Dushanbe and Beyond

Sorry for the abrupt ending of the last blog-It has been over 2 and a half weeks since then and lots has happened. Indeed, today is the last day of our trip in Central Asia. We're off for some R & R in Turkey tomorrow, but there's lots to catch up on before we explain how that came about...

Having survived the car journey to Dushanbe, which - having now finished all our car journeys in Central Asia (save tomorrow's trip to the airport...), we can confirm was indeed the worst of a bad bunch by far, we spent a couple of days recuperating in the capital. In contrast to the dire state of Tajikistan's road network, the capital is rather swish, and there are considerably more flash 4x4 and mercedes than you'll see on the streets of London town. Indeed the cheapest place to stay in the city for foreigners was $20 a person. But we enjoyed our couple of days, in the sweltering 40'c temperatures and were blissfully unaware of the two explosions that occured in the capital on the days of our stay. We visited the UK embassy the morning after surviving the journey, hoping for some home comforts and possibly high tea, instead we were advised to skip the 24hour bus drive to khorog in the pamirs and to take the tajik airlines flight instead. we were reassured that there hadnt been a crash on the route since the taliban shot down one plane a few years ago.

Not that we needed much persuasion, but the story we heard from James, an Australian guy at our hostel confirmed the plane was the way forward. His trip from Khorog to Dushanbe actually took 29 hours. Apparently 7 people in the region oif Kulyab had just been killed by Islamic militants and there had been several extra road blocks set up in attempot to limiot the latters' movements. James was thought to resemble one of the terrosists-a rebel Chechnyian leader and so was pulled out at gunpoint several times during his journey and searched. The car he was travelling in also caught fire, which is not that rare an occurence in these parts it seems. Just to make sure we took the plane, the owner of the hostel, a student of theology who took an interest in my (Benny's) Jewish an d Israeli background declared I was hot property amongst these militant types and had really better avoid the road. Plane it was...

Obtaining the plane tickets was another saga. It involved waking up at 5am twice, waiting for 6-7 hours, and ben getting bulldozed by an irate lady hellbent on getting to the counter first. The flight itself was another knuckle-whitening event. the 17 person plane flew 1 hour over the mountain passes - at times the wings were only 50m away from the peaks. Adding to our nerves was our uncertainty over the safety of the Tajik Airlines (apparently during Soviet times this was the only route where aeroflot pilots were paid danger money...). But they did the job and we arrived after a comparatively easy journey (with the alternative being the bus) in the Pamirs' capital town of Khorog.

Some people think Khorog is a hole. can't really argue with them. Nevertheless, after a good search we found a homestay. We walked in just as the Mama had served lunch to her friends and she insisted on us joining. Probably the best food we had in Tajikistan-Juicy chicken with fried potatoes and vegetables, washed down of course with the obligatory shot (or three) of Wodka. Other than that, we had a quick look around the Aga Khan Foundation which is very active in the area and among the Ismaili community, dinner with some Canadian fellows (surprisingly young) and made a quick escape to the Geisev Valley, home to the best apricots in the world. Spent a couple of days walking up the valley staying in people's homes. Really genuine, terriffic hospitality (even the taxi driver took us home and fed us(just after a mammoth bargaining session)), filling meals (5 fried eggs per person for breakfast!) and beautiful landscape. It was probably the closest we came to chilling in Tajikistan.

From Khorog we embarked on a trip through the Wakhan Valley, en route to the Pamir Highway. So, after a slightly nervous hitchhike to Ishkashim (nervous because the road is a stonesthrow from the Afghan border on the other side of the river) we teamed up with a French couple called Thomas and Chloe. Had it not been for them we would have had to shell out $300 between us to cover the jeep hire for the rest of the ride. A number of highlights from the roadtrip, including traipsing up a scree slope with Victoria's sprained ankle to view some petroglyphs, supposedly several thousand years old, but largely indistinguishable from more recent graffiti "Alexi 4 Svetlana" and the imitation petroglyph sketches of stick goats. underwhelming, but amusing. again, we wondered how much longer these ancient treasures would survive. Another highlight was our visit to the Bibi Fatima hot springs, located up a dusty mountain climb, and said to cure all manner of illnesses, and promote fertility. They were boiling hot, with water gushing out of the rocks. Ben climbed into the womb-like cavity where women hoping for children submerge themselves. I've put on a bit of weight since, but that's probably just the mutton fat...

Then there was Murgab. This was not a highlight. This is the worst town with the rudest meanest people we have ever come across. What a hole!! And we had to spend 3 days there. In fairness, the geography is pretty bleak. Think moon surface, but windy, dusty at high altitude, without its own water supply and with 2 rabid dogs for every household. No vegetables of course, unless you count rotten cabbage, which they do.Oh, and we got ripped off too.

We were desperate to leave Murghab, which it turned out was rather difficult to achieve. Briefly, we spent 13 hours sitting in the dilapidated soviet era minibus, 5 hours waiting for it to set off, 3-4 hours waiting for repairs during the several breakdowns en route, and 4 hours at the Tajik/Kyrgyz border. According to the guide book the journey from Murghab to Sary Tash (our destination in Kyrgyzstan) should only take 6-8 hours. Oh, and we got ripped off too. And our driver was a deeply unpleasant man. Added to the fun was our adventure at the border, where first the Tajik guides made us get out, in the snow at 4200 metres, emptied the contents of our bags onto the road and then the Kyrgyz had a go. They had the decency to let us into a room, where they went through absolutely everything, from shampoo bottles to dirty underwear. I thought something was up when they repeated Isaacs, Isaacs several time with disapproving looks. This was confirmed when they came across my Kippah and, heckling me with words such as Judea and Hibrani, attempted to make me put it on while they laughed and congratulated eachother on catching me. I politely refused to play their game and eventually they let us through, with some good humoured mentions of 'narcotic' 'narcotic' and shooting up gestures.

Anyway, we were now in Kyrgystan. Our first visit lasted 8 hours, as we headed straight over the Irkeshtam Pass to China.

Dushanbe, Khorog, Wakhan Valley

From Penjikent in northern Tajikistan we planned to go down to the capital (Dushanbe) and from there by either car or plane to the Badakshan region where we would explore the Wakhan valley (shared with Afghanistan) and travel the Pamir Highway up to Kyrgystan.

Before travelling down to Dushanbe we were aware that Tajikistan was pretty low down on the Human Development Index, but it wasn't until we were actually en route that we understood why. The country's main "road", which connects the two biggest cities and the north to the south is little more that a narrow dirt track scaling mountain passes with bottomless drops below, across rivers and through flooded tunnels. We were utterly petrified for the entire journey. Our driver boasted that he could make the trip in a record time of 4 hours (the guidebook says it should take 6 0r 7). He was a maniac and is likely to soon be dead. Before even reaching the mountains we had to ask him to slow down, nicely at first and finally with threats we would be forced to get out and not pay. His mother and friend laughed at us, yet when it came to the dodgy bits would pray incessantly. Chinese workers have been brought in to build a 50km long tunnel-we were in it for about an hour and a half. It was supposedly completed in 2004 but has been flooded for the last 2 years and is still a consctruction site. One has to travel in the dark as the tunnel is closed during the day. The dust makes visibility very poor and the water running through the tunnel is thigh deep at times. There are stretches where one has to go round the tunnel such that you are only inches from the edge and the raging river 4000 metre below. Victoria and I clasped sweaty hands for the entire ride fingernails digging into one another.

Miners and Drivers

Once we reached the guesthouse in Penjikent we devoured the bread and watermelon we were greeted with and sat in front of the t.v, stupified by our ordeal and totally captivated by Russian programming.

The next day we set out to explore the 7 lakes at the foot of the Fan Mountains. We arranged a homestay through our saviour, bought some bread, cheese, cucumbers and lots of water and clambered into an old soviet jeep. There were seats for 4 but, as well as a dozen watermelons, a few sacks of rice and several crates of veg, the driver successfully crammed 11 of us into the vehicle and off we went. Quite a drive-up dirt tracks and over rickety bridges. Both the scenery and the ride got our adrenaline pumping but the driver was careful and, unlike others to come we had complete faith in him. When he dropped us off he said he'd be going back down to the town at 4 o'clock the next day and we arranged to return with him. It turned out that the guy whose home we had hoped to stay in never passed the message on and it was only after several hours and much gesturing that we managed to find someone with keys to a room and access to a kettle. It was to be the first of many bread dinners...

Upon awaking the next day we were frantically informed that the only car for the day had passed by at 4 in the morning and that we would now have to hike our way down. Instead, we took a punt on being able to find accommodation further up the valley and headed into the mountains in attempt to reach the last of the 7 lakes. We made it after 4 hours walking and were immmediately invited over to join a group of 7 or so men that had driven up for the weekend. As they laid on shashlyk (barbecued skewers), plov, mutton fat stew, melon and vodka they explained they were all miners from the local Zerafshan Gold Company. They splashed about in the lake and danced and sang and laughed and drank and insisted that they give us a lift back to the town that night. At first this was tempting as we still didn't know if we would be able to find accommodation in the valley. However, it soon became clear they were more keen on us staying the night at their miners' camp. The drunkest one of the lot was also becoming overly attentive to Victoria and they were all encouraging her to dance and go for a swim, things a local woman would never dream of doing. Between nervous smiles we surreptitiously hatched a plan to extricate ourselves from the situation and, after the friendliest one of the lot tried to fall asleep in Victoria's lap we jumped up and announced that we were going for a short walk. They protested and made us promise we would return, which we did but this time Victoria smiled less readily and I wore a permanent frown. We made it clear we wouldn't be joining them at their camp and they eventually got the message.

Snatching glances over our shoulders we left them at the lake and scrambled down to the nearest settlement, confirmed there would be a car at 3am and found a guy willing to let us have a room for the night, which he wouldn't accept any money for. We holed up in our hovel till we saw the men drive through and, relieved, spent the evening skimming stones and reading. This time we caught our jeep and, though the road was scarier in the dark and despite the fact the radio was blaring out a religious sermon with what seemed to be frequent denunciations of 'Israeeel' we both fell asleep, Victoria on my shoulder and myself on a man who I think may well have been Osama Bin Laden.

Tajikistan-24th July (officially)-5th August, 2009

Been a while since last blog, predominantly due to fact that Tajikistan proved fairly short on internet cafes. Parents have been reassured of our safety and relative comfort so here comes a lengthy update...

Our entry to the country marked a fitting begining to a series of unsettling experiences. In fact, now that we have safely left, we can divulge we spent much of the time with sweaty palms and racing hearts.

I (benny) must begin with a confession-I messed up in a big, stupid way. We travelled from Samarkand to the tajik border, said to be the worst of a bad bunch in terms of arbitrary closures and tempermental guards in a region famed for bureaucratic obstacles, believing our Tajik visas to commence on the 23rd of the month. It was only after receving our exit stamps on our single entry Uzbek visas and crossing the 100m stretch of no-man's land to the Tajik controls that we were informed that our visas actually began on the following day. We about-turned and humiliated and disgusted with ourselves (ok, disgusted with Ben alone) headed back to Uzbekistan. There we were greeted with laughter and sneers and told we would have to spend the night on the 100 metre stretch. They kindly pointed out that we had better not stray too far from the road, as the area had all been landmined. Adding to our woes was our lack of water or food, a tent or any shelter from the hot sun, ferocious mosquitoes, and tens of armed soldiers on either side of the strip.

In attempting to remedy the nutritional aspects of our predicament, the uzbek guards kindly allowed us to be fleeced by their canteen lady, who relieved us of our remaining uzbek som to purchase some bottles of water and some stale bread. We then sat back on the road, with ben approaching passing tourists - (Victoria felt too humiliated and angry with ben and sulked instead) - to ask if they had any spare food, water, or even a tent they could loan us for the night. Reinforcing our faith in humanity and the goodness of people, we gladly received some bananas, bread, chocolate spread and water. But still, chocolate spread notwithstanding, our prospects did not look too good.

However, whilst we contemplated spending a night in no-man's land, a saviour appeared (who shall remain nameless for his own safety), a local man, who believed there could be some scope for negotiation. Inconceivably to us, within one hour we were sitting in a minibus on the tajik side of the border on our way to the comfort of a guesthouse in penjikent, safe and relieved, albeit shaken and with slightly lighter wallets.

I (Ben) spent most of the time contemplating how I would explain myself to Victoria's parents. I don't know how to. Nick and Jennie, sorry, sorry, sorry. Victoria is now in charge of all passport and visa matters.

There are more horror stories to come, but we both feel drained at the mere recall of this episode, and will return to the blog later...