Whilst not as compact as Khiva, Bukhara's 160-odd protected historical buildings make it an impressive place to visit. Bukhara, like Khiva, returned to fame in the 19th century when British India and Russia were locked into the Great Game and the names of Connolly and Stoddart are probably the most best-known foreign names associated with this town. However it has been a centre of trade for centuries and for a long time was one of the most important stops for caravans on the Silk Road. So important was this city for the caravan trade and replenishment that there once stood 24 caravanserais, each specialising in their own goods.

I headed to meet my guide for the day, Yura Kim, who'd studied the Silk Road history extensively and he took me round the sights of importance relating to the Silk Road. Bukhara is more spread out than Khiva and it can be hard to imagine exactly what life during the Silk Road era would have been really like. This is especially true around the city's central Lyabi House, now turned into a huge outdoor terrace, with plastic seating, coca-cola logos and entrepreneurial barmen playing the latest Russian pop music to the crowds. Furthermore, scores of tourist groups traipsed behind their bored-looking guides, with one eye seemingly glued to their camera viewfinder.

WHere once stood busy trading bazaars, under domed archways, now stand a few desperate souvenir hawkers trying to persuade people to fork out extortionate sums for souvenirs and antiques of dubious quality. For some reason, well probably due to their perceived wealth, the hawkers for the most part seem uninterested in selling anything until they see an approaching Japanese group. Then, at the opportune moment, the pounce on the unsuspecting Japanese, arms laden with goods. The Japanese must wonder why they are always in the thick of it, but they politely wave them away and return to their camera lenses, often pushing them right in front of the seller to take that perfect shot of a local. It is sad that these once local bazaars now have a rather false feel to them and I couldn't help wondering how the hundreds of stalls made any money from just a handful of tourists who seemed to be there.

Late in the afternoon I left Yura having seen numerous caravanserais and trading houses, but thoroughly enthralled by the town's glorious past. I headed back to Madina's house, where her aunt had prepared a wonderful meal of plov, bumping into a French couple I had met in Iran. It's a small world.