October 2019 – Drifting Along Dave

Tajikistan & Kyrgyzstan – The Pamir Highway

The initial ride was along mainly flat roads as we headed towards the Tajikistan border which we would cross the following day. After a few hours we started to see the mountains which would envelop our days ahead. The scenery was fantastic with ever-lasting plains of straw colored fields stretching towards the backdrop of the rugged snow-capped mountains. Our initial destination was the 7100m mountain named Lenin Peak named after, well you know who. We veered off the main road, through a village (Sary-Moghol) where we would stay later that evening. The name 'Abdul Razzaq' became legend within the car and would be repeated often throughout the trip. Who is Abdul? The question should be where is Abdul as in this little town trying to find him led to our driver repeating his name continuously. Abdul was then taken aback by my repeating his name when he was finally discovered. A legend in our own minds (and our hotel owner) whose name was one of the main strange forms of communication with our Englishless driver. After locating him we proceeded down the dirt road for an hour's drive to our intended destination, for a short hike near Lenin Peak. It really was a wonderful place helped by the lowering sun and fine weather. High altitude lakes, multi-colored mountains and snow covered peaks made the camera click continuously. Yaks aplenty although when I got too close to a female a male started a charge towards me. It stopped, my heart restarted. I made a detour. Phew! There were yurts here where people could stay overnight. I can see the appeal. Eventually we made our way back down to Abdul.

After an initial petrol finding mission that was unsuccessful we set off the next morning. We started going south towards Tajikistan heading into the mountains proper. The Kyrgyzstan and the Tajikistan border posts are around 20km apart because, well, I don't know. We encountered our first pass over the mountains (4,282m) and due to trucks being stuck on the frozen dirt tracks we too became bogged as we tried to navigate around them. The pushing of the car by us gringos was useless but some gravel thrown under our wheels gave us (eventually) the grip we needed (good teamwork by the truck drivers). Both border posts were easy to get through. The main issue here is to ensure you have a GBAO addition to your Tajikistan visa (an additional US$20) as this is required in this region. Now in Tajikistan our intended destination this day was salty Karakul lake (3900m). Before reaching this point a border fence appeared topped by barbed wire. This fence remained with us for the remainder of this day. Looking at the map we were quite a way from the Chinese border and it was only later I found that the fence was actually constructed by the Soviets as a neutral buffer zone barrier against the Chinese when they weren't so friendly in times past. I enjoy taking pictures of power poles and in this case, a border fence, set in picturesque settings so I was very happy it appeared. At Karakul lake we found accommodation and I went for a long stroll along the lake with Itsy, scenic snow-capped mountains encircling the deep blue water. We got warned away by the military when we approached and were about to enter what we thought was an abandoned building but in reality was an army barracks. No harm done.

For the 3rd day we continued our route south. After around an hour our car climbed the highest mountain pass of this trip, the 4655m Ak-Baital pass. Strangely, after the previous day's travails and at 400m higher we had absolutely no issues with no snow to complain about and an asphalt road the whole way! After descending the other side we saw from the road a herd of the rare and threatened Marco Polo sheep. These sheep grow as big as cows and the males have classical coiled horns. They are very shy and the group we saw turned and ran for many kilometers into the mountains a distance away. Our driver seemed surprised; I think we were very lucky to see them. We were supposed to arrive in the town of Murghab around midday and then do a hike between the Psart & Madiyan valleys the next day. We decided instead to save a day by completing the hike straight away. This had its issues as we started much later than was normal with 16km and a 700 meter vertical climb to contend with. This made it a tough day with only a couple of short rests between a fast pace. Pace slowed considerably near the summit (4735m) as the mountain steepened sharply. Unfortunately we ran into a dead end and rather than go back down the mountain 50 meters (a long way to return at this altitude and steepness) Itsy & I instead tried to climb a steep rocky incline. Half way up, stuck, with a crumbing rock face on which I couldn't grip without rocks breaking off and a 20m drop, I admit fear and remorse for attempting such a climb took over. There was no turning back so adrenaline kicked in and eventually you had to suppress the fear and go for it. I am writing this blog so you know the end result. We rendezvoused with our driver in the opposite valley as daylight fast faded. Itsy and me safeguarding the rear. Yami had 'sprinted' off earlier from the summit to meet the driver and Tomo was relentless, a man possessed. Tired and sore sleep came easy.

Day 4 was my favourite. We left Murghab and travelled to some beautiful lakes. Initially the salty Sasykul lake with its changing water colour depending on to which end of the lake you turned, then after we looked down to the distant Bulunkul with hundreds of herd animals looking like specs in the valley between, and then finally onto Yashilkul with its vibrant blue color contrasting splendidly with the stark brown landscape surrounding it. I found my lucky rusty horseshoe at Sasykul which is now firmly a part of my increasingly heavy backpack. We left this area and with it the mainly asphalt road to more of a bumpy dirt flavour. We said goodbye to the Pamir highway and continued to head south for awhile continuing to see the odd beautiful lake until turning west once hitting the Afghanistan border. We were always gradually losing altitude, welcome to Wakhan valley. The border is a river and here the river was not a river, more like an overweight creek. Crossing between sides did not seem like it would be too difficult. The fully snowed in mountains of the Hindu Kush on the Afghanistan side rose imposingly over their closer barren cousins nearer to the river. Mineral deposits created some wonderful sedimentary effects especially when combined with the now setting sun. It was a truly brilliant day that ended in Langar, where we had pasta for dinner! Made a change from the standard soup with a bit of meat in it, bread, yogurt, and a cucumber and tomato sidedish. Oh yeah, we rotated in the car every day and whoever sat in the middle of the back seat got to choose the music. Not sure the others appreciated that idea by day's end (and they still had day 8 to go)!

Although day 5 was a very long drive we still had time to visit a fort perched high above the town of Yamchun. Forts here take a lot of imagination to jigsaw together in your mind to recreate their heyday, but the views from here over the Afghan agricultural land and mountains took no imagination. This side trip would've been worthwhile on its own but just up the road was a natural thermal bath that was at the right temperature and placed in a wonderful setting. I'll let the video do the talking on this one except to say women frequent here as they believe the waters here aid fertility. We visited another thermal spring later in the day (no fertility customs here as far as I know) at Gharm-Chashma. Our Japanese contingent seemed as if they couldn't get enough of these warm bathes while Itsy and I cruised around town. Golam disappeared and was found in his own personal pool after a lot of wondering and waiting. Who is paying who after all? We ended the day in the town of Khorog in a hotel set right by the river. Tomo, Itsy and myself found an Indian restaurant for a feed which Itsy gave a 'not too bad' rating. Unfortunately ratings don't equate to sanitary healthiness, we all got varying degrees of 'issues' from the food.

We had now left the Wakhan valley and with our spare day from our previous hike we decided to...do a hike. We deviated off the Pamir highway (which we had rejoined at Khorog) and entered the Bartang valley. Here we hiked to the peaceful villages of Jizeu and Jizef. At Jizeu the lake (for a change) lacked any type of colour instead being crystal clear. The hike itself took 5 hours (there and back) and while it was definitely worth the admission price (free) wasn't overly beautiful or difficult. Would I recommend it? If you've got a spare day for sure. We met 4 people who were going to stay up there for the evening. Maybe that is the way to go. We stayed back at a homestay about 8km from the trailhead. The food here was wonderful. I just couldn't stop eating the freshly picked walnuts that seemed to melt in your mouth and the mulberries that looked like small sheaths of wheat. Sweet, chewy and yum.

Day 7 & 8 were all about getting back to the capital of Dushanbe. We stopped on the night of day 7 in Kalaikumb While walking around town we were invited into a garden by a local doctor for tea and more beautiful fruits and nuts (can I grow walnut trees in New Zealand? I am definitely going to investigate). Nice fellow with beautiful daughters. Other than that things were fairly non-descript for those final two days but for the overall trip some things did happen. As with seemingly all Central Asian countries the police affect every driver's life profoundly. Each policeman has a red wand that is like a short lightsaber (from Star Wars) and probably just as deadly. You see a wave towards your car means it is time to pull over which isn't a good thing. Throughout the trip we must have pulled over 6-8 times and it became a common joke that when our driver, Golam, reentered our vehicle he would say 'police, police, money, money'. Bribes seem to be the name of the game and once when he said 'police, police, money nata' we assumed he hadn't needed to pay. At least that is what the big smile on his face suggested.

When you spend 8 days with other people you tend to learn things about each of them. This is the one thing I learned from each.
Itsy - if you ask a Hindu for food or water he must give it to you no matter his personal circumstance.
Tomo - there are beggars sleeping in Tokyo's streets.
Yami - told me how an outsider can tell the difference between the Japanese, the Chinese and the South Koreans. The South Koreans can't grow facial hair. The Chinese wear the same coloured clothes both top and bottom and want facial plastic surgery to match the overall looks of the Japanese. I guess that means the Japanese can grow beards, they must wear different colour clothes and are happy with their looks. Interesting(?) and Yami was usually the very quiet person of the group.

India. Again. But Oh So Very Different.

It changed. Away from the flatlands, the India I knew and accepted, loved at times, endured during others, transformed before my eyes. In all my visits to India I have always spent my times a way's south of the Himalayas. As I wrote in my last Indian post a hectic welcome was guaranteed immersing you in overpowering sights, smells and sounds. But this time things changed. It started when I flew into New Delhi which had become infested with flies since I had last left 6 weeks ago. Strange. After Delhi I headed north by train to the relatively nearby religious cities of Haridwar and Rishikesh. Foreign tourists come here for courses in yoga and meditation (Rishikesh is famous for these). Indian pilgrims, just as with the city of Varanasi, come here to bathe in the holy river Ganges. I came here for reasons I am not sure. With the winding roads leading into the foothills of the Himalayas came a change of pace. The sounds of horns became more occasional, the throngs of people dissipated so that space became the norm rather than the exception. Life became more relaxed, smiles on peoples faces more common. At the time I was going to write this blog under the heading labeled 'Weird Cities of India' but since my thoughts have changed.

For those that know me yoga, meditation and being a vegan just isn't on my resumé. Going to a restaurant and ordering a chicken shish kebab (as per the menu) and receiving skewered tofu that has the consistency of days old custard didn't impress me one bit. The cows and pigs around (and in) town seemed happy. Even the monkeys were in abundance. Finding meat dishes (with actual meat in them) in these towns was like going on a pilgrimage. The holy grail was out there somewhere but finding it was another matter. Look, I have eaten so many vegetarian dishes on this trip and have (and still do) enjoy them so very much but...they come with the proviso that if I want a meat meal (other than the sacrilegious eating of beef and pork) it is just a matter of ordering it. In these religious towns of Haridwar and Rishikesh this personal contract was broken, so I left. Besides, it just wasn't that exciting.

During these times my travels were mainly on a whim. Not knowing where I would go next, directionless. I was waiting on a Pakistani visa that would give me the direction and zest that was sorely needed. I ended up in a city called Chandigarh only because it was the most convenient way out of those previously mentioned towns and was in the direction of Pakistan. It was here that my weird Indian cities headline nearly entrenched itself. Here, India being the India I knew stopped. A city of wide open boulevards where horns are rare and traffic is organised. Where trees line the roads and shade is abundant. Shop fronts look modern, westernised and are multi-storied. Makes a change from roofs of corrugated iron with a ton of rubbish on top to hold them down. A modern well planned out city (with a great microbrewery that served cold, delicious, cheap beer and wonderful Thai food...with meat). I saw bike lanes! Weird indeed. I spent a couple days here, visited a huge rock garden that was originally (decades ago) a hobby of a local, on squatted land, before the council decided to reclaim the land and thus demolish his work. Instead they saw the worth in his project and gave him a team to continue his work. As rock gardens go, taking into account that my rock garden assessment skills are quite rocky, I thought this is up there with the best rock gardens I have seen. Admittedly I can't think of another rock garden I've ever seen. Not that great an advert to visit but if you are in town it is surely worth a peek.

Next up I traveled to what I perceived as my last weird city (before I decided instead that it was not weird at all in these areas). The city's name is Shimla. Fortunately I really liked this town as it was here the Pakistani government decided that I was not worthy of a visa to visit my favorite country in the world. Gutted doesn't cover my feelings at the time. Down but not out, Shimla at least was cooler with a bit of altitude, had a great walking mall and enough 'exploring' lane ways (all without motorbikes) to keep things interesting and pleasant. Getting fitter came standard with the town as it was perched on some pretty steep slopes and with temples perched on top of the mountain it made for some good exercise. But still, I had a feeling of emptiness, lack of knowing what to do next. That is, until I read about a few places that got the juices flowing once more.

There is a road trip that due to the views and valleys, the high altitude, wonderfully perched monasteries and precarious drops, makes it, from what I have read, one of the best drives in Asia. So I headed towards Spiti Valley to experience it for myself. Sort of didn't make it but this will come out in the story. My first stop on the way was Parvati Valley. In this valley I stayed in two towns, Jari/Matuera & Kasol, that although were set in a lush green mountain settings with raging river running by were mostly your nondescript tourist places. Not much to talk about then. The real reason I visited this valley was the town of Malana. Many years ago I visited 3 valleys in Pakistan close to the Afghan border called the Kalasha valleys. In Malana, just like in these valleys, there are inhabitants that are suspected to be descendants of deserters from when Alexander the Great passed these ways. Both areas were quite secluded and over time developed their own separate customs and religions. In Malana, these customs brought the belief that their race is superior and all other races are unclean. So, as I would ironically stroll along the muddy paths within the village the locals once alerted to my presence would move aside, allowing me through as to ensure no physical contact with the unclean one. This unclean contact was extended to the touching of any of their belongings. Breaking these rules would invoke penalties. Touching a religious building came with a 3,500rps fine (US$50). I never was fined for any misdemeanors but if I was to pay I would of needed to first place the money on the ground, let go of the money where upon the recipient would then feel free to take the cash. The same principal applied in the few shops in the village. You were never allowed to enter the premises but could point out what you needed. Goods would be placed on the ground as would the money to purchase them. There could never be a conduit of contact between the clean and unclean other than the ground we walked on. The town's main economic lifeline is the supposedly world famous Malana Cream. This is hashish made from the many marijuana crops spread out around town. Although the 3 days I spent here the only foreigners I met were 3 Israelis that were passing through (you have about an hour hike to get to the village) there must have been many tourists in the past as the price for this hash was definitely not set at an Indian level. With this branding as an unclean and all these unsociable rules you'd expect the locals to be unfriendly. They definitely weren't overly receptive but instead generally amicable. That is except for the drunk bloke who took offence at me while I was being told of some of the rules. I stood up for myself which caused a bit of angst with some other locals but hey, I'm not in a pot getting stewed so all ended well. True friendliness definitely existed in the guesthouse I stayed in. It was run by a family that followed some of the village's customs but allowed outsiders to freely do as they wished within their walls. Evenings I mixed with the family, many who were visiting due to a festival and ate some pretty mean Indian food (vegetarian of course). I even got to share some whisky that one of the relatives brought with him. Nice.

Heading north next town was called Manali. The town is separated into two parts with old Manali up the hill filled with hotels, restaurants and tourists. The lower part is more the commercial side of things. Not too much to do here, went on a nice long walk through the wooded mountains but my aim was to move on out as soon as possible. Unfortunately due to heavy rain that had to wait as landslides cut the town off from going north, my intended direction. In the north the road splits either towards my initial destination Spiti valley to the east, or to the capital of Ladakh, Leh, to the north. Both sides became accessible at the same time but in one of those why not moments I decided to take the Leh route instead thinking Spiti valley could wait. Most tourists fly to Leh and after fifteen and a half hours in a jeep, over some pretty washed out bumpy roads, I understood why. Still character building stuff it was. Think I got about an hour's sleep and since we left at around 5pm I was very happy to finally arrive.

I really enjoyed Leh and the surrounding areas. I took off for 10 days on a motorbike (see my previous blog) which was the highlight but the town itself had enough to keep you interested. From the many good (but cheap) restaurants scattered throughout town to the Buddhist temples perched on the nearby mountain, Tibetan prayer wheels and the walking mall (now considered by me as normal). The people were friendly even with the influx of tourists and I even got to witness a Buddhist festival (low key but good). Although this was all very nice there was also the dark side to Leh. A sinister shadow that only came out at night. During the day there was an abundance of peaceful dogs that would be asleep around the town. Even in the heavily walked area of the mall they ignored and slept through all those boots plodding next to their noses. But at night, once the humans left the streets, these previously docile bundles of fur went into a full-on war mode. Of course during my travels I have experienced angry dogs from too close and annoying barking dogs while lying in bed. But this was different. The conflicts seemed to last all night. The barking would so very often transform into screaming yelps of pain as I assume one of the dogs would stray into enemy territory. The front line was quite close to my hotel but after arriving back from my motorbike trip one of the sides must of made gains as it had shifted further away. But be assured and not fooled, this bloody battle is still far from over, even if the world press continues to ignore it.

Overall I stayed in Ladakh for quite awhile and when leaving had to decide on my initial plan of Spiti valley (another very long 20hr taxi ride to what I thought would be to a similar landscape) or a 40 minute flight back to my rock garden city of Chandigarh. I must be getting old. Back in Chandigarh I bussed back and retrieved my backpack in Shimla then had to decide on where to go next. I had a flight in about 7 days so I headed for Delhi before getting straight on an overnight train to Bhopal where I would spend the morning at a mosque, the Taj-ul-Masajid. A beautiful mosque and friendly muslim students made the visit worthwhile. From here I would spend the next days heading north back to Delhi. The misses on the trip back were the tiny town of Sanchi with it's overpriced, although very old, Buddhist Stupas that historians or pilgrims might enjoy (I am neither) and Gwalior which had its moments with a long mountaintop fort but overall I didn't rate highly. These letdowns were offset by two very special places. The town of Orchha had a myriad of Buddhist religious buildings and forts. Exploring these were a joy with hidden corridors and stairs leading upwards to great views of the river and surrounding woods. In one of these enclosed passageways I had trouble with bats swooping around my by now crouched body, in another that ended abruptly falling distance up the side of a building's exterior, a dog sat singing (ok, really howling) at the sound of Buddhist ceremonial music coming from a distant temple. I really enjoyed this place and the lack of any real number of tourists added to the experience. The other special place I didn't have any trouble finding hoards of tourists. The city of Agra houses the Taj Mahal. This is my third visit here so I decided to bypass the visit inside and instead concentrate on the areas surrounding the complex. It is such a wonderful place to visit and fully deserves it's reputation. I found a great hostel where I could wake in the morning and open my curtains and welcome the new day with views of this great and beautiful structure. I always find it hard to say goodbye to famous landmarks, usually always attempting an additional glance back before forcing myself to leave, but new experiences awaited and it was time to leave India.

Hello Central Asia.