Walking in the tombs and mausoleums of Sayram was a peaceful experience. It is said that this is the “city of countless saints”, and indeed there was a profusion of famous mausoleums. Each was surrounded by a graveyard full of wild flowers. In the mausoleum of Ibrahim Ata, the father of the famous mystic and poet, Khoja Ahmed Yasawi, was this spectacular inflorescence, the flowers opening from the bottom up. There were several of these plants growing in the immediate vicinity of the tomb. What was this plant, I wondered. An inflorescence in the form of a dense spike like this seems to point to some species of the foxtail lilies (genus Eremurus).
That would fit; they are native to central Asia. Could I narrow it down to a single species? If I tried perhaps I would guess Eremerus robustus, a native of the nearby Tien Shan mountains. The tall stem bearing the spike fitted descriptions of the plant (this species is said to be the tallest in the genus), as did its long leaves. Photos of the flowers also matched, but since there is quite a variation in flower colour, a mismatch wouldn’t have told me anything. I think I will tentatively go with this identification.
The most elaborate of the mausoleums of Sayram was also the furthest from the center of the town. Outside the gate was a very modern steel pedestal bearing a QR code which you could scan to get to a web page with information on the structure which you were about to see. It said more than the sign at the gate which merely mentioned by name Ibrahim Ata from the 10th or 11th century CE.
The web page gave more information in the impersonal way of professional archaeological writing. Ata means father, and the word is added to Ibrahim’s name to indicate that he was the father of Khoja Ahmed Yasawi, the renowned Sufi preacher and poet whose tomb in nearby Turkestan (formerly Yasi) was ordered to be rebuilt by Timur in the 14th century. Ibrahim himself was a cleric and preacher, one of the “countless saints of Sayram”, when the silk route city was the center of Islamic proselytisation. We walked the long path from the gate up a slope to his mausoleum on a little hill. It was lined by remains of columns whose bases were decorated with colourful tiles. Gardeners tended the flowerbeds. One of them stood up to smile at us and asked “Indian?” We nodded and smiled back. Kazakhstan is big on old Bollywood films.
The tomb itself was the plain brick structure which seemed to be common to the town. The first memorial was built between the 12th and 14th centuries, but little of that remains. Another structure was erected sometime between the 16th and 17th centuries. It lasted for a while and then was rebuilt in the 19th century. An earthquake in the mid-20th century damaged it, and it was subsequently repaired. It wasn’t clear to me whether the bricks were the from 16th century, the 19th century, or the 20th. But if the shape of the bricks evolved over time, then one could say that at least the brick facing on the walls are contemporary to the Timur’s memorial to the son. But the bricks at the entrance gate were similar to these, so perhaps the shape of bricks has not changed much over the centuries. I wish now that I had bothered to measure the sizes of the bricks.
Inside was the grave covered by a silk cloth. I looked carefully at the lattice work on the window behind it. It seems to have been cast as a single block of concrete. That would then have to be a piece from the Soviet times, which fits with the record of repairs made in the late 20th century. I would have liked to touch the white-washed beams to see whether they were also cast in concrete. Since they supported the dome, which often is the part most susceptible to earthquakes, it would seem logical. But I was a little shy of walking around the grave. I looked at the walls around the door instead. They were thick, and seemed to be made of hard packed mud. This had to be older than the 19th century. Could it be as old as the 14th century? I have no idea how construction methods in this region developed, so I will have to leave aside speculation as I search for reading material.
The mausoleum has been incorporated into the central Asian religious tourism circuit. The importance of Yasawi’s tomb as a site for religious tourism has grown since the independence of the central Asian republics, and a resurgence in nationalism across the area. Ibrahim Ata’s tomb is not nearly as famous, but it has resonance in the region: tracing family lineages is a strong cultural staple in this part of the world. We sat quietly on a bench and observed a thin but constant stream of people coming in to pray. These tombs seemed to have deeper connections to everyday life than the mosques of the villages. But perhaps, like any tourist, I was not seeing the complete picture. Cultures are hard to pin down in a few words anyway.
Sayram was one of the trading towns on the old silk route which was never completely destroyed. It changed over time until now, when it is an industrial suburb of Shymkent, Kazakhstan’s third largest town. We spent half the morning hopping from one medieval tomb to another, and then we found that it was time for our elevenses. A sign nearby proclaimed a cafe and bakery, so we made our way to it. The busy dusty roads did not promise much, but as soon as we entered we were greeted by wall-to-wall displays of biscuits, cakes, and little pastries. An espresso machine was visible at the bar. “Lovely,” I said and ordered the coffees, leaving the choice of cakes to The Family.
There were only two tables in the cafe, and one was taken by a young mother and her child. The child tried to engage with me when I sat down. When The Family came to the table she was even more excited, and showed us all her toys. The mother finished her coffee, apologized, and left with the girl in tow. We were left to our cakes and coffee. “Rather decent,” The Family said, and chose a couple of biscuits more. It turned out to be a good idea, since we wouldn’t get to lunch till well after two.
Long and winding: that was the best description of the road between Sayram and Shymkent. But it was nothing to sing about, I thought. The Family pointed out that it was a blind road. When you go through a road in a suburb you expect to see gardens and lawns, people going about, some neighbourly activity visible. There was nothing here. Just walls interrupted with gates. “Isn’t it odd?” she asked. I nodded and began to take photos. It was odd because it wasn’t even the kind of high-income area where people would be obsessed with privacy.
When I looked carefully I could see two kinds of houses on the road. There were those with a gate and blank high walls around it, not even a house in sight beyond it. “Are there houses behind the walls? Or are these plots for development?” I mused. Then there were the walls houses which seemed to back into the street. You could see a row of windows piercing the wall, but no door. Only the large gate seemed to give access to the house. Later we were told that these were Kazakh and Uzbek houses. The Kazakh houses are not visible from the street. The Uzbek houses back on to the street, but open into a secret garden accessible through the gate.
We saw a house under construction. A temporary wall seems to be built first, a gate is set into it, and the construction begins behind it. The temporary wall will be raised later to hide the house from the street. We discovered later that neighbours drop by to each others’ houses, and that there is informal socializing. But none of this is visible to passers by. I wonder about the history which led to this style of life.
Did you know that tulips came from Kazakhstan? Neither did I, until a Kazakh mentioned it. I did a quick search and came to an article in The Astana Times which said “The first tulips came to the kingdom of the Netherlands over 400 years ago from Türkiye, where they were brought from Central Asia. They originated in the mountainous regions and adjacent deserts of Kazakhstan and Central Asia more than 10 to 20 million years ago.” In another age when I visited Turkey I learnt a little about this back story: how tulip mania spread in Turkey beginning from the time of Suleiman the Magnificent. Now, on a walk on the banks of the river Sayram Su in the Tien Shan mountains I got to see the original tulips.
The wildflowers from which garden varieties come are often smaller. These wild tulips were definitely smaller than the Dutch cultivars whose macros take over photo forums in early spring. But finding meadows full of wild tulips is a bit of a dream. We sat down to our picnic lunch in just such a meadow. I munched on an apple and sank back on the grass, to get a worm’s eye view of the place. I didn’t have any previous experience with tulips, and the people I was with were not interested in flower identification. So, for the moment the lovely wildflower which you see in the gallery above (bud and flower) remain unidentified.
Tulipa regelii (?) The biggest technical challenge in taking these photos was the bright sun. Although I was using the better lens, with its UV absorbent coating, it wasn’t enough to get rid of the glare: you can see that bits of the petals are blown out. Why can’t I fix this by changing ISO? That’s because of the harsh shadows which such a strong illumination gives rise to. Stepping down the ISO would then throw the shadows into complete darkness, giving a different feel to the flowers. I’ve always found it much harder to take macros in very bright sun than under an overcast sky.
Another tulip that I saw on the walk was quite different in shape. I recognized the first one as a tulip because of the shape of the bud. This was something I put down mentally as possibly an anemone as I passed. But someone else stopped and said “A different tulip.” Maybe it is the Tulipa regelii. The next time I go to Kazakhstan I’ll make sure to find a guided walk for tulip watching. April is the best time for it. The weather was wonderful, and I understand that it is the time when the largest variety of wild tulips flower.
Tulipa greigii
Once I realized that a variety of tulips flower in this region in May, I went back to an accidental photo I’d taken the previous day in a cemetery in Sayram. I’d not looked carefully at the red flowers which had popped up everywhere, putting them down as poppies. But now, looking at the photo I’d clicked inadvertently while slipping my phone into my pocket I realized that these are not poppies at all. They are the colourful Tulipa greigii.
Of course a walk in the Tien Shan mountains in late April is full of other lovely things. Some I sort of recognized, like the dandelion that you see above. There are so many types of dandelions that I won’t go further. The butterfly? It was very uncooperative. As I circled it to get a good look at its wings, it circled its perch to keep the wings angled away from me. But from the brief look I got as it flew I think it belongs to the genus Phalanta, the leopards.
Don't hold your breath 