From: Nukus, Karakalpak Republic, Uzbekistan
I'm writing from Nukus, capital of the semi-autonomous Republic of Karakalpakstan (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karakalpakstan) on the edge of Uzbekistan. I knew almost nothing about the place until a couple of days ago. James, Michael and I were all having money problems in Khiva: no working ATMs, no place to get cash advances, no capable employees at the National Bank, etc. We were lamenting the situation to a taxi driver, but he reassured us: "Nukus is the capital of Karakalpakstan. Many, many investors. Money is easy to get -- US dollars, Uzbek sum, whatever." And so we set out for Nukus, world-class financial center, rival to New York and London, home to the most sophisticated investment community on the planet.
You probably won't be surprised to know that we haven't encountered any employees of Goldman Sachs in Nukus. If there is an investment community here, I'm guessing, they must trade in sand futures or sell financial instruments based on used-car parts. Quite frankly, this is one of the most hilariously bleak and desolate places I've ever gone. There's no visible industry, almost no tourists, and the streets are hot and empty.
There is one intriguing and impressive sight in Nukus, however: the Savitsky Museum. Savitsky was an artist during the early Soviet period (1920s and 30s). Among other things, he collected a large number of works that fell outside of the artistic and ideological mainstream supported by the Communist Party. Isolated in Nukus, he was able to preserve a lot of great pieces of artwork from destruction by Soviet cultural authorities -- his collection had more than 50,000 works by the time of his death. For a town like Nukus, the collection was extremely impressive, with excellent works spanning expressionism, abstract realism, Muralism and more modern styles.
We haven't stayed in Nukus the whole time, though. In search of even greater desolation, we took a field trip to Moynaq, a four-hour ride north of Nukus into the desert. Moynaq's tale is a sad and interesting one. Until the 1960s, the town was was the fishing capital of the ill-fated Aral Sea, and the area was fairly prosperous by regional standards. In the late Soviet period, the area's rulers decided to divert the Amu-Darya and other major tributaries of the Aral Sea, to try and boost cotton production in desert areas. It worked, but, with reduced inflowing water, the Aral started to shrink at an alarming rate. It's now a tiny fraction of its former size, and towns like Moynaq were cut off from the shoreline in a matter of years.
Moynaq, today, is almost a ghost town, with absolutely no local industry except a bit of cotton farming in the suburbs. At our hotel, once a large and presumably bustling place, we were the only tourists. Just outside of town are dozens of eerie, rusted ships sitting on the desert sand, over a hundred miles from the current ocean -- a sad reminder of the Soviets' attempt to play Mother Nature:
I'm writing from Nukus, capital of the semi-autonomous Republic of Karakalpakstan (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karakalpakstan) on the edge of Uzbekistan. I knew almost nothing about the place until a couple of days ago. James, Michael and I were all having money problems in Khiva: no working ATMs, no place to get cash advances, no capable employees at the National Bank, etc. We were lamenting the situation to a taxi driver, but he reassured us: "Nukus is the capital of Karakalpakstan. Many, many investors. Money is easy to get -- US dollars, Uzbek sum, whatever." And so we set out for Nukus, world-class financial center, rival to New York and London, home to the most sophisticated investment community on the planet.
You probably won't be surprised to know that we haven't encountered any employees of Goldman Sachs in Nukus. If there is an investment community here, I'm guessing, they must trade in sand futures or sell financial instruments based on used-car parts. Quite frankly, this is one of the most hilariously bleak and desolate places I've ever gone. There's no visible industry, almost no tourists, and the streets are hot and empty.
There is one intriguing and impressive sight in Nukus, however: the Savitsky Museum. Savitsky was an artist during the early Soviet period (1920s and 30s). Among other things, he collected a large number of works that fell outside of the artistic and ideological mainstream supported by the Communist Party. Isolated in Nukus, he was able to preserve a lot of great pieces of artwork from destruction by Soviet cultural authorities -- his collection had more than 50,000 works by the time of his death. For a town like Nukus, the collection was extremely impressive, with excellent works spanning expressionism, abstract realism, Muralism and more modern styles.
We haven't stayed in Nukus the whole time, though. In search of even greater desolation, we took a field trip to Moynaq, a four-hour ride north of Nukus into the desert. Moynaq's tale is a sad and interesting one. Until the 1960s, the town was was the fishing capital of the ill-fated Aral Sea, and the area was fairly prosperous by regional standards. In the late Soviet period, the area's rulers decided to divert the Amu-Darya and other major tributaries of the Aral Sea, to try and boost cotton production in desert areas. It worked, but, with reduced inflowing water, the Aral started to shrink at an alarming rate. It's now a tiny fraction of its former size, and towns like Moynaq were cut off from the shoreline in a matter of years.
Moynaq, today, is almost a ghost town, with absolutely no local industry except a bit of cotton farming in the suburbs. At our hotel, once a large and presumably bustling place, we were the only tourists. Just outside of town are dozens of eerie, rusted ships sitting on the desert sand, over a hundred miles from the current ocean -- a sad reminder of the Soviets' attempt to play Mother Nature:
In a place like Moynaq, you have to bring your own fun. Since it was one of our last nights together, the three of us decided to have a little 'Booze Cruise' on one of the beached ships in the desert. We had a bottle of good Uzbek wine we brought from Bukhara, got some local bread (there are no restaurants in Moynaq, in turns out) and spent the evening on the hull of a rusted fishing trawler. The sunset was spectacular, and (although it probably goes without saying), we had the place to ourselves. Here, Michael and James, drinking Muscat out of plastic glasses I carved with a bread knife:
I'm getting ready to head to the Turkmen border tomorrow at Konye-Urgench. Looking forward to six days in Central Asia's most bizarre country... will write more soon.
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