The “exotic village” of Gilan, a 700-year-old settlement high in the mountains of Kashkadarya Region, has only in recent years become a mecca for ethnotourism and a source of inspiration for photographers and artists. Admiring its authentic way of life, people rarely stop to consider how life is organised in one of the most remote high-altitude villages in the country. Yet such a way of life involves not only traditional customs and practices, but also age-old means of production. The people of Gilan are almost entirely self-sufficient when it comes to wheat, which is milled by hereditary millers. An old watermill at an altitude of 2,000 metres is the subject of this photo essay by Ildar Sadykov and Sergey Pogosyan.
For six years, whenever I came to Gilan, I planned to photograph the watermill, but I only managed to do it now. There are actually two mills in Gilan: an old one, which is 150 or 200 years old, and a new Chinese one. The latter produces much finer flour, but the locals prefer the authentic old mill. It produces coarse, slightly yellowish flour. The lepeshkas are somewhat rough in texture, but incredibly tasty.
Gilan is a unique example of preserving not just individual customs, but an entire approach to agriculture and the organisation of everyday life. There are, of course, many authentic places in Uzbekistan, but there is only one Gilan.
High in the Hissar Mountains, right on the border with Tajikistan and 80 kilometres from Shahrisabz, it lies at an altitude of 2,400 to 2,700 metres. For three months of the year, economic life here comes to a standstill as the snow falls. For the other nine months, the people of Gilan work: sowing, harvesting, and stocking up on hay, firewood and dried dung. The local potatoes are famous throughout the country.
Photo: Ildar Sadykov, Sergey PogosyanPhoto: Ildar Sadykov, Sergey PogosyanPhoto: Ildar Sadykov, Sergey PogosyanPhoto: Ildar Sadykov, Sergey PogosyanThe approach to farming here is not only traditional, but also environmentally sound: every inch of land must be used wisely. The people of Gilan are fortunate when it comes to water. A fast-flowing river fed by glacial meltwater provides both life and energy. Over the centuries, the people of Gilan have developed highly sophisticated ways of conserving water.
Wheat is grown on the mountain slopes.
Around 5,000 people live in Gilan, and they rarely use commercially purchased wheat. That is why the mill has served them faithfully for two centuries. Last year, the old miller, the father of the current one, passed away. Just think, he was 106 or 107 years old...
Photo: Ildar Sadykov, Sergey PogosyanPhoto: Ildar Sadykov, Sergey PogosyanPhoto: Ildar Sadykov, Sergey PogosyanPhoto: Ildar Sadykov, Sergey PogosyanEvery region has its own bread. The history of Gilan non is inseparable from this old little house on the bank of the rushing river. To reach the mill, you have to descend to an altitude of around 2,000 metres. Here, the water turns the millstones of the old mill. The miller’s rest room has a distinctive atmosphere of its own. For comfort and a degree of self-sufficiency, he has a radio and a paraffin lamp, as electricity is not always available.
Photo: Ildar Sadykov, Sergey PogosyanPhoto: Ildar Sadykov, Sergey PogosyanPhoto: Ildar Sadykov, Sergey PogosyanPhoto: Ildar Sadykov, Sergey PogosyanWatermills are little known in Uzbekistan, and little is written about them. I have seen several such mills during my travels through Kashkadarya and Surkhandarya. I hope to encounter more of them on future expeditions. Here, everything came together: the extraordinary light for photography, the authenticity of everyday life and the untouched nature.
The milling fees are low, and even lower for local residents.
The people of Gilan might live this way for generations, living to a hundred and knowing no worries beyond the age-old labour of working the fields, or rather, the slopes. But a threat now hangs over the settlement’s age-old, unspoilt way of life, and it is not a natural one: a ski slope is planned to be built nearby. And once again, there will be a struggle to protect a cultural heritage that has been carefully preserved for centuries and is now vulnerable to investment in a tourism cluster. All that remains is to hope that common sense and national memory will prevail.
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