The window blinds open and we find ourselves looking at a vast expanse of desert. There's one thing in my mind:
‘Will this be good enough to paint?’
The second thing I think is:
'We've not landed back in Dubai have we?'
I turn to T in slight disappointment as I voice my concern. The light is bright and dusky, illuminated over desert planes. But as the plane edges closer to the ground, the landscape gives way to greener pastures, with vast expanses of rectangular areas in varying shades of yellowy-green. Slightly more promising.
As we continue our descent, the city of Samarkand reveals itself. It's huge, much larger than we expect, with multiple low buildings neatly arranged in maze-like patterns with desert mountains in the background. I spot trees dotted in between the pale green fields and am satisfied we're definitely not back in the decidedly sandy UAE deserts.
Touchdown. We hit the tarmac.
'Look, it's so cute." I point towards the first building we see on the tarmac. Maybe this is what I'll paint.
The structure is low and has a looped exterior, like wings of a plane or a bird.
'Is that the entire airport?' T asks, as the plane pulls into the parking ground. We're the only ones in sight, save for the lone groundman who's navigating the trolley to take our luggage. Despite it's laughably tiny size, it is apparently, the entire airport.
Nonetheless, it’s neat and clean. The immigration staff who takes my passport interrogates me more inquisitively than anything else (‘You Indian? But here it says born Saudi Arabia? But passport UK?). I simply nod with a smile plastered on my face, years of this recurring confusion under my belt.
We're out with our baggage in under an hour. The first impressions on leaving the airport is how breezy the weather turns out to be. Our driver is rolling one of our suitcases towards his car, which we find isn't empty.
A smiling elderly lady dressed in a navy turban and a baby blue summer dress is sat in the passenger seat. The driver introduces his mother to us. The only word I understand as she shakes my hand is Salam (Muslim greeting of peace). She fires off some more in Uzbeki to which I can only reply with an apologetic smile and a shake of my head.
'English, english' her son, our driver, responds to no one in particular. We all choose to smile through the language barrier, as we zoom off down the road.
Our first impressions of the family guesthouse, and Samarkand as a whole, are friendly and peaceful. The area we find ourselves in for the night is a family-oriented neighbourhood. The guesthouse itself is operated by a couple with four kids. The lighting is beautiful and the sky is clean and blue.
‘So…when will I get to paint?’
At this point, I'm uncertain If it's me or my imposter syndrome asking. But I decide to push aside whatever qualms I have; today is a day of rest. I'll start painting tomorrow.
Bags down, freshen up and head out for lunch. Our first Uzbeki meal, traditional Lamb Osh, is a plate piled high with meat and tender lamb. It's what we will end up eating for the majority of our time in the country, but for now, we enjoy the first time experience. Served with herb yoghurt, it's delicious and filling. This is washed down with green tea in a ceramic bowl; the tea is light and almost flavourless, yet has me finishing the entire teapot.
After devouring an entire plate of rice and meat, it's time to hit the sack. We reutrn to our hotel to catchup on last night's sleeplessness.
The setting sun wakes me up, streaming through our frosted glass window. Its golden, warm and beautiful. A perfect end to a perfect day. It's a miracle, but I'm not even thinking of painting.
Through some suggestions from our host via WhatsApp, we end up at the Samarkand Restaurant, high ceilinged and chandeliered. Uzbeki artistry adorns the walls - Islamic reliefs, old teapots and statues of pottery. Its a kitsch combination of museum meets fine dining and I like it.
As we sit down, my hands graze the walls that have inlays of old islamic architecture that had my heart set on coming here. I'm itching to take out my sketchbook and colour a relief from the walls but I'm worried I'll be called out by horrified waiters for defilement.
We're seated adjacent to the party hall, in between two buildings with pagodas to shade from the inky night sky. Its old and beautiful and the food is well seasoned and juicy meat.
But even as we eat the meal, as I'm trying to be present, I'm thinking 'how do I capture this memory on paper?'. I'm mentally battling how to both be present, yet remember this moment for later.
It's with this mindset I eventually decide to break out the sketchbook. Our first stop after dinner is visiting the flag of Uzbekistan. It's essentially a large flag in the middle of a park ,(Central Park) located in a residential university area.
Whilst T runs off to catch a good photo where the flag isn't battling the wind, I take the time to try and capture the Soviet looking apartment building that juts out from behind the trees in Central Park.
But, as I start drawing, I can feel its not right. My headframe is off: I've started the sketch already thinking about how I should film it, how I can capture it later for social media. I'm not immersed in it and it results in a half hearted sketch that's proportionally off. I shut my sketchbook in frustration, but take a breath. Try again later.
'Sketchbook anxiety' (I have a name for every anxiety) is still gnawing at me as we move to our next destination. It's a memorial park, a place marking the countrys martyrs since WW2, with metal plaques engraved with thousands of names. The wooden structure housing the plaques is beautifully built, and at 10pm at night with no one around, I'm able to steal a few minutes to steal a texture relief. It's the first break I'm catching in my sketchbook and finally, I can feel the anxiety washing away. It's not quite paints but we're getting there.
We reutrn to the guesthouse, tired yet happy, where we meet our host, Camille, for the first time. Her English is much better than we anticipate, and we complement her on the lovely place she owns. Through her many ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’, she generously provides us green tea.
This is it, I think: the perfect opportunity to paint. A relaxed setting in a courtyard, with endless time ahead of me.
I end the day breaking in the paints and I can feel it. I've finally started my painting sketchbook, not thinking what I will paint or how it will appear on camera, but rather, I just paint for it's own sake. T shoots here and there with our mini DJI camera but I'm so immersed in my work, I don't think to notice or even direct him (in hindsight, now watching the footage I do regret this -_-).
As the time passes (or rather, I dont even realise the time is passing) the so-called sketchbook anxiety ebbs away. In fact, so much time has passed my husband has gotten bored of me and moved onto chatting with two otherguests who've moved into the guesthouse (also happened to be from Dubai, small world).
But I'm content. This is the start I needed. As I put down my paintbrush and take photos for socials, I think, ‘now I'm ready to get started on sketching this trip.’