Archive for the ‘Tajikistan’ Category


Cycling through a haze in my brain, I plodded along the valley towards Khorog. I was not really present, just feeling weak after emptying my stomach at 1am last night. The kids tried to pull me back into the now – ‘Hello hello!’. ‘What is your name?’. ‘Otkyda?’ I retired for the afternoon in Rushan and slept for 4 hours between 1600 and 2000.

The road to Khorog

The road to Khorog

Our military hosts came this morning bearing more gifts – milk. Just what I felt like having. Reece needed to move on quickly today, and I wasn’t going to be able to do that, so we parted ways. As it turned out, we met repeatedly throughout the day. I was (very) slow, but steady. Reece was fast with lots of technical problems with his bike. Tomorrow on to Khorog.


‘Are you OK?’ asked Reece.
‘No.’
‘Are you outside of the tent?’
‘Yes.’
Behind me was the dark mountainside in Tajikistan, opposite the looming black wall in Afghanistan, and above me the clear starry night. In front of me, one metre in front of the tent, I heaved out the vomit, wave after wave.

My little helpers

My little helpers

Our camping spot this morning was a short walk from a mine field. I discovered this on my sunrise walk, and promptly backtracked the way I had come. This is a serious border – between Tajikistan and Afghanistan. Minefields, constant police checks, military patrolling up and down the roads, and sitting under trees, rifle in hand.

Mine field

Mine field

An early morning rise resulted in a late start after I replaced my tyre which had worn out, and Reece readjusted his gears. By departure it was already hot, and I felt it the whole day, getting weaker and weaker as time went by. I still felt quite good in the morning, and both Reece and I repeatedly cried out for joy as each new view unfolded. This is an amazing valley!

Afghanistan

Afghanistan

The road to Khorog

The road to Khorog

My little helpers

My little helpers


The valley is one of walls. Walls of rock. We ply the road perched on the valley edge, watch the water gush past below, and the people walk along the impossible road etched into the side of the cliff-face opposite in Afghanistan.

The road to Khorog

The road to Khorog

The road is beautiful, undulating along this amazing valley. Compared to the last few days, the road surface is good (but still pretty dreadful), and so we could spend some mental energy gazing at the mountains of rock around us.

The road to Khorog

The road to Khorog

The road to Khorog

The road to Khorog

The road to Khorog

The road to Khorog

We have an amazing camp spot on a rocky peak overlooking Afghanistan. My first beat-bush to a camping spot. A lot of fun!


The road was steep. And rocky. The sun was shining, and the air was clear. And, man, it was beautiful. We bumped down along a stunning valley with sheer vertical walls. Little white ribbons of water slipping down the grass faces from the snow patches above. We made it all the way down to the vertical wall of rock – the Afghanistan border.

On the way down

On the way down

I have always been afraid of technical things. Getting your hands dirty. Fixing things that break. I see this bike trip as kind of like being in a relationship. Sometimes one is confronted with one’s fears. (Being single, you can just avoid the fears.) My fear is fixing the bike. Working out how devices I am carrying work. Adjusting everything properly. What if I do it wrongly and everything goes pear-shaped?
I am now proud to say that I have readjusted my panniers, tightened all the screws, and swapped my front and back tyre. I have also been frustrated and embarrassed at the eons I take to filter water. Something is wrong, and I need to work out what it is.

Tightening the screws

Tightening the screws

Today every screw was tested on the bike for tightness. It was a ragged old road. Rocks. Sand. Mud. Big holes. And, it was really fun, jiggling down the mountain in the warm sun. Every turn brought a new cry of joy. What an amazing view.

Pamir Highway 2015

Pamir Highway 2015

Ribbon of water

Ribbon of water

Switch-backs

Switch-backs


‘It’s a big switchback – just skirting around a stream – probably not very steep.’ We chuckled later as we gazed towards the heavens, admiring the switchback from below. We climbed very high, and are in awe at the beauty of this valley.

Looking down at our climb

Looking down at our climb

I am the pupil and this terrain is my teacher. I have not cycled along such roads – my bike and myself are rattled to the bones. I lost a pannier screw, and had to use a less crucial screw from another pannier as a replacement. The muddy sludge wedged its way between the tyre and the mud-guards and break pads. I had to regularly squirt them down to keep the wheel turning. Stream crossings also helped in dislodging the mud.
I have not cycled past such remote villages where the shops are bare – the people grow and make their own food. My food stocks are dwindling as the shops only have lollies and biscuits (and soap, fluffy teddy bears and Barbie dolls). Lucky we bought pasta earlier.
People don’t drink bottled water (which is good). I feel bad about having used bottled water up to now. So many plastic bottles (even if I always disposed of them correctly). I now filter the stream water – with my very very slow filter. You realise the importance of water when you have to squeeze every drop you drink through a ceramic filter. And scaling mountains is thirsty work.

On the way

On the way

Outside the shop

Outside the shop

We are staying in an abandoned hut high above the valley. What a spectacular place to have dinner and sleep. We are truly blessed.

Our dinner view

Our dinner view


It is not going to rain. I think we are near the top. It should be an easy day. We can go for an early morning swim in the lake, and then amble on into the town. Even with the bad road surface, we should be able to manage 70-80km. Famous last words. But it was an amazing day.

The road to the Pamirs

The road to the Pamirs

I had an exciting night holding my tent into position against the strong winds. A slow morning of breakfasting and then fixing a flat tyre protected from the rain by a tree meant that today was never going to be a kilometre rich day. But we didn’t want it to be one. With such a beautiful valley unfolding before us, what better way to enjoy it than to meander slowly.

The road to Khorog

The road to Khorog

We were invited in for tea by some kids. A game of zombies was a big hit.

The kids that invited us in for chai

The kids that invited us in for chai

Zombies

Zombies

After having cycled a whole 16km, we stopped for lunch and a swim at a lake. The thunder roared as we splashed around in the lake, and it pissed down as we curled up on a bed inside the restaurant, and decided to sleep a bit.

Thunderstorm sleep

Thunderstorm sleep

Tonight we find ourselves in an unfinished shop in a little village. Outside the rain is pattering on the roof, and we lie warm in our sleeping bags, fed with some bread and yoghurt. Life is good.


Today. A toilet audience. A wheel jammed in the gutter. A presidential 12000km from Eindhoven celebration. A belly of berries. A wind in all directions. Scree-slope roads. Climbs and drops. The mountains are getting bigger. I liked today.

Berries

Berries

He was sitting on the ridge – the little shepherd boy. From his perch he could see everything. Every possible toilet spot. And I needed to go. We often get audiences. Often kids. They just stand there and watch.

Our camping spot

Our camping spot

We only needed to go 4km today for me to reach 12000km from Eindhoven. At the 11999km mark I was greeted twice by a billboard of the Tajikistan president – one standing in a field of tulips, and one 500m further on holding some equipment while inspecting some engineering project. I was disappointed that he waited until 12001km before congratulating me with another billboard. Still, it had all the bells and whistles – and flags.

12001km

12001km

The president

The president

Reece got stuck in the gutter while getting back from the presidential address.

Reece in the gutter

Reece in the gutter

Today was a day of climbing (and even more often, descending) in the scree. It made for some slow going, but gave me a sense of achievement for getting through it.

A hot climb

A hot climb

Lovely view

Lovely view

Sunset

Sunset

And today was a day of mountains of berries – we bought some from some little girls at our lunch stop.

Eating berries

Eating berries


The third farewell and best wishes were made. The group of cyclists gathered at Vero’s had reached 12. We joked about my tent being eaten by the turtle and took more photos. Finally, after 3 nights in Dushanbe I find myself on my way to the Pamir Mountains with a new cycling partner – Reece.

The cycling gang at Vero's

The cycling gang at Vero’s

We had all heard of each other.
‘Ah – you are the Australian who got held up at the Iranian border.’
They had heard of me through Monique – a French cyclist they had met, and who I had met twice – in Bukhara and in Samarqand. I met ‘the’ Swiss couple and the Belgian couple. Each had already heard the other’s stories from this closed group of Pamir cyclists.

Reece and I set off, not realising that the road climbed and climbed and climbed. We thought that happened 100km later. The mountains are just starting now, and we have an amazing camping spot next to a bendy river. Fed and cleaned (by the water fight we had in the river), we are ready for bed.

On the road

On the road


I walked through the door piercing the surrounding high wall, and entered touring cyclist paradise. Vero and her house and garden are famous – all touring cyclists come here before setting out on the Pamir Highway. And here I am, little Matthew. I’m about to set out on the Pamir Highway!

Vero giving us tips on the Pamir Highway

Vero giving us tips on the Pamir Highway

Three young French cyclists ushered me in, bikes in hand. These bikes looked hard-core, with tyres wide enough to fit on a small car. As I entered in further, more bikes were hanging around. In front of me was a beautiful verandah with armchairs and couches, and a big garden full of cyclist’s tents. Another cyclist was sitting on the verandah reading. A parrot in a cage welcomed me as I was shown inside.

I had heard of Vero from other cyclists on the way. Famous like Akbar in Marand, all cyclists find themselves staying here. I spent the evening sharing stories and dreams with the other cyclists, and before I knew it, it was bed-time.

Its great to be cool again. After my heat-stroke (was it that?), I stayed in Denov for a day, mostly lying in front of the fan, or sitting inside the air-conditioned supermarket. In the evening the cool change rolled in, and it was wonderful. I cycled to Dushanbe through the haze into a headwind, but was happy. It was cool again!