The ancient city of Khiva, in Uzbekistan’s dusty west, abounds with marvels. Intricate blue, green and orange mosaics shimmer in the sun. Colorful racks of fabrics adorn the crags of a 12th-century fortress. Bakers pull fragrant samsas, stuffed with meat and pumpkin, from tandoors.
Yet somehow I found myself in a stranger’s living room, watching Russian TV.
I had been wandering the narrow streets of Khiva’s timeworn core when I spotted a soaring minaret, just outside the city’s mud-brick walls, that seemed like the perfect place for an aerial view. I searched for an entrance but found only a locked door.
In English, I asked a man who was gardening nearby if there was another way in. He answered in Russian, which I don’t speak, and motioned for me to follow him.