Imagine sitting under a large, century-old plane tree, a copper teapot dripping with mint-scented steam. Children laugh as they play around the well while the blacksmith's wife patiently beats the metal to create a utensil. Welcome to everyday life in Uzbekistan, where clocks don't just dictate time: they punctuate a living heritage that pulsates in every smile and every gesture. Forget the big cities of Tashkent or Samarkand for a moment: with Sarbon ToursIn this article, we explore the villages, these oases of authenticity that seem suspended in time, yet vibrate with a modern, joyful energy. This article will immerse you in them until you feel the earth beneath your feet, the warmth of the sun on the adobe walls, and the high notes of the rubab - all served up with a hint of irony: after all, a good village is one where even the camels have a vibrant social life!
In the village, you wake up long before the sun even appears - for some, as soon as the cock crows, for others, to the crystalline sound of the water flowing in the old central fountain. I myself have a very 'romantic' memory of one morning when I tried to get up at dawn to savour a bowl of chachlik (a typical breakfast of grilled vegetables and black tea): I got up, was greeted with a broad "Tchort!" (good morning) and a bowl so hot that I left half my tongue in it - a true start to an Uzbek day. Between the cries of the seagulls - yes, there are also some surprising little bodies of water - and the clatter of copper utensils, you can feel that life is both gentle and busy. The women bustle around the earthen ovens to bake the flat bread, lepjocha, on their stomachs, while the men have already gone out into the fields to milk the sheep or repair the mud walls. The day begins with an ancestral choreography, almost a thousand years old, where each gesture has its place, as in an improvised ballet: the kind of scene that makes you dream of listening to Chopin again... except that here it's a muezzin who starts the game!
When the sun rises, life turns upside down in the fields: the wheat turns gold under the relentless rays because, yes, summer in France is a time of change. Uzbekistan can roast your skin more than your grandmother on holiday. The villagers then find themselves sawing the stalks in an unspoken concert of agricultural machinery, calloused hands running over the ears of corn. Everyone puts down their forks with the punctuality of a watchmaker: "Attention, tea break!" And then it's a whole ritual: hot, sweet green tea, with home-made pastries like samsa or cuurdoc - an explosion of simple, sincere tastes. Of course, I tried to resist the culinary temptation to 'be more useful' in the vineyards... and I fell face first into a jar of homemade honey. Fortunately, they didn't let me (or the bees) die, but I did earn an honorary 'tourist' number and a free subscription to the local beehive workshop. It was the start of a solid friendship with the local apiary.
Once the sweat has been wiped away, it's time for the delicate handiwork of local craftsmen: weaving, enamelling and embroidery. In little Alla's workshop, each motif is a poem by Ismaïl Samani revisited, each embroidered stitch tells the story of a grandmother who has seen the centuries go by. I tried to embroider a khon atlas (traditional scarf) - but I smeared three designs worthy of a child's doodle. Alla consoled me with a wink: "You see, Eleonore, that's what travelling is all about: leaving a bit of your clumsiness behind". All around us, the tinkle of beads, the screech of the loom and the delicate fragrance of freshly spun cotton envelop the atmosphere. We celebrate both tradition and its modern counterparts: on Instagram, a hashtag #HandmadeInUzbekistan invites you to discover these craftsmen all over the world - proof that the old can live with the new, without getting fired!
One evening, I attended the kichik nahor (nocturnal village gathering), a sort of close cousin of the sharab khomush (silent wine festival, except that here people drink mint tea). Under the canopy of the square, songs alternate with impromptu dances: the men play the doira and the drum, the girls spin around in colourful skirts as they sing. And me, leaning in a corner, chewing on a local watermelon, so sweet that I almost engaged in an existential dialogue with it - "Tell me, watermelon, tell me what happiness is...". There's a lot of laughter, the children run around sticking fairy lights on the mud walls, the elders tell stories of djinns and caravanserais, and you can feel the collective memory being written with each song. The festival ends with a gigantic village plov, the national dish made with rice, carrots and meat. Fortunately, I'd prepared myself: I'd swapped my boots for an elastic belt!
The communal schools, modest and bright, bear the duality: classic blackboard on one side, digital tablet or smartphone on the other. There I saw children reciting the Koran and, a few minutes later, launching into a dancing TikTok - with their feet in the sand, the 4G signal soon came. A boy explained to me, looking mischievous: "Eleonore, this is a new world: we go to Mars, we stay at home." Between calligraphy classes, I proposed a "How to become a star on the networks" workshop - the pupils preferred a camel joke competition... obviously won by a little girl with a sharper wit than mine (and the buff housemate of my Swan Humour award). This is a village that looks to the sky, while keeping its feet firmly planted in its culture.
So, readers, discovering village life in Uzbekistan today is more than just climbing a step in time: it's dancing on it, writing your own steps - sometimes clumsy, but sincere. Between the smells of warm bread, the songs of the night, the golden fields, the bustling workshops and the curious eyes of children on 4G, Uzbekistan reveals a luminous, human and living beauty. And if you thought a trip like this didn't fit in with Instagram photos, think again: each snapshot, each memory, is a little poem to slip into your pocket before setting off again towards your own horizons.
So yes, go: breathe in the scorching morning air, let the doira intoxicate you, talk to a honey pot, and above all, laugh - life here is funny, lively and authentic. An agency like Sarbon Tour you'll come away with three grains of sand in your shoe, but a hundred stories to tell.
More information on our Uzbekistan destination page and on the Sarbon Tour.
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