Uzbekistan > Wandering through old Khiva

The old city of Khiva is enclosed by a 10-meter-high mudbrick city wall. As I walk through the west gate, souvenir sellers are already ready to peddle all kinds of items to me. Unfortunately for them, I’m not a buyer. I head to the 12th-century palace, Kukhna Ark. I find out that I need an overall ticket to enter. This ticket is valid for all buildings in Khiva. It’s strange that the dollar price for the ticket uses the official exchange rate. At that rate, 1 dollar is worth only 3,000 som, while on the black market I can get 6,000 som for 1 dollar—twice as much. It is therefore more attractive to pay for the ticket in som. This is the case everywhere the official rate is applied.

Uzbekistan - Numerous mosques and Quran schools in the old center of Khiva

I just don’t understand why the difference between the official rate and the street rate can be so large. Inside the Ark, I explore the mosque, the throne room, and climb the watchtower. From the tower, I have a view of the impressive mudbrick city wall and the mosques and madrassas of Khiva. I wander through the city and admire the various buildings. It seems as if time has stood still in Khiva. Khiva was one of the most important cities along the Silk Road. My attention is mostly on the buildings themselves rather than the displayed collections inside. The Juma Mosque dates back to the 10th century. The mosque has 212 wooden pillars supporting the roof. Through a low opening, I reach a spiral staircase that leads up the 47-meter-high Juma minaret. The staircase is dark, and the steps are steep. From the top of the minaret, I can see old Khiva. Stunning! I continue to wander through Khiva—mosque here, old Quranic school there. At the east gate, I enter the old bazaar. In the past, this was Khiva’s main trading area.

Uzbekistan - The clay city wall of Khiva

Since the opening of a new bazaar just outside the gate, only souvenir sellers remain here. In the new bazaar and on the surrounding streets, goods for everyday life are sold. Nothing here seems touristy. I walk back past the—closed—palace and the nearby Pakhlavan Mahmoud Mausoleum. Under the blue-green dome lies a beautifully mosaic-decorated room. I take off my shoes and go inside. In the side room is the tomb of Pakhlavan Mahmoud, a national poet and hero. I hesitate about entering. A woman notices my hesitation and gestures for me to follow her inside. Several people are praying on their knees at the tomb. It is moving. Back at my guesthouse, I meet Hans and Anja on the terrace. They are traveling in their own campervan. Previously, they spent years traveling across the seas on a sailing yacht. From here, they plan to follow roughly the same route as us through the Pamirs before heading into China. In the evening, we eat together in Khiva. It’s nice to exchange experiences with each other.