The politics of restoration.

The turquoise domes of Samarkand and Bukhara, in the former Soviet republic of Uzbekistan, are among the world's most evocative architectural symbols. Yet to preserve such great buildings, political stability must be maintained in the emerging nation. This stability can be better upheld if the monuments also support the economy -- by tourism -- which in turn carries an integral threat to the buildings themselves. In this context the recognised tension between conservation and restoration takes on an added complexity and urgency.

Sir Banister Fletcher's A History of Architecture has an evocative photograph of the Shah-i-Zinda necropolis in Samarkand. This 'extraordinary palimpsest of the architectural styles of Central Asia' is pictured on a deserted outcrop in sunlight with deep shadows.[1] Pictures in Banister Fletcher rarely show the paraphernalia of commerce that detracts from the experience of visiting architecture now the focus of tourism. But a recent visit to Samarkand found the Shah-i-Zinda almost deserted. Only a few pilgrims were paying a respectful visit to the row of tombs, and praying in the mosque. The green and cobalt tiles, and the fading brickwork, were a crumbling ruin of picturesque charm. Each patchy, fluted dome had a feathery bloom of grass and weeds. The mud-yellow walls were cracked, and the intricate tiled inscription work fragmentary, testifying to the passage of time.

In stark contrast the Registan -- Samarkand's most famous ensemble although also deserted, had been restored to stunning polychromatic splendour. It soon became apparent, however, that the Registan's skin of new tilework was a thin wallpaper, already peeling off in strips, with a team of builders on site re-papering over the cracks.

In common with other Central Asian regions of the former Soviet Union, Uzbekistan, lying halfway between the Caspian Sea and western China's Mountains of Heaven, is trying to define a national identity. Politically, it is effectively a one-party state. The Uzbek president puts national stability before the introduction of democracy. With the chaotic aftermath of the breakdown of the Soviet Union, and in particular the war in former Yugoslavia, some Uzbeks are inclined to agree with this approach. Uzbekistan's economic aid from the former Soviet Union has dried up so it is looking for other means to support its fragile economy, in which inflation has risen in an alarming fashion. Uzbekistan's economy is based on a belt of fertile land dependent on massive irrigation from the country's main rivers, which have provided the basis for a settled civilisation since 1500 BC. Today the irrigation underpins the production of Uzbekistan's main cash crop -- intensively farmed cotton. However, this is part of a growing environmental disaster since the main rivers drain into the Aral Sea, once the world's fourth largest lake. It is now less than half its previous size and desperately polluted -- 'a soup of pesticides and fertilisers'.[2]

Another problem is that irrigation raises the water table and brings salts to the surface. Gradually this make the land infertile. This is a repetition of the pattern which the original post-Mesopotamian civilisation suffered irrigation, increased cultivation, population growth, raised water table, salts, infertility, underproduction, starvation and political collapse.[3]

Uzbekistan is looking to tourism to assist its economy. By any standards the country has an astonishing collection of ancient architectural monuments. The main centres are the cities of Samarkand, Bukhara and Khiva. Even the names of these places evoke a semi-mythical aura. In order to capitalise on these riches a rapid programme of restoration work is being carried out, although the quality of these works is questionable. The first problem is the condition of the buildings themselves. Earthquake damage and the ravages of post-Stalin Sovietisation have taken their toll, but what at remains is fundamentally threatened by the same problem that affects the agriculture -- rising damp. Despite the occasional thatch damp-proof course, the water table has risen so that salts and chemical fertilisers are drawn up into the brickwork. Extremes of temperature exacerbate the problem (it is baking hot in summer and can freeze in winter). Salts crystallise under the surface, exploding the outside skin, which is often the elaborately patterned ceramic work that characterises the most famous buildings.[4]

A second concern is the nature of the restoration work. The perception that it is necessary to 'enhance' the ruins has led to the virtual refacing of some of the buildings with a completely new outer skin of tilework, without solving the underlying problem of the rising damp.

Samarkand's Registan seems to get restored about once every three years. The complex looks stunning. The brilliant tilework gleams, painstakingly renewed. However, under one pishtak, or main portico, the builders are at work in a nest of scaffolding. In the rear yard new domes are being pre-cast on steel ring beams and then pre-tiled before being craned up to the roof. In places the outer skin exfoliates like peeling paint. The construction is not always traditional and authenticity is blurred. It is hard to say whether work is old or new and in view of the failure of some of the previous re-skinning, the longevity of the results must be questionable.

As in the West there is the divisive matter of preservation versus restoration. However, because the economic spur to tourism seems to favour reconstruction there is a keenly felt urgency about this debate in Uzbekistan. There is a strong sense of purpose in those overseeing the restoration works because it is perceived that this work is not only necessary to save the monuments but vital to the creation of a strong economy, and therefore of a politically stable country. Those working in this sector are aware of the conflicts in this approach -- but feel that contributing to stability is paramount.

A third issue is the impact of tourism itself. The state-owned Uzbektourism company aims to boost the number of foreign tourists from an expected 60 000 in 1993 to 80 0000 by the year 2000. This involves building a planned 20 new hotels.[5]

The ancient city of Bukhara, 150 miles west of Samarkand, is a fabulous place. It has an intact historic centre of inhabited mud-walled streets and a collection of stunning buildings. The city intends to present itself to the world as a living museum.

The hub of this effort is currently the Bukhara Museum, housed in the Ark, the 1000-year-old walled citadel that became the Emir's fortified city within a city. The museum's curators, archaeologists and associated architects, builders and craftsmen have the task of preparing the architectural wonders of the city for the anticipated barbarian hordes -- the tourists. UNESCO listing is being sought to protect the city centre from unsuitable developments, since the pressure to develop may become intense.

Some of Bukhara's monuments serve to highlight the issues. The tenth-century tomb of Ismail Samani, for example, was discovered 60 years ago under two metres of sediment. The wonderfully elaborate brickwork of the tomb escapes the conservationists' current dilemma because it was restored in the '30s. The archaeologist matched the original bricks (with added camel's milk and egg yolk) and set about completely rebuilding the collapsed dome. Since the techniques of sun-baked brickwork had barely altered over the centuries this immaculately restored architectural gem looks almost new.

Though the Samanid tomb is now on all the postcards there are still no more than a handful of visitors. At Chor Bakr, outside the city, there are no tourists, only an old watchman keeping an eye on the place. This dilapidated burial complex appears to have had very little restoration as yet, and minimal protection and propping, so further disintegration is inevitable. Yet it is one of the most evocative of all. To Western minds the idea of rebuilding would be like reconstructing one of the great ruined Benedictine monasteries. But there will be pressure to go further than mere preservation to draw the crowds. Giles Whittell pinpoints the irony when he writes: 'Few people come here nowadays, which is why it's worth the effort.'[6] Also at Bukhara, the Bakhautdin mosque complex is being restored. This is an important centre for the steady Islamic revival. Along with the religious areas there is also to be a museum and cafe, and the overall scheme has the approval of both imams and government.

The Islamic revival could be a sensitive issue in the country generally, where there are many Russians living side-by-side with Uzbeks, and many mixed marriages. The restorers have to tread a line between renewing the active life of the building and encouraging the religious revival, which may not have the support of the state. (A favoured political model for some is the Turkish one -- a mixed economy and a secular state, with a Muslim culture.) The revival tends to favour rebuilding and restoration rather than conservation, since the aim is to restore the monuments to useful life, not just to preserve them as archaeological remnants.

What of the impact of tourism itself on Bukhara? The city centre is small and there is a definite air of fragility about the environs of the old khauz, a stone bathing pond where the locals sit to relax and drink tea. The street leading from the Kalyan mosque to the Ark has a new tarmac road and a tourist arcade. The arcade is a long timber veranda in front of brick shops. In some places, modern block houses are simply being overclad with a thin skin of brick. Although faced with traditional materials, these shops seem at odds with everything else. This is probably because in Bukhara the walls of the houses in the old city are generally of baked mud reinforced with straw, and distinguishable from the monuments which are all of brick. However, the new vernacular of the souvenir shops disrupts this simple distinction.

It's a question of balance. Can tourism help to shore up the economy, and prevent the tensions that might lead to civil strife? Or will tourism speed up the destruction of the character of the old towns, and encourage inappropriate restoration, threatening the archaeological and architectural value of the monuments themselves?

For large scale restoration projects to be carried out with the right amount of research, skill, care and attention, more than enthusiasm and learning is required; a great deal of money is needed. From the scale of activity it seems that investment from the state is forthcoming, but given the country's general economic situation the injection of outside money may become vital. J.K. Galbraith has said that 'solid economic aid to Russia and the former Soviet states is the most urgent policy of our time'.[7] Yugoslavia provided a poignant reminder when the historic bridge at Mostar was destroyed in the civil war. Getting the politics of restoration right is the most important task for the curators of the famous blue domes of Uzbekistan.

Thanks in particular to Robert Myers.

1 Fletcher, Sir Banister A History of Architecture. London: Butterworths, 1987.

2 Lawton,John Samarkand and Bukhara. London: Tauris Parke Books, 1991.

3 Robert Legg, an irrigation engineer with Sir William Halcrow & Parmers contributed to this view of the complex causes of the failure of Mesopotamian society -- which is traditionally blamed on the Mongol invasions.

4 Myers, Robert, S. Akiner, R.U. Cooke, and R.A. French Report on Salt Damage to Important Islamic Monuments at Bukhara and Khiva. London: University College and Price and Myers, 1992.

5 Akram Toshmatov, First Deputy Chairman of the Uzbektourism company, quoted in China Daily (Agencies via Xinhua) Oct 4 1993.

6 Whittell, Giles Central Asia. London: Cadogan Books Ltd., 1993.

7 Galbraith, J.K. 'The Good Society', a lecture sponsored by the journal of Law and Society (copy available from C. Black, JLS, Cardiff Law School, Box 427, Cardiff, Wales, UK).