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Wednesday 2004-06-16 - Bukhara, Uzbekistan
Ouch!
First plan for today is to try and deliver the portraits I took of people here in Bukhara two years ago: the bread-selling women, and a family near Chor Minor. Carla and I go out before breakfast: last time I brought them photographs I was treated to a nice breakfast - and I don’t need two! When we arrive at the spot where they were yesterday afternoon, as usual, we see only the men though (it seems their sons and husbands sometimes take over). Since I’d rather give the pictures to the women, we walk back to the hotel and have a nice buffet breakfast there.
The women will probably be back later in the day, so our next target is Chor Minor: this building, of which the Tadjik name means “four minarets” is worth a look anyway. Its original function is not exactly clear: the four towers definitely aren’t minarets (no one can stand inside to call for prayer) and it’s too small for a mosque anyway; but it might have been a tomb, or maybe the entrance of a (now completely disappeared) caravanserai. Whatever it was, it’s a charming building, beautifully restored, and I’m looking forward to see it again.
On the way out, in the hotel lobby, I suddenly hear (feel?) a distinctive ‘crack!’ from inside my body somewhere and find myself rolling onto the floor… I must have missed the small step in the lobby. The ‘crack!’ was my right foot, I think - it hurts! A man from the hotel comes running and helps me up. At least I can stand on it, but it’s very painful. Quickly, he puts me in a chair and examines my foot. I can wiggle my toes, everything seems in the right place, I can stand on it. “OK!” he declares. Reasoning that it will probably get very thick if I don’t walk on it, I go out with Carla anyway, walking very slowly now.
