Author: Dilshod Karimov, Cultural Heritage Specialist and Travel Guide

When Alabaster Dust Becomes Poetry: The Stubborn Persistence of Ganch in Uzbek Hands I used to think plaster was just plaster. Then I watched a master

I’ve spent three evenings in Khiva now, and I can tell you the light here does something I still don’t fully understand. The thing about photographing

I’ve walked past museum cabinets filled with dusty rocks more times than I care to admit, but the natural history collections at Tashkent’

The Kyzylkum stretches across Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan like a wrinkled bedsheet someone forgot to smooth out. I used to think deserts were all the same—sand

I used to think textile museums were just glorified fabric warehouses. Then I spent three hours in Bukhara’s Textile Museum, watching an elderly

I used to think horseback riding tours were all the same—polished trails, scripted guides, maybe a sunset photo op if you were lucky. Then I ended up in

I used to think mountain biking near Tashkent meant dusty roads and not much else. Turns out—and this surprised me when I first moved here, honestly—the

I used to think straw was just something you threw away after harvest. Then I watched Gulnora Karimova’s hands move through a pile of dried wheat

I used to think hiring a guide in Uzbekistan was overkill—until I got spectacularly lost in Bukhara’s old city, wandering the same labyrinth of clay

I’ll be honest—I never thought I’d spend three weeks chasing plov across Tashkent, but here we are. The thing about plov is that it’