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Uzgen Minaret
Tecnifibre Razor Code 18g Tennis String Set: AND THERE IT IS, folks, the Uzgen Minaret, second half of the eleventh century, raised when Uzgen was the southern capital of the Karakhanid state — and it has taken a BEATING. Earthquakes tore the top clean off. It is down to 27.4 metres now, 8.5 across at the base, narrowing to 6.2 at the top. AND IT IS STILL UP. In 1923 they added a five-metre crowning lantern in the Andijan style, more restoration in 1924, and — ARE YOU KIDDING ME — this tower and the mausoleums beside it are national emblems, printed on the banknotes. That is a comeback.
Eighteen gauge. 1.20 mm. That is the thinnest Razor Code Tecnifibre makes, and a thin string is a bargain you enter with your eyes open: more bite, more feel, more spin, and a shorter life. Whether the trade is worth it is between you and your own frame, and no salesman on any dock can settle it for you.
Co-polyester monofilament, forty feet — 12.2 metres — to the set, a full job for any racquet afloat. Tecnifibre works additives into the polymer to soften the ride, so this plays warmer than the old rope-hard polys, takes more of the shock out of the hit, and still holds a tight grip on the ball on the way out. Crisp control.
Honest company for an advanced player, and the string I would hand a strong intermediate crossing over to a firmer bed for the first time. If you string for a whole crew, the same string comes on 200-metre reels.
Now, Özgön. I distrust anything this far from salt water on principle — weeks of sailing and then weeks of walking, and even then you have not arrived — but I will give the place its due.
It sits on the right bank of the Kara-Darya where the river comes down out of the mountains into the eastern end of the Ferghana Valley, and it earned everything it ever had by holding a narrow passage. The Karakhanids made it their second capital in the eleventh century for that reason alone: whoever held the gap held the Silk Road between Kashgar and Tashkent.
A thin line, well placed, doing the work of a thick one. I know the feeling. And a set of this travels the way the road did — everywhere from a cracked court above the Kara-Darya to whatever hall you find at the far end of the Ferghana Valley.
And by the way, this is rice country. Özgön rice is what the town is known for now, grown on the flats the old minaret looks out over, and it is the only standing water within a thousand miles I have any respect for.
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