We've now spent a week in Uzbekistan, the agriculturally based
neighbor of nomadic Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan. Uzbekistan is home to
some of the most ancient cities in the world - several were major Silk
Road trading centers. Two of the biggest rivers in Central Asia (the
Amu Darya and the Sur Darya) channel snowmelt from the nearby mountain
ranges and form a fertile valley in the midst of the vast, desert and
mountain-ridden Central Asian steppe, thus allowing for a uniquely
settled civilization.

I could go on for hours about Uzbekistan's history, its so fascinating
- the area has been conquered over and over again, throughout the past
2500 years, by various Arab, Persian, Turk, Mongol, etc, etc, tribes
and empires, culminating most recently in Soviet collectivization.
Its ethnic diversity is also quite complex and rich, and as the
economic center of Central Asia, has given us a sophisticated glimpse
of the entire region's people - a mix of Uzbeks, Russians, Tajiks,
Koreans, and various other minorities (Kyrgyz, Kazakh, Turkmen, as
well as German, Ukranian, Uighur, Dungan, etc, etc). In fact, with
some minor exceptions, the idea of even drawing strict ethnic lines
between the original inhabitants of Central Asia at all is a total
farce....for centuries the entire region was a chaotic conglomeration
of various tribes, none of whom ever clearly identified themselves
with a large-scale ethnic label such as "Uzbek." The present-day
international borders were drawn by Joseph Stalin in the 20's with the
aim of intentionally encouraging ethnic conflict in the region, and
thereby minimizing the chances of any kind of formidable revolution or
"Pan-Turkish" nationalism which would have challenged Soviet
domination. Divide and conquer. In the process, he had to force
upon these people a sense of ethnic identity worth fighting foolishly
over. What clear ethnic distinctions did exist (the Tajiks are a
Persian ethnic group, as opposed to all the others (Kazakh, Kyrgyz,
Uzbek, Turkmen, Uighur....which are Turkish) were intentionally
ignored, the borders drawn in direct disagreement with them so as to
further promote the conflict.

So, maybe that explains why the ancient Silk Road cities of Samarkand
and Bukhara, where we have spent the last 5 days after a short stay in
the modern city of Tashkent, are both home to a Tajik minority (and
therefore yet another language, a dialect of Farsi rather than
Turkish). As these people are Persian, its often felt more like Ive
imagined the Middle East to be, or perhaps Afghanistan or Muslim South
Asia. Some of my favorite moments have been wandering through the
dusty alleyways of the old quarters in each city, a maze of dirty
pathways lined with mud-brick houses and the shade of old mulberry
trees. In the early evening, the azan (hypnotic prayer call) is
projected throughout town over a loudspeaker, skullcapped boys count
money as businesses close for the day, and hordes of colorful,
head-scarf-covered women bustle frantically through the streets
selling stacks of fresh tandoori bread for the night's meal. Devout
elderly men (called, literally, "graybeards") bow to me and smile, and
we exchange "sallam aleykum's" as they scurry into the mosque. Then
as the streets begin to empty, families retreat through ornately
carved doorways and gather in peaceful central courtyards, sit
barefoot around the cushioned dinner platform, and sip tea.

Alright, here goes. Samarkand first. We got off the minibus in the
center of town and looked up at a massive compound of Muslim
architecture. Samarkand was, for centuries, the economic and
religious capital of Central Asia, and was the center of Amir Timur's
Timurid empire, which spanned from Eastern Europe through the Middle
East, and stretched all the way to India - larger than any empire in
the history of the world, with the exception of Jenghis Khan's Mongol
Empire. In case you've never heard of the Timurid empire, you may
know it better as its future form, the Moghul Empire, which dominated
much of India and Afghanistan well into the 19th century.

Anyway, back to the massive compound of Muslim architecture. Many
acres of brick mausoleums, medressas (the Islamic equivalent of a
monastery) and mosques, arranged around a huge central courtyard.
All is covered in gorgeous, intricate blue mosaic tilework - some
geometric patterns, some colorful artwork, some Arabic Quranic sutras.
Beautiful turqoise domes and kaleidiscopic minarets (cylindrical
towers) shoot up in the sky and blend in with the others that line the
horizon....wherever you look in Samarkand. Yes, the city has quite a
few of these enormous compounds, most of which have been restored,
leaving a crisp clean colorful state that takes away a bit from the
historical richness, but is designed the knock to socks of the tour
busses full of French tourists. It succeeds. I'll even say it
knocked my socks off. This is beauty on a scale that dwarfs the Taj
Mahal. We spent 2 days wandering around the city, exploring
mausoleums and mosques, medressas and monuments, and trying to use the
museum exhibits of old photographs to stir up some accurate
imagination of what the place has been, to so many people, for so many
centuries.

But Bukhara has been my favorite. Walking through town is like
walking through a museum, except that all of the monuments and
historic sites are not attractions in various parts of the city, they
simply are the city. This is hard to explain, but I've never seen
history so integrally blended in with the contemporary life of a
place. We wander through the typical maze of dusty alleyways and
mud-brick walls, but blink and we might miss a gorgeous 13th century
mosque, an enormous ancient medressa (the islamic equivalent of a
monastery), or a 2-acre bazaar whose roof is a series of 35
cathedral-style domes, an ancient form of air conditioning. My
imagination runs wild. This was, for centuries, a city absolutely
TEEMING with Silk Road trading and Muslim scholarship, one camel
caravan after another arriving from the desert and taking its place
amidst thousands of worshippers for the evening prayers. There are
unrestored medressas from 800 years ago, each one housing hundreds of
students, with prayer rooms and reception halls as intricate as
anything we saw in India. There is a 135 ft minaret (cylindrical
Muslim tower) built in 900 AD that is still in absolutely perfect
condition - it has withstood countless earthquakes and the artillery
fire of Soviet generals, and impressed Jenghiz Khan so much when he
saw it, he ordered it to be saved at all costs as his men burnt the
rest of the city to the ground.

What is most overwhelming about all of these historical sites and
monuments (there are 140 preserved buildings in the town, but everyday
I pass what is undoubtably another which has failed to make the list)
is the all-pervading sense of beauty that abounds in the Muslim world.
For years I've been fascinated by Islamic civilizations - in part,
admittedly, because they are so misunderstood in the west and
considered so off-limits to me as an American. But an equally large
part has been a fascination with cultures who value aesthetic beauty
as a necessary part of everyday life. And I have finally come to a
better appreciation of what exactly is so enticing to me about this
state of mind, especially when conceived in a collective, culture-wide
context. Traditions and customs speak loudly to the value judgments
of a society, and I find no other way to read such a fundamental sense
of beauty than as a statement about the fundamental beauty inherent in
human life. That this beauty is seen as a manifestation of, as well
as a dedication to, the divine....only intensifies the statement in my
mind.

The Muslim religion, despite its many undeniable flaws and horrible
track record typical of monotheistic faiths, is also extremely
captivating to me because it is one of the best examples I have seen
of a religion which is, at moments, authentically lived. Like most
people in the West, and America in particular, I've been raised with a
poignant lack of spiritual custom and community. I might even go so
far as to say I've been raised with a poignant lack of cultural
identity at all. America is a cultural free-for-all, and we long ago
sacrificed the traditions of faith or spiritual belief in the name of
the all-powerful individual, and the scientific quest for rational
knowledge. I'm not complaining. But certainly there is a spiritual
need within all of us, and mine has been long-neglected. To see a
culture of people who (the usual hypocrisy, chauvinism, and sinfulness
aside) are living genuine lives of devotion, blows my mind. I may
disagree with their faith on every rational level possible, but when
it comes down to it, there is an undeniable chord in me which
resonates loudly. From this faith comes a sense of overwhelming
peace, purpose, simplicity, and above all, gratitude. Life is
beautiful, simply because we are alive, so we must make this building
beautiful too. Because I am here, I know God is smiling on me, so I
will smile too. It's so simple, but so rare.

Reflecting on all of this has often brought me back to larger
considerations of my own worldview as a privileged American, and the
differences which are highlighted when traveling in a developing
nation. Wherever we go, we speak with people as much as we can,
given the formidable language barriers, trying to muster up some sort
of genuine cultural exchange. Every conversation begins with the
same question: "which country?" and our response of "america" lights
up peoples faces with sheer awe about 95% of the time. We are viewed
with such consistent admiration, as if we posess some exotic, alien
form of supernatural power that allows us to materialize wads of
greenback dollars with the snap of a finger. But one thing that I
known is hopelessly, and frustratingly unexplainable to these people
we meet is that with our wealth and prosperity comes a different kind
of burden. With our incredible amount of freedom comes a different
kind of formidable obstacle. With our rugged individualism comes a
different kind of challenge. In the west, we have so many options,
so many choices, it often becomes debilitating for people. Our
struggle is not usually an economic one, but one of choosing the
correct path for us and finding our own individual idea of the good
life, in a sea of opportunity and with every door open. With our rich
cultural diversity comes a lack of identity or sense of collective
belonging, which is a fundamental human need, and for much of the rest
of the world, one of the most meaningful and fulfilling structures of
human life.

Religion, or lack thereof, and its role as a cultural construct,
serves as a particularly poignant lens through which to view these new
modern challenges. Without systems of faith to outline our moral
beliefs and codes of conduct for us, we instead inherit the
responsibility to form our own. All of the complex social systems
which have historically structured and dictated human behavior have
been reduced to the small and often unilateral construct of the
nuclear family. But the nuclear family itself is not expected to
stay together, and retain any kind of cohesion. There is no
expectation of us as young people to eventually assume financial
responsibility of the unit which raised us in a world of privilege,
now that we are the ones with earning power. I'll never forget the
reaction of my friend Juan, who is from a poor state in Southern
Mexico, when I explained that most individuals in the US had
expectations of themselves to save enough to be self-sufficient all
the way to their deaths. He was appalled. "But your parents gave
YOU life, they gave you everything, and you can't even be near them
when they get old and need help?", he said. "You expect them to take
care of themselves, or you'll just put them into a home?" He found
it equally repugnant that as a culture, our major life choices not
driven by a desire to live close to the rest of our nuclear (and even
extended) family for most of our lives - that we often chose where to
live based on educational and professional opportunities, or maybe
even climate, rather than the necessity of being around the people we
love.

Perhaps I'm digressing, or at least sounding like a complete brat,
complaining about all the wonderful opportunities and privileges I've
had throughout my life. I don't mean to. But I look around at many
of the young people I know, and see a surprising amount that are
completely lost - unsure of which path to take because there are
simply so many options. I myself am fairly clueless as to which
exact career path I will take, and I am spending my twenties exploring
possibilities and trying hard to learn enough about myself and the
world to make the perfect decision. I wouldn't trade it for the
world, but through it all I can't help but feel a great deal of
fascination with, and certainly a tinge of longing for, a simpler,
clearer, and easier path to this decision.

One of the most powerful experiences Kendall and I had on our first
trip to Asia was seeing the way Buddhism brough this kind of immediate
clarity and simplicity to people's lives. This was the first time I
saw a religion truly lived. The Islamic world, at times, espouses
the same captivating simplicity engrained in the daily life of the
faithful - an acceptance of one's lot in life and a genuine enjoyment
of it because, however horrible of a life it may be, it is beautiful
simply because it was granted as a divine gift. When one is
inherently grateful, the whole world, and all of its hardship, changes
color.