The Last Silk Makers of Uzbekistan

On our journey through Uzbekistan, we followed the traces of the ancient Silk Road. Unsurprisingly, the cities of Samarkand, Bukhara, and the oasis Khiva were part of our route. But somewhere along the way - where exactly we can no longer recall - we came across mention of a factory in the remote Fergana Valley. They say it is home to the last silk makers of Uzbekistan, and the thought refused to leave us.

With our visa still valid, we decided to stay and boarded a train heading east. The Fergana Valley, nestled between the Tien Shan Mountains to the north and the Alai Mountains to the south, stretches from Tajikistan through Uzbekistan and into Kyrgyzstan - a fertile land interwoven with ancient trade routes.

Our destination: Marg‘ilon - the last stronghold of traditional silk-making. The train journey takes nearly a day, passing vast mines, rugged rock formations, and snow-covered steppes. Marg‘ilon, once a bustling hub where caravans laden with the finest silk set out on their grueling journey westward, remains today a dusty, lively small town. No tourists here - Never before had we felt so close to Uzbekistan.

Behind an unassuming gate, we find Yodgorlik, the silk factory where we are introduced to the secrets of Abr-Band fabric production. Amir, a bright young man, patiently explaines the process, which consists of a total of 37 steps. First, the raw material must be cultivated. Local farmers feed silk worms with mulberry leaves. After pupation, each cocoon yields around one kilometer of silk thread, carefully unwound and bundled by the Davrakesh onto a man-sized wooden spool.

Then the true magic begins. It quickly becomes clear why the Abr-Band technique remained a closely guarded secret for centuries. The motifs are meticulously painted onto the fabric bundles. How the master craftsmen know which bundles require which colors remains utterly mysterious to us. And perhaps to everyone as the master painters never share their secrets. The bundles are then carefully masked and dipped into natural dyes: onion skins for yellow, pomegranate bark for brown, madder root for red, and other organic materials. "The dyeing process for a complex motif can take an entire month," Amir tells us.

Once dyed, the Ochuvchi opens the fabric bundles, handing them over to the Gula, who makes the final preparations for weaving. The weavers operate up to eight pedals, needing several hours to produce a single meter of fabric.

We are deeply impressed. The dedication with which this ancient craft is preserved, passed down through generations, and protected from extinction is remarkable. It now seems clear why the finished silk velvet fabrics feel so alive, so warm - unlike anything else.

As we make our way back to the hotel, the sun sinks low, casting the bustling bazaar in golden light. Marg’ilon - somehow magical.