My visit to Uzbekistan began almost with death; mine. I had just walked up and down the stairs of a giant mirror that was 20 stories high. The whole structure clanged and creaked with every step and hummed with the noise of welders; none were wearing safety equipment, all were attempting some kind of grandiose repair, cigarettes hanging from their lips, hardened by desert life in the former Soviet republic.
The fact that a fragment of the Solar Helio complex, one of the most surreal scientific sights of the USSR, fell and almost illuminated me seemed strangely consistent with this experience. What seemed incongruous from above was the syrupy panorama of Kizil Zura Mountain and the auburn Uzbek peaks meandering towards the Kyrgyzstan border in the distance. So, were those eagles flying in the cloudless sky?
Dating from the early 1980s, the once-secret complex was a Soviet invention aimed at harnessing the incredible power of the sun to heat alloys for scientific research. The huge mirror reflects light from several dozen smaller mirrors arranged on a parallel slope, focusing great heat on the metal pieces. Its location in the golden hills above the small town of Parkent, 32 km northeast of Tashkent, was chosen because it is one of the sunniest places in the world and an ideal choice for the world’s largest solar furnace.
For me, this was the ideal place to start exploring the time-warp Communist ruins in and around Uzbekistan’s capital; currently being promoted as part of the Tashkent Modernism program (tashkentmodernism.uz); a strange, dystopian lens through which to glimpse surreal events. The former power of the USSR.
The grinning, enthusiastic head of the project – who, like many others, was wearing a traditional Uzbek “doppa” hat atop his head – handed me a piece of a Russian space rocket built there and led me outside, where a kettle was placed next to a kettle. The mini version of the giant oven sings with the sun’s heat and the sound of boiling water. Inside the main building, extravagant artwork competed with geeky reveal posters. Out back there was a careless Chernobyl-like decay fueled by the stupidity of bureaucracy and cash depletion, parts strewn everywhere and not even a safety hat appearing to exist as we climbed.
My tour is now over, I returned to Tashkent; I walked past donkeys pulling carts and roadside fruit vendors flogging rainbow-coloured exotic produce. Soon we were in the main square of the city, next to Hotel Uzbekistan. I thought about the irony that these concrete hotels, which had fallen out of favor in their own countries, were so fashionable among Western experts. How modern hipster hoteliers delight in bare concrete interiors, and how the interiors of these mid-century relics are always, on the contrary, dripping with worn chintz.
The bar at the top of the hotel was completely empty; An abandoned stall standing ready to hand out vodka martinis to anyone. It was like a scene from JG Ballard’s book High building. Through the window, the modernist core of “New Tashkent” was laid out like a model on a Soviet planning table in Moscow in the 1950s. From the window, one could see all the way to the huge squat blue dome of the National Circus, built in 1976 as an extraterrestrial example of so-called “Soviet cosmic architecture”.
From the wild Cosmonauts Station, whose blue and gray walls pay homage to astronauts, I took the metro, which also emerged during this period. My eyes fell on the relief of Valentina Tereshkova, the first woman in space. The train rattled a few stops and I went up to the Panorama Cinema. The foyer featured a small exhibition about Uzbek filmmaking, featuring full-scale model people, cars and posters. When I returned to the main stage, I saw red seats lined up, ready to watch a movie from the 1970s.
Outside the State Museum of Art, I saw something that brought it all home: a drum-shaped tower; It was a stark reminder of the Rotunda in Birmingham, a city I once called home. There are similarities in many aspects between these two cities, which were both extensively rebuilt in the 1960s. But unlike its British counterpart, there is something uplifting about Tashkent; Here, instead of tearing everything down and starting over, this weird and wonderful cityscape is appreciated as is. As the number of millennial mid-century devotees grows, perhaps more destinations should take notice and promote these strangest of design destinations as surreal, spectacular relics.
Fundamentals
Christopher Beanland was the guest of Tashkent Modernism.
Sun Heliocomplex tours cost from 10,000 Uzbekistan Som (63p) for one hour and can be booked at imssolar.uz.
Sapiens (00 998 71 203 33 35) is Tashkent’s trendiest hotel, with small but perfectly formed rooms featuring a bold color palette and a rooftop bar, club and restaurant. Doubles from £47 per night.
Uzbekistan Airlines flies from London to Tashkent for £268 return.