TOWARDS SAMARCANDA
I
left the monumental Bukhara and
rode towards Samarkand. The trip seemed
endless due to my anxiety to arrive. As my
tiredness was getting overwhelming, I am
welcomed by a huge sign that reads
Samarkand. I jumped for joy.
The city is magical, beautiful, amazing. Unlike
its Kazakh neighbors who are nomad
shepherds that never built anything more
stable than a yurt (traditional circular tent of
the steppe), Tajik farmers founded the fertile
valleys filled with cities that embraced blue
mosques, high Minarets and immense
monuments. And also founded a mighty
kingdom. The Timorese kingdom, the Great
Tamerlane, who in less than ten years
conquered Iran, Iraq, Syria and East Turkey.
After a breakfast of unleavened bread and
cucumber, I went outside the Registan, a
square located opposite of the Grand Mosque.
The atmosphere is of quiet and peaceful
retreat. The buildings are of spectacular
beauty, so astonishing that almost hurts. Just a
few backpackers dispersed around it. You can
even hear the murmur of the fountains and
the chirping of birds.
A young man approached me and started
conversation. I was not in a hurry so we
chatted for a while. I shared with him my
scarce interest on historical lessons of the
Great Court and its monuments. I told him I
was only interested in one thing, and if he
knew about it and there was any trace left, I
will hire him as a guide to show it to me.
-All right-, he accepts.
- I am seeking the traces of a Spanish
ambassador who came here in the fifteenth
century – I reply.
I am convinced that he has no idea of the visit
of the Castilian and Spaniard Ruiz González de
Clavijo in those early days. Once again, I felt
that my proposition to him was made too fast,
too in a hurry. However, the kid's eyes light up.
He ensures me enthusiastically that he does
know. I believed him. I felt there was
something more than just financial interest in
his joy. I felt behind it lied scholar pride. He
told me that there was hardly anything left,
barely a street with a strange name, but he
knew where it was and also knew the history
behind it. He remarked that he also ran by
chance one day into that street, around five
years ago. He then became interested in the
reason of such a strange name. He sought
information in books.
We started walking towards the Mausoleum of
Gur Emir, where is buried Timor the Great. The
street plate is still there. It is true! Clavijo -
Klavixo for Uzbeks- has a street in Samarkand.
There is a piece of Spain in Uzbekistan.
In 1403, Rui Gonzalez de Clavijo was sent to
Central Asia by Henry III, king of Castile (Spain).
His goal was to close up a partnership with
Tamerlane to fight against the Turks. He crossed
by Rhodes and Constantinople (now Istanbul)
before entering the Black Sea and disembarked
in Trabzon (Trabzon). From there he continued
overland through Iran and Iraq to reach
Samarkand on a journey that, even today, still
intimidates by its risk and hardness. When that
unexpected traveler appeared in Timor’s court,
he was received with delight and a big
ceremony. But after Timor’s death, a period of
instability began as Timor’s heirs divided the
empire among themselves. Clavijo’s embassy
could be labeled as a diplomatic failure.
However, the success was the journey itself.
Such a huge feat will survive Clavijo’s goal. His
book, Embassy to Tamerlane, is a landmark of
medieval travel literature.
I owe to Clavijo existence my own adventure.
He gave all of us a portrait of a time and place
that no one knew before. His existence is in my
mind again. He represents the reason why I
should continue traveling. The great journeys
exist because there are chroniclers. People that
share with us their travel stories. Without them,
it would only be left a cloud of dust.