“Of all that Man erects and builds in his striving for life, the kindest and most precious in my mind are bridges. They are more meaningful than houses, more sacred than temples, because they are more accessible. They belong to everyone and to everyone they are the same, useful, always built with thought, standing where most human needs cross paths; they are more durable than other man-made objects, and serve nothing hidden or evil.”
Ivo Andrić, The Bridge on the Drina
Since ancient times the bridge is not merely a transportation symbol, but a reflection of many symbols, images, tales, it is the cross where the earth and sky, time and space converge, where meetings and departures are…
The Uz Lab bridge, built by Azam and Maria, is where I met Ivan and Tsvyatko, Claus and Beknur, Sahiba, Morii, Patricia, Tsippy and Raviv, Mauricio and Gerald, and became a scale for all of us. Tashkent, Namangan, Samarkand, and Bukhara were stops on the bridge, upon which I quietly measured my steps for 12 days.
Tashkent
In the first hour of the new day, I set foot on Uzbeki land. More than 5000 km. lay between me and my homeland, and that is where I took my first step on this bridge – the step of meeting. A large chrysanthemum bouquet was the first thing my hands held, offered by the smiling eyes of Azam and his oldest son, Aziz. This beautiful autumn flower shared its aroma of happiness and luck. I came here with no compass, no carefully curated information, like a blank sheet of paper, waiting for the words to find it at the right moment.
Tashkent was amicable in its evening gown. We had to travel long to reach the home of Shahodat Isahonova and Nurali Kabul – our hosts. I was a guest to authors who have contributed immensely to Uzbeki literature. Their hospitality was the second important step I took on the bridge to understanding. Such open and g enerous, deep and interesting personalities! I sensed this meeting will not be our last.
On the day of our arrival, Shahodat invited me to meet women of different professions – smart, interesting, kind, quiet, with a strong character. I was allowed among them with such acceptance, as if someone had already said good things about me.The next step lay ahead of me, in the emblematic National Library of Uzbekistan. The books and their home hosted our conversations – my third step on the bridge of closeness.
The bridge led us to new meetings, where we took our next step – getting to know the children from 63rd School – this was the step of responsibility we have when we stand before pure children eyes.
Namagan
We took on the long road to Namagan and the Fergan Valley. Mountainous scenery flying by the windshield, and the special kind of feeling of closeness took over me. The roots of my people were said to be in these lands. It was time for the sixth step on the bridge – the step of historical connection between us.
Kamchik Pass – only the sky is above us now. My fellow travelers are passionately reading poems by Nizām al-Din Alisher Navaiy and fiercely reciting their own work. At night we crossed the threshold of a household, which will forever stay with me as one of Uzbekistan’s faces. This is the family of Azam, which embodied true hospitality. These people spoke with the language of their hearts. They adorned the dinner table with food that nourished our bodies and souls, they followed our every wish, caught in the glimpse of an eye, even before the words could appear.
That first night was the next – seventh – step on the bridge, the step of trust.
The morning family breakfast that followed transformed homemade yogurt, fruits and bread into an offer of calmness, and the dances in the inner garden brought joy to our hearts.
It was as if I had taken off a heavy load off of my back, when I took the next step – the step of happiness for being together.
The road took us to new people in park Uchbulok, where our bodies talked, and our souls danced. The day still had meetings in store for us, with young people, eager to find a bigger world, who nonetheless held firmly to their roots. A young man shared his dream of seeing London, and I did my small part by answering his call, and taking his cup with an image of London Bridge to Bulgaria. “Take this cup to Europe, and one day I may get to see London.”, said his joy and calmness – the face of innocence.
Still, more meetings awaited us – the cartoonist Mahmoudjon Eshonkulov. We all received an original painting – a gift from him. I took mine home, and it carries the memory of our meeting with it.
Yet again, we take on the road. Endless cotton fields and fruit gardens lead my gaze. I had not imagined that in a few hours I would see a modern textile fabric, a ceramics fabric Rishton, and take my next step on the bridge – the step of hard work.
Samarkand
The long-awaited trip to Samarkand is on its way. The city devours us. We recite Registan poetry, given to us by Beknur, in the center of the architectural complex. Then I look for a place to be alone and read a bit of the book I took with me from Bulgaria, which is my teacher on this journey. Architecture made with such love to God cannot but help you to feel humble and try to perceive all of this beauty beyond knowledge. At dusk we are guests in the home of Ahmad Umarov, the painter. Who can open their heart and home, when they have lived through the pain of a big loss?
The next step on the bridge has been made. No two moments are alike and one must walk forward.
Bukhara
I felt like the sole purpose of my participation in the project was to reach this place. Bukhara I Sherif, Bukhara the Grateful. The tall stronghold wall, the Emir’s palace, the madrasas, and the big market. A place where Avicena and Ulugbek have lived. During Antiquity almost every street in Bukhara had its school, and for a long time the city has been a meeting place of Sufists.
A sentence from the book I was reading was nagging my mind. “If you move in the right direction, the degree of your sincerity will be recognized”.
In Bukhara, the step on the bridge is a bit different. It says that the road is a secret.
Back in Tashkent
The last days of our journey on the bridge are here. They are filled with sincere conversations, dance, poetry and some tears. And Azam, who always says “It’s time for a group photo!”.
The end
During the time I spent journeying on this “bridge”, my thoughts were always half-spoken. Not being fluent in English was one reason for this, but it also allowed me to rely on the instincts of my heart and make the final step – the step of connectedness between us. My personal steps on the bridge were almost invisible, but the bridge blessed me with a final mark – the step of a true meeting.
Mariya Karadecheva,
Bulgaria
