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.
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