Captain of the Horse Guards and member of the Blues Regiment, Frederick Burnaby was reputedly the strongest man in the British Army. Six-foot-four in his socks, he could carry a pony under his arm and vault clean over a billiard table. In the 1870s British imperialism was at its height. The decree that Russia had banned all foreign travellers to its newly-acquired territory of Central Asia was too much for the belligerent Captain, who decided to attempt a visit there.
Fluent in six languages, Burnaby intended to travel from Russia to Khiva, Bukhara, Merv and Kabul, ending his journey in British India. In the event, he was able to get only as far as Khiva and this with some difficulty.
Having travelled from Orenburg to Khiva on horseback and in winter, narrowly avoiding being frozen to death, he finally arrived in the city of New Urgench (Kunya Urgench being the original). Travel-weary and not having shaved for weeks, he set about finding a barber, little realising the sensation he was about to create.

'The news that the Englishman wanted to be shaved was soon spread through the town. A boy volunteered to show me the way to the barber's shop. We were followed by a crowd of three to four hundred people. It was the more remarkable to them, as the report had been spread that the stranger would have his chin shaved and not his head, the Khivans keeping their heads devoid of hair as a block of marble.
"Have your head shaved, sir," said Nazar, "It will look so nice - just like mine," and lifting off a green skull-cap, he showed me his bullet-like poll.
...On arriving at the shop, we dismounted, and sat down... Mullahs, camel-drivers, and merchants jostled one with the other to obtain a good view... The people behind who were not able to see as well as they could wish, called out to their friends who hid the performance from their view, and made them sit down so that all might enjoy the spectacle... Even some women, in spite of the prohibitory law, had stopped for a moment and were looking at the performance with unmixed astonishment. If I had been in the hands of an executioner, and about to have my throat cut, this would not have been half as interesting to them; for was I not having my chin shaved?
"What will he do next?" asked one of the more curious to his neighbour. "Perhaps have his moustache shaved," was the reply; "but who knows? These infidels have strange customs"; and the excitement grew to boiling pitch.'

Guided by Nazar, his wily Tartar guide who could also translate into Russian for him, Burnaby was able to converse with local people, all of whom were immensely curious about the giant Englishman in their midst.

"'"Which do you like best, your horse or your wife?" inquired the man.
"That depends upon the woman," I replied; and the guide, here joining the conversation, said that in England they do not buy and sell their wives, and that I was not a married man.
"What! You have not got a wife?"
"No, how would I travel if I had one?"
"Why, you might leave her behind and lock her up, as our merchants do with their wives when they go on a journey."
"In my country the women are never locked up."
"What a marvel!" said the man. "And how can you trust them to so much temptation? They are poor weak creatures and easily led. But if one of them is unfaithful to her husband what does he do?"
"He goes to our mullah, who we call a judge, and obtains a divorce, and marries someone else."
"What! You mean to say he does not cut the woman's throat?"
"No; he would be hanged himself if he did."
"What a country!" said the host; "we manage things better in Khiva."'

Burnaby had managed to persuade his guide to take him to Khiva on the pretext of buying horses from the guide's brother. The guide was concerned that if they should enter Khiva unannounced, the Khan might consider them spies. Accordingly, Burnaby decided to write the Khan a letter.

'Nazar at last proposed that I should inquire for a Mullah who could write a letter in the Tartar language. On asking the guide, he at once sent for a learned man, who, he said, could write beautiful things so soft and sweet that they were like the sounds of sheep bleating in the distance.
Presently the scribe arrived. He was a tall, angular looking man, with one shoulder being much higher than the other, whilst his dressing gown bore signs of having been originally made for a much shorter individual than himself.... He entered the kibitka with an air of great importance whilst the party rose at his approach, much awed at the arrival of a person who had as much there, as the guide observed, pointing to his own head, as was in the united occiputs of all the people in the village.
..."What shall I say?" inquired the Mullah. "What is your tchin (rank)?"
"No particular rank," I observed. "You can leave that out."
"No," said the Mullah. "We must have some tchin. Are you a polkovnik (colonel)?"
"No, only a Kapitan (captain)."
The Mullah then picked his ear with his pen, and, turning to Nazar said something.
"What is it?" I inquired.
"Why, kapitan will not do. They look down upon kapitans in Khiva. The word is like the Tartar word Kabtan, and gives no idea of rank to a Khivan. Better say polkovnik."
In the meantime the Mullah had written a most flowery epistle. Nazar said it was beautiful, and all the rest of the party greatly admired the composition. However, the word polkovnik was still inserted, and the Mullah was so pleased with the letter that he would not erase the expression."

For more on Captain Burnaby and his exploits in Central Asia, read: Fredrick Burnaby 'A Ride to Khiva' 1876.