Dushanbe to Osh: Wakhan Valley & Pamir “Highway”

Well, it’s been a quiet week . . .

Except for a dozen passes over 14,000′ (4300 meters) with the topper 15,500′ (4667 meters). For six days I was above 10,000′ feet (3100 meters) and it was beautiful and . . . cold.

The roads were everything from spots of clean tarmac to 10 mph (15 kph) sand/gravel/mud paths with impossible steep switchbacks and not a few water crossings were the road had been washed away. One 100km (62 mile) section required over 4 hours – I never got the Duckling out of 2nd gear. The strangest part was the absence of traffic. On some of the lunar-like landscapes I’d see a vehicle every 3-5 hours. I did pass two bicyclists who were riding in their down jacktets !

People, again, were a very strong feature, overwhelmingly positive. In Dushanbe, a Tajik (by birth), who is also a Christian lamented his visit to the US – “the melons tasted like cotton . . . horrible fruits, poor vegetables and meat no one here would eat.” (I can’t disagree with most of that . . . ). The guesthouse in Khorog was hosted by a Tajik woman who spoke flawless English, always smiled, and made a beautiful breakfast.

During the ride thru the Wakhan Valley I was asked to stop for tea at virtually every encounter with the Pamiri’s. It was harvest time and the fields were busy, beautiful and a fantastic contrast to the Pamirs and Hindu Kush behind them.

The Hindu Kush (“killer of Hindus”) stopped India’s Hindu community to some degree, not that they were really ever out proselytizing, but Buddhists came in large numbers and it has to be said, even today, the most indelible imprint in the area is India’s, not Chinas – in the food, words, artefacts, architecture, etc.

However, if the Chinese keep making roads here . . . you’ll be able to ride alot of it with a Harley soon. Though I think it’ll be a long time before other services for travelers are “harley-ready”. Between Dushanbe and Khostvo I was stopped to “fix” a landslide. When they allowed me to proceed I’d wished they hadn’t. As I rode on the repaired way, the hillside began moving DRAMATICALLY and large, trash can sized boulders careened past me (or toward me). Crazy.

In Vamg, a Tajik named Aydar is a former Russian teacher whose opened a museum to a prominent 19th century Sufi (Mubarak), and who effortlessly straddles the 9th century and the 21st. When I arrived he was mending a mud-brick wall. We installed a new battery in his Korean SUV and he showed me how he’d bypassed the starter relay (two wires, pressed together in his fingers), and later asked me to use his laptop to connect to the Internet via mobile network. He has family all over the world and not a few are prominent academics. Warm, generous and easy going.

The Tajik border officials were . . . awful again. Requests for money were relentless and met with “Russki, chuut chuut”. (“I speak very little Russian.”)

Afghanistan was so close so often that . . . I had to remember that the road way to the riverside is heavily mined. When you stop for a loo break . . . you stay ON the road. On the Tajik side, a very poor country recovering from a civil war, there is a road of some note that is able to support trucks of delivery size. On the Afghan side there are mud-brick villages without electricity and a path pushed into the cliffs that even a Nepali would marvel “how . . . and why ?”.

From Vamg to Sary Tash marked two days of the greatest scenery fatigue I’ve ever experienced. Maybe it was the thin air but I don’t think so and doubt anyone who sees some images will, either. Sary Tash is on the Kyrgyz side of the border and is best known for it’s unemployment, it’s waypoint as a place that drugs from Afghanistan enter Kyrgyzstan via Tajikistan. The Tajik border officials only wanted MY money and asked not a single question regarding drugs. The Kyrgyz officials asked LOTS of questions about drugs and searched my bags in a more than cursory manner.

In Murgab I met just the 3rd American of the trip, a retired 60-plus former Federal worker. He was completely out of his element and nearly spent the night unsheltered between the Kyrgyz and Tajik borders at over 14,000′. Just because there’s a guidebook doesn’t mean it’s Disneyland . . . not that it seems that many have even read the guidebook they carry.

Now it’s off toward Bishkek (660km/400 miles) away and pursuit of my KZ Visa. Weather is good and hopefully things will go well at the KZ Embassy.

12,500 km (8000 miles), so far.

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