UZBEKISTAN BY RAIL
I
t’s first light in the Western Tien-Shan mountains. The morning is icy, the summits high and falling snow — spectral against the early dawn — begins to cover the land anew. A lone bird drifts across the valley, briefly
visible before dissolving into the whiteness, and for a moment, the scene doesn’t feel entirely of this world. Away to the east, stretching right across Central
Asia, rises an unbroken chain of soaring peaks, their ridges tracked by snow leopards and glaciers feeding rivers that sustain life far below. “The Chinese once called these the ‘Celestial Mountains’, or ‘Mountains of Heaven’,” my guide, Yulduz Tayirova, says, gazing out of the window of my hotel in Amirsoy. “Today, you’ve won the lottery. It’s snowing just for you.” She’s arrived dressed in a helmet, reflective goggles and snowboard boots, and we crunch uphill through the snow. “This is a side of Uzbekistan few visitors ever see,” she says. “So, come on — the mountains are waiting.” Amirsoy — the name of one of the Tien-Shan’s
most accessible peaks and meaning ‘king’s resting place’ — comprises a series of abrupt snow bowls, chaotic gullies and fractal-like ridges that, seen from above, suggest a natural labyrinth. But despite its maze-like terrain and an altitude of 2,286 metres, the mountain is slowly being tamed. First, by the recent addition of a £150m base
station campus with a hotel, chalets and two ski lifts. Now, by the arrival of those who daydream about snowshoeing along pristine ridges, riding snowmobiles into unnamed gorges and dining at Uzbekistan’s highest and most dramatic restaurants. In less than a decade, Amirsoy has gone from an outlier — uncharted, hard to reach, entrusted to nature — to reshaping perceptions of Central Asia as a mountain destination in its own right. The drama is heightened by Amirsoy’s location,
peering over Uzbekistan’s capital, Tashkent, 55 miles away and where I arrived. Most travellers reach the mountains by rental car or taxi, up switchback roads, past guesthouses and cotton and wheat fields dressed in their winter coats, eyes widening at the possibilities of the peaks. To me, the appeal isn’t just the supply of white
powder or runs rivalling those in the Alps or Rockies. The prize for travellers wanting an
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off-season break is the pristine, track-free potential — as yet, even locals are a rarity and are more commonly found posturing on the summit, eating barbecued sweetcorn and dancing to folk music. When we arrive at the top station, a group of men in puffer jackets and conical skullcaps crowd around us. They gyrate with gusto, hoping I’ll join them for this peculiar summit shake-off. “Just one photo,” Yulduz translates from one
summit reveller. “Just one dance,” another teases, wheezing in the thin air. It’s Ski Sunday meets Dancing on Ice, and, for a moment, I set down my gear and I’m a comrade in arms, communicating through the universal language of air guitar. Breathless, we then descend at speed, leaving
ribbon trails behind us. We vanish into gullies and re-emerge in swirls of diamond dust, see-sawing down the mountain until my knees begin to buckle. Not a moment too soon, the sun dips behind the peaks, softening the light and emptying the slopes. The last lifts fall quiet, and the mountains — so full of movement just hours before — settle back into stillness, celestial and silent once more.
Into the desert Back in Tashkent the following evening, a different side of Uzbekistan begins to unfold. I’m on the 7:41 high-speed Afrosiyob train service from the capital to Bukhara. The journey takes me west along the ancient Silk Road route, a landscape characterised by arid scrubland and the tales of Timur, Marco Polo and Ibn Battuta, whose exploits possess the familiarity of legend. After leaving Tashkent’s city limits, I plan to
doze as we cross the starless grasslands, but for those so used to the UK’s rail network, this is a strange new world worth sitting up for. There are reclining seats with ample legroom, reading lights, snack trays and lightning-quick wi-fi. Combine this with sharp-suited train attendants in fur Cossack hats, a bar selling cold beer and knowing that the train will run on time, and it really becomes a journey to savour. By the time we reach Bukhara, it’s close to
midnight. Passengers spill onto the platform beneath a blue sign reading Vokzal, their breath curling in the cold. The word feels familiar, then it clicks — a linguistic echo that travelled over centuries from the name ‘Vauxhall’ in London.
Clockwise from top left: Amirsoy Mountain Resort is Central Asia’s largest ski resort; chalets pepper the mountainside; Afrosiyob’s high-speed trains travel at 155mph; at Amirsoy Mountain Resort, al fresco dining comes with views across snow-covered peaks Previous pages: The iconic Kalyan Minaret and Mir-i-Arab Madrasa have towered over Bukhara since the 16th century; Western Tien-Shan is a Unesco-listed mountain range spanning Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan
IMAGES: AMIRSOY MOUNTAIN RESORT; BAQBERGEN ATABAYEV
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