkent City Park (Zaki Alattar, April 3, 2022. Taskhent, UZ)

Walking along the drip irrigated bright green gardens and street lamps that played the instrumental to 50 Cent’s Candy Shop, we turned to this exquisite mosque. In the center of Tashkent City was a beautiful mosque, once sealed by the Russians and abandoned by the Soviets, only now coming back to life as a chapel, gallery, and artist studio.

Sufi Water Art Practice (Zaki Alattar, April 3, 2022. Taskhent, UZ)

The artist leading the exhibit did not strike us as a particularly religious man. Yet his art was dazzling. Using a vat of hydrophobic liquid, he selected a variety of tools to dab and disperse his paints. He explained that the inability to determine the outcome of the painting was intentional, a consequence of there being nothing determined in this life but by God. Layla explained that through this medium, you could connect to any water form out there and that a few nights ago they had communicated to the women in Ukraine through the practice.

Site of the Osman Quran, Hast Imam library (Zaki Alattar, April 3, 2022. Tashkent, UZ)

Layla decided to take us to another mosque, the Hast Imam library, which housed one of the original copies of the Osman Quran. In a strange reversal of her statements criticizing Islam’s partiarchal roles, Layla asked that I recite a few chapters for the Quran for the group as I was the only Muslim male among them. The story behind the Osman Quran was fascinating. A relic brought to Uzbekistan from the Mongol conquests, it would be later stolen by the Tsarist Russia. The story goes that when Lenin was negotiating with Uzbekistan after the Russian Revolution, the Uzbeks offered to join the Soviet Union on condition of the return of the Quran.

TIAAME Campus and Central Building (Zaki Alattar, April 3, 2022. Tashkent, UZ)

The final stop on our journey was for the forum arranged at TIAAME. As we searched for the presentation room, Layla directed us to a museum within the central building dedicated to her father, the late great poet Abdulla Oripov. Her father’s legacy was a vital piece of Uzbeki national identity and literature. I did not quite get the hype, but then again I can’t read Uzbek. After the forum, we had a nice dinner and a walk around town before boarding out midnight flight back to the states.

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