The Steppe

By Henry Biernacki

Through this timeless novel, Henry Biernacki carves images of the steppe (Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and Turkmenistan), an area often overlooked by travelers.
Once Emperio changed his habitual routine, in Paris, of importing art, for one of exploration, he began to alter his life rather than accept destiny. Emperios appreciative outlook to experiences, without definite outcomes, arises in the novel, and his passion shapes his future. The descriptions become tangible, and the reader feels the sways of the train, touches of the wind, relishes each shared meal, and finally absorbs the steppe.
Biernacki reveals the importance of the swiftly fading moments and those enduring lifetimes. The essence of traveling is not so much discovering the newness of a culture; moreover, and far superior, the discovery becomes a deeper side of the individual, who takes the step to learn.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524603564

Henry Biernacki

Henry Biernacki has been traveling with his rucksack since he was seventeen years old. His distinct travel style became apparent while sleeping in the streets, uniquely exposing him to cultures while transforming his writing style. Now, having explored over a hundred and thirty countries and territories, he sets his sights on bringing remote areas closer to those who wish to explore. He transports the background of an area to the forefront, making his stories more expressive. Henry earned a BA in Romance languages (French/ Spanish) and international affairs. He has lived in France, Germany, Taiwan, the West Indies, and Mexico. He is an airline captain and has flown Boeing 747-400/ 757/ 767 and Airbus A320. No More Heroes was Henrys first novel.

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© 2016 Henry Biernacki. All rights reserved.

Henry Biernacki and Steve Schneickert Editors

Craig S. Engen Illustrator

Alex Castañeda Cover Artist

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/09/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-0355-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-0354-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-0356-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016906132

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

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About the Author

The reminders of life are there if you look for them, if you remember to look. That is the challenge; to not forget what caused those changes, no matter how distant they may be. The step, in the end, may be the truest discovery.

I

He spent weekdays in his Paris studio, weeknights at the table celebrating art deals, and weekends reading from where the art came. As the son of art importers, Emperio sat calmly, along the Seine, reading the history of the steppe. As he sat alongside the river, he thought about his idle life, and what it must feel like to wander through cultures producing such art.

Emperio desired to travel, to arrive at a point where he stopped looking at where he had been, and begin looking at where he had not been, so he could remedy his naïve world. He sensed the modern world draping itself over his daily life. He needed to navigate streets of countries time seemed to overlook, where he lived lifetimes in days, centuries in seconds, hours halted, and time could parallel another time. Emperio’s passion for travel would expose parts of himself he would grow to understand.

Passion, a deep source, can alter life’s ultimate purpose, destiny. To deny passion, is to accept destiny.

II

The steppe extended farther, ascending, reaching remote, arid territories. Beyond the twenty-one-thousand-foot peaks of Central Asia, sprawled a creation of immensity. The sun looked closer, framing its redness against the grey morning fog, lifting, finally, giving way to the intense blue sky. The steppe existed past the Trans-Manchurian Railroad, along the northern plateau of Kazakhstan, crossing Siberia, meeting the Trans-Caspian Railroad from Krasnovodsk, Russia to Samarkand, Uzbekistan, and, ultimately, engulfing the southeastern country of Tajikistan, settled against the Pamir Mountains.

Earlier, the parliaments of the Commonwealth of Independent States declared sovereignty. The Karakum Desert summers and frigid winters isolated Turkmenistan, known for hand-woven carpets, arriving from the sizeable region, which vendors sold in bazaars. The isolated Kyzyl Kum Desert extends to the west onto the drying, polluted Aral Sea. The other side of the mountains, with unforgiving weather conditions, lay the lavish, ancient religious cities in Uzbekistan. Turquoise tiles piece together not only mausoleums, but also, the steppe’s history.

Emperio knew Central Asia’s history well, which meshed like the delicate pieces of art; it identifies the Central Asian nomadic civilization. It would become part of Emperio.

In 330 BC, Alexander the Great, son of Phillip II, arrived in Central Asia, crushing defenders along the steppe in what is modern-day Kabul, Afghanistan, and Samarkand, Uzbekistan. The second-century silk merchants of Parthia and China began trading the Bombyx caterpillar, leading to the rise of the Silk Road. The eccentric web of the Central Asian culture wove together the western and eastern world, like fine Bombyx spinning silk for the Bukhara carpets.

In the Battle of Talas in 751, Arabs captured Chinese, affecting the Silk Road. The Arabs took the secrets of making high-quality Chinese silk. Europeans began buying silk from the Arabs, and then in 1219, Jenghiz Khan, the Mongolian warrior, began destroying the architecture in Samarkand, leaving only some to be seen. The Tilla-Kari Medressa in Registan Square shows the steppe’s deep artistic vision. Finally, around 1250, Marco Polo set his eyes on the steppe, overwhelming his senses. He ventured toward the steppe where he met Kublai Khan, the grandson of Jenghiz.

Some history is not written, only woven in aqins, stories and poems told in the form of a song. The aqins have become some of the only history to the nomads of Central Asia.

III

Each week Emperio went to his father’s office. As he waited, he read Le Monde. That particular day, the Parisian newspaper described Turkmenistan’s Tolkuchka Bazaar.

Emperio Sabestyen’s obsessive craving for the mysterious grew. The style the newspaper used to explain the steppe formed vividly dramatic scenes in his mind. An area covering 3.6 million square miles does not simply exist; it creates. The Siberian Forest, with fantastical bazaars, expands across the Karakum Desert. The forest rests at the foot of the Kopet Dag Mountains, along the Iran border, where winter temperatures drop well below freezing. Women squat at the markets, smiling with their bright gold teeth and loosely wrapped gypsy scarves, knotted around their long dark hair, darker than any moonless desert night. They sold material smoother than silk and softer than velvet, haggled over goods ranging from pistachios, to animals, and hundreds of red Bukhara carpets. Emperio wanted to step toward this area of the world, near the unknown, with a humble, hopeful energy. It cut poetic visions in his imagination.

Emperio thought about his unappeasable desire, traveling to parts of the world, remotely located, rather than stay in Paris, a city he emotionally knew.

Turkmenistan, he told a friend, recently opened the borders. The extreme weather along the Afghan-Turkmen-Iran border does not give the senses a break. The Aral Sea once irrigated cotton fields, now too contaminated to be used. He gathered his thoughts of what life might be like in such isolation, and the attractive mystique of the distant steppe. Now, he continued, ships lean on desert sand of what used to be the shores of the Aral Sea.

Mountains extend to rivers, running through forgotten villages filled with a faith; there is existence beyond the villages shadowed against mountain peaks and miles of plateaus. The nomads recognized their insignificance next to the nature of the steppe. It created the impression only echoes of