Traveling around Uzbekistan

I used to think hats were just hats. Then I watched a seventy-three-year-old master craftsman in Bukhara spend eleven hours stitching a single tubeteika—the

I used to think perfume was just about smelling nice. Then I spent an afternoon in a cramped workshop in Bukhara’s old city, watching a master perfumer

The Chimgan Mountains: Where Soviet Infrastructure Meets Genuine Wilderness I used to think all mountain trails needed to be remote to feel authentic.

I never expected to spend a Tuesday morning hunched over a wooden embroidery frame in a cramped Tashkent workshop, stabbing my thumb for the third time.

The wooden marionettes dangle from their strings like tiny conspirators, waiting. I’ve spent more afternoons than I care to admit watching puppet

I used to think arranging a private tour in Uzbekistan would be one of those things you’d need a fixer for, like getting into North Korea or finding

I used to think lace was just lace—delicate, sure, but mostly the same everywhere. Then I watched a seventy-year-old woman in Bukhara’

I still remember the first time I walked through Chorsu Bazaar in Tashkent, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of fruit I’d never seen before.

I used to think gold embroidery was just, you know, fancy stitching—until I watched a Bukharan master spend eleven hours on a single pomegranate motif.

I used to think museum basements were just storage spaces for broken pottery. Then I spent an afternoon in the Afrosiyob Museum’s collection rooms