Named for the mountain on which it “landed,” Buzludzha (buzz-lud’-ja) served as a grand and lavishly appointed ceremonial headquarters for communist leaders from throughout Bulgaria and the Soviet Union for a brief period of time. Of the six core Eastern European countries comprising the USSR’s “satellite countries” (politically independent, but closely aligned), Bulgaria was considered the closest to the Soviet regime in Moscow.
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]]>An unknowing traveler might momentarily imagine an alien space ship as the flying saucer-shaped structure appears at the crest of a barren hill.
Named for the mountain on which it “landed,” Buzludzha (buzz-lud’-ja) served as a grand and lavishly appointed ceremonial headquarters for communist leaders from throughout Bulgaria and the Soviet Union for a brief period of time. Of the six core Eastern European countries comprising the USSR’s “satellite countries” (politically independent, but closely aligned), Bulgaria was considered the closest to the Soviet regime in Moscow.
The Soviets opened Buzludzha’s doors in 1980; the building fulfilled its function for only nine years. When the USSR collapsed in 1989, the Soviets locked the doors and abandoned the building. For almost thirty years, harsh winters and constant mountaintop winds tried to rip the building’s exterior and interior apart.
I was familiar with Buzludzha before we embarked on a month-long adventure in Southeast Europe’s Balkan countries. Built in the Brutalist architectural style popular after World War II throughout Western Europe, Great Britain, and especially in Soviet-influenced Eastern Europe, Buzludzha is an internationally-noted, unique abandoned structure among historians and architects. This monumental forsaken Cold War relic topped my “must-see” list.
Join me on this personal “discovery” of this historic site.
Is That a Flying Saucer?
After crossing the Danube River from Romania, we descend the southern slopes of the Balkan Mountains and travel south onto a broad, featureless central Bulgarian valley. To our left at a distance stands a lone, barren hill (elevation 4700 feet) with a saucer-shaped object at its top that looks like it could have recently dropped from the sky by an extraterrestrial race. Our guide Volen turns left onto a two-lane road, past a fifteen-foot tall, austere bronze statue of an early Bulgarian Communist leader aside a concrete pillar, and heads up the hill.
For ten miles, the road zigzags and winds around the mountain through scrubby expanses and occasional copses of evergreen trees; Buzludzha flirts with our attempts to keep it in our sight as it grows larger. We encounter a roundabout near a lower parking lot, whose center holds a large bronze sculpture of two fists, each holding a shining torch. Its vantage point allows a view of both the fists and Buzludzha far up the hill; together, they project power and dominance. Past a small cluster of cottages, the road turns and steepens, suddenly ending next to the behemoth. We share the otherwise deserted parking area with a van of Japanese visitors and a small herd of semi-wild horses that regularly graze the scrub around the monument.
Buzludzha is Magnificence in Ruin
Facing the structure, I take a deep breath to gaze upon this massive, otherworldly edifice. At almost 200 feet in diameter and 50 feet tall, the main hall rests on a substantial base. I climb a broad set of steps to the edge of the monument’s platform, facing the building’s support base and the former public entrance. Slogans depicted in large stone Cyrillic letters applied to the surface, now missing a several characters, praise communist political philosophy and urge the working class to rise up against their oppressors.
Colorful graffiti defacing the base’s façade tell another story. Irreverent scribbles decry the solemn epitaphs. Cartoon figures decorate the walls. A suited man and his wolf/dog float out of a portal window. One clever artist adopted the Coca Cola logo to create a tongue-in-cheek “Enjoy Communism” tag. Adjacent to the main hall stands a 250-foot inverted obelisk that displays at its top the remains of a grand mosaic red star, chief symbol of the Soviet Union, cut into the stone face.
The building’s decrepit condition shocks me. Flakes of the saucer’s exterior shell litter the ground. Through semi-circular vents near the top of the saucer, I can see the sky, as parts of the roof have collapsed. Over the decades since its 1989 abandonment, severe winter storms and frigid weather ate away at the exterior and interior. Vandals robbed and destroyed much of the mechanical systems before the structure was secured in the early 2000s.
I think It’s Possible to Sneak Inside
Before the trip, I learned that “explorers” of abandoned sites had surreptitiously created an illegal entrance, concealed by piles of stones. Two personal accounts by successful trespassers on the internet spurred my interest. I wanted to find this secret hole to crawl into the main hall. An extravagant amphitheater seated hundreds when originally built, with three gigantic mosaic murals of Friedrich Engels, Vladamir Lenin, and Karl Marx and walls lined with bold, socialist art depicting industrial workers, political leaders, and outer space aspirations. Although thieves and weather had destroyed much of the interior, I still wanted to have a peek.
I search the building’s perimeter for a suspicious-looking stone pile. Our guide Volen discourages my ambitions. These illegal entry points are now permanently sealed, he says, to prevent curious visitors (like me) from serious injuries from falling roof tiles. I had to be satisfied with exterior shots and viewing historic photographs online.
Historic Preservationists and Government Come to the Rescue
In the decade since my visit, Buzludzha’s fate has made a U-turn. Recognized by the Bulgarian government as a national (and international) treasure, a group of preservationists applied for and received significant grants from the Getty Foundation to fully seal the site, develop a conservation plan, and bring architects and heritage consultants from across Europe to assess the degradation. Not-for-profit organization Europa Nostra named Buzludzha one of the seven most endangered historical sites on the continent. The aim of this work is conservation, not restoration: stabilize and clean the site; make it safe for visitors; and through interpretive displays, help them appreciate its role in Eastern European history and the physical consequences of a collapsed political system.
Bulgaria Holds More Tourist-worthy Soviet-era Treasures
If you travel to Eastern Europe, put Buzludzha on your itinerary. And as long as you’re in Bulgaria, visit capital city Sofia and its Museum of Socialist Art. A fascinating collection of 70 Soviet-era statues from around the country were brought to this almost two-acre site after communism fell, including bronze statues of Lenin and everyday farmers and other workers rising up against the enemy. An indoor exhibit of Soviet art depicts many scenes of rebellion and victory.
The controversial war memorial––Monument to the Soviet Army––has been targeted many times by anonymous street artists, who paint the bronze friezes of battles between workers and the bourgeoisie as American pop culture heroes––Superman, Captain America, Ronald McDonald, Santa Claus, and Wonder Woman, among others. Government constantly removes the paints, but I could see traces of color in the crevices of the figures. The monument was partially dismantled in 2023 despite protests, although sections of the detailed friezes remain.
In downtown Sofia, the architectural ensemble, the Largo Complex, built by the Soviets in the Stalinist Empire-style, housed contain the Communist Party headquarters and the once-grand TZUM Central Department Store. While
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]]>The post We Sail India’s Ganges River in Search of the Bengal Tiger appeared first on Blaine Bonham.
]]>We travel through small villages of India’s state of Bengal to the Ganges River to board our boat to the Sundarbans
India. The name evokes a range of reactions and emotions, from wondrous and magical to crowded, noisy, and poor. From my seven trips to the subcontinent, I can confirm that India exhibits both extremes. I’ve made my own peace with this dichotomy, allowing myself to experience the rich aspects of this 5000-year-old civilization and culture that fall in between the extremes. The sum of these experiences has greatly impacted my life and opened my eyes to a broader way of being in life.
Huge thanks go to my long-time Bengali friend, Eva, who introduced me to her embracing Kolkata family almost forty years ago. Eva’s Ma adopted Rick and me as her American sons, and the doors to their world of India opened to its history, cultural tapestry, a different spirituality, and the country’s ethnically diverse people.
Water “taxis” stop at villages to pick up passengers
On one visit to Kolkata several years ago, Ma and her sister Mashua (mother’s sister in the Bengali language, or “aunt “ to me ) planned a two-day excursion down the Ganges River to the Sundarbans, the delta formed by the confluence of three major rivers before they empty into the Bay of Bengal. The Sundarbans and its hundreds of large and small islands stretch almost 4000 square miles across India’s Bengal region to neighboring Bangladesh and includes four protected UNESCO World Heritage sites. As the world’s largest mangrove forest, it’s the home of a plentiful and diverse array of wildlife, including the elusive Bengal tiger. Of course, we hoped to spy a cat in the woods that line the river bank.
Already in their mid-80s at the time, the matriarchs organized the adventure for our group of thirteen––six family members, two elderly family friends, our two drivers, Mashua’s servant, and us. A two-and-a-half-hour car ride from Kolkata through the villages and countryside of rural Bengal took us to the town of Dhamakhali along the Ganges for embarkation.
The excursion was an extraordinary event. Granted, the boat and the overnight stay at a government-run lodge were not luxurious. The devised gangplank for the “ancients” to board and disembark caused much concern. Rick and I were assigned to help them as they crossed, earning us the title “Lady Wallahs.” We saw few animals (let alone a tiger!), except for the badly behaved monkeys at our lodge. One monkey tried to steal a pack of biscuits Eva’s nineteen-year-old niece brought onto the balcony. The monkey grabbed her at one point; she broke away screaming and ran into Eva’s room, slamming the door. My job was to scare the simian away.
All those issues really didn’t matter in the end. What mattered was the lazy pace of the boat, laughter and playful fun, and chats with Ma and Mashua in the best English they knew. In one conversation, alone with Mashua in the prow of the boat, she rubbed my shoulders and said she and I knew each other in another life. Chitra, a family friend and radio personality, sang songs from the poems of Rabindranath Tagore, India’s Nobel Prize winner and poet laureate from the early twentieth century. We devoured scrumptious Bengali food cooked on board. A peaceful trance enveloped me for hours at a time and felt my soul open up to the communal loving spirit of the Bengali culture.
Made over a dozen years ago, the slide show includes scenes of village life shot from our moving car and also photos of men loading the boat with supplies. When we returned to Kolkata, Eva took us to Patuapara, a neighborhood famous for its artisans who make images of gods and goddesses for the several Hindu celebrations that occur each year. Later, Suresh, Eva’s husband, took us to the Parashnath Jain Temple complex of four separate beautiful and artful temples. Craftsmen were carefully painting a building’s façade. A few photos of these two events appear at the end.
Make sure you turn up the volume when viewing the show.
In the future, I’ll publish more of our adventures on fascinating India. Like embers, they glow in my mind as some of my most transformational travel experiences. I am forever grateful the universe granted me this profound gift.
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]]>Above image: Four men, including our guide Alex in the yellow jacket, carry me down the hill in a blanket. My sneaker pokes out near the bottom of the rescue scene.
A Travel Memoir About Risk, Rescue, and Why Preparation Matters
“CRACK!!”
The sound stunned me as the left side of my body slammed into the boulder. I knew immediately that something had broken. I screamed. Our guide, Alex, tried to help me stand, but sharp pain shot through my leg. “I can’t walk!” I cried. He gently lowered me to the ground. “I’m going for help,” he said in a soothing voice, trying to calm me. Then he turned and disappeared down the gravelly path around a bend in the trail.
Alone, my mind careened from one fear to the next. How would I get down? The slope was steep, the gravel loose, and the sun already dropping. What if I were stranded here all night? Fear gripped me.
I could see people walking on rock formations in the distance, specks of hikers stepping along the ridges. As I stared into the vast open space, time seemed to slow. An odd clarity settled over me.
Two couples rounded the bend below me and climbed toward me. They stopped, alarmed, and asked if they could help. “My guide has gone for help,” I said, my voice trembling. As they continued their ascent, panic choked me.
Back on the canyon floor, Rick was studying colorful rock formations, pitted and channeled by millions of years of erosion. A scream broke his concentration. A long minute passed before Alex rounded an outcropping, trotting and sliding down the gravelly trail. His hurried report stunned Rick. Alex then rushed to the park entrance to seek help, leaving Rick worried and helpless.
Fifteen minutes passed. Or was it two hours?! I tried to slide down on my right side and rump, managing about ten feet before the trail became too steep to continue. Then I heard voices approaching. Was it my rescue party?
Following the Ancient Silk Road Into Kyrgyzstan
Rick and I were nearing the end of a nineteen-day adventure exploring the glorious vestiges of the ancient Silk Road that once ran from China to Rome. It was Day Sixteen, and we were hiking in remote Fairy Tale Canyon on the south shore of Lake Issyk-Kul in Kyrgyzstan, a stunningly beautiful and rugged country in eastern Central Asia. The day before, we had traveled five hours from Bishkek, the capital, to visit nomadic eagle hunters whose golden eagles still hunt live prey. We spent the first of two nights in a yurt camp along the lake’s shore just outside the small ecotourism town of Bökönbaev.
Earlier that day, our Russian guide Alex first took us to Barskoon Gorge, where we climbed a mountainside to the “Beard of the Wisemen” waterfall. After lunch, we entered Fairy Tale Canyon, a rare geological wonder shaped by earthquakes millions of years ago. Layers of sandstone created a dramatic landscape of orange, yellow, and purple rock rising in jagged outcroppings. Visitors climb these hills, following gravelly trails through the scrub.
Once in the park, I immediately wanted to climb a hill. Rick declined. “Go ahead. I’m staying right here.” Alex and I took off up a nearby path. After climbing for fifteen minutes, we reached the flat summit. The view opened onto a panoramic moonscape, its bands of color glowing in the late light. I spotted other hikers on distant formations. After snapping several photos, we began the descent. The path seemed much steeper going down, and Alex advised me to turn sideways and crab-walk across the crumbly trail. I took one step, and my foot landed on a patch of loose pebbles. That’s when it happened.
Heroes Arrive to Rescue Me
Alex appeared, blanket in hand, with our van driver and two other men. They lifted me onto the blanket. Excruciating pain shot through my leg, but it was not the moment to complain. Each man grabbed a corner, and they began the careful descent along the narrow path, trying not to stumble or drop me. At one point, the man near my head slipped on the gravel and slid underneath me. We stopped until he recovered, then continued downward, my body occasionally scraping the ground and rocks.
We reached the canyon floor. I will never forget the look of horror on Rick’s face when he saw me crumpled inside a blanket and writhing in pain. I felt terrible for putting him through that anguish, especially knowing, in hindsight, that I had taken a real risk. The rescue party then carried me another quarter mile, still in the blanket, to the park entrance where our driver had left the van.
There was no cell service in this remote area. After settling me on a platform with Rick, Alex and the driver headed back to the restaurant where we had eaten lunch, which had a signal, to call Bökönbaev for an ambulance. I took four ibuprofen from my daypack, and the next hour crawled by as Rick tried to calm me down. When the ambulance arrived, the emergency medical team pulled out a stretcher and carried it to me. One EMT approached with a hypodermic needle, plunged it into my arm, and emptied its contents.
Almost immediately, my body relaxed and the tension eased. Strapped into the litter and loaded into the ambulance, I headed for the town clinic. As the only person fluent in both English and Kyrgyz, Alex rode with me and facilitated everything over the next several hours. Rick returned to the yurt camp with our driver to retrieve and repack our four large suitcases and check us out.
As dusk fell, the ambulance reached the clinic an hour later. The EMTs unloaded the stretcher and carried me through a dark labyrinth of hallways to the x-ray room, sliding me onto a cold metal table. When they tried to cut off my jeans, I stopped them. (They were just getting broken in.) The images confirmed a fracture at the top of the femur, where it fits into the hip socket. Meanwhile, Alex contacted a hospital in Bishkek to request an ambulance to transport me to the capital and arranged my admission to a private hospital. “I will not permit you to go to a community hospital,” he said. I could only imagine what the public hospital was like.
Our driver brought Rick and our four suitcases from the yurt camp to the clinic, where he joined me in a poorly lit hallway to wait for the ambulance. Around 2:00 a.m., the EMTs loaded me onto a stretcher again and into the ambulance for the five-hour trip over pothole-ridden roads. Alex rode with me to translate and help coordinate care, while Rick and our luggage traveled separately with the driver, who spoke not a word of English.
A Crash Course in Bishkek Hospital Culture
The ambulance pulled into the hospital around 7:00 a.m. At first, I was placed in the trauma ward, a disturbingly noisy space where other patients voiced their pain through the night. The head doctor spoke a little English; the rest of the staff spoke Russian and Kyrgyz. Between sign language, Google Translate, and patience, we managed. Later, I was moved to a room with two other men, which was much calmer.
Once Rick arrived, he and Alex met with hospital administrators and paid a $500 admission fee to cover basic expenses until the insurance payments began. Before leaving home, we had purchased a comprehensive policy from Faye Insurance. Once Rick notified the company, its agents responded quickly and took over the financial and logistical arrangements for the rest of the ordeal, covering all but a few minor expenses.
Bishkek was not the right place for surgery; the necessary level of medical sophistication was not guaranteed. Faye’s medical contractors began arranging air transport to three-year-old Memorial Hospital in Istanbul’s Şişli neighborhood for the procedure. I spent three nights in the Bishkek hospital while a medical jet was rerouted to Central Asia to carry me to my next destination. Rick stayed at a nearby Radisson. The days crawled by, though I was kept semi-sedated. Despite the communication challenges, the Kyrgyz and Russian staff were caring and attentive.
During my stay, I developed two urgent needs that I reported to the doctor. First, I was bloated and in significant stomach pain, and I could not eat. Second, after four days without a shower, I needed help bathing. Soon, a tall, broad woman in dull green scrubs appeared beside my bed carrying a bulging hot-water bottle with a hose and nozzle suspended from an IV pole. I knew what was coming. She spoke Russian brusquely and motioned me to turn onto my side. The procedure accomplished its intended effect. What a relief.
She later returned with a basin of soapy water and a washcloth and proceeded to clean every inch of me. I had to let go of any remaining shred of modesty. When she finished, I patted her arm in gratitude. She leaned close, held up both hands with all ten fingers extended, and made clear that this service carried a fee. She waited until Rick arrived the next morning to be paid. Even so, it was a well-spent ten dollars.
We Fly to Istanbul for Surgery
The medical jet arrived. The EMTs secured me tightly to a stretcher before loading me into the ambulance. Alex said his goodbyes; he was off to meet a new tour group. After a brief ride to the airport, six men hoisted me, feet first, up the steps of the jet, my head hanging downward. A doctor and a nurse strapped the stretcher to an interior wall. We took off around 2:00 a.m. Both medical attendants were German men who volunteered on emergency flights throughout Europe and Asia. Medical equipment lined one side of the cabin. The nurse asked me to recount the misadventure so far, and we talked about our mutual love of travel before I drifted off for the rest of the flight.
Five hours later, I was taken off the plane and placed in a waiting ambulance for the short ride to the airport gate, where I had to clear immigration. An ambulance attendant took my passport and disappeared. A few minutes later, a Turkish immigration official briefly opened the rear door—presumably to confirm that I matched my passport photo. Then I was transferred from one ambulance to another, since I was now leaving international airport space and officially entering Türkiye.
When the ambulance arrived at Memorial Hospital, staff immediately whisked me to the x-ray room and confirmed two fractures and a hairline crack. They settled me in a private room with a picture-window view of Sultanahmet, Istanbul’s old quarter, where we had stayed three years earlier. A crushing anxiety lifted. Over the next ten days, I realized how fortunate I was to land in a well-run, professional facility with ample resources and skilled staff. Istanbul, in fact, has an excellent reputation for medical care.
Meanwhile, back in Bishkek, Rick learned he could not travel with me on the jet. The plane was too small to accommodate another passenger along with all our luggage. Faye’s travel agents arranged a later Turkish Airlines flight for him that morning, and a helpful taxi driver assisted him as he wrestled our bags through check-in. Once in Istanbul, he checked into the Novotel and then came straight to the hospital.
A Compassionate Stay at Memorial Hospital
Dr. Aydin spoke fluent English, though a woman accompanied him to translate the more technical details of the surgery. Energetic nurses, aides, and orderlies—many equipped with translation tools—made me comfortable and prepared me for the procedure, which was scheduled two days later to allow certain medications to clear my system.
In the meantime, “Six Degrees of Separation” worked its magic behind the scenes. One of Rick’s relatives had a close college roommate who had married a Turkish woman from a prominent Istanbul family with ties to the city’s hospital world. Through this network of connections, my surgeon was contacted by another medical professional who knew him and told him that his American patient was an important friend of the family. “The eyes of Istanbul are upon you.” On the day of surgery, Dr. Aydin explained the procedure and ended with a dry smile: “I received a phone call.” For the next ten days, he and the staff took attentive care of me.
I Make a Hospital Friend
I developed a special rapport with one orderly in particular. She dressed differently from the other staff, wearing traditional Muslim clothing while many of the other women wore Western-style scrubs. She wore a wheat-colored hijab and a long, loose robe. Her face had a grandmotherly warmth that made her seem older than me, though she probably wasn’t. During her shifts, she sometimes stopped by twice, checking on me and fussing over my comfort. She straightened my bedding, made sure I had fresh water, and often patted my arm before leaving.
She spoke no English, but that did not stop her from talking to me as if I understood every word. With the help of gestures, I talked back. One day, she pulled out her phone to show me photos of her son, his wife, and her grandchildren, counting out their ages on her fingers. She always lifted my spirits, and we greeted each other warmly. Another day, she wheeled me into the room’s wheelchair-accessible shower, put on a clear plastic raincoat, and gently cleaned me up. It was yet another humbling moment on this trip.
Home Again, With a Long Rehabilitation Ahead
Three days after surgery, during which surgeons inserted an eight-inch pin and two screws, the staff had me stand and circle the nurses’ station several times with a walker to prepare for discharge. Several more days passed before Faye’s travel team could arrange the most convenient flights to Philadelphia with the briefest layover. Eleven days after admission, we left Istanbul on British Airways, with Rick pushing my wheelchair. A kindly flight attendant, noticing my discomfort, insisted I have two vodkas to relax. It did the trick. After a short stopover in London, we landed in Philadelphia.
Two weeks had passed between the accident in Kyrgyzstan and our arrival at our front door, after which a demanding course of physical therapy began. At first, I was discouraged by the slow progress, but my Philadelphia surgeon reminded me that it would take a full year of focused rehabilitation to regain my pre-accident strength and mobility.
What the Experience Taught Me
The months of physical therapy and limited activity gave me time to think about what this ordeal meant to me. What did I learn from it? How had it changed my perspective on life? And would I travel again?
- The recovery process taught me patience, a trait that does not come naturally to me. In those early weeks, I had to accept help with even basic tasks, from getting in and out of the shower and bed to being carried down steps in a wheelchair. For someone who is always on the go, I had to learn to slow down; rehabilitation takes time.
- My compassion for people living with permanent physical disabilities deepened; they must navigate the world in ways many of us rarely have to consider.
- From the moment of the accident until I boarded my British Airways flight home, nearly everyone I encountered—EMTs, hospital staff, and taxi drivers—was caring and helpful. The experience reminded me that, across cultures and distances, people often share a basic sense of decency and kindness.
- Of course I will travel again! I am driven by a restless curiosity to seek out places and cultures that expand my understanding of the world.
- Still, falling down a steep hill introduced a new measure of caution into my travel bravado. I will think twice before taking on an activity that carries a real chance of injury.
My Advice: Buy Travel Insurance
Accidents can happen to anyone at any time, whether you are traveling abroad or simply going about your routine at home. Most of us carry medical insurance for everyday health needs and unexpected mishaps. But too many travelers skip travel insurance when heading overseas, assuming nothing will go wrong. My experience showed how costly that assumption can be. They are taking a serious and unnecessary risk.
I cannot say exactly what the total bill was for surgery, hospital stays in Istanbul and Bishkek, the medical jet, ambulances, and airfare home, but even a rough estimate makes clear how financially devastating it could have been. We had purchased comprehensive insurance that included emergency evacuation because it seemed like sensible protection. We never expected to need it. Then the accident happened. Working closely with Rick, Faye Insurance responded quickly, and its network coordinated the arrangements that brought us safely all the way home.
Here is my advice: research highly rated travel insurance providers and read reviews from travelers themselves. Look for companies with a strong record of prompt payment and minimal disputes over claims. Treat the cost of travel insurance as part of your travel budget, not as an optional extra. You only need it once to understand its value. Travel insurance is not an add-on; it is essential protection. After this experience, we will never leave home without it.
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]]>The post The Netherlands’ Keukenhof Gardens Dazzles with Acres of Spring Blooms appeared first on Blaine Bonham.
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If over-the-top visual sensations thrill you, join me in a visit to the Netherlands’ Keukenhof Gardens, dubbed “the Garden of Europe.”
Amsterdam Central Station is a ten-minute walk from Dam Square, the city’s center plaza. Built in 1889, the stately Gothic and Renaissance Revival structure suggests a medieval cathedral, according to civic architects. About 180,000 passengers daily rush through its doors and off to other destinations in the Netherlands and to cities throughout Europe.
The last time I visited the Amsterdam station in the mid-2000s, I found it easy to find the train to Lisse, the closest station at the time to Keukenhof Gardens, our destination. We waited on the platform for the train to arrive under the unusual and impressive glass-covered cast-iron roof. (Nowadays, the Lisse train station is a popular restaurant, so visitors reach the Garden by other routes, described below under If You Go.)
Amsterdam is the Perfect Starting Point to Visit Keukenhof
I’ve enjoyed the beauty and pleasures of attractive Amsterdam a few times. Rows of stately quintessential seventeenth-century four- and five-story narrow residences and former merchants’ houses, many with stepped gable façades, line the three concentric main canals of the 165-canal waterway system. Amsterdam enjoys a UNESCO World Heritage Canal Belt designation. Electric trams, some colorfully wrapped in theme images, crisscross the city. More bicycles than you’ve ever seen on streets before dominate the transportation system. (As a pedestrian, I’ve experienced several near collisions with cyclists, who obviously own the road.) Museums, markets, shops, parks, and entertainment districts all share the charming streets of this compact city, ranked as one of the top 10 safest cities worldwide. What a sublime experience to sit in the window of a corner coffee shop and people-watch as trams roll past, clanging their bells.
On this April visit, spring Dutch flower displays headed our travel itinerary. Once on board the train to Lisse, picturesque views of the very flat Dutch landscape slid by, punctuated by neat, unadorned housing developments in gray and green pastel shades. (A quarter of the Netherlands lies below sea level, so the horizon is remarkably level.) “Look at that!” Rick pointed to miles of fields banded in vivid stripes of color––all tulips being grown to attract tourists, then later to be cut down to redirect the plants’ growth back into the bulbs and produce larger specimens for future exports to bulb-hungry world markets.
Once we disembarked from the train, we boarded Keukenhof’s waiting shuttle bus for the short ride to the main garden gate. (Buying your ticket online ahead of time saves you several dollars.) Stepping through the gate, true shock and awe grabbed me, and I gasped. I was familiar with spectacular flower and landscape displays, having worked for years at the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society’s incomparable Philadelphia Flower Show, held each March. Yet, 79 acres of continuous floral displays took my breath away, a dense explosion of color, with tulips taking center stage. A real-time kaleidoscope fanned out before us. Walkways and waterways led in several directions. Which yellow brick road to follow?! Let’s check the map.
Before Flowers, the Lands Were Hunting Grounds for a Castle
That was its fifteenth century use for Teylingen Castle, where a countess foraged for herbs in her kitchen garden (“keukenhof” in Dutch). In the mid-nineteenth century, 100 years after the Keukenhof Castle was built, Jan David Zocher and his son redesigned the grounds in the English landscape style; that plan remains the basic layout of the gardens today. In 1949, twenty bulb growers developed a scheme to use the estate to exhibit their spring-flowering bulbs. A year later, the “garden gate” officially opened to massive crowds and rave reviews, establishing Keukenhof Gardens as the world knows it today.
79 Acres of Flowers Fill the Senses
These days, from mid-March to mid-May, Keukenhof showcases a hundred bulb growers and 500 cut- and potted-flower growers displaying their best quality blooms. The Garden’s landscape designer works with each exhibitor to create a design that highlights their flowers’ color palette, plant height, and bloom period.
We meandered pathways for a few hours, discovering evocative vignettes of flowers, shrubs, trees, and water features. At the Garden’s center, we wandered into the massive, heated Willem-Alexander Pavillion that hosts rotating floral exhibits in pots and vases. Outside again, a brightly painted children’s playground and viewing area for animals in a pasture provided a space for kids to run around and have fun. For lunch, we stopped at one of the many restaurants, this one located near the Garden’s windmill (open to visitors), and next to one of several gift shops, while a calliope loudly serenaded us.
Our senses fully stimulated and feet screaming for a good rest after three hours walking the grounds, we returned to the front gate and boarded the shuttle for the train station. I was convinced I had witnessed one of the manmade Wonders of the World.
Strike Up the Band for the Annual Dutch Flower Parade
I wasn’t finished, though, looking at posies on this trip. The Netherlands holds its annual Dutch Flower Parade (Bloemencorso Bollenstreek) mid-April, with fantastic floats showing off over a million full-bloom flowers. The parade begins in Noordwijkerhout, weaving its way through towns and villages for 25 miles and finally pulling into its destination city, Haarlem.
We hopped on a Haarlem-bound train for the 17-minute ride from Central Station and joined a cheering crowd shortly after to welcome the enchanting procession of fifteen floats and dozens of decorated cars featuring fanciful imaginary creatures, cartoon figures, and iconic Dutch scenes, all bejeweled with blooms.
If you visit the Netherlands to experience Keukenhof, time your travels to mid-April and enjoy the Dutch Flower Parade as it finishes its day-long procession in Haarlem.
Now I’m ready to plan a return trip to Keukenhof and Bloemencorso Bollenstreek next year. Will I see you there?
Thousands of blooms on each float bring vibrant creatures to life in the Dutch Flower Parade
If You Go
BY AIR:
Frequent non-stops to Amsterdam from most major airlines to Schiphol International Airport.
Getting to Keukenhof from Amsterdam:
By Train/Bus—
- Take the train to Schiphol Airport or Leiden Station;
- Then take the Keukenhof Express (#852, 854, 858) to garden entrance (20 minutes)
By Combiticket––
- Round trip by bus plus entrance fee;
- Purchase online at the official Keukenhof site (keukenhof.nl);
- From $36
GARDEN ENTRANCE FEE:
- €21 online (~$25); €25 (~$30) at ticket office
GARDEN HOURS:
- Open mid-March to mid-May, 8:00 a.m. – 7 p.m. (19.00)
- Allow three hours to tour
- Least crowded/best time for photos—before 10:30 a.m.; after 4:00 p.m. (16:00)
DUTCH FLOWER PARADE:
- Haarlem is a 17-minute ride from Amsterdam
- Check tulipfestivalamsterdam.com site for the 2027 parade route, schedule, and date
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]]>Our nineteen-day itinerary to visit Central Asia’s Stans countries proved to be the trip of a lifetime. Every day revealed new cultural experiences that amazed, thrilled, challenged and opened my eyes to an unknown world to me. Excuse the borrowed locational reference, but I felt I was living One Thousand and One Arabian Nights, and every day Scheherazade revealed a fresh magical story.
If I’ve piqued your interest reading “Tracing the Fabled Silk Road in Central Asia,” I have some advice about how to consider this grand adventure. I’ll refer here to the three of five Stans we visited, though they all provide exciting experiences to enjoy.
Don’t miss Uzbekistan’s Silk Road cities
Put Uzbekistan and its three Silk Road cities––Khiva, Bukhara, and Samarkand––at the top of your trip-of-a-lifetime bucket list. Of all the countries, Uzbekistan contains the highest number of historic treasures to amaze you; most are UNESCO-designated World Heritage Sites. Following preservation initiatives begun by the Soviet Union in the second half of the twentieth century, the Uzbek government has invested in the preservation of its historical landmarks and cultural attractions. They have encouraged the development of a hospitality industry of good hotels and restaurants for tourists.
The three cities form a convenient and well-traveled tourist route. They were originally established centuries ago at oases in the Kyzyl Kum Desert. With our guide and driver, we drove several hours between these cities. For me, it was not an unpleasant experience; the drives heightened my sense of adventure. With the introduction of more high-speed trains this year connecting them to Tashkent, the country’s capital, and to each other, travel is about to get much easier among them.
While we’re on the subject of Tashkent, I enjoyed the “big city” feel of the largest city in Central Asia. If you have a full day there, make sure you visit blue-domed Chorsu Market (especially the meat market and bread ovens), then take a ride on the subway to the stations that serve as elaborate themed art installations.
Kyrgyzstan and Turkmenistan are well worth consideration
Kyrgyzstan is a stunningly beautiful country, dramatic landscapes the likes of which I’ve never seen before. Its geography and mostly rural nature make it a trekkers’ paradise. Resorts and recreational facilities line vast Issyk-Kul Lake’s north shore. The south shore is less developed, home to the country’s semi-nomadic communities and dozens of yurt camps for visitors. That’s where we visited the eagle hunters with their trained golden eagles, practicing an ancient nomadic hunting tradition. We enjoyed our travels there––hiking, hill climbing, and “yurting,” staying in circular, portable dwellings used by nomads for centuries. Nature takes center stage, and four days in this country rounded out our Central Asian experience.
Visiting Turkmenistan is a more challenging destination. All Stans except Turkmenistan have a visa-free or e-visa process for entering their countries. Turkmenistan has a more complicated process, and you must be sponsored by a travel agency that will get a Letter of Invitation for you from the government to fly into Ashgabat, where you will apply and receive a visa at the airport.
That said, if you love cities and appreciate their uniqueness, then out-of-this-world Ashgabat is the reason to make the effort. This ultra-modern, yet seemingly deserted, central city of gleaming marble and gold amazes and thrills. Despite serving as an homage to Turkmenistan’s two dictators-for-life since its 1991 independence, Ashgabat is a unique urban creation to behold. If you do visit this city, then you could fly directly to Tashkent to begin your Uzbekistan journey.
If you just have to see the Darvaza Gas Crater because it’s a cool, wondrous thing, be prepared for a nine-hour car ride round trip from Ashgabat over inadequate roads, unless you opt to stay in a very basic yurt camp at the site overnight. Frankly, the yurts didn’t meet our accommodation standards, so we headed back to Ashgabat, though the return slog, bouncing around in the back seat of a Toyota in the dark, got us back in bed at 2:00 a.m.
Tourism increased substantially after the COVID lull, especially in Uzbekistan. But none of the places we visited were too crowded to enjoy. Most of the people who looked like tourists seemed to be from other Asian countries. We did meet a Dutch tour group at the Turkmenistan-Uzbekistan boarder that we saw again three times in Uzbekistan traveling the same itinerary we did. At the yurt camp in Kyrgyzstan, we encountered a dozen Costa Ricans who had traveled from Beijing following the Silk Road trail, partially on bicycle, with an archeologist as their tour guide.
Generally all the Stans are very safe countries for tourists. Personal harm is practically unheard of; just observe the usual travelers’ precautions about protecting valuables, using hotel safes and minding your belongings in crowded places.
Select and work with a tour company
Where to start? Going to Central Asia is not like wandering on your own through France or Italy. This adventure requires a planned itinerary. Even if you decide to travel unescorted, making transportation and hotel arrangements requires careful planning months ahead of time. Know that English-speaking isn’t common, so polish up on your Russian, since that’s the common language. I recommend working with a travel agency with experience in Central Asia; they will make all those arrangements for you, and your guides will speak fluent English.
Several American agencies, and even more in Great Britain, sponsor small group trips (usually eight to fifteen or so) to Tashkent and then tour guests around the country. If you choose Uzbekistan as the focus of your trip, nine to ten days will give you enough time to see the highlights. If a few more choice destinations are added in one or two of the other countries, take a 14-16-day trip. Of course, you’ll have to add travel time to your plans. You might also consider a bespoke tour as we did, the two of us escorted through the Stans with a guide and driver in each country.
Start exploring potential itineraries for Uzbekistan and other Stans with Bestway Tours and Safaris. Have a conversation with principal Mahmood Poonja to discuss options. What we particularly appreciated is their system of local managers in each country to help facilitate travel, a feature we relied on in Uzbekistan to deal with an unexpected issue. Follow up that exploration with a Google search for “Trips to Central Asia,” and you’ll find other individual companies to check out.
Don’t forget to purchase travel insurance that also covers evacuations for mishaps or illnesses. I urge you to make these arrangements no matter your destination. Our travel insurance company covered all but a small portion of the extraordinary costs of evacuation, surgery, and return to the U.S. associated with my Kyrgyzstan mishap. In another example, a friend was part of a twelve-day group trip to Europe. One woman fell and broke her ankle in Paris on the second day and had to return to the U.S. Fortunately, she had a good policy that helped her get home.
I hope you decide to explore the options of an adventure to Central Asia. You’ll find traveling in the Stans is a lot cheaper than traveling to Europe or Japan. I’d be happy to share more experiences and advice with you. Contact me at culturaleyewitness@blainebonham.com, and we can go from there.
If You Go
ENTRANCE REQUIREMENTS:
- Entrance requirements: no visas needed except for Tajikistan, which has an e-visa process, and Turkmenistan. That country requires an application for a Letter of Introduction from your tour company to allow you to fly into Ashgabat, where you apply for a visa at the airport
TRAVEL COMPANY:
- While visitors can travel on their own in all but one country, I recommend touring with a travel company. The staff will negotiate border crossings, language, site visits, accommodations, and restaurant options. In Turkmenistan, travelers must be registered with a travel company
- Look for a travel company that offers several tours of various lengths and destinations in Central Asia, since they will have more experience in leading tours to this part of the world. Some companies offer high-end travel, with upscale accommodations (read “expensive”). Compare prices. Research others.
- At the risk of excluding other good companies, here is a very partial list of highly rated American and English companies that offer small group tours (8 to 20 travelers) and many offer personal tours for one to four people.
- Very partial list: Bestway Tours and Safaris, Adventure Bound, East Site Travel, G Adventures, National Geographic, Wild Frontiers
AIR TRAVEL:
- Turkish Airlines is the major airline company flying into Tashkent, Ashgabat, Bishkek, Almaty, and Astana. Departs from Istanbul
- Regional airlines fly from Istanbul and other cities: Uzbekistan Airways, Air Astana, Turkmenistan Airlines
- Economy airlines: Pegasus Air, FlyArystan, WizzAir, Flydubai, others
TRAVEL INSURANCE (Necessary to have):
- We used the top-rated company according to Forbes Advisor––Faye. We upgraded a basic policy that allowed for cancellation for any reason whatsoever (stubbed toe, headache, etc.)
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]]>We scheduled our nineteen-day journey to the far-off lands of the fabled Silk Road countries in Central Asia six months before our departure with Bestway Tours and Safaris. But I always begin planning way before that, and this journey required more thoughtfulness about the possible destinations. Part of embarking on any exotic expedition involves researching the internet; reading fiction books, non-fiction articles and guide books; and studying maps to set priorities for sight-seeing. Of course, I learn so much more once I’m on the ground submersed in the local culture. Yet understanding the history of a place and the dynamic influences that shaped it gives context for the real time experiences. Let’s look at what happened there over the centuries.
Ancient Civilizations Create the Silk Road
The Silk Road––a series of roughly parallel East-West routes that branched off in different directions to individual centers of trade––reached its zenith just shy of a thousand years ago. These routes saw camel caravans of traders and adventurers carrying goods new to the West from China, on their way to Rome. From the other direction, traders left Rome traveling east with products new to the Orient. Central Asia sat at the crossroads of this network of travel routes. An extensive system of middle men developed who exchanged goods for profit to traders returning to their homeland. Great wealth accumulated, and rich cities and kingdoms grew into major trading centers. They also became meccas for arts and culture, architectural innovations, religions, and fertile places for the creation of new ideas.
But the glory of the region came to an abrupt halt in the beginning of the thirteenth century. Genghis Khan, and later his grandson Kublai Khan, destroyed the thriving cities and executed much of Central Asia’s urban population to unite regions along the trade routes and create the world’s largest contiguous empire in history. (The Mongol Empire still holds that distinction.) It stretched from the Sea of Japan to Eastern Europe.
A few centuries later as the Mongol Empire weakened and split apart, a distant relative of Genghis called Timur (Tamerlane, as I learned in high school) brutally conquered Iran, Afghanistan, and Central Asia to establish the greatest empire of them all––the Sunni Islamic Timurid Empire. A patron of the arts and religion, he rebuilt several of Central Asia’s Silk Road cities, enhancing them as centers of culture, religion, and wealth. Timur made the city of Samarkand the capital of his empire , which also helped to revive the nearby city of Bukhara. Both of these cities are in present day Uzbekistan.
Another century later, world commerce had moved to the seas, diminishing the reliance on overland trade. With the outbreak of the Bubonic plague that originated in modern Kyrgyzstan and spread to Europe where it killed a third of the population, these events rang the death knell for the Timurid Empire and the Silk Road. People abandoned once vital towns and cities across the region, and they languished for several more centuries. Pastoral nomads of different tribes gradually spread into this region, moving seasonally to feed their herds of animals.
The Modern Era Transforms the Silk Road Region
The nineteenth century saw Czarist Russia move into the area and establish military control over the former Silk Road region. With the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917, Soviets replaced the defeated Czarist armies, and their control had the greatest impact on Central Asia since the Silk Road heyday, lasting through most of the twentieth century.
The Soviets divided the region into five “Stans” and established them as Soviet Socialist Republics (SSRs). They developed and enhanced capital cities, industrialized production, created collective farms, and forced the nomadic communities to settle permanently to work in agriculture and in factories. The Soviets also invested in restoring historic sites, including significant Islamic buildings and architectural treasures. (The quality of the workmanship has received much criticism over the decades, unfortunately.) At the height of Soviet dominance, Russians accounted for 20% of Central Asia’s population.
With the 1990 dissolution of the Soviet Union, the newly independent Stans––Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, and Kazakhstan––found themselves adrift in the global world of economics, politics, and international relations, without the Soviet Union’s support. They all struggled for a decade to find footholds of stability, sometimes squabbling among themselves for resources. Their populations suffered poverty and joblessness. Our Russian guide in Kyrgyzstan told us his parents and siblings experienced dire times during this decade.
However, most of the Stans have made good progress, enough to gain economic stability despite continuing poverty in rural areas, exploit some of their natural resources for export, revive indigenous arts and crafts, and host visitors to appreciate their historical treasures and stunning natural beauty.
Read more about my journey along the Silk Road in Central Asia here.
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]]>With four-inch razor-sharp talons, she grasps the leather glove that covers the trainer’s hand and forearm. Her large, protruding eyes peer fiercely, as she swivels her head to survey the surrounding landscape in search of movement along the ground. Her prominent curved black beak ends in a sharp hook, useful for piercing, tearing, and shredding fur, flesh, and bones. Golden brown feathers circle her neck, crown and shoulders, while dark chocolate brown plumage covers the rest of this huge raptor. The majestic golden eagle flaps and spreads her wings, showing off her six-and-a-half-foot span.
An ancient custom survives
We’ve come to the south side of Lake Izzyk-Kul in western Kyrgyzstan to visit an eagle hunter and his bird. It’s near the end of a nineteen-day adventure to four of the five countries collectively called the Stans of Central Asia. (For instance, Uzbekistan means land of the Uzbeks.) It’s home to the fabled Silk Road trading routes between China in the East and Rome in the West that flourished beginning more than two thousand years ago through the mid-fifteenth century. Kyrgyzstan sits at an average elevation of 5000 feet. The western end of the China’s Tien Shan mountain range, with its meadows, valleys, lakes, and streams fill most of Kyrgyzstan’s rugged landscape.
For centuries, nomadic families spent winters in the lower elevations, traveling into the mountains’ foothills in warmer weather for food and grazing land for livestock. Nomadic life has all but disappeared, especially during the twentieth century. The Soviets eradicated most of the nomadic communities during the period when this entire region comprised several republics of the USSR. Russians forced the nomads to abandon their way of life, moved them into villages and towns, and consigned them to collective farms to produce food for local consumption and export to Russia.
Eagle hunting represents an ancient time and place unfamiliar to most Westerners, and I wanted to witness this vanishing cultural custom.
Man and bird bond
Considered heroes in their communities, eagle hunters (called berkutchi), and powerful horses, once provided food and fur to their nomad communities, hunting rabbits, marmots, ground squirrels, and foxes. Why are eagles the preferred bird of prey for sport and hunting? Kyrgyz hunters consider them superior to hawks and falcons: superior in power, intelligence, and precision. They refer to them as “the bird of God.”
Hunters and their eagles form a close relationship. It’s not uncommon for a hunter to have up to three eagles at a time. This is the most common way these two living creatures come together––the hunter removes a fledgling from its nest without encountering one of the parents, a highly dangerous task. Females are preferred; they make the best hunting birds because they’re larger and more aggressive than males.
Man and bird spend most of their lives together to strengthen their bond. Following a commonly understood code, berkutchi return their birds to the wilds after fifteen years, so females can mate (eagles are monogamous) and experience their natural environment. Golden eagles can live for over thirty years.
She gets her prey
The hunter we’re visiting in this broad valley surrounded by distant hills has trained his nine-year-old golden eagle since she was a fledgling. I admire her savage beauty as she rocks back and forth on her trainer’s gloved arm, keenly searching the distance for motion. Hunter holds firmly the two rawhide straps attached to her ankles as a precaution to her unexpected movements.
He places a leather hood, called a tomogo, over her eyes and she settles down. The trainer’s son approaches and transfers the bird from his father onto his own gloved arm. He climbs onto his horse and heads up to the top of a distant steep hill. At the peak, boy and bird are outlined against the clear sky.
The hunter fastens an indescribable piece of animal to a twenty-foot rope; he climbs on his horse, tying the other end of the rope to his saddle.
He waves his hand, and his son removes the hood from the eagle’s head. The hunter urges his steed forward, dragging the meat and fur decoy slowly along the ground. At first, I can’t see her take flight; seconds later, her outline appears against the sky as she soars towards us, then swoops to the ground, pouncing on the “kill.” The hunter approaches the bird and allows her to devour the meat from his hand.
I learn that eagles don’t immediately rip into their prey. They grasp the victim’s neck and body, using their talons to suffocate the victim. Once the body is still, they feed, or in the case of eagle hunting, present the lifeless form to the hunter. The raptors receive a chunk of body as a reward for a successful hunt. Eagles will eat most parts of their prey; for instance they will swallow fur and ears of rabbits, then regurgitate what’s indigestible.
Rabbit for dinner, anyone?
For the next part of the demonstration, another young man carries a fidgety rabbit onto the field, as the son and hooded eagle ride up the hill again. As the rabbit is placed on the ground, the son removes the eagle’s hood. Suddenly she’s aloft and takes a direct flight path to the hopping bunny. Talons extended, she lands on the unsuspecting rabbit. Tussling bird and rabbit merge in a blur. Suddenly, the bunny leaps away with several hops. On the ground, the eagle is less adept and can’t catch up to the rabbit. The hunter calls an end to the staged hunt, and bunny will live to hop another day.
The hunter motions for me to join him. He gives me a hunting coat and hat, and I slip into a leather glove, extending my arm. The twelve-pound bird hops onto my arm, grasping the glove with her talons. I’m awestruck. It’s practically a spiritual experience to be so close to raw, wild beauty, knowing that she has the upper hand with me for the moment if she chose to attack. Of course, she’s a perfect lady. After a brief photoshoot with the iPhone, I happily return her to her trainer, a grateful tourist for the privilege to participate in this performance.
What’s the future of eagle hunting?
Nowadays, about forty to fifty master eagle hunters are left in Kyrgyzstan. They keep the custom alive as a proud symbol of their culture and pass on the skills and practice to willing sons and relatives. A significant source of income these days comes from staging performances for tourists like us. This practice presents a dilemma in formerly nomadic communities, whose members see their revered cultural customs served up as entertainment. On the other hand, the performances can generate a nice income to supplement earnings from their small family farms.
Eagle hunters and their birds also look forward to competing in the biennial World Nomad Games with hunters and their birds from all the Stans, Mongolia, and from up to 100 countries. Other competitive games include horseback archery, wrestling, games with goat carcasses, and other nomadic cultural performances, keeping long held traditions alive. You can catch the next international event in 2026 in Kyrgyzstan.
UNESCO named eagle hunting, under the rubric of falconry, as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.
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]]>You’ll find it on lists of “The Oddest Places in the World to Visit.” The gigantic hole in the desert floor is on fire, and it’s been burning continuously since 1971. Measuring 200-230 feet in diameter and about 100 feet deep, the “Gates of Hell” presents a spectacular, supernatural scene at night, an eerily glowing, gaping maw against the surrounding pitch black Karakum Desert in Turkmenistan.
Turkmenistan possesses the fourth largest natural gas reserves worldwide, and a substantial portion lies underneath Karakum Desert. In 1971, Soviet geologists were drilling to find new pockets of gas when the roof of a huge cavern collapsed. Toxic gases leaked out into the atmosphere, endangering residents of the nearby village of Darvaza, posing an environmental crisis. So geologists set the gas on fire, assuming it would burn itself out in a few weeks or months. Fifty-four years later, its flames continue to attract visitors to see the phenomenon.
Should we or shouldn’t we?
Of course, I wanted to experience this in real time, and the Crater landed on the list of “must-see” sites on our three-week Central Asia trip. But once we researched the site, we discovered that visiting this site required a four-and-a half hour road trip from our base in Ashgabat, the country’s capital.
We learned that a couple of nearby yurt camps accommodated overnight guests, but our travel agent warned us about the very basic amenities available there. The camps didn’t seem to meet our minimum requirements, so we opted for the demanding round trip visit in one day. Despite a grueling experience riding in the back seat of a Toyota Camry for nine hours, we decided we made the better choice once we saw the yurt camps up close, with their shared squat toilet facilities. Maybe thirty years ago…
We’re off to the “Gates of Hell”
Our guide Serdar and his driver picked us up at our Ashgabat hotel mid-afternoon and headed north. For the first two hours, the road was adequate, the driver maneuvering around potholes and broken sections. Along the way, Serdar took us to a hardscrabble village, the roofs visible behind a sand dune, to visit a local woman with a compound of a few yurts for guests, assorted grazing animals and two small camels, and a hot oil-filled pot for frying paper thin wheat snacks she served. She also sold locally made crafts and. trinkets for tourists. I felt the weight of poverty that these villagers endured, and I was relieved to get back on the rough road.
We approached a checkpoint with fences on either side that signified the entrance to Karakum Desert. And that’s where I experienced the worst roads I’ve ever traveled on. Originally built as a four lane road, in each direction only one lane was usable. Drivers needed to use both lanes to switch back and forth as chunks of road blocked the path and macadam disappeared. So bad were conditions that over time trucks and cars created bypasses into the desert on either side of the main road to avoid impassable areas. Swerving back and forth tested my usually buoyant sense of adventure. The road should be renamed the “Highway to Hell.”
Finally, after another two-and-a-half hours, the driver exited onto a barely recognizable vehicle path over sand dunes for a mile. We crested a sandy hill, and the fiery phenomenon greeted us.
Hell Hath No Fury
The sun sat on the horizon, poised to vanish for the night. The glow from the crater pulsated in the shimmering air, beckoning a closer inspection, as it heated my face. I stood behind a safety fence and peered over the edge. Behold, a demonic, hellish scene! Fires burst out of the walls of the crater, white hot flames licking the superheated air above them. Mesmerized, I watched visitors walk around the fiery pit, some ignoring the safety fence and venturing too close for comfort. With up to 1000° C temperature at the crater’s bottom, a slip or stumble means instant incineration.
We drove to one of the yurt camps to have a barbeque dinner. As night fell, we returned to an even more vivid scene, the desert a black void surrounding an orange-white hot cauldron of burning gases.
We hit the road a little after 9:00 p.m., or more truthfully, the road hit us, as the driver swerved and jostled the Camry over the terrain. Out of the darkness a camel wandered across our path, and we narrowly missed it. I nudged our guide to make sure the driver didn’t fall asleep, as the straightaway road jostled us back to Ashgabat. We fell into our hotel’s bed just after 2:00 a.m.
A few years ago, the government undertook a project to extinguish the fires by drilling wells nearby to capture methane gas that the ground emitted. The gas crater’s existence threatened to hamper continued development of other natural gas fields. Authorities declared two-thirds of the fires extinguished, with plans in the works to shut it down completely. Yet the “Gates of Hell” continues to glow brightly, and it remains a top tourist attraction for the country.
I’m satisfied we saw it, but the one-day round trip was brutal. Yet, if roughing it for a night in a yurt isn’t a game changer so you could return to Ashgabat the next day, then by all means, enjoy this incomparable experience. Hurry, though. Someday they’ll be successful in turning off the burners.
If You Go
Turkmenistan, until recent years, was a closed country, with rigid visitation restrictions. It’s relaxed those rules, now beginning to encourage tourism.
A visitor needs a Letter of Invitation to be able to apply for a visa. A sponsor, or in our case, the travel agent, applied for the LOI on our behalf, which we carried with us into the country to get the visa. Read about requirements and process for entering the country. Once there, it’s a very safe place to visit. Turkmenistan’s authorities claim there’s no crime in their country, since punishment for even slight transgressions are severe.
AIR & CAR
Turkish Airlines is the only major international airline flying from Istanbul direct to Ashgabat , in addition to Turkmenistan Airlines.
Your sponsoring travel agency will make those arrangements.
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]]>Above image: Walls surround Khiva, Uzbekistan’s perfectly preserved inner city, Ichan-Kala
“You’re going where?!” the familiar question asked by friends and family about out planned nineteen-day trip to Central Asia. “The Stans. The Silk Road countries. You know, the land of Genghis Khan and Marco Polo,” we responded, attempting to paint a colorful image of this remote, fabled region largely unvisited by Westerners. Central Asia’s vast territory, larger than the 48 contiguous U.S. states, sits south of Russia, north of Iran and Afghanistan, and west of China, with the Caspian Sea roughly forming its western boundary.
Today’s Central Asia Intoxicates the Senses
Why was I interested in traveling half-way around the globe to experience this part of the world? As a student and young reader who gobbled up history books about foreign lands, I fantasized about the exotic Silk Road: a fabled route traveled by camel caravans of traders and adventurers carrying silk, pearls, spices, tea, ceramics, carpets, and jade from China, on their way to Rome. From the other direction, traders left Rome traveling east to the Orient with glassware, gold, silver, woolen clothes, and wine. Central Asia sat at the crossroads of this network of travel routes, and empires and wealthy cities in this area rose and fell as key trading centers.
Our adventure took us to Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, and Kyrgyzstan; our original plans included Kazakhstan, but a medical emergency cut our program short by three days. Working through Bestway Tours and Safaris from the Vancouver, British Columbia, vicinity to plan the itinerary, we traveled with a car, driver, and a guide in each country to shepherd us throughout our stay. The twenty-seven-hour slog from our doorstep in Philadelphia, with stops in Frankfurt and Istanbul, to final touchdown in Turkmenistan’s capital city, Ashgabat, required patience to arrive sanely. Yet the lengthy travel time was so worth it.
The long and rich history of the five “Stans” region as the crossroads of ancient and modern civilizations left abundant grand and small vestiges of its past. This vibrant multi-cultural tapestry affords the venturesome traveler diverse and fascinating opportunities and experiences.
Deserts and Mountains Dominate Central Asia’s Landscapes
At the western end of this region, deserts occupy 80% of Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan’s lands. Driving between destinations takes hours, though I find staring out a car window hypnotic as we pass through miles of dusty, flat, sandy terrain dotted with scrubby plants, camel herders with their flocks, and occasional small, hardscrabble villages. It’s hit-or-miss finding a suitable western-style toilet at one of the occasional gas stations and local convenience shops, but experienced guides know which stops have them. At one restroom, we discovered an instructional sign designed for locals who encounter a western toilet for the first time. The traditional toilet is a hole in the floor, surrounded by ceramic foot treads to aid in squatting.
The worst road I’ve ever traveled over ran from Ashgabat, Turkmenistan for 4-1/2 hours each way to the famous and amazing Darvaza Gas Crater, on fire since 1971. In many places, the road through the desert practically disappeared. Trucks and cars had created roundabouts into the desert to circumvent these broken-up patches. The harrowing middle-of-the-night return to Ashgabat with only the head lights to guide us (no roadside light poles), narrowly missing a camel that wandered onto the road, prompted me to fall asleep in self-defense rather than indulge my anxiety.
The location of Uzbekistan’s three glorious Silk Road cities were established centuries ago in desert oases, which explains their existence as one-time caravan stops, now vibrant cities in an otherwise parched, sandy environment. The Uzbek government reports the nearly completed high speed rail system will be unveiled in 2026, connecting these cities to each other and the capital, Tashkent.
The dramatic mountainous terrain on the eastern end of Central Asia couldn’t be more different. The Tian Shan Mountains dominate 90% of Kyrgyzstan’s landscape. At an average elevation of 9,000 feet for the country, snow-capped peaks interspersed with alpine meadows, coniferous forests, steppe grasslands, glaciers, and 2000 lakes create a unique ecosystem. This idyllic scene attracts sporting aficionados worldwide to trek, ski, snowboard, ride horses and engage in other outdoor activities. Kyrgyzstan’s most famous lake––Issyk-Kul––holds its own record as the world’s eleventh largest and seventh deepest lake. Resorts, recreational facilities and marinas line its north shore, built by the Soviets during the mid-twentieth century as get-aways for their professional employees and families working in the capital cities.
From Bishkek, the country’s capital, we traveled through rolling hills where horses, sheep, and cattle grazed, to Lake Issyk-Kul’s flatter, less developed, more rustic south shore (I call it “yurt land” for the hundreds of yurt camps for travelers, scattered along the lake’s shore) to visit the once-nomadic horse-riding horse-riding eagle hunters (another blog post to check out), an ancient cultural practice kept alive to preserve the nomadic heritage. Kyrgyzstan is homeland to the nomad culture. While many former nomads are now settled in communities, 50% of the population still practice a semi-nomadic way of life, moving livestock around to maximize grazing during the warmer season.
With our guide Alex, we hiked up a pine forest mountain in Barskoon Gorge to the “Beard of the Wisemen” waterfall; I found a branch on the ground that I used as a walking stick for the steep climb. We moved on to Fairy Tale Park, a geologic wonder formed when earthquakes erupted millennia ago, heaving up sedimentary sandstone to produce a kaleidoscope of striking red, yellow, orange and purple spires, ridges, and towering formations. Unfortunately, my walking stick didn’t prevent me from slipping on a gravel-covered path and breaking my leg as we descended a steep hill. Gratefully, the accident happened near the end of our travels. (A MUST: Purchase travel insurance!)
Central Asia’s Cultural Face Reflects Its Rich History
The Stans represent the cultures of all its neighboring nations whose people immigrated to the area over centuries through various conquests, wars, commerce and occupying forces.
Five distinct tribes––Uzbek, Turkmen, Tajik, Kazakh, and Kyrgyz––form the Turkic-based ethnicity of this genetic mix. The range of beautiful faces and skin tones throughout the Stans expresses a diversity of ethnicities: some faces look more Chinese; others more Mongolian. Still other faces with lighter skin tones reflect Persian, Russian and Eastern European origins.
The friendliness, smiles, bright facial expressions and a willing helpfulness spoke to a welcoming, communal culture that eased any anxiety I might have about personal interactions. Except for language, that is. While younger folks speak some English, most people don’t; the lingua franca is still the Russian everybody learned in school. My meager attempts to learn a few Russian phrases (“hello,” “goodbye,” “excuse me, where’s the bathroom?”) before the trip proved feeble at best. Again, our Russian guide came to the rescue. When not speaking Russian, local people still speak their Turkic-based tribal language and dialects, such as Turkmen, Kyrgyz, or Uzbek.
Though Sunni Islam claims the lion’s share––90%– of the region’s religious adherents, all five Stans are secular countries. This means that Islamic laws aren’t legislated through government. As in the West, church and state are separate. The secular Soviets made sure of that. Still, over 1000 years of Islamic presence impacted all elements of daily life––from daily dress, cultural arts and cuisine to the grand architecture that attracts the traveler’s attention to Silk Road cities and towns.
Historic Clothing Styles are Changing
Men and women more closely follow Islamic clothing traditions in rural villages and smaller towns. Women wear long, patterned skirts and scarves or hijabs. Men increasingly are wearing western-style pants and shirts, often donning a colorful skullcap embroidered with patterns of their ethnic community. In larger towns and cities like Tashkent and Bishkek, western clothing prevails. Trendier fashionwear has captured the sartorial preferences of residents in the urban Stans, except in Turkmenistan. This most conservative country among the five encourages its women to wear a national dress style. Men get away with western clothes, and in Ashgabat, this national clothing “suggestion” is relaxed.
Artistic Expression Reflects Rich Asian Traditions
Bright colors and intricate patterns characterize the Stans’ wide variety of arts and crafts creations. Papermaking and hand embroidery of cotton and silk (from Uzbekistan), rich designs of textiles and carpets (particularly from Turkmenistan) and felt rugs, ceramics, and metalworking reflect nomadic traditions and past glory of the Silk Road. Add to that list the craft-making skills of Persian, Mongol, and Turkic origin, like wood carving, jewelry, and leather goods.
Groups of merchants often set up their shops inside former Islamic schools, called madrasas, in what were once ground floor student dorm rooms. Watching a twelve-year-old boy work metal with a chisel and hammer in Bukhara reminded me how early artists and crafts people begin their training. We visited a paper-making facility that used the bark of mulberry trees in a series of washing, drying, and mashing processes to produce the finished product. Mulberry trees serve as home to silkworms for the expanding silk-making industry in Uzbekistan.
Central Asian Cuisine Boasts Both Familiar and Unusual Dishes
With all this walking around to experience the treasures of Central Asia, we built hearty appetites, and we didn’t go hungry. Dishes vary regionally, and many dishes are variations of foods we know from other cuisines. Manty is a dumpling (India, Southeast Asia, Eastern Europe), stuffed with meat, fat, and onions. Pumpkin is a popular vegetable sometimes stuffed in manty shells, as are potatoes. Lentil soup (India) was a tasty lunch. Boorsok, fried dough (almost every cuisine serves a similar snack) is served as chips between meals. Straight from India comes samsy, a variation of samosas.
But the prized, national dish in several of these countries is plov (think pilaf). Made with fried lamb or beef in oil, with onions and orange or yellow carrots, cumin and coriander, then steaming long-grain rice until tender in a kazan, a cast-iron cauldron—a delicious concoction, if a bit on the heavy side. “Plov championships” to crown the best of the best plov maker are held regularly as part of community social gatherings. Our guide Farkhod told us he loves the dish so much that his wife makes plov on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and he’ll eat another helping at lunch during the week.
Several meat soups (mostly fatty mutton or beef), salads (I never ate them because they’re washed in local water), a variety of pasta dishes with meat and delicious breads made fresh daily kept us from ever going hungry. Vegetarians would struggle a bit in this meat-eating culture. And I made sure I didn’t eat the often present horse meat, which is a staple in certain communities, as is the never-tried-by-me fermented mare’s milk. Other than those few no-no’s, we enjoyed eating our way across deserts and mountains.
Markets Tell the Cultural Story
Speaking of food, we explored two large markets, one each in Samarkand and Tashkent. Colorful, tantalizing local markets reveal much about a community’s culture: the variety of goods for sale, how they’re displayed, and the interactions with sales people. Chorsu Bazaar in Tashkent’s Old City houses the meat section under a giant blue dome. Wandering under the dome, the rows of horsemeat counters fascinated me. “I could never…,” I told myself. Nearby, two massive lumps of pure fat caught my attention, learning from our guide they came from the rump of a breed of sheep. Days later, I saw these sheep in a herd that blocked our car on a country road in Kyrgyzstan. Their fatty rumps bounced around. “What kind of sheep are these?” I asked. Our guide replied, “ We call them Kardashian sheep.” Humor is universal.
Sprawling around this circular building, purveyors sell a cornucopia of everything edible––from vegetables and spices, herbs and flowers, to unusual confections and dried dairy products. White-capped men in floor-length white aprons holding long-handled wooden paddles baked bread in a bank of clay-based tandoor ovens, reaching inside the oven to stick the dough to the walls. A dozen stands sold warm loaves of breads of several shapes and sizes, some imprinted with distinctive patterns. How satisfying it was to tear off a hunk of warm bread, inhale its aroma, and stuff it in my mouth. Bread represents the culture’s soul.
Architectural Achievements Show Off Multi-Cultural Influences
The Pinnacle of Islamic Architecture is on Display
Nothing speaks more loudly to me when I visit a new place for the first time than a culture’s unique architectural styles. The most outstanding examples of Central Asia’s history reveals itself in its magnificent Islamic mosques, minarets, and madrasas. Standing next to Bukhara’s 155-foot tall Kalyan Minaret, with its bands of exquisitely designed brick patterns, I understood why Genghis Khan declared the tower so majestic that he let it stand while he razed the rest of the city when he invaded Bukhara in the early thirteenth century. (Yes, the minaret is THAT old.)
Not until I stood in front of a mausoleum in Samarkand’s Shah-i-Zinda Necropolis could I appreciate the beautifully designed and crafted façades of cobalt blue and turquoise tiles designed in geometric patterns and Arabic calligraphy. The color blue symbolizes heaven and paradise. Made from lapis lazuli, these tiles festoon mosques, minarets, and burial vaults.
Samarkand’s Registan Square took my breath away. Considered one of the world’s most magnificent and historic public squares, three mammoth madrasas covered in blue tile surround the huge paved open space. We returned at night to see the spectacular sound and light show that told the story of Islam, highlighting the spectacular buildings.
Together these religious structures represent the pinnacle of Islamic art, particularly in Uzbekistan’s three major Silk Road cities––Khiva, Bukhara, and Samarkand.
Central Asia Has a Modern Urban Face, Too
The major cities are full-blown urban centers; all were largely rebuilt and expanded significantly by the Soviets. They function like any modern city, with some interesting elements that represent Soviet urban form and architecture. Tashkent, Bishkek, and Ashgabat––capitals of Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, and Turkmenistan respectively––boast grand boulevards and enormous public plazas and landscaped spaces that include well-kept and sometimes colorful gardens. Their grandiosity suggests that they could serve as a staging site for public displays of military might and the all-powerful state, à la Soviet-style. I was impressed with the scale standing in the middle of one of Bishkek’s expansive plazas, at the same time feeling dwarfed by its vastness.
These metropolitan centers also contained several examples of a favorite architectural style: Brutalism. Characterized by massive blocky structures, often finished in raw, exposed concrete, the style strips any ornamentation from the building and emphasizes function over form. After WWII, Brutalism became a signature building style throughout the USSR countries for public, governmental, and housing buildings. In Tashkent, I had the opportunity to photograph both the building and lobby of the glorious Hotel Uzbekistan, a well-regarded example of the Brutalist style. And who would imagine the walls and ceilings of stops along a subway route converted into themed art exhibits? In Tashkent, first the Soviets and now the Uzbek government have accomplished just that. We rode the trains back and forth to visit several of these subterranean works of art.
Unique-in-the-world Ashgabat holds the Guiness Book of World Records as the city with the most marble; along with gold ornamentation, marble covers all its public buildings and block apartment houses located in the city’s core. Even automobiles and delivery trucks must be white. If the police stop a dirty car, the owner receives a fine. Add to that, the city streets are mostly devoid of pedestrians, giving this monumental and impressive futuristic city a ghost town, surrealistic feel.
Kyrgyzstan’s Yurt Culture Reflects Nomadic Life
Does a yurt qualify as a type of architecture.? As a coherent form, this tent-like, circular structure with a wooden lattice frame can be collapsed and rebuilt in another location in a few hours by a family. Covered in heavy-duty fabric, some insulating and water-shedding or -resistant material, yurts have been the portable homes of Kyrgyzstan’s nomadic communities for centuries. Think teepees in indigenous America.
We stayed in two yurt camps. Supara Chunkurchak, a permanently installed thirty-yurt camp village, sits high on the side of a mountain with a spectacular view of the sublime valley below, carpeted in a velvet-textured grass. We’re familiar with the term “glamping,” which stands for “glorious camping” in an upscale, fully furnished, large tent. I refer to this experience as “glurting,” since our accommodations included an ensuite bathroom, very comfy bed, and a living room suspended over the hillside, equipped with a futon for our viewing pleasure through a full picture window. The second yurt camp was a rustic facility, though we had a view of Issyk-Kul Lake.
Traveling to Central Asia Was My “Trip of a Lifetime”
To paraphrase Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, I knew I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, traveling through the Stans. We traversed dramatic landscapes, stood awestruck before fantastical Islamic structures, appreciated local arts and culture, and filled our bellies with tasty selections from regional cuisines. We saw a mammoth gas crater on fire for over fifty years, watched eagles with their trainers hunt prey, hiked up mountains and hills, and slept in yurts. A mixture of European and Asian influences, cities hummed as vibrant centers of human activity. One city could serve as a marble movie set located on another planet.
A trip of a lifetime––that’s what I sought. Traveling through Central Asia delivered in unimaginable ways.
If You Go
ENTRANCE REQUIREMENTS:
- Entrance requirements: no visas needed except for Tajikistan, which has an e-visa process, and Turkmenistan. That country requires an application for a Letter of Introduction from your tour company to allow you to fly into Ashgabat, where you apply for a visa at the airport
TRAVEL COMPANY:
- While visitors can travel on their own in all but one country, I recommend touring with a travel company. The staff will negotiate border crossings, language, tours, accommodations, and restaurant options. In Turkmenistan, travelers must be registered with a travel company
- Look for a travel company that offers several tours of various lengths and destinations in Central Asia. Some companies offer high-end travel, with upscale accommodations (read “expensive”). Compare prices. Research others.
- At the risk of excluding other good companies, here is a very partial list of highly rated American and English companies that offer small group tours (8 to 20 travelers) and many offer personal tours for one to four people.
- Very partial list: Bestway Tours and Safaris, Adventure Bound, East Site Travel, G Adventures, National Geographic, Wild Frontiers
AIR TRAVEL:
- Turkish Airlines is the major airline company flying into Tashkent, Ashgabat, Bishkek, Almaty, and Astana. Departs from Istanbul
- Regional airlines fly from Istanbul and other cities: Uzbekistan Airways, Air Astana, Turkmenistan Airlines
- Economy airlines: Pegasus Air, FlyArystan, WizzAir, Flydubai, others
TRAVEL INSURANCE (Necessary to have):
- We used the top-rated company according to Forbes Advisor––Faye. We bought a policy that allowed for cancellation for any reason (stubbed toe, headache, etc.)
The post Tracing the Fabled Silk Road through Central Asia appeared first on Blaine Bonham.
]]>The post Chesapeake Bay’s Tangier and Smith Islands Are Disappearing Slices of Americana appeared first on Blaine Bonham.
]]>Pilings support fishermen’s shanties and docks across from Tangier Island’s docks
“Island life.” What comes to mind when you hear those words? Warm climes, palm trees, sandy beaches, piña coladas, tropical sunsets? Two inhabited islands in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay in U.S.’s temperate Mid-Atlantic coastal region turn those images upside down.
Tangier Island, Virginia and Smith Island, Maryland sit about 12 miles off Maryland’s eastern shore, eight miles apart from each other. Inhabited since the mid-1700s, residents of these communities depend on crabbing, fishing, and oystering for their livelihoods. Successive generations of the first settlers still call those islands their home. Rising sea levels and erosion, though, threaten the future of each community.
Yet, they are well worth a visit to see and appreciate a unique way of life––a life dependent on the Bay by people who are independent and self-reliant.
The islands share common history, ways of life, and external threats
Throughout these two villages, evidence of their reliance on the fruits of the Chesapeake Bay paints an almost idyllic scene of life on the water. Fishing boats bob alongside wooden docks, while stacks of crabbing baskets and ropes strung with colorful floats sit on top of them. Fields of reeds and grasses bend to the breezes, as water channels infiltrate the settled areas. The harsh reality of working the shallows of the Bay for its edible treasures all year long, in all sorts of weather conditions, even during winter months, tells the story of strong, hard-working people devoted to their way of life.
Smith and Tangier Islands have similar development histories. Native Americans used both lands for hunting and fishing. Then, White settlers arrived in the mid-1700s to farm. A century later, inhabitants turned to the bay for fishing, crabbing, and oystering to earn their living, taking advantage of the booming demand for fresh seafood from nearby mainland cities, like Washington, Baltimore, and Philadelphia. Today, demand for seafood continues to grow along the eastern seaboard and beyond, ensuring what one might think is a form of job security for the residents of these islands. Climate change has other plans for them, though.
Besides the encroaching bay, extreme weather events hammer both Tangier and Smith Islands. Three twenty-first century hurricanes, including devastating Sandy, flooded the towns and damaged structures. Residents were forced to abandon homes, and many were torn down; homeowners repaired others and raised them on stilts.
Longtime residents of both islands speak a distinct dialect carried down through generations. An ongoing dispute among historians and linguists rages about the dialect’s origin. Traditional stories place the source as an evolution of Elizabethan English from early Cornish settlers, preserved because of its inhabitants’ isolation from mainlanders. More recently, linguists pronounce the source as an amalgam of southern American accents, not English. Since it’s nearly impossible to prove, the more exotic claim of an English dialect offshoot seems to prevail in promotional materials.
Accessible by boat, each is worth an afternoon visit to experience a unique and rapidly disappearing way of life. Mostly late nineteenth and twentieth century residential and commercial structures line the towns’ quaint, picture-postcard main streets. Some appear weather-worn, others newly painted. They contrast with many abandoned structures outside the “downtowns,” as rising sea levels and storms force people to leave their homes behind. Both islands have experienced significant population loss over the last several decades.
Tangier Island claims the title “Soft Shell Crab Capital of the Nation”
Tangier Island is home to a once bustling, now rapidly disappearing, community. Reaching a peak population of 1,120 in 1930, the latest census counts 436 among its residents. Its past, present, and future are inextricably enmeshed in the fortunes of the Chesapeake Bay.
In spite of its size, Tangier is an interesting footnote in American history. During the War of 1812 between the U.S. and Great Britain, the British built Fort Albion on Tangier Island to fight the Americans and eventually lead a successful sacking and burning of Washington. Fort Albion became a safe harbor for escaped slaves, and the British set them free. Tangier Island is officially listed as a stop along the National Underground Railroad Network.
I visited Tangier in 2011, a year before Hurricane Sandy. Walking outside the main part of town, I followed a road that eventually disappeared under water. Beyond, three multi-story houses sat in the bay up to their first-floor windows, victims of the relentless rising tides.
While crabbing and oystering serve as Tangier Island’s chief industries, rising sea levels and erosion threaten its future as a habitable location. At its highest elevation, four feet separate land from water. Since 1850, Tangier Island has lost 67% of its inhabitable land mass. Scientists predict the current rate of climate change will force the abandonment of the almost 300 year-old settlement by 2050. Time is running out for this unique way of life.
Yet, Tangier exudes a charm despite its precarious relationship with nature. This tightly-knit, friendly community welcomes visitors to stroll its streets and enjoy its marshes, nesting waterfowl, bay vistas, and docks and boats. Asked about the future threats to their island, many longtime residents state Tangier Island is their home; they’re not going anywhere.
We take the Island Belle II mail boat to Smith Island
It’s 2023. Three if us drive to Crisfield, Maryland on the Chesapeake Bay to the Tenth Street City Dock for the ferry to Smith Island. We board the Island Belle II with nine other passengers for the prompt 12:30 P.M. departure heading to the town of Ewell. A few passengers are tourists like us; others are returning home after shopping or keeping medical appointments on the mainland.
The Island Belle II carries the Island’s daily mail, plus dozens of Amazon and other mail-order boxes. Captain Otis Tyler, a lifelong resident whose ancestors settled here in the late 1700s, makes the round trip to the mainland and back twice daily, except on Sundays when he makes one round trip. Captain Tyler’s twelve-year-old grandson accompanies him today to continue to “learn the ropes” of eventually sailing the boat. I chat with a nurse who lives on the island but travels daily to the mainland to see patients. No other medical professionals live on Smith Island.
Hair-tousling wind and face-warming sun make the 75-minute boat ride part of the adventure. Entering the harbor at Ewell, the largest of three communities on Smith Island (the other two are Rhodes Point and Tylerton), we pass fishermen’s shacks and docks on pilings in the shallow water; older shanties have collapsed and are partially submerged. Including all three communities, the population peaked at 800 in the early twentieth century: now 340 live here.
Like Tangier Island, Smith Island continues to rapidly lose inhabitable land to the bay. At its highest point, a seven foot elevation will delay its inevitable appointment to slip under the Bay’s surface until around 2100, scientists predict.
Once on land, we head to the Harborside Restaurant, empty except for three local men finishing their lunches. Half-filled shelves of grocery products and essentials look like they’re waiting for the next shipment of goods from Crisfield. It’s the only grocery store on the island. A platter of fried oysters and French fries satisfy our hunger. While golf carts are the only motorized option to see Ewell and Smith’s other communities, we opt to wander on foot. The streets are empty on this hot, summer day, except for a few other tourists.
We head in the opposite direction from the town center, drawn to the impressive Smith Island Methodist Church, with its neatly maintained cemetery alongside. (Methodism is the denomination of choice for these Christian residents of both Smith and Tangier Islands.) Across the street, the recently built Cultural Center does a good job of presenting the life and times of the island––its history, traditions, and people––with a special focus on the resilient watermen, whose livelihoods depend on the bay. Captain Tyler claims only twenty watermen remain active on the island. The Center employs an engaging video and several displays of archival artifacts.
White wooden picket or four-foot chain link fences surround many yards of mostly neat houses typical of the region’s maritime history and more modest Cape Cod-style bungalows. Several structures need attention. An enormous metal rooster painted in bright colors sits in one yard, along with children’s play houses. We pass the now empty Ewell School. No students enrolled in the 2023 academic year; instead students travel to Crisfield daily to attend classes. Former businesses are now shuttered as residents moved away.
Fields of reeds and bay grasses sweep out towards a dock house and crabbing boats against the clear sky, painting a picturesque, layered image of green, white, and blue. Winding our way down a back street, we encounter once-impressive, stately homes, now empty, battered by the elements, a screen door hanging ajar on the front of a yellow clapboard house.
Around the next corner, Caleb Jones Road, Ewell’s main thoroughfare, stands in stark contrast to the abandoned street behind. The road embodies the charm of an old coastal town. Stately trees and pink crape myrtles in bloom line the pebbled, winding lane that’s just wide enough for two golf carts to pass each other. Well-maintained residences include handsome restorations, as well as newer homes. A few structures need attention. Attractive business shingles hang on posts in front of a one of the two bed-and-breakfast inns for tourists staying on the island overnight.
I head to the Smith Island Cake Shop to buy one of those renowned confections––eight-to-15 thin layers of yellow cake, filled and frosted with chocolate fudge icing. It’s Maryland’s official state dessert. The display case holds other flavors, like pumpkin, lemon, and red velvet, but I want the lauded original version. Smith Island Cakes are famous, and the bakers send these cakes around the world (they even sent one to Iran!). As you can imagine, it’s a heavy package to carry home. Cones from the ice cream shop satisfy my afternoon sweet tooth, as we sit on a bench across from the one-story, white clapboard Ewell Post Office, watching walkers and a golf cart roll by.
We board the 4:00 P.M. return boat to Crisfield after spending 2-1/2 hours poking around Ewell, experiencing this unusual slice of Americana that is threatened by shifts of the natural world.
Should you visit Tangier and Smith Islands?
Yes! Life on these islands embodies a world unfamiliar to most of us. These hard-working islanders are devoted to their disappearing way of life on the water, forming a tight community to earn a living and collectively bear the challenges of the constant intrusion of nature’s forces at work, all amidst the picturesque setting of the Bay. They welcome visitors, encouraging tourism as a way to augment their incomes from the Bay.
Ferries to both islands leave Crisfield midday and return late afternoon. Don’t be late for either. Prompt departures keep everything running smoothly. If you’re traveling from one of the major metropolitan areas, plan to make it a weekend visiting Maryland’s other eastern shore communities.
If You Go
(Information as of July 2025)
BY CAR:
- To Crisfield, MD: (Recommended: a one- or two-overnight stay and enjoy Maryland’s eastern shore communities, like Easton and St. Michaels)
- From Philadelphia: 178 miles/approx. 3 hrs. 45 mins.
- From Baltimore: 155 miles/approx. 3 hrs. 4 mins.
- From Washington D.C.: 157 miles/ approx. 2 hrs. 58 mins.
- To Reedville, VA. from Washington, D.C. for the Tangier Island Ferry: 100 miles/approx. 2 hrs.
- To Onancock, VA from Norfolk: 77 miles/approx.1 hr. 34 mins.
BY AIR:
- From Philadelphia International Airport to Salisbury Regional Airport: Direct flight–approx.1 hr. From $345 round-trip
- Car rental needed to drive to Crisfield: 36 miles
- From Baltimore and Washington: D.C.: no direct flights available
FERRY SERVICE:
For all ferries:
- Reservations are recommended, esp. weekends; call for parking and dock locations
- All ferries depart from Crisfield at 12:30 P.M., leaving the islands at 4:00 P.M.
- Approx. price for round-trips on all ferries: $35. Parking $3.
To Smith Island from Crisfield:
- Belle Island II –– 443-235-3992 or 410-726-1824
- Captain Jason I –– 443-880-1508
- Smith Island Cruises –– 410-425-2771 (late May to early October. Reservations required.)
To Tangier Island:
- From Crisfield: Tangier Island Cruises –– 410-968-2338 (late May to early October)
- From Onancock, VA: Tangier Island Cruises –– on the Joyce Marie II –– 757-891-2505 (May to September)
- From Reedville, VA: Tangier Island Cruises –– on the Chesapeake Breeze –– 804-453-2628 (departs at 10:00 A.M.)
ACCOMODATIONS:
Smith Island:
- Smith Island Inn: 410-425-2650
- Island Time B & B: 410-425-2771
Tangier Island:
- Bay View Inn: 757-891-2396
- Brigadune Inn: 757-891-2396
- Hilda Crokett’s Chesapeake House: 757-891-2331
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