8 to 11 Oct, 2022 - Nukus, Moynaq - (Uzbekistan)
In the western part of Uzbekistan is the large and sparsely populated Republic of Karakalpakstan. It is a largely self governing and significantly autonomous region, but it lacks the right to secede. The capital of this Republic of around 2 million is Nukus, with a bit of an outpost feeling to it. Relatively low density population, dry and dusty, absence of high rise, and the long drive through barren flat landscapes to get there. The apparent reality for Karakalpakstan is that it is a mineral rich area of the country, but it is the poorest.
The residents, though, seem proud. We chatted to a few, and they definitely identify as Karakalpak, not as Uzbek. Some of the online bits we read highlighted the contentious nature of the relationship - from both perspectives the opinions are strongly held.
Soviet Avant-Garde
The Savitsky Collection, from what I gather, contains more than 80,000 artworks, most banned or frowned upon during the Soviet times. Especially during Stalin's time at the helm of the USSR, the only acceptable art form was "socialist realism" - art which showed communism in a positive way, showed ideal citizens living and working for the common good, and always showed an optimistic present and future. Strength, health, work, and benefits should be features of the art. In a little corner of the Union, in the desert of current Karakalpakstan Repubilc (ostensibly part of Uzbekistan), Savitsky gathered together his substantial collection of controversial art. Creators of these works were likely to suffer persecution and anonymity for their efforts. Far from the watchful eye of Moscow, and with good rapport with the local community, he even got support to create spaces to exhibit these works, which were taboo in the rest of the USSR. It is now considered one of the great collections of works from Soviet artists, most who may have remained anonymous had Savitsky not gathered and protected them.
A few hundred kilometres north of Nukus is the former fishing port of Moynaq. Moynaq's fall, and the disappearance of the Aral Sea, is a minor parallel with what has happened to the whole Karakalpakstan Republic. Elsewhere, the necessary inputs are being syphoned and drained off, leaving little to flow here, resulting in a gradual but inevitable dwindling and withering. Not just the water, and not just financial, but it seems this corner of the world is struggling to make ends meet with leftovers.
Rusting Ship, and No Water
Scores of kilometres, 80 or more, from the current shoreline of the Aral Sea. Moynaq was a fishing village in the 1950s and 60s, canning tonnes of fish every day. Over the decades, the Soviet agricultural developments started overusing the water from the feeder rivers. Primarily cotton, but it seemed too easy to keep diverting more and more water to irrigate dry and arid lands, not realising the long term consequences. Now, somewhere between 80% and 90% of the original water sources have disappeared. The sea is now less than 20% of its early 20th century size. Increased salinity means fish struggle to live in what remains. And these skip skeletons decay in the sun and sand as a stark monument to the sea which is gone, and will likely never return.
The Ship Graveyard
This was the only wooden boat that we saw. The timber was deteriorating fast. Not much was left of the deck, other than rows of rusting bolts with no planks left underneath. But a sizeable boat it still was.
Truly a Ship
Many of these were boats, but some of them, truly are small ships. There was something so powerful seeing these decaying hulks, so at odds with their purpose and function.
I want to finish with some observations about driving and cars, right across both parts of Uzbekistan, as well as Kazakhstan. Firstly, totally unpredictably, the most represented brand of car on the roads is Chevrolet. I have received no explanation as to how or why this is the case. Secondly, not unexpectedly, the cars are for the most part, white. Maybe 85% white, about 10% black, maybe 4% grey, and about 1 in every 100 cars is another colour. Our taxi will be white? Oh yes, what a surprise.
Moreso here than in Kazakhstan, but the majority of vehicles use methane. Methane stations line the highways. They are characterised by concrete walls between the fuelling bays, and there is an absolute prohibition on passengers in cars while refilling, both pointers to the increased volatility while pumping the gas. Some trucks and buses drive with a row of gas cylinders on their roofs or behind their cabs, looking like a row of missiles on a fighter jet.
Drivers here seem to have an aversion to wearing their seatbelts. On the long stretches of the highways, most of our drivers would not bother, but as they approached town, or a checkpoint, reach over and pull it on. As we exited through, the police check area, they slipped instantly out of their belts.
Finally, the issue of speed. In Uzbekistan we had a couple of drivers who drove at sane speeds, most drove at insane speeds, but at least showed some control about tailgating and passing, and a few nuts who had us fearing for our lives. Uzbek highways, though, are practically lined with cameras. The co-existance of the speeding behaviour and large number of detection devices is made possible by detectors. Some drivers with multiple, but most drivers with at least one. On the dashboard, every now and then, a warning sound would emit, or a digital voice in Russian (with one or two understandable words, either "camera" or "radar"). Our driver would snap on his hazard lights to avoid having the speeding driver behind running into our tail, and brake quite hard till, so we were doing half the speed now, and we would crawl through the speed trap. Once in the clear, as quickly as they could take off their seatbelt, we could be back at the prior speed again.
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