Tashkent: Where a 1966 Earthquake Erased the Old City, the Metro Stations Became Soviet Palaces, and the Plov Cauldrons Hold 400 Kilos of Rice

About This Guide

I came to Tashkent expecting a stopover. I stayed because the city refused to let me leave without teaching me something about resilience. As a Nigerian-British wellness practitioner and cultural historian, I am drawn to places where survival and spirituality overlap — where communities rebuild not just buildings but meaning. Tashkent is such a place. The 1966 earthquake flattened 80 percent of the city. Within three years, it had risen again as a model Soviet metropolis, its streets widened, its metro carved deep underground as a Cold War shelter, its people scattered into new apartment blocks. But the old city did not disappear. It compressed itself into the bazaars, the prayer beads, the underground stations that look like mosques. What follows is not an itinerary. It is a way of understanding a city that demands you look beneath the surface.

— Amara Okafor

The Earthquake That Made Modern Tashkent

On 26 April 1966, at 5:23 in the morning, the ground beneath Tashkent shook for twelve seconds. The earthquake measured 5.1 on the Richter scale — not catastrophic by geological standards, but devastating for a city built largely of clay and adobe. When the dust settled, 80 percent of Tashkent lay in ruins. At least 15 people died, though the true toll was likely higher in the unregistered mahallas. The old city, with its narrow lanes and courtyard houses, its mosques and madrasas dating to the Timurid era, was effectively gone.

The Soviet response was swift and absolute. Within hours, construction workers from across the USSR — Russia, Ukraine, Georgia, the Baltic states — began arriving by train and military transport. Within three years, Tashkent had been rebuilt as a showcase Soviet city: broad avenues, uniform apartment blocks, monumental public squares. The Monument of Courage on Sharof Rashidov Avenue still marks the exact moment of the quake — a bronze family stands before a granite block split by a crack, the clock face frozen at 5:23. It is not a beautiful monument. It is an honest one.

What the earthquake created was a city of layers. The Soviet planners built over the ruins, but they could not erase the memory. Walk through the mahallas — the old neighborhoods — and you will find courtyard houses tucked between concrete blocks, bakeries operating from the same tandir ovens for generations, and a pace of life that feels centuries older than the architecture surrounding it. Tashkent is not a museum like Samarkand. It is a palimpsest, and the only way to read it is slowly.

The Metro: Art, Propaganda, and Nuclear Shelters

The Tashkent Metro opened in 1977 as the first underground railway in Central Asia, and from its inception it was designed as something more than transportation. Each station was conceived as a propaganda monument to Soviet achievement, built 20 to 30 meters deep to serve as a nuclear shelter in the event of war. Until 2018, photography was banned — the stations were still classified as military installations. Today you can photograph them freely, and you should. They are among the most extraordinary public spaces in the former Soviet Union.

Alisher Navoiy station (blue line) is the most photographed, and for good reason. Its domed ceilings of blue and gold filigree look borrowed from a Timurid mosque, the ceramic tiles hand-cut by artisans from the same workshops that restored Samarkand's Registan. The station is named after the 15th-century poet and philosopher, and the design quotes his manuscripts — arabesques, geometric stars, verses in Persian calligraphy. Stand on the platform at quiet hours and you can hear the echo of your footsteps bounce off the domes.

Kosmonavtlar station (blue line) plunges you into deep-space blue and black, its walls lined with circular portraits of Gagarin, Tereshkova, and other Soviet cosmonauts rendered in stained glass. The ceiling is studded with silver stars. It feels like walking through the inside of a planetarium, which is not far from the architect's intent — the station celebrates Soviet space achievement as a continuation of humanity's eternal reach toward the heavens. There is something almost spiritual about it, and I say that as someone who has meditated in quieter places.

Paxtakor station (red line) celebrates cotton harvests with walls of blue and green mosaic depicting fields, workers, and the white bolls that were once called "white gold." The beauty of the tilework cannot entirely conceal the ugliness of its subject — Soviet irrigation demands for cotton drained the Aral Sea, one of the 20th century's great environmental catastrophes. The station is a monument to both human craft and human hubris. Look at it closely, and you will see both.

Other stations worth visiting: Mustakillik Maydoni (red line), with its white marble and gold-leaf ceiling celebrating Uzbek independence; Amir Timur Hiyoboni (green line), where the equestrian statue of Timur above ground is mirrored in tilework below; and Gafur Gulom (blue line), decorated with illustrations from the poet's works, including his satirical verses that once got him into trouble with Soviet censors.

A single ride costs 3,000 som — roughly 25 cents. The metro runs from 5:00 AM to midnight. Security checks are standard at every entrance. Avoid rush hours (8:00–9:30 AM and 5:30–7:00 PM) if you want to photograph the stations without crowds. The trains come every 3–5 minutes. There is no time limit once you are inside; you can ride back and forth between stations for the price of a single token.

The Old City: Hazrati Imam and the Living Quran

The Hazrati Imam Complex — also called Khast Imam — sits at the eastern edge of the old city and serves as Tashkent's spiritual center. The ensemble includes mosques, madrasas, and courtyards that date in parts to the 16th century, though much was rebuilt after the 1966 earthquake. The complex is named after Hazrati Imam, a 10th-century Islamic scholar who is buried here in a mausoleum that draws pilgrims year-round.

The Muyi Muborak Library houses the Uthman Quran, a manuscript believed to date to the 7th century and considered one of the oldest surviving copies of the Quran in the world. It sits behind glass in a climate-controlled room, its ancient pages darkened with age, the ink still sharp. The manuscript arrived in Tashkent in 1868 after being captured by Russian troops in Samarkand, and it has remained here ever since. Whether it truly belonged to Caliph Uthman is disputed by scholars — carbon dating suggests it may be slightly younger — but its spiritual significance is not. When I visited, a guard stood beside the case reading verses under his breath. He did not look up when visitors approached. The book, to him, was still alive.

The Barakhan Madrasa, built in the 1530s, survived the earthquake with damage and was repaired. During the Soviet era it served as a warehouse. Today it functions again as a religious school, though when I walked through its courtyard I counted only a handful of students. The madrasa's carved wooden doors and terracotta friezes are original — look for the geometric patterns that Islamic artisans used to represent the infinite without depicting living forms.

The Tillya Sheikh Mosque, with its turquoise dome visible from several streets away, was built in the 19th century and restored after the earthquake. It is open to visitors outside prayer times, though you should dress modestly — shoulders and knees covered, women should bring a headscarf. The interior is simpler than the exterior suggests: white walls, a carved mihrab, and carpets worn soft by decades of prostration.

The complex is open daily from roughly 7:00 AM to 7:00 PM, though exact hours vary by season. The library charges a small entry fee of approximately 5,000 som. The rest of the complex is free. The nearest metro station is Gafur Gulom on the blue line, from which it is a 15-minute walk east.

Chorsu Bazaar: The Oldest Market in Central Asia

Chorsu Bazaar is the oldest and largest market in Central Asia, and its green-tiled domes have been a Tashkent landmark for centuries. The main hall — a vast circular building capped by a series of domes — was rebuilt after the earthquake but follows the same design that merchants have used since the Silk Road era. Inside, the noise hits first: vendors calling prices, knives chopping meat, the rhythmic thud of bread being pulled from tandir ovens.

Start at the bread section near the main entrance. Bakers pull rounds of non — the traditional Uzbek flatbread — from clay ovens at waist height, slapping the dough against the hot interior walls where it sticks and puffs. A fresh loaf costs 5,000 som and is roughly the size of a steering wheel, stamped with a geometric pattern in the center. Buy one warm and tear pieces to eat as you walk. The bread is slightly sour, slightly sweet, with a chewy interior and a crackling crust.

The spice section is organized by color: red pyramids of pepper paste, yellow mounds of turmeric, green heaps of dried herbs. Cumin is the dominant note — it perfumes the entire market. Vendors sell it whole or ground, and a small bag costs around 10,000 som. Dried apricots from the Ferghana Valley are stacked like amber jewels; a kilo runs about 35,000 som. Raisins, walnuts, pistachios — all priced by weight, all negotiable.

The meat hall is not for the faint-hearted. Butchers in white coats stand behind counters of lamb, beef, and horse meat, cleaving joints with axes. Kazy — the cured horse sausage that appears in plov — hangs in thick loops from hooks. A meter-long sausage costs about 50,000 som. If you want to try it without committing, most vendors will sell you a 10-centimeter slice for 5,000 som.

Prices are unmarked. You negotiate, or you watch what locals pay and match it. The market opens around 7:00 AM and stays busy until 2:00 or 3:00 PM. By late afternoon the stalls begin to empty. Saturday is the busiest day; Monday morning is quietest. The nearest metro is Chorsu on the blue line, which exits directly into the bazaar.

Adjacent to the bazaar stands the Kokaldosh Madrasa, built in the 1560s. It survived the earthquake with damage, was repaired, and spent the Soviet era as a museum of atheism — a detail that tells you everything about how this city layers its identities. Today it functions again as a madrasa, though student numbers remain low. The entrance courtyard is open to visitors for a small fee of approximately 10,000 som.

Soviet Tashkent: Concrete, Monuments, and the Weight of History

To understand modern Tashkent, you must walk through its Soviet squares. They are not beautiful in any conventional sense. They are vast, symmetrical, designed to make the individual feel small — which was precisely the point.

Amir Temur Square is dominated by an equestrian statue of Timur, the 14th-century conqueror who built an empire from Delhi to Damascus. The statue was erected in 1993, replacing a statue of Karl Marx, and it marked a turning point in Uzbekistan's post-Soviet identity — a pivot from international communism to national heroism. The square itself is pleasant enough, shaded by plane trees and surrounded by government buildings, but the real interest lies in the architecture nearby.

Hotel Uzbekistan is brutalism at its most uncompromising — a concrete fortress of a building that opened in 1974 and still functions as a hotel. Its facade is a grid of prefabricated panels, its lobby a cavern of marble and chandeliers that have not been cleaned since the Brezhnev era. Rooms start from approximately $40 per night. You do not stay here for comfort. You stay here to understand what Soviet luxury meant — monumental, impersonal, slightly decaying.

Independence Square — formerly Lenin Square — has been re-landscaped with fountains and monuments to national heroes, but the scale is still Soviet. At the southern end, the Crying Mother Monument memorializes the 400,000 Uzbek soldiers who died in World War II. The bronze figure of a woman bends over an eternal flame, her face contorted. It is genuinely moving, not because of the monument's quality but because of what it represents: a country that lost nearly a generation to a war fought thousands of kilometers away, for an empire that no longer exists.

The State Museum of History of Uzbekistan sits nearby in a neoclassical building that houses everything from Scythian gold to Soviet-era propaganda posters. The building itself is worth seeing for its facade of pandzharas — the latticed wooden screens traditionally used in Uzbek architecture to provide shade and privacy. Inside, the exhibitions trace Uzbekistan's history from ancient times through the Russian Empire, the Soviet period, and independence. The Soviet galleries are particularly interesting for their unvarnished portrayal of collectivization, industrialization, and the Aral Sea disaster. Entry is approximately 30,000 som. Open daily from 10:00 AM to 5:00 PM, closed Mondays. The nearest metro is Mustakillik Maydoni on the red line.

The Museum of Applied Arts: A Diplomat's Obsession

The State Museum of Applied Arts occupies a former diplomat's mansion built in the early 20th century for Alexander Polovtsev, a Russian official who became obsessed with Uzbek craftsmanship. He commissioned master builders from Bukhara, Samarkand, Khiva, and Ferghana to construct his residence, filling it with carved wood, painted plaster, and embroidered textiles. Polovtsev was reassigned before the house was completed, but his collection became the core of what is now one of Central Asia's finest craft museums.

The building itself is the main attraction. The central hall has a ceiling of carved wood and painted plaster that took artisans two years to complete. The courtyards are quiet, shaded by trees, with the soft sound of water from a central fountain. The exhibition rooms hold over 7,000 objects: suzanis (embroidered wall hangings) from the 19th century, ceramics from Rishtan with their distinctive blue-and-green glaze, metalwork that continues traditions older than Islam in the region.

What struck me most was the suzani collection — large embroidered cloths that Uzbek women made as dowry pieces, each stitch carrying prayers for fertility, protection, and prosperity. The patterns are floral, geometric, sometimes calligraphic, and no two are identical. Looking at them, I thought of the Nigerian adire cloth my grandmother made, and how craft traditions across cultures serve the same function: to make the invisible visible, to stitch intention into fabric.

The museum is at 15 Rakatboshi Street, Yakkasaray district. Entry is 40,000 som for foreign visitors. Open daily from 9:00 AM to 6:00 PM, last entry at 5:30 PM. The nearest metro is Kosmonavtlar on the blue line, a 10-minute walk south. Plan 90 minutes to two hours.

Where to Eat: Plov, Bread, and the Rules of Uzbek Hospitality

Food in Tashkent is not an afterthought. It is a language, a ritual, and a test of the city's character. The Central Asian Plov Center — universally known as Besh Qozon — sits at the foot of the TV Tower and operates like a public institution. There is no printed menu. The waiter tells you what the oshpaz — the master plov chef — has cooked that day in his giant wood-fired kazans, cauldrons that hold up to 400 kilograms of rice.

The spectacle is at the entrance, where five or six kazans simmer over open wood fires, the oshpaz stirring with paddles the size of oars. The Tashkent style uses cottonseed oil and layers the ingredients — rice at the bottom, then carrots, then meat, then more rice — before inverting the entire kazan onto a metal tray for serving. The wedding plov adds chickpeas and raisins. The "chaikhana" style is darker, richer, with garlic and hot pepper.

A standard portion costs 35,000–48,000 som (roughly $3–$4). The 0.7 reduced portion, which is still generous, runs 25,000–35,000 som. Add a quail egg for 3,000 som or kazy (cured horse sausage) for 8,000 som. The flatbread is baked at the entrance in tandir ovens and costs 7,000 som. A full meal with salad and tea runs about 60,000 som per person.

Critical rule: Plov is a lunchtime dish. The freshest, hottest servings emerge between 11:30 AM and 12:30 PM. By 2:00 PM the kazans are often empty, and by 3:00 PM you risk being turned away. Do not come for dinner. Do not come late. This is not a restaurant that accommodates your schedule. It accommodates the rhythm of the food.

Besh Qozon is at Iftikhor Street 1, at the foot of the TV Tower. Open daily from 9:00 AM to midnight, though plov is only served until it runs out — typically by early afternoon. The nearest metro is Shakhristan on the green line.

For dinner, Caravan Restaurant at 22 Buyuk Ipak Yuli Street offers a more composed setting — carved wood, rugs, lanterns — with a menu covering shashlik (grilled skewers, from 25,000 som), lagman noodles (20,000 som), manti dumplings (18,000 som), and the full range of Uzbek staples. It is reliable, comfortable, and the staff speaks English. Open daily from noon to 11:00 PM.

For a lighter lunch, the Plov Museum on Labzak Street serves regional variations of the national dish in a setting that is part restaurant, part exhibition — not a tourist trap, but a place that takes the craft seriously. Entry to the museum is 15,000 som; a plov lunch is 30,000 som. Open from 9:00 AM to 6:00 PM, closed Mondays.

Neighborhoods and Atmosphere: Where to Walk

Sayilgoh Street — locally called Broadway — runs south from Amir Temur Square and fills with street artists, souvenir stalls, and small cafés in the evenings. The chestnut trees were planted in the Soviet era and now shade a strip of book cafés and ice cream vendors. It is pleasant without being essential, a good place to sit with tea and watch the city pass.

The Ankhor Canal area, particularly near the Minor Mosque, is best visited at dusk. The mosque, completed in 2014, is modern but built with craft — its white marble exterior and four minarets are reflected in the canal water, and the tilework inside was done by artisans from the same workshops that restored Samarkand's Registan. The surrounding promenade is popular with families in the evening, the air filled with the smell of grilled corn from street vendors.

For a view of the city's sprawl, the Tashkent TV Tower rises 375 meters near the city center, making it the tallest structure in Central Asia. The observation deck at 100 meters costs 40,000 som and gives you the full extent of the city's layout — boulevards that run for kilometers, the patchwork of old mahallas and new high-rises, the snow-capped Tian Shan mountains on clear days. It is not a beautiful city from above. It is a revealing one. Open daily from 9:00 AM to 9:00 PM.

What to Skip

The Magic City theme park near the Seoul Mun water stream is a kitsch collection of fairground rides and a Disney-esque castle that has nothing to do with Tashkent and everything to do with a developer's fantasy. Skip it entirely.

The Tashkent Zoo is cramped and outdated, with animals in enclosures far too small by any modern standard. There are better ways to spend an afternoon.

The newer shopping malls — Samarkand Darvoza, Tashkent City Mall, and their counterparts — are interchangeable with any other mall on the planet. If you have traveled this far, do not spend your time in a place that could be in Dubai or Dallas.

Restaurants on Amir Temur Square with multilingual menus and laminated photographs of the food. They are not terrible, but they are generic, and in a city this culturally layered, generic is a missed opportunity.

Any tour operator offering "Soviet nostalgia" tours that consist entirely of pointing at concrete buildings. The Soviet legacy in Tashkent is complex and deserves nuanced engagement, not ironic detachment.

The Aral Sea disaster exhibition at the State History Museum is worth seeing, but do not let it be your only engagement with environmental issues in Uzbekistan. The cotton industry still drains rivers, and the consequences are ongoing.

Practical Logistics

Getting Around: The metro is the most efficient way to travel, with three lines and 29 stations covering most of the city center. A single ride costs 3,000 som. Taxis are cheap — a ride across the city costs 20,000 to 40,000 som — but negotiate the price before getting in, or use the Yandex Go app for metered fares. The app works reliably and accepts card payments.

Trains to Other Cities: The high-speed Afrosiyob train to Samarkand takes about two hours and costs from 120,000 som. Book in advance through the Uzbekistan Railways website (eticket.railway.uz) or at the Northern Railway Station (Tashkent Vokzal). The station is open from 8:00 AM. Bring your passport — you cannot buy tickets without it.

Visa: Citizens of many countries, including the UK, EU, and most of Asia, receive visa-free entry for up to 30 days. Check current policy before travel, as regulations change frequently.

Money: The Uzbekistani som is not convertible outside the country. Bring US dollars or euros in cash and exchange at banks or official exchange offices. As of 2026, the rate is roughly 12,500 som to the dollar, but it fluctuates. Cards are increasingly accepted in hotels and chain cafés, but cash is still king in bazaars and smaller restaurants. ATMs exist but are unreliable — do not depend on them.

Language: Uzbek is the state language, but Russian is widely spoken, especially among older generations. English is increasingly common in hotels and tourist restaurants, but less so in markets and local transport. Download Google Translate with the Uzbek and Russian offline packs.

Timing: Tashkent is best visited in spring (April–May) or autumn (September–October), when temperatures are mild. Summer (June–August) can reach 40°C. Winter is cold but rarely freezing.

Dress: Tashkent is relatively liberal by Central Asian standards, but modesty is appreciated at religious sites. Shoulders and knees should be covered, and women should carry a headscarf for mosque visits.

Safety: Tashkent is one of the safest capital cities in Central Asia. Violent crime against tourists is rare. Petty theft exists but is uncommon. The main risk is traffic — pedestrians do not have the right of way, and drivers are aggressive.

How Long to Stay: Give Tashkent two full days. Walk the metro stations in the morning, the old city before noon, the bazaar at lunch, and the Soviet squares in the late afternoon light. The city does not ask to be loved. It asks to be understood. If you rush through it on your way to Samarkand, you will miss the point entirely.