Fine dust carved out eddys lining the movement of the invisible wind that blew past us as we got off our cramped little marshrutka from the city onto the long distance bus stand. It was time to head to Turkistan. Our mission of the day: (and that we accepted it) To look for the mausoleum of the first great Turkic Muslim, the blessed Khodja Akhmed Yasaui.
Locating the right bus was easy, so was getting the tickets and they were of good value. Rolling out to the fields framing the neverending straight road, we gasped in awe at the simple beauty of land in abundance, seas of a thousand suns as happy sunflowers bloomed in full to wave us off. The two-hour journey began to test our mettle as we discovered while our shock soared with the mercury, the bus didn't have any sort of decent fan system. Hence we had to rely on air being diverted from the vent taking in air from outside to cool off the inside of the bus. No, windows that can be opened were non-existent.
While I sought refuge in my iShuffle, our bus drove on dutifully and in no time, we were there. The bus stand at Turkistan town, which looked very much like one that even the gods had forgotten, but not man. And what a damn fine stall it was selling ice cold beer. Although we had none of that, we did dig into some juicy kebab before heading off to cool ourselves with some water and haggle with a nearby cabbie.
Locating the right bus was easy, so was getting the tickets and they were of good value. Rolling out to the fields framing the neverending straight road, we gasped in awe at the simple beauty of land in abundance, seas of a thousand suns as happy sunflowers bloomed in full to wave us off. The two-hour journey began to test our mettle as we discovered while our shock soared with the mercury, the bus didn't have any sort of decent fan system. Hence we had to rely on air being diverted from the vent taking in air from outside to cool off the inside of the bus. No, windows that can be opened were non-existent.
While I sought refuge in my iShuffle, our bus drove on dutifully and in no time, we were there. The bus stand at Turkistan town, which looked very much like one that even the gods had forgotten, but not man. And what a damn fine stall it was selling ice cold beer. Although we had none of that, we did dig into some juicy kebab before heading off to cool ourselves with some water and haggle with a nearby cabbie.
The town was relatively simple to navigate but by then the heat was extremely powerful to render even a bicycle effort a pass. So much for my will power but realising that getting even a bicycle for rent was a pass, I gave the entire notion a big agreed pass of death. In a zippy our cabbie dropped us off at the entrance into the looming majesty of the mausoleum.
Now you'll read about the founder of the Yasauia Sufism, how he endeared his followers both dead and alive with his talent of narration, that even after two centuries the great Amir Timur built this monument to commemorate the sufi's memory onto stone. The collection of rooms and unfinished architecture were articulately stunning and the fortifying wall built in the 19th Century (although now retouched) gave a sense of sombreness to this resting place of pilgrims seeking divine meditation and prayers. There were the underground tombs and the nearby, simpler but nonetheless captivating mausoleum of a Begum, the grand daughter of Amir Timur facing the half-tiled (due to the latter's untimely death, hence unfinished) exterior of Khodja Akhmed Yasaui.
Now you'll read about the founder of the Yasauia Sufism, how he endeared his followers both dead and alive with his talent of narration, that even after two centuries the great Amir Timur built this monument to commemorate the sufi's memory onto stone. The collection of rooms and unfinished architecture were articulately stunning and the fortifying wall built in the 19th Century (although now retouched) gave a sense of sombreness to this resting place of pilgrims seeking divine meditation and prayers. There were the underground tombs and the nearby, simpler but nonetheless captivating mausoleum of a Begum, the grand daughter of Amir Timur facing the half-tiled (due to the latter's untimely death, hence unfinished) exterior of Khodja Akhmed Yasaui.
Noteworthy mention was definitely the intelligent guide and the enthusiasm of the staff. They were eager to discover about us and allocated an English-speaking guide to take us through the building, carefully explaining the finer details of the place. The interior of the mausoleum took my breath away with its bare face intensity sparkling off the purity of sufism amidst the dervish retreats of private chambers that facilitated both purpose of religious and spiritual kind, and of practicality with its in-built air tunnels. Many a warrior, great men of law and rule, and even descendants of Genghis Khan were entombed here. The great Khodja himself was of course carefully laid in an archive of precious lime marble brought from India, surrounded by reminder of the Quran and Hadith, proclaiming the oneness of God and the teachings of the Prophet. The collection of Persian writings and a map of documenting the spread of the Yasauia Sufism was impressive and you didn't even have to be a Muslim to appreciate the mood inside this place. Even today, pilgrims still flock to this place to pray and seek blessings... and of course you have your typical wedded couple taking their entire posse to pose here for the album, with the bride oblivious to the suffering of the groom and the rest of the world.
The tile work here really commanded attention, not just from a big picture appreciation although you will not regret standing afar to seek out the lining of the word "Allah" in Arabic on the intricate layout of the tiles in turquoise, cobalt and green, entirely written out on the Western front of the building. Zooming in, the smaller details showed geometrical outlines of the Swastika, representing infinity surrounded by again, the Mashahadad that there is only one God and the Prophet Muhammad is his last chosen. Under the main dome inside you can crane your neck to satisfaction at the complex geometrical carvings, apparently to enhance acoustic and visual effects. These guys back in the 14th Century sure had some fun designing this place!
The tile work here really commanded attention, not just from a big picture appreciation although you will not regret standing afar to seek out the lining of the word "Allah" in Arabic on the intricate layout of the tiles in turquoise, cobalt and green, entirely written out on the Western front of the building. Zooming in, the smaller details showed geometrical outlines of the Swastika, representing infinity surrounded by again, the Mashahadad that there is only one God and the Prophet Muhammad is his last chosen. Under the main dome inside you can crane your neck to satisfaction at the complex geometrical carvings, apparently to enhance acoustic and visual effects. These guys back in the 14th Century sure had some fun designing this place!
Getting back into town was a reverse of our original daytime plan. However we had a hit-and-miss with the bus back as not only we had a bus that relied on outside air to cool off its choking passengers, it didn't have a backup plan on an opened vents. I flapped my fan until it broke and I had to resort to dousing myself with water (seriously!) to cool down. It was a hard trip back into town and by the time I got back, my brains were fried and my limbs were merely responding to life sustaining actions such as raising a bottle to water myself, stripping off to the shower, and flopping myself onto the bed after switching on the air conditioner.
That night we killed ten mozzies before retiring to bed, unsuccessfully because we discovered Friday was all night long Karaoke. Each song had an intermission of the national anthem. It's been one of those days that you were completely knackered but knew deep down that it was all worth it. I felt that I had seen something of the man-made old for the real first time since arriving here in Kazakhstan. I'm so glad we made it to Turkistan.
That night we killed ten mozzies before retiring to bed, unsuccessfully because we discovered Friday was all night long Karaoke. Each song had an intermission of the national anthem. It's been one of those days that you were completely knackered but knew deep down that it was all worth it. I felt that I had seen something of the man-made old for the real first time since arriving here in Kazakhstan. I'm so glad we made it to Turkistan.
