In Uzbekistan with my parents, we discovered ancient history at every turn | Canada Voices

The best part about moving from Pakistan to Canada at 18, alone, was being able to then travel solo in my 20s.

The best part about my 30s, however, has been appreciating the company of my aging parents, especially on spiritually significant journeys.

They’re getting older now, but their desire to visit every country has only deepened. Since they have covered almost all of Europe already, their sights are now set on exploring Islamic history in Central Asia, trailed by a freeloading daughter. First stop: Uzbekistan.

In Uzbekistan with my parents, we discovered ancient history at every turn

From Toronto, I hopped on a LOT Polish Airlines flight via Warsaw to Tashkent, while my parents flew Air Arabia from Karachi.

We landed in Tashkent in the intense heat of August. Family lore has it that my ancestors came from Uzbekistan 350 years ago. My mother eyed everyone on the streets, looking for signs of familial resemblance. She had already shot down a DNA test (too expensive and a privacy invasion) when I mentioned it could potentially help us trace our lineage. I began to think the family lore might be family myth.

While we didn’t find much verified personal history, we were face-to-face with civilizational history at every turn, from the more than 2,500-year-old walled city of Khiva to a dwindling Jewish community in Bukhara.

With wide boulevards and busy traffic, Tashkent is not exactly walkable, but cheap fares on Yandex Go (the Uber of Central Asia) and rides on the ornately decorated, Instagram-worthy subway network dating back to the Soviet era served us well. Visiting the Amir Timur Museum was a highlight, although several plaques sadly noted the original artifacts were overseas in places such as Russia or Britain. And we loved walking through Chorsu Bazaar, an expansive, bustling open-air market under a blue dome, where locals shopped for daily produce and goods.

We also wanted to visit the Imam Bukhari memorial complex near Samarkand. Bukhari is part of my father’s name – one of the reasons the family lore persists. Imam Bukhari was a ninth-century Muslim scholar and a household name for us; visiting his gravesite was important.

It quickly became clear that not all major sites were open. My mother grumbled that we should have done more research. The memorial complex was under renovation, which led to her arguing with a guard at the site. “We just want to pay our respects,” she said, pointing at the dome in the distance, ignoring the dust and din of machinery surrounding us on an active construction site.

The answer was a stern no. I tried telling my mother that nobody would let tourists onto a construction site, regardless of their religious motivations – to no avail. Finally she relented, lining my father and I up for a quick prayer as the guard watched, bored and likely irritated.

I didn’t blame him. The site is a major destination for Muslims, which is why the complex is being redone with the goal of hosting up to five million pilgrims a year. We probably weren’t the first people to try and talk our way in, and we wouldn’t be the last – I watched a small group led by a guide quietly approach the guard. My mother glared at them before ducking inside our cab.

Our hopes to see an ancient Quran that once belonged to Caliph Uthman at Tashkent’s Hazrati Imam complex were also dashed upon arrival, when we found the place under construction.

For us, no family trip is complete without drama, and there’s a specific kind that haunts us on every time we travel: the inevitable back and forth during check-in and check-out at hotels. My parents love to argue over what they call “hidden hotel charges” at the front desk, while I writhe in embarrassment. I needed a walk to blow off steam and this led me to a small underground museum, preserving the history of Bukhara’s Jews – there are only a few dozen left in the city.

A visit to the Naqshband shrine near Bukhara, where 14th-century theologian and Sufi order founder Baha’ al-Din Naqshband is buried, gave us a chance to pray under a mulberry tree in the courtyard and explore the complex’s intricate architecture. The outing was a stark contrast to the memory of 17-year-old me, sulking on hajj with my parents. I took photos of them from across the courtyard, not to post on Instagram, but to capture my parents as two old souls reflecting on their lives and ancestry under a beautiful tree. I felt closer to them than I’d ever been.

In Samarkand, we ended a walking tour with prayers at sunset at Shah-i-Zinda necropolis, meaning “the living king.” Legend says one of Prophet Muhammad’s cousins was buried there. We also paid our respects at the Khoja Doniyor Mausoleum, and washed in water from a nearby spring that’s believed to be blessed. The site draws Muslims, Christians and Jews to what is believed to be the final resting place of the Prophet Daniel.

Each time we boarded a train, it felt like we had stepped back in time to the Soviet era. Booking online was a struggle, but my father persevered and was successful. We travelled by train between Tashkent, Bukhara, Khiva and Samarkand.

Travellers who are against roughing it in coach class won’t enjoy the experience. The air conditioning struggled against the August heat. On one route, we shared a sleeper cabin with a gentleman who tried his best to disappear into his bunk. At one point, the train stopped in the middle of a field with no reception, and there was nothing to do but stare at a woman milking a cow. Such is life on the Uzbek tracks.

I wasn’t complaining. Riding the trains at a leisurely pace, reading my fourth book in a week, sharing non (think naan bread, but thicker) with my parents in comfortable silence, smiling at toddlers across the aisle: It was just the quality time I needed with them.

IF YOU GO

From Toronto, I flew to Tashkent via LOT Polish Airlines through Warsaw, which gave me a chance to stop and see the reasonably priced European city on a layover.

At the Tashkent International Airport, buy a SIM card after clearing immigration and ask for help with setting up the Yandex app to hail a ride. There’s no need to connect a credit card; we paid in cash for all our rides. Also, cab rides are often as cheap as US$2.

Book train tickets between cities in advance online at uzrailpass.uz/en

Try GuruWalk, a website for pay-what-you-can guided walking tours, to explore Bukhara, Samarkand and Khiva.