Bakchasarai
Бакчасарай
Tartar Tomb in Bakchasarai
April 17, 2004
On the way from Yalta to Bakhchasarai, I had a layover in Sevestopol. There's a
harbor here for both the Russians and Ukrainians, only the color of their hats distinguishing
the two.
The bus let me off in the middle of nowhere and I was told that was Bakchasarai,
so quickly turned to asking people where the city is. I eventually found my way
and got to the train station, from which most local buses leave from to all parts
of the city.
I had problems at first trying to get a ride to the cave city and the Khan’s Palace,
first heading in the wrong direction, but the people helped me get off immediately
and soon I was in the right direction. I got off at the bus's last stop and
headed up a hill before walking a couple kilometers to a rocky hill, like a spine
in the earth with windows and doors carved out called Chufut-Kale.
My first stop in this complex was for a tour down a tunnel, which lasted about 15
minutes; the tour guide, who spoke English and was very eager to both help me and
use his English.
After this I headed up to the actual city and walked around for awhile, seeing much,
but little survived from it's time as a thriving city. The most fascinating
building was the synagogue, a later addition to the Jewish sect’s home, which sat
on the cliff’s edge and made for a nice scene. The streets here seemed to be either
excavated or perfectly worn, nowhere raising to ground level, but sunk like little
valleys for your tires leading to the entrance gate.
On the way out, I stopped by the church built into the side of the rock cliff, however
was more anxious to see the Khan's Palace so quickly moved on.
The walled-in complex of the Khan's Palace had a mosque on my left and the palace
opposite it, to my right, while in front of me was a sprawling garden. The mosque
had two mausoleums for each of their Khans. Behind the calligraphy-filled exterior
of the mosque hid a cemetery, almost like a stage frozen in time, like a living
museum from another world and lost culture.
The palace art was more detailed than just about anything I’ve ever seen. The art
and decorations were extremely eastern in origin, but the complex is relatively
small and after touring the complex and relaxing on the grounds for a couple hours
I decided to head back to the train station to read.
Mausoleum in Bakchasarai
Defensive Wall in Bakchasarai
At the train station, as I was reading along the train tracks I met the most interesting
person, a Tartar, who had been exiled in his youth. Sadly I didn’t record, nor did
I understand many of the details of his journey, so there may be some gaps...
He started the conversation when he saw me reading a book in English and asked me
if I spoke English. I said yes and then he asked me when and why I learned English.
I told him I was American and that I learned Russian; he seemed surprised at this,
but told me of his daughter who studies English at the university in Kyiv. I asked
him where he was from and the story began...
He lived in the Crimea with his parents at a very young age when they were deported
to Kazakhstan, simply for being Tartars. The whole region was deported and replaced
with Russians, one of Stalin's grand plans to subdue potential rebellion while
taking beautiful lands and placing it in the hands of "loyal" people,
primarily the Russians. Many of the Tartars died on this journey, which became etched
into his memory as a young child. The journey, or exile consisted of transferring
between trains, buses, and on foot, primarily by train though. So far as he could
remember the journey took months as they were settled, uprooted, moved, settled,
then again uprooted until they finally had a new place their government forced them
to call home. Most of those who died were the old, while he, and other youth were
protected by their parents.
He lived in Central Asia his whole life and grew up like any Russian boy would have,
going to school in Russia, but revolting at home, speaking only his native tongue.
Many people cared little to learn Russian, but were forced to, so did so in school
and in public places where there were Russians.
It was a community of exiles who lived every day of their lives in a Tartar town,
but in a foreign country; forced to learn a foreign set of ideals and beliefs. His
Russian was obviously great.
At first, he seemed hesitant to speak of life in Kazakhstan, but did say that it
was there that his daughter was born and raised until she reached her teens. He
talked of the fall of communism and how even then his desire to return to the Crimea
was delayed because of money. Only in the late 1990’s did he have enough to bring
himself, his wife, also a Tartar and daughter to the Crimea. The journey back was
much easier, only a train ride for his family.
He talked of his community moving back to Crimea and the Tartars all over the former
Soviet Union returning to the Crimea and re-claiming their homeland. Surprisingly
he didn’t seem bitter, but his disliking of Stalin was very present.
The train approached and I got on with many others on the platform as our Tartar
friend was left behind in his home.
Entrance to the Sarai in Bakchasarai
Mosque in the Khan's Palace in Bakchasarai
Mosque in the Khan's Palace in Bakchasarai
North Mausoleum in the Khan's Palace in Bakchasarai