As I rode
from the town of Sari-Tash towards Kyrgyzstan’s border with my next adventure
destination Tajikistan I was faced with a wall of what appeared to be
impenetrable snow-capped mountains, but somewhere in there is a border crossing
and the remote high altitude road known as the Pamir Highway. A major drug smuggling artery the road passes through Tibetan style high plateau scenery and requires an additional permit to gain access, there are many maned guard checkpoints
where I will be asked to present my passport and have my details registered. First though I
must exit Kyrgyzstan which is very quick and easy at the remote border post of
Bor Dobo. I then crossed the 4282 metre Kyzyl-Art Pass and reached an equally
remote and efficient Tajikistan border post.
The scenery
is pretty spectacular and riding a mix of dirt and tarred mountain roads only
adds to the enjoyment. I pass by Central Asia’s highest lake Kara-Kul, created
by a meteor about ten (10) million years ago, the lake sits at 3914 metres, and
although salty is frozen and covered in snow during the winter months.
A steady
climb had me at the 4655 metre Ak-Baital (White Horse) Pass, the highest point
on my Pamir journey, I then skirt close to the barbed wire topped border fence separating Tajikistan and
China on my way to an overnight stop at Murgab.
I reached Murgab
by mid-afternoon, situated at an elevation of 3576 metres, the towns elevation
combined with the days ride over several high mountain passes caused me to suffer
a little altitude sickness, resulting in a dull headache. The headache combined
with the fact I was still suffering the effects of the dodgy Bishkek Plov,
left me feeling drained, with a complete lack of energy. I was invited to a
late lunch with the 22 year old hotel manager, we discuss his university
studies, work, family and his excitement at the expected November birth of his
and his wife’s first child.
Based on previous
experience a good night’s sleep should have rid me of the dull altitude related
headache, but the following morning I felt no better, I decide to pack and ride
on regardless, opting to stay on the main M41 Pamir route, direct to the town
of Kharugh. Out on the all but deserted road I am absorbed in the spectacular
mountain scenery, after numerous stops for photographs and a chat with a
cyclist or two, the kilometres and hours ticked over and I began to feel a lot
better. I reached Kharugh in the late afternoon headache free and with a hunger
for some decent food. I am by no means a big fan of pizza, I might eat one a
year, but being the only meal available in the hotel café I’m left with little
option, so I order a chicken pizza and I have to say, unexpectedly it was
one of the best pizza’s I have ever eaten. I then stretched my legs with a walk
through the towns nearby leafy tree lined park and across a bridge spanning the
raging river that splits the town in two. Nestled in a valley, in the shadow of
baron rocky-mountains on two sides of town and at an altitude of 2065 metres, Kharugh
was a pleasant enough town for a stop-over.
I woke the
following morning thinking I needed to see more of the Pamir and that it was too
soon to begin exiting the spectacular mountainous region. I made a quick
decision to ride a loop back towards Murgab, this time taking the alternate
route along the Pamir River and through the Wakhan Valley. The days ride beside
the raging Pamir River, which separates Tajikistan from Afghanistan provided
possibly better scenery than the previous day’s main M 41 route. With the 7000
metre plus Hindu Kush mountain range as a back drop I rode through the small
town of Ishkashin, and several small villages in the Wakhan Valley, a green
belt of farming land with the Pamir River as its life blood, before reaching the
village of Langar mid-afternoon.
I found a sign-less
homestay for my night’s accommodation, home to a very friendly and hospitable
family. After being greeted, assisted in parking my motorcycle, removing my
luggage and settling in by the very outgoing and talkative eleven (11) year old
daughter Menasha, the delightful mother of five (5) nominated the nine (9) year
old son Temur to show me around town.
We hadn’t
got far on our walk before two boys about twelve (12) years old approached us
and pointed to the village shadowing mountain, suggesting a walk. I
really enjoy a mountain walk, but this peak looked like a challenge, with
thongs (flip flops) on my feet and no water to drink I thought the boys might
walk me to the first crest for a better view and photo opportunity of the
valley and then come back down, so I said yes, let’s go. We passed the first
crest providing great views of the valley below and continued upwards, the boys
also with flip flop foot wear appeared very familiar with the route up the
mountain so confidently we continued on, about one (1) hour later still on an
upward trajectory the mountain top came into view, I pointed to the top
thinking we had probably gone far enough and the boys continued on. Reaching
the 3451 metre mountain top a further thirty (30) minutes later the views of
the valley and the neighbouring Afghanistan snow-capped peaks were spectacular.
We sat for several minute taking in the views, snapped a few photographs and
then started the trek back down, stopping periodically to rest or have a laugh
as each of us slipped over on the steep slippery rocky, dirt ground. About 45
minutes later we were back in Langar and on flat ground, I bought each of the
boys and myself a well-earned drink, then rounded a street corner to be meet by
the home stay families eldest daughter, the fifteen (15) year old was not
impressed with our adventure and though I have no idea what was said, it
appeared that stern words were exchanged, I think it may have been due to concern
for the “tourist”, me, back at the house all was forgiven. We all settled in
for an enjoyable night of board games, foosball and cards before the mother
called a halt to proceedings about 11.30 pm and I retired for a good night’s
sleep.
After
breakfast and a few more photographs I was back on the road for the six (6)
hour return ride to Kharugh, I stopped often throughout the day to photograph
the scenery or locals along the way.
I returned to
the same hotel in Kharugh, I enjoyed another chicken pizza for my evening meal,
discussed the ride through the Wakhan Valley and my journey from Australia with
a delightful English speaking hotel worker, I think she was impressed,
commenting “it is a great journey you are on”.
When I planned my motorcycle adventure, I did
not set out to ride the worst roads in the world but I have ridden on some
shockers, and the ride from Kharugh to Qalaikhum was up there with the worst, it
was a rocky, narrow, pot-holed rough dirt road the majority of the way. The
scenery was pretty good though as the road followed the river separating
Tajikistan and Afghanistan, villages in both countries provided a small green
oasis in an otherwise very dry environment.
I had been passing rally cars in previous weeks heading in the opposite
direction, usually in motion so I had not had a chance to talk to any of the
occupants. When I reached Qalaikhum late afternoon, shaken and stirred by the
rough road and keen for a rest, I asked a local if there was a hotel in town
and received a ”no” response. I was sure there would be somewhere to stay in
town. Adjacent to where I had parked sat a couple of rally cars so I waited for
the occupants to return thinking they may also be looking for accommodation.
Several minutes later two non-local looking men walked up the street, I asked
them about accommodation, and I was in luck they were looking for accommodation
for a couple of fellow rally participants who were having car trouble and wanted
to stay the night in town. One of the men handed me a business card, and said he
thought it was for a hotel in town. I took the card and walked across the
street and handed it to a policeman, he made a phone call and within minutes a
young man ran up the street and introduced himself and said he had a hotel. I then
followed the young man to his hotel, it was his family home really, but eject the family out of their rooms and you have a hotel, great, my accommodation,
evening meal and breakfast sorted, though the young lady asleep in the room I
was shown to was not impressed at being woken and told to leave, several minutes later
after unpacking and changing out of my hot motorcycle clothing I noticed why
she was unimpressed. She was the mother of a very young child catching up on
sleep while her child slept in a crib in the corner of the room. I quickly and
quietly exited the room and left the child to sleep. I had a walk around town
then returned and sat relaxing at the home stay as several more rally
participants turned up looking for a bed. A team of three (3) young men entered
the homestay and there was no mistaking the Australian accent. Team Raven Shoe,
contained two Australians and one Malaysian Australian, they were participants
in the Mongol Rally, an event travelling various routes from London, England to
Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, vehicles were required to be limited to 1000 cc engine
capacity and the Aussies were driving a tiny Nissan Micra, ably maintain by
Mechanical Engineer Ben, a born and breed Cairns resident. Cairns is a
favourite town of mine so we had a good chat about the city and its
surroundings including the teams name sake town of Ravenshoe, situated on the
Atherton tablelands West of Cairns.
Leaving
Qualaikhum to travel to Dushanbe there are two road options, the easier, but
ninety (90) kilometre longer Southern route, or the rougher shorter Northern route.
I chose the Northern route and several kilometres from Qalaikhum I was stopped
at the first of several check points for the day where I presented my passport
for registration, as I waited for the return of my document another Mongal
Rally car entered and stopped at the check point from the opposite direction. Again,
no mistaking the Aussie accent, Helen and Robyn, a couple of Marion Bay, South
Australian residents were beaming fun and enthusiasm and were
thoroughly enjoying their rally experience. I mentioned that I had slept at a
home stay with another team of Aussies and the reply came back “ah the pussies,
we camped out, no hotel for us”.
I stopped and had a chat to the occupants of at
least six other rally cars, and two cyclists during the eight (8) hour, 285
kilometre ride to the Tajikistan capital Dushanbe, arriving in the city late
afternoon.
After
unloading my motorcycle, showering off the day’s ride dirt I walked to the city
centre for a meal, then returned to my extremely overpriced accommodation for
an early night after making the decision to stay in town only one night,
leaving Dushanbe and Tajikistan the following morning after what has been a
very enjoyable ride and experience travelling the mountainous Pamir Highway region
and Tajikistan in general.
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