For years, the suffix -stan seemed to mystify tourists. But Central Asia has been unleashed, with Uzbekistan leading the way. The once closed-off land now rises like a colorful phoenix from the bleak Soviet-ashes and dirty desert dust.

Interesting fact: On this planet, only two countries are double landlocked, and Uzbekistan is one of them. Landlocked means the land does not border on an ocean. There are forty-four countries like that in the world. Double landlocked means that the neighboring countries also do not border on an ocean. And there are only two of those: Uzbekistan and Liechtenstein.

These are the thoughts that overwhelm me on the six-hour flight from Paris to the Uzbekistan capital Tashkent. Could that be correct? I stare out of the window of the old-fashioned Boeing and see the dry landscape below me consent meekly. Infinite desert as far as the eye can see. A little later, I find myself in the bustling center of Tashkent, in front of the iconic Hotel Uzbekistan, and I swoon. Things can go fast. Maybe it is the brutalist Soviet style combined with the crisp and clean streets filled with white Chevrolets and rundown Lada’s. Visually irresistible. My guide Nilufar is relieved. And she hasn’t even shown me her favorite metro stations.  “By the way, it was the Russians who started renovating the old attractions in Samarkand, Bukhara, and Khiva.” I look forward to it because those three cities—once an essential stop on the Silk Road—are the heart of tourist Uzbekistan and the reason why Uzbekistan Airways’ flights are almost always fully booked. Tashkent, with its beautiful mosques, mausoleums, museums, and metro stations, is a tasty extra.

GLASNOST
It doesn’t take long before I realize the tourist goldmine Uzbekistan has been sitting on quietly for decades. Fatima takes me consecutively to the Ulugh Beg Observatory, the Shah-i-Zinda mausoleum, the Bibi-Khanum mosque, and Registan central square, without a doubt the pièce the resistance in Samarkand. Completely in awe and with one eye peering through my camera, I stare at each of the ancient attractions. The madrassa’s (Islamic schools), mosques, and mausoleums turn golden in the burning autumn sun and are in such an amazing state that it makes me suspicious. As if they have been planted there last-minute. But Fatima takes away my doubts. Everything here is at least four, five, or six hundred years old. I realize traders on the Silk Road in the late medieval times got the same picture: a prosperous and breathtakingly beautiful oasis in a bone-dry, smothering wasteland. The recent Uzbek glasnost suddenly seems the very logic. “If you have it, flaunt it,” Fatima smiles.

NO GERMANS
The more time I spend in Uzbekistan, the clearer it becomes that the image I had—a prejudice, as you will—is miles from the truth. Tell a family member, a friend, or a colleague about Uzbekistan and you will get a load of raised eyebrows, worried looks, and curious questions. Definitely number 1: isn’t that dangerous? It isn’t. What’s more: there are few countries where I feel more at ease. In the intercity to Bukhara, I let Fatima’s words sink in: “What did you expect? That donkeys are our means of transportation? Alright, there is still a long way to go, we are no Germans, you know. But don’t forget this is a young nation.” Point well made.  In Bukhara, I am surprised again by my guide, named Manfur, who preps me for a packed two-day trip in what he calls ‘the pearl of Uzbekistan’. I have heard such promises before, but after visiting the Ismail Samani Mausoleum, the Po-i-Kalyan Complex, and the Arc of Bukhara, I stop resisting. “Bukhara is over two thousand years old and is the most intact example of a medieval city in Central Asia. The city houses over 350 mosques, more than 100 religious colleges, and over 140 architectural monuments. Bukhara really is more an open-air museum than a city,” Manfur says jokingly. It cannot come as a surprise that Bukhara has been called the worldwide Capital of the Islamic Culture in 2020.