Traveling around Uzbekistan

I used to think all Uzbek dialects were pretty much the same. Then I spent three weeks in Khiva, trying to order plov at a local choyxona, and realized—wait

I used to think travel memories were something you just had, you know? Turns out, Khiva—this ancient walled city in Uzbekistan that looks like someone

I used to think copper and brass workshops were basically museum pieces—quiet corners where old men hammered out tourist trinkets while the world moved

I used to think conservatories were all marble hallways and uptight Europeans in tuxedos. Then I stumbled into the Bukhara State Conservatory on a dusty

I used to think medieval cities just sort of happened—organically, chaotically, without much planning. Then I walked into Bukhara’

I used to think nomadic cultures were all about constant movement, like some romanticized perpetual wandering. Turns out, the Uzbek nomadic heritage is

Uzbekistan wasn’t even on my radar for wellness travel until a friend sent me photos from Samarkand—turquoise domes, yes, but also her doing sun

I spent three hours last Tuesday scrolling through digitized photographs of Bukhara, and honestly, I’m not sure I’ve surfaced yet.

I used to think handicraft shopping meant navigating identical souvenir stalls until my eyes glazed over. Then I spent three days in Khiva’

I used to think weaving was just, you know, threads going up and down. Then I watched a master weaver in Bukhara’s old city—hands moving so fast