December 9, 2014 by foonbikeride

DUSHANBE

I don’t think this needs an explanation.

Post Pamir Highway relaxation/ Visa application party

What do I know of Dushanbe, the capital of Tajikistan? The sites, the museum, the history?

Nothing really.

I know where the Uzbek, Iranian and Turkmen embassies are. I know where the cheap and expensive supermarkets are, and the ATM that disperses the most US dollars at a time. I know where the expat pub is and the café with free wifi.

The bikes go to the pub for a pint or 3

Mostly though, I know Vero’s backyard. The high walls, garden scattered with cyclist’s tents, the porch, where at any point in the day some cyclists will be sitting, chatting, drinking coffee or beers, reading and resting.

Best Backyard ever

Love this porch

When we pushed our heavy bikes through Vero’s door (opened by the kindly guards whose job it is to do this and seem rather amused by the constant arrival of foreign cyclists) we stepped into another world. In fact we stepped into a home. After more than a year on the road, for the first time, we really felt at home.

Breakfast time

Let me take a minute to explain. Vero is a legend in the cycle touring community. Not only has she cycled on a tandem with her young son, both in South America and here in Tajikistan (she cycled the Pamir Highway this summer) she is also the most wonderful WarmShowers host. Central Asia is a real bottleneck for long distance cyclists, not only is the area is plagued by complicated visa procedures but most people cycle the Pamir Highway and will find themselves in Dushanbe either before or after this epic feat. The people who come before general stay a day or two as they get their GBAO permit (unless of course they stop giving out permits, then people stay for weeks) and the people coming from the Pamir highway (like us) generally seem to stay a bit longer, recovering and applying for onward visas. As it was still warm when we arrived, some days there were up to 16 cyclists camped in Vero’s backyard!

Dinner is served!

We had heard about the legend of Vero well before we ever arrived in Tajikistan from other cyclists, and had been looking forward to our stay. All three of us had visas to apply for and bike maintenance to attend to. Not to mention an epic amount of washing. And resting. The night we arrived there were already a handful of cyclists there and it was not long before we were sipping beers and sharing stories.

Cyclists come and gp

After weeks on the road, Vero’s place was paradise. A flushing toilet (with toilet paper!) a hot shower and the most amazing thing – an oven! I don’t think I have seen an oven in over a year. We abused that oven every night.

In the kitchen where he belongs, cooking up a storm! (-:

Our days at Vero’s began with yoga in the backyard, followed by coffee on the porch with Vero and whoever was up. After breakfast the morning was a slow meander, marked by cups of tea and coffee. We tinkered with bikes, read books, researched, emailed, skyped and chatted to whoever was around. Sometimes there were visa errands (we successfully applied for our Turkmen, Iranian and Uzbek visas) or runs to the supermarket. The vibe was really communal and in the afternoon we usually planned what to make for dinner (it usually involved the oven) and we would cycle off to purchase ingredients and cook together.

More delicious food

The cyclists came and went. Sometimes the house was bursting, and you could hardly get to the kitchen and other times it was just 4 or 5 of us. Everyone we met was super cool. Most people were on long trips, and most were heading east. We eagerly shared our stories and swapped information. There was a lot of laughter, especially because Vero’s eccentric African Parrot had impeccable timing and would always choose the perfect moment to burst into an eerie laugh.

This parrot has amazing comic timing! I like him so much

There was a downside to our stay in Dushanbe, a lot of us at Vero’s got sick at some stage with ‘Tajik belly’. Neil succumbed once (after having just recovered from it on the road) and poor Astrid twice. I was one of the few lucky ones to remain immune. Astrid spent a lot of time on the couch reading Jane Austen and not writing the blog.

Porch time

One night at Vero’s we went clubbing. I’m not the biggest clubber around, but I do like a dance and I must say clubbing in Dushanbe was a lot of fun, especially with a bunch of cyclists in their ‘fine attire’. I can’t remember the last time I had a good dance like that. Another night we crazy danced in the kitchen while making pizza. One Monday Vero generously poured us all champagne ‘just because it was Monday’. The longer we stayed, the more we got to know Vero and her son Gab, the harder it was to leave. Gab too is quite a legend. I don’t know many 8 year olds that have cycled the Pamir Highway, or switch so effortlessly between French and English. He was a lot of fun to hang out with.

‘Champagne Monday’

Early morning farewell

The nature of travel is that eventually one must leave and pedal off to the next destination. However, not without a party. The main reason for the party was that Stephanie, an intern at the EU (where Vero works) was to finish her Masters Degree. We had all gotten to know Stephanie as she lived at Vero’s and it seemed an excellent reason to celebrate. Plus a lot of the ‘long term’ cyclists (us included) were leaving that Sunday. Poor Neil, he had finally really been bitten by his Green Mumba passport. Despite having not lived in South Africa for years he was denied a Turkmenistan Transit Visa, possibly on the grounds of Ebola paranoia. So Neil and Courtney (an awesome Australian cycling alone) were flying to Tehran that Sunday and we were heading towards the Uzbek border.

Barbara fitting Courtney for her ‘Iran appropriate’ wear

One day we had a picnic in the garden

“Eating Chocolate cake without hand’ night

Awesome chocolate cake face from Gab

How many people can fit into one 4WD…

Afternoon beers overlooking Dushanbe

So that Friday we geared up to celebrate. Neil was on cocktail duty, Astrid, Courtney and I were the pizza makers, Anna and Nico (a cool French couple) baked amazing cakes and Barbara made an awesome salad. A quick side note on Barbara, an awesome Austrian cyclo woman who has been traveling by bike and sailboat around the world. Barbara and I have been emailing since we were in Indonesia as after 2 years cycling alone she was looking to form a woman cycling gang. However, we were too far in front initially, then behind in China and in front again through Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. Finally we met at Vero’s. Barbara is a really inspiring rad woman and after comparing Turkmen transit visa dates we realised we would be in Iran at the same time. Our plan is to cycle together from Mashad in Iran.

Preparing pizza

I think we are dancing, Astrid looks a little dangerous with that knife!

The ladies of ‘sept 2014

Jack eyeing off the pizza

Cheers

Anyway, I don’t know if it’s the expat community, or the French expat community but the ability for mobilisation when there is a party was amazing. I don’t think many people would turn up if I set an email out on a Friday afternoon for a party that night. But by 9pm the house was packed, the music was pumping (Vero is also a DJ) and we were dancing like crazy. A great way to finish our time in Dushanbe.

Tajik fashion and dancing

Needless to say, Saturday was a mellow day full of packing, coffee and ‘hair of the dog’ beers. It was sad to say goodbye to everyone. Our time in Dushanbe has been very special. Meeting so many other cyclists was inspiring and getting to know Vero, Gabriel and Stephanie was wonderful. Thank you.We miss you and hope our paths will cross again one day

The ‘end of september’ group. Thanks Vero, we had the best time!

Off to the Uzbek border

December 6, 2014 by foonbikeride

The other side of the Pamirs.

Khorog -> Kalai Khumb -> Dushanbe (via the new road).

Khorog is a lovely place to relax.

We do apologise for the long delay between blogs and thank everyone who wrote to us to check if we are okay. Yes we are! We have been in the Central Asian internet blackhole and as daylight hours are getting shorter cycling and everyday living is taking up our time. So after a long hiatus, the stories of cycling and food are back. Our rest days in Khorog were truly relaxing. Time was spent tinkering with our bikes, people watching in the park, exploring the bazaar and stuffing ourselves with food. After weeks of bland, meat heavy central Asian cuisine, the local Indian restaurant was a vegetarian cycle tourist’s wet dream. Plates of curries were ordered and devoured with relish. We ate to celebrate and we ate to commiserate. After setting off from Japan a year earlier, MacG’s current cycle tour was coming to an end and our little pedal through the Wakhan together was his last cycling leg. MacG, you rock! Thanks for the awesome times and we hope our wheels cross paths again.

Thanks for the great times MacG!!

Back to being our family of three for the last time, the road would now take us 900 kilometres to the capital Dushanbe. It was a relaxing first day back on the bikes, the road meandering alongside the Panj River. The warm afternoon sun persuaded us to stop early and we found a lovely campsite under some trees at the junction of two rivers. As I lifted my leg over the bike an all too familiar feeling filled me with dread. I had been experiencing niggles in my back since pushing the Dirty Salmon up the hill of doom to Bibi Fatima, and now she let me know she’d had enough. I have learnt that movement rather than rest is what my back injury requires, so a yoga session was followed up by some pre-dinner Frisbee. I’m not the best player in the world and this coupled with me running about like I was sitting on a horse was a hilarious sight I’m sure.

Back to camping.

The road hugs the Panj River.

The following morning we met up with Christine, a French woman who has been working with an NGO in Tajikistan for the last 4 years. She was a fountain of information and we spent the morning cycling together chatting about Pamiri and Tajik life, history and culture. What Christine shared was fascinating and at times frustrating and sad, especially with regards to health, education and equality. At my request she also pointed out the road leading to the Bartang Valley which is on my list of must do cycle routes for the future (Kev, Pabski and Rich – booking you in for this now). At 10am we arrived in a bigger village and the smell of shashlik lured Neil and Jude into a kebab-based morning tea. Neil amused the owner by doing a chicken dance and he confirmed that it was indeed chicken on the skewers. My back continued to give me grief so I decided to stop often to stretch and by the late afternoon I needed to get off the bike altogether. Our campsite was set up, perched on the edge of a cliff with a steep rocky scramble down to the water below. I interchanged yoga and walking exercises, while Jude and Neil cooked up a storm and brewed our mandatory cups of tea.

Calm waters of the Panj.

Looking up the Bartang Valley, a future cycle tour for sure.

Camping on the edge.

The road continued to follow the Panj River, but the wide valleys soon gave way to rocky canyons and little villages were located on the only flat land amongst these. The undulations along the canyon walls and the poor road surface provided a challenge for my back and I commenced a regime of cycling for 40 minutes followed by 20 minutes of yoga. In addition to these extra breaks we continued to be stopped regularly by locals offering us chai (tea). We learnt only to accept an offer when we were hungry, as chai is never just chai and today was no exception. We were provided with tea, fried eggs, bread, fresh tomato and cucumber, biscuits, confectionary and peaches picked from the tree we sat under. Such kindness and hospitality is the norm in the Pamirs

The valleys narrow into canyons.

And the waters become choppy.

Afghanistan’s mountains continue to impress.

Chai never means just chai. Invites all round on the side of the road.

Late in the afternoon we crossed the dodgiest looking bridge thus far and proceeded to our final check point. While waiting, three boys came by and asked to have their photo taken. Little tough guy poses ceased when their (?extra) undies came out to be worn like hats. Once the photo shoot was over they asked to try riding our bikes. We told them it was not a good idea as they were heavy but they chose to give it a go anyway. Needless to say there was some falling and bruises, but they were super happy and they pushed us on our bikes through the sand track which the road became. Camp was set up in a sandy basin and we fell asleep to the roaring of the river (and the occasional truck).

The stunning scenery continues.

Tough guy poses become funny with underwear.

Sand bank next to the Panj makes a lovely camp spot.

Relaxing after a day of cycling.

Pedaling off in the morning I knew it was going to be a slow day. I chose to continue my cycle/yoga regime, and the road continued to undulate through the canyon. I was so slow that Neil was able to finish an entire book while waiting for me to catch up. At lunchtime a roadside restaurant appeared and the advertising signs were promising. As usual, reality did not match the picture. The only food available was fried eggs and frankfurters. And Cornetto ice cream – yes two of them did accidently fall into our mouths. Somehow during a yoga session Neil failed to see us as he cycled by and he spent the next hour and a half trying to catch up to the two of us who were now behind him. Not being sure where we were comparatively, we decided to spend the night separately. Jude and I pitched our tent on a beach with an Afghani village overlooking our campsite. The lights of the houses on the mountainside joined the stars in the sky and a deep feeling of peace settled on the night.

Canyon riding, the road on the right side is ours.

Sometimes the Afghan side looked more agriculturally developed that the Tajik side.

Yoga after cycling heals a sore back.

Late the next morning we met Neil at the township of Kalai Khumb. The size of a town here can be judged by the presence or absence of aisles in the supermarket – this one had many. Staples and many treats were purchased and eaten. Kalai Khumb is located at the intersection of the new and old roads to Dushanbe. Most cyclists take the old dirt road – which is 100km shorter and supposedly more scenic. Despite being longer I had chosen to take the new road as I thought it would be better for my back if I pedaled a road that was mostly tarmac. Neil’s bike continued to have rack issues so he made the decision to join us on the new road. Our decision to stay together was celebrated with a large bowl of plov and an afternoon beer. Afternoon beers are not so conducive with cycling, so after about 20 kilometres we pulled over and set up our tent in a food forest. It was an incredibly magical place. An old man from the village discovered us and used every excuse under the sun to convince us that we needed to come and stay at his house. Wolves would eat us, an avalanche would bury us, or the Afghanis across the river would shoot us. Realising that all his protestations were in vain, he then took pleasure in showing me all the edible fruits that were to be enjoyed around us. I’m so planting a food forest when we buy a property on our return!!

The children continue to request to have their photos taken.

Our food forest, everything grown here is edible.

None of the aforementioned incidents occurred during the night and we pedaled into the morning well rested and happy. The canyon narrowed even further and I felt as if I could reach over and touch the mountainsides of Afghanistan. Being so close provided a different kind of problem for us though. The police along this stretch of road were hyper paranoid about us getting shot by Afghani’s. I stopped to do my usual yoga, to have 3 police officers materialize out of nowhere to try and inform me that I couldn’t stop there as I was in danger. I did my best ‘dumb tourist’ look and continued on with my stretching much to the officer’s chagrin. The same officers received the one finger salute from Jude when the last one blew her a kiss as she cycled passed. Our tolerance for sexist and overt attention from men continues to decline. Lunch was then interrupted by another group of police who again warned us of our imminent danger. Luckily for our paranoid police friends, we spent that night camped among giant trees next to a natural spring at a local families property. They found my yoga extremely amusing, especially the sun salutations. I wondered if they knew it was for stretching or if they thought it was some kind of weird religious ritual.

Lush greenery surrounds us.

Looking back down to the canyons we had just cycled out of.

Knowing that we would have a climb, we woke earlier than usual and set off in the cool morning air. The road became super smooth tarmac after a few minutes and we flew along enjoying the lack of bone shaking corrugations and potentially bike breaking potholes. The canyon soon opened into a valley and rolling hills, the first difference in landscape for a couple of weeks. The tarmac soon disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Being more exposed to the elements the heat soon became oppressive and we stopped at the first Magazin for a cold drink, an ice cream and some treats. After sampling a selection of chocolate bars imported from Turkey, we are aware that we will be chocolate free for our time there. As the temperature climbed, so did we. The road now turned away from the border and up the pass that we were expecting. Finding some shade at lunchtime proved difficult, but not impossible. It was hard to get back on the bikes and start climbing again, but we were soon able to rest again. Road works were being carried out and as we waited, giant boulders were being dropped over the edge of the switchback above us. Ah the switchbacks and the false summits, not a good combination as the day comes to an end. The top of the pass remained elusive and we set up camp in a quarry as twilight set in.

The land opened up from the canyons we had been in.

Turkey fails to produce good chocolate.

Parking for lunch.

The top of the pass was reached the next morning and soon the wind was rushing through our hair as we descended into the next valley. On the way down I noticed an apiary and stopped to see if I could buy some honey. Next thing I knew we were seated in their tent drinking tea, eating melons and enjoying freshly gathered honey on homemade bread. In true Tajik style we were gifted more honey on our departure and made to promise to visit again when we were next in the area. You would think that after stuffing ourselves with such good food and not expending much energy due to cycling downhill, lunch would have been the last thing we wanted. Sure enough it wasn’t and soon we were sitting in a shaded restaurant garden eating more. This was followed by a couple of ice creams, as we bought our own and then were gifted others. The valley we were in was fertile and the townships well developed. It came as no surprise to find out that the president was from the area and that most governmental funding is spent here. Our good luck did not last into the evening – we had been offered a place to stay but the guy didn’t return, therefore we made camp in an orchard next to the freeway and the roar of trucks and cars didn’t abate all night.

Chai again does not mean just tea. Our feast with the honey man and his family.

A farewell salute from our lovely honey host.

Descending into the next valley after the never ending climb.

Our waitress tries on Neil’s glasses. I wanted to capture her gold teeth but she wouldn’t smile.

French toast and coffee cured our fatigue and feeling rejuvenated we continued to cycle through fertile fields. The greenery gave way to golden grass as we climbed and then undulated our way through hills as far as the eye could see. Being gifted melons and grapes was a welcome treat as the heat of the day came on rapidly and shade was scarce. A post lunchtime break was enjoyed in the shade of the petrol station where we spent two hours reading books and drinking cold drinks. The road again improved but the attitude of the drivers didn’t. A plastic bottle was launched at me and luckily missed its target. Needing a good nights sleep we pulled off the main road and asked an old man if we could camp on the land there. He was obliging and very much wanting to converse with us. Despite his knowledge of seven languages and the combined five that the three of us knew, we unfortunately had none in common. After a quick chat in Russian he left us to set up camp and enjoy our evening of peace and quiet.

Camping in the orchard.

French toast of awesome.

Golden hills rolling as far as the eye can see.

Donkey love.

With cups of tea in hand we watched as the sun rose over the valley. It was another hot day and we had two big climbs to really make us feel the heat. After the first ascent lunch was eaten at a roadside rest stop where every stall sold the same two dishes. The next climb, some tunnels and a lovely downhill placed us further along the road than we expected. Finding ourselves only 30 kilometres out of Dushanbe with at least three more hours of daylight we decided to make a push for the hospitality and warm shower at Veronique’s home in Dushanbe. Fortune was with us as the road was flat and we sped along with happy hearts. The last gift of hospitality on our Tajik crossing came from an old man who presented me with a pear and some sweets. He had cycled his grandson into Dushanbe and back that day for medical treatment, but still had the time and inclination to welcome a guest to his country. Such acts of kindness continue to remind me of the inherent good that is found in the world.

Donkeys feeling as hot as we were.

The iridescent blue of the dam near Dushanbe.

Entry gate to Dushanbe, a welcome site.

Our family of three cycled into Dushanbe, the last leg of the road together since we joined forces in Turpan. The feeling was bitter sweet, but this didn’t last too long. The haven of Veronique’s awaited us, as did a cold beer to celebrate achieving our dream of cycling the Pamirs.

Love, Astrid.

I don’t think this needs an explanation.

Note: I’m sorry for the less than usual amount and diversity of photos, I don’t take as many if I’m unwell. Oh yes, and my back did fully heal with my cycling and yoga regime. Yay for freedom of movement!

October 15, 2014 by foonbikeride

I can see Afghanistan from my tent

Bulunkul to Khorog via the Wakhan Valley

Heading towards the pass that would take us into the Wakhan valley

We turned southwards now, away from the Pamir Highway itself and into the Wakhan corridor. The river that cuts through this narrow, dramatic valley forms the border between Tajikistan and Afghanistan and is home to the Pamiri people, who are both different from the Kyrgyz nomads of the Eastern Pamir’s and the lowland Tajik’s. To many cyclists, this detour is considered a must. We were no exception.

Lake, part way up the pass

Stunning but it kept going up and up!

But first we had to get there. Other cyclists had told us the ride in was tough. I am never one to fully believe what I am told until I experience it. However, I can certainly say it was challenging! Not only were we ascending a 4000m plus pass, the road also alternated between horrible loose rocks and thick sand. I was often pushing (and swearing), and it took us most of the day to do 30km.

Beautiful cycling, near the top

The moody weather starts in the afternoon

Dwarfed by the landscape

The following morning we woke to our first really cloudy day since entering Tajikistan. This moody, unseasonal weather would follow us almost all the way to Khorog, unfortunately often obscuring the mighty Hindu Kush mountain range that borders Afghanistan and Pakistan. A short cycle from our camp found us at a checkpoint and at the opening of a large river valley. Across the river lay Afghanistan, seemingly peaceful and unassuming. In fact, this part of Afghanistan is peaceful. In Khorog the Afghan embassy issues tourist visas (for $100 USD) and you can organise a tour to the Afghan Wakhan. While we did not go into Afghanistan itself, we were often camped closer to the Afghan settlements across the river, than to Tajik ones. We waved and called out ‘hellos’, watched the donkey traffic and observed how life on the Afghan side looked very similar to the Tajik side. The only real difference was that thanks to the Aga Khan foundation (the Aga Khan is the leader of Ismaili Islam), the Tajik Wakhan had electricity and a road. Well, a kind of road. Oh and also, the Afghan donkeys are a lot louder.

Sheep and goats on the other side of the pass

Our tents form a line for wind protection

Double checking our route. That’s Afghanistan in front of us

The stark beautiful valley as we head down into the Wakhan

That first day we bumped and looped our way down into the Wakhan (sadly it wasn’t always actually down). The road was rough, and poor Neil had a few issues with his front rack. Towards the evening the weather really began to come in, a fierce wind blew and the occasional bouts of rain accompanied. We had wanted to camp, but up here on the exposed road there was very little shelter. Even when the first small settlement was reached, no choice camp spots revealed themselves. After a quick group discussion and a look at the blackening sky it was decided we would push on the Langar, the first larger village of the Wakhan. Luckily, from where we were it was downhill and we reached the first houses of Langar just as it was growing dark. While we were cycling through, looking for signs for homestays, a couple in an apricot orchard called Astrid over. After handing her a huge bag of apricots, they also invited us all in for the night.

Looking out towards Afghanistan

Heading down

It’s dry and exposed up here

Afghan camels

The weather starts to come in during the afternoon

The peaks are obscured

It gets colder

Snack stop

And what a beautiful home it was. The husband had built it himself and it was in the traditional Pamiri style. Epic thick walls, white washed exterior with blue door and window frames. The interior, while open plan, had little raised sections, carpets hung on the walls and a pointed skylight (Tajik dome as he called it) let natural light in. The whole place was incredibly warm and welcoming. Pamiri houses (like Kyrgyz ones) always seem to have piles of blankets, and it was these that the couple made into amazingly comfortable beds for us in the front two rooms. We were then treated to a huge dinner, eating till we thought we might explode and using a mixture of bad Russian and charades to communicate.

Our wonderful Pamiri hosts

The outside of their home

Inside their home

Sharing a meal

It rained during the night and we were incredibly thankful for the hospitality we received. Bidding farewell to our lovely hosts we pedaled out into the Wakhan. Now we were really in the valley. The Hindu Kush, although their peaks obscured, towered above us from the other side of the river. Poplars lined the road, as did carefully crafted low brick walls and the occasional Ismaili shrine with ram horns marking the entrance. We were no longer in high altitude desert, green had come back into the landscape and farm animals moseyed about, kids shouted as we passed and men tried to push start ancient Ladas. After the solitude of the eastern Pamirs, it was a very different experience.

The Wakhan Valley

An Ismaili Shrine

A Mosque, opposite the shrine

A Pamiri home

Edge of a village

Our first task of the day was to find chocolate. We visited about 5 poorly stocked magazins and managed to scrape together a few snacks (it was about here that Astrid’s date obsession began, thanks to Jeff). All of us remarked on how much money the locals could be making off cyclists, if they stocked a few choice products like cheese and chocolate. Most of the tourists in the Wakhan are cyclists, and cyclists are HUNGRY almost all the time. Provide cheese and they will come.

Searching for chocolate, a typical Wakhan shop

Cute donkey 1

Cute donkey 2

A rare section of paved road

View across the valley

Moody clouds over Afghanistan

Can you see the corrugations?

Lunch by a natural spring

Anyway, aside from obsessing about food we bounced along the Wakhan, trying to remember at what point Remi and Rebecca had told us the road improved. Was it 30 or 40km after Langar? Of course, being Tajikistan, we ran into a few cyclists coming the opposite way and they assured us the road did eventually improve in about 30 or 40km.. Poor Neil, he was starting to have serious issues with his racks. While his bike is pretty much indestructible, his racks were not and after weeks of rough roads they had seemingly had enough. It was about this time that Jeff, being knowledgable about most things, especially bikes, began to be referred to by us as ‘McGyver’ as he was able to fix anything with a piece of wire. Soon McGyver became simply McG.

Back into the elements

You can almost see the Hindu Kush…

A slight view of the snow caps..

Beautiful cycling through the sheltered valley

McG, protected from the wind and sun

So after more than a few McGyver stops we reached the turn off to Bibi Fatima. At the top of this 7km climb lay some castle ruins and hot springs, which Astrid and I had managed to convince the guys was worth seeing, not the mention the amazing view we would have if the weather cleared. We began the climb and it was epic. The gradient was insane, and being the Wakhan the surface was terrible. Poor Neil was already beginning to feel a little unwell, then his chain snapped only about 4km in. While he and McG were McGyvering it back into place in the fading light, Astrid and I hiked further up to see if we could find a homestay. We were in luck. The four of us gathered up our bikes and pedalled the 600m to warmth and shelter just as it began to rain.

Wheat fields and wind

Buddhist caves in the distance

Another beautiful Pamiri home

Pretty happy about cycling the Wakhan

Moody clouds over the Hindu Kush

The fairy has a fall climbing up to Bibi Fatima

View from part way up

looking cute

Again we were in a thick walled, warm Pamiri house, full of blankets and carpets. After an awesome feast we decided to embrace the sleepover vibe and watch a movie. Yep, being total dorks, we decided to watch a cycle touring film.

We woke to rain and delayed our departure till the weather had somewhat cleared. By now poor Neil had a full blown case of what would become the infamous and way too familiar ‘Tajik belly.’ It was decided we would cycle the remaining km’s to the top and then have a rest day. Once at the top we found ourselves a hotel to call home, met some other cycle tourists and all had lunch together. After lunch Astrid and I went and had a very relaxing bath in the hot springs and were taught by all the local women how to check how many children we would have (the springs are supposed to enhance fertility). Apparently Astrid and I are supposed to have 6 kids each (!). While we were relaxing, sadly, McG and Neil were not. Having decided to fix one thing on Neil’s bike, they inadvertently opened a can of worms and spent the better part of the day working on the racks.

View off the Wakhan from near the top

12th Century ruins, high above the valley floor

A bit more fort action

Looks like it may clear..

No, more weather comes in from Afghanistan

We rolled down the hill the next morning with Neil’s racks firmly McGyver’ed into place. Unfortunately the same could not be said for Neil’s stomach. The weather kept teasing us, it looked like it was clearing but then another front of inclement weather would come rolling in. We were however, afforded some beautiful views of the Hindu Kush between the clouds that day and felt like we hadn’t all together missed out. After not many kilometres we called it a day and crawled into the undergrowth, having found a very sheltered camp thanks to McG.

I decided it was a choice moment to drain and replace my Rohloff oil while the others enjoy the view

Heading back down

Our lunch spot, sheltered from the ever present wind

Cultivated fields

By now we were running low on food, well not really food, just snacks. We reached Ishkashim, the main Wakhan town before Khorog with grand expectations. This seems to happen with Neil and I a lot. We start imagining all the food we might find (snickers perhaps, maybe cheese?) and are inevitably disappointed. Instead we had yet another bowl of soup with cabbage and meat and rolled out of town with a few wilting carrots, some weird Russian chocolate and a bottle of vodka. That night we found another prime camp spot, McG built a fire and we all enjoyed a bottle of vodka together. Ah, life on the road.

The Hindu Kush reveal their beauty

Epic snow caps of awesome

Astro and the Samon out in front looking cool

Tarmac!

Our last full day before Khorog and we could see that we would soon be in the regional capital. The road for one had improved a lot, and we soon began seeing well stocked Magazins as well as finding a restaurant that had actual salad on the menu. The four of us rejoiced at being able to eat something other than soup. We spent the rest of the afternoon out cycling a storm (finally, a tailwind) and made camp on a beach, right next to the river.

The kids love to be photographed! We got so many requests.

The river must be immense in the spring with the snow melt..

Afghan settlement

Gah! Clouds.

Let me now describe a typical evening. It goes something like this. The front cyclists (usually Astrid and McG) will stop and wait while Neil and then I catch up at a spot that could have some good camping. Two or three of us will then scout around, looking at things like shelter, access to water and how hidden we are. A discussion will ensue about the merits of each spot, or perhaps pushing on. Sometimes this can take a while. A spot will then be decided and we will haul our bikes over (usually our spots have difficult access). Teabitch (aka Neil) will then get ‘Betty’ (my front, ‘kitchen’ panier) and will start making tea for all of us. After initial hesitation, McG succumbed to tea as well. We will then set up our tents, put water up to filter and dig food out from various parts of our panniers. Once the tea is ready we generally sloth around chatting and drinking tea until someone has the initiative to start chopping vegetables. Dinner is prepared and eaten together and is generally followed by a second cup of tea.

Breakfast in one of our great camp spots

Afghan waterfall

More cute village kids

Our camp on our last night was however neither hidden, nor sheltered, as the land was becoming more heavily cultivated and the valley narrow. Just as dinner was ready the storm front caught up with us. So the four of us somehow managed to squeeze into our tent until the front passed. Then we climbed out, built a fire and had a few beers (thank you well stocked magazins). This would be our last night all together in the Wakhan. It had been truly great sharing this experience with McG and Neil (who wouldn’t be leaving for a while yet).

Our last camp before Khorog

Camp fire on the ‘beach’

We woke to brilliant sunshine but the Hindu Kush were now too far to our east to see. After a slow pack up we hit the road and reached Khorog by lunchtime. Here we navigated our way to the Pamir Lodge where we immediately met more cycle tourists. For a couple of dollars we threw our tents up on the balcony and began the tasks of washing ourselves and our filthy clothes. Arriving somewhere after a hard stretch of cycling is always a little bittersweet. I will miss the tranquility and beauty of the high mountains and the Wakhan, as well as the friendship and camaraderie of our little group of four. At the same time, I am excited about having now cycled through such amazing scenery and for all the adventures that lie ahead.

Perfect weather as we head into Khorog

Khorog

More Khorog and importantly Indian food!!

That evening we celebrated our epic Pamir highway/Wakhan Valley cycle with way too much beer and vodka.

Made it! Beers of celebration

Neil tries a new hair style..

And riding the Samon on a beer run..

Cheers

Till next time

Jude

October 8, 2014 by foonbikeride

Into the Pamirs.

Osh -> Sary-Tash -> Tajikistan border -> Murghab -> Alichur -> Lake Bulunkul.

Quintessential Pamirs.

The lady didn’t blink an eye when I asked for 6 kilograms of oats. She just piled them into two large shopping bags and we were left to wander the rest of the Osh bazaar to buy the last necessities for our time in the Pamirs. We had been warned that food was scarce in this high altitude dessert and being hungry cyclists we didn’t want to be caught out. Our bikes were significantly heavier but being well fed is worth the extra weight. Our plan was to hitch a ride back to Sary-Tash and from there our estimated 28 day journey along the second highest highway in the world would begin.

Our fantastic companions on the way to Sary Tash (plus the drunk local on the right).

Camping was abandoned for the warmth of our homestay.

The sound of rain pounding on the tent woke us early and mud soon covered everything. Not dissuaded by this abnormal weather, we were ready by mid morning to hit the road and try the luck of the thumb. I spent the first ride sleeping in the back of a pick-up surrounded by milk pails, while Jude and Neil fretted in the front as the farmer continually fell asleep and hit himself to remain awake. The second ride was a little more favourable, despite Neil’s truck catching on fire and smoking out the cabin, Jude being proposed to again and again by our driver, and the weather getting colder and colder the higher we climbed.

A white wonderland.

The way to the toilet.

Cattle in snow.

Sary-Tash was hidden by cloud and a cold sleet began to fall on our arrival. Our idea of camping was quickly abandoned when we were offered a room and full board for the equivalent of $4 each. A heater as old as the ancient house was supplied to us and we were glad of its warmth as the sleet turned to snow overnight. A white wonderland captivated us in the morning and I walked around in awe at the transformation that a bit of frozen water can bring to an already stunning landscape. Dark clouds closed in and with heavy hearts we chose to spend another day in Sary-Tash. Cycling the Pamirs has been a long-term dream, and being held back when we were so close was irksome. The disappointment and cold were driven away by our attendance at the local banyan (sauna and washing house) with the ladies of the house. Tomorrow we resolved, would be the day of our departure.

Sheltering from the snow during lunch.

Leaving Kyrgyzstan behind.

Excited selfie.

No mans land.

Finding shelter from the wind and snow.

Yes it was freezing!!!!

Snow had fallen again during the night, but the low hanging clouds remained only on the higher mountains. The sun peaked her rays through to us and we knew it was time to go. We had a last coffee at our favourite little restaurant and were slightly delayed by making the acquaintance of many other cycle tourists. They had just come from the Pamirs the night before and were eager to share their experiences and to ask if we knew a place to get some good food. This question would be asked of us time and again by cyclists coming from the opposite direction and we were glad that we had packed all the extra food. The Tajikistan border was a days cycle away and we set off across the valley that we had first entered Kyrgyzstan along.

Delicious tea, bread and homemade Jam is far superior to my Russian language skills.

Looking back at the warm cosy house.

Having a rest on the switchbacks.

Reaching the top of our first 4000 plus metre pass.

The border!! Country number 10…

It was a steady ride, marked by the occasional drunken shepherd on his horse and one lying in the middle of the road. As we approached the far side of the valley, the storm clouds were blown eastward and the view of the road and surrounding 6000m peaks opened before us. It was time to climb. The ascent was gradual and as we ate lunch snow began to sporadically fall again. We crossed the Kyrgyzstan border without incident and returned to climbing through no-mans land. The Tajikistan border was still quite far away, on the other side of our first pass of 4336m, not a distance or height we would be able to reach that day. We collected water from the river we had been following and sought shelter from the constant wind behind the remnants of an old mud brick house. The snow set in as we cooked dinner and I must admit going for a pee that night was one of the coldest experiences ever.

Glacial rivers and snow capped peaks will be our constant companions.

High altitude desert of fun.

The change is immediate.

Riding the rough roads.

Collecting water from the freezing cold lakes, lucky we have a filter.

“Neutral” territory between China and Tajikistan, despite it being officially Tajikistan.

Ten centimetres of snow covered our tents and the landscape when we woke. We estimated that it had been approximately -8 to -10 degrees overnight and the frigid temperatures continued that morning. Our fingers and feet froze no matter what we did and getting ready that morning took us almost 3 hours. The sun provided welcome relief and we were eventually on the road warming ourselves by the energy required for cycling. At the base of some crazy looking switchbacks we came across a house where the family entertained us with tea, bread and homemade apricot jam, and I entertained them with my faltering Russian language skills. I had no idea that people were allowed to reside in no-mans land, but their house was comfortable and warm and it was a pleasure to rest there for a while.

Salt lakes and marshes are can be found throughout the region.

Windswept landscape.

Red marmots.

Alpine hares.

12 cyclists and 4 cars seen that day, a great ratio.

The top of the switchbacks marked the top of the pass and the Kyrgyzstan/Tajikistan border. I was breathless but excited to have made it, being country number ten on our journey and the gateway to the Pamirs. We snapped the mandatory photographs and were super excited to have made it to the top of the first 4000 plus metre pass. Tajikistan’s border post was a kilometer down the other side and could easily have been mistaken for a couple of derelict buildings of insignificance. Friendly guards completed the mandatory paperwork (no computers here) and we were soon on our way to explore the wonders that awaited us. The difference between the Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan landscapes was immediate. The lush green of the Kyrgyz plains, was replaced by the barren beauty of a high altitude desert. Blue glacial rivers cut through the brownish red rocky valleys, backed by the ever-present snow capped peaks.

Cycling down to the lake.

Yes it’s really that blue.

Sand and lake.

The lake used to be this high at some stage.

Collecting the grasses that grow in the marshes.

Our road now undulated through valleys at approximately 4000m and the wind storms created dust towers taller than buildings. Finding shelter that night was a little difficult and the tents were tightly secured with guy-ropes and stones. This was the first night that I would experience the displeasure of altitude induced sleeplessness, my brain behaved like a crazy monkey and for two hours (from midnight until 2am) it ran riot. This phenomenon was to continue nightly until we again slept below 3800m, numerous days later.

Ghost town.

Karakol mosque.

The living is easy.

If it wasn’t for the mozzies I would have gone swimming.

Heading away from Lake Karakol.

The wind continued in our favour and by mid morning we crested our second pass and were rewarded with views of the iridescent blue Lake Karakol. While waiting for the others I was offered a glimpse into rodent life with red marmots and white hares dashing about. I laughed at the antics of two marmots having a punch-on, as it reminded me of men in pubs. During our descent to the lake we came across many cyclists heading the other way – 12 in all and only 4 cars, a good ratio I believe. Karakol town was located on the far side of the lake and we cycled through sand beds that had once been the lake floor. The fence that had started from the border continued, and Jude let us know that the Chinese had built it (surprise, surprise). The area is now considered neutral territory despite officially being part of Tajikistan and entry is not permitted. I think the locals disagree as holes have been cut in the fence and many of the wooden poles have been removed for use as firewood. In 2011 China claimed 1% of Tajikistan’s land mass in that area as it’s own and I continue to be convinced that water will be the next commodity that wars will be fought over in this region due to climate change and the large amount of glacier fed rivers in the region.

Just cruising with wings of roadside brush.

The Chinese fence in the Tajikistan desert.

Heading down into the valley.

Collecting water is a constant job.

Don’t be fooled, it’s freezing.

A nice afternoon cycle.

Riding into Karakol felt like riding into a ghost town, I could almost hear the banjos playing in the background. We wound our way through the deserted streets and white washed buildings until we reached the lakeside. We spread our goodies on the salt-crusted earth between clumps of grass and as we ate, the mosquitos noticed our arrival and we were soon covered in bites. I had hoped to spend the night camped by the beautiful water but our intruders convinced me otherwise. After a fruitless search for a magazin to replenish our biscuit and chocolate supplies we hit the road again for a few more hours of riding. Exiting a narrow valley we came across a big river and found a derelict building nearby where we set up camp for the night. Neil had collected some dead bushes on the way and Jude collected some old dung so that we could have a campfire. After the initial smoke-out we settled by the fire and enjoyed our view of the stars and the Milky Way.

Collecting scrub and poo for the campfire.

Sheltered from the elements.

Tea and shoe fixing, all in a nights work.

Great pastoral land.

The caravanserai of old.

Yaks!!!

The valley we followed was good pastoral land for the area and as such we saw numerous yak herds as we cycled along the riverbank. The path we followed had been an old trade route and caravanserais from centuries past still dot the landscape. Except for the section of dirt road from the switchbacks to the top of the first pass, the road conditions thus far had been reasonable – until now. The corrugations and loose gravel began, bad enough to bring back memories of our time along the Savannah Way. A chance encounter with our friend Dave provided a respite for our shaken bodies and a chance to carb load before the next climb.

The crazy corrugated roads.

More corrugations.

Looking towards our next challenge.

Having a break with our mate Dave.

The start of the Ak-Baital Pass.

Ak Baital Pass was our next challenge, the highest pass on the Pamir Highway at 4655m. It was tough going and I must admit that during the steeper sections I probably spent more time gasping for air than I did cycling. Snow capped peaks looked close enough to touch and they provided welcome distraction from the reality of pedaling a 40kg bike up a gravel road at altitude. Despite the lack of oxygen my inner lesbian had me belting out Melissa Etheridge at the top of my voice and I received a standing ovation from the Austrian motorcyclist who greeted me at the top of the pass. It was more likely for having made it rather than my singing abilities…

Flat is good at altitude.

The flatter section of our big climb.

Jude continues to climb.

The top is further than it looks, especially breathless at altitude.

Looking back down from the pass.

Neil takes a break at the summit.

We made it!! Top of Ak-Baital Pass at 4655m.

Now it was time to enjoy some chocolate, followed by some sweet downhill. As we freewheeled amongst orange, red and brown peaks, I dubbed the area ‘the multi-coloured pyramid valley’. Thinking that we would again be camping that night, Jude and I went for a wash in the river while the sun was still hot. An (un)fortunate German cycle tourist arrived just as we both jumped out and stated that we were the best scenery he had seen all day. Hmm. He also said that he believed the town of Murghab was only 40kilometres away and that he would be cycling there that evening. Inspired by the news, we took a vote and it was decided that we too would push on to Murghab. As the sun began to kiss the horizon, I saw a fox running along a hill and the length of the day unraveled. I was tired. 40km had turned into 55, and we had cycled almost 100kilometres that day including a 4655m pass. Luckily Erali guesthouse was a true home away from home, and after a massive vegetarian feast and many cups of tea, we fell into bed content with the world.

Coming down the mountain.

Cycling pyramid valley.

Multi-coloured pyramid valley.

The river we were busted swimming naked in.

Good roads, great scenery, what more could you want?

Reminded me a bit of home.

Looking hot.

A welcome sight to a tired traveller.

Erali sits at the top of a hill overlooking the town. In the early morning hours I watched the town come to life. People walked or cycled to work, fresh cow’s milk was collected and then boiled in huge pots, a goat was butchered by neighbours, and dogs roamed and scuffled in packs guarding their territory. After a lazy breakfast, supplies for the next leg of our journey were bought at the local bazaar and we eventually commenced cycling at midday. A climb took us out of the valley we were in and after a couple of hours we met up with a group of other cyclists heading in the same direction. Our group of three was now a party of six – our own bike touring gang. That evening we set up camp together in a dry riverbed and as dusk turned to darkness the galaxy opened before us in a spectacular show of stars.

Murghab town.

The lovely owner of Erali Guesthouse.

Cycling through the back streets of Murghab.

Out of Murghab.

Back to barren.

The six meet and cycle.

New family home group.

What’s for dinner?

Under the Milky Way tonight.

Cycling the next morning took us over a handful of undulations and into a wide valley that cradled the Alichur River. Men and women used scythes to hand cut the grasses that grow in the marshes. It is collected and dried to feed their livestock in the coming winter months when this area is numerous feet under snow. Reports had reached us that a fish lunch could be had somewhere in Alichur, so we searched out the local restaurants but no fish could be found. Instead we had the usual soup, tea and bread (we later found out that the fish is found about 10km earlier at the restaurant next to the sacred blue spring). Just outside of town we spotted a beautiful patch of grass next to the river and an afternoon of fun in the sun commenced. We all splashed about in the freezing water, Didier threw in his fishing line hoping to catch us some dinner, Jude & Jeff went to town and bought some beer to share and we spent a pleasant afternoon and evening relaxing.

The valley opened up as we followed the Alichur River.

Men and women hand cut the grass with scythes.

The blue spring where fish can be caught.

Collecting water from the local well.

Splish splash…

Camping site luxury, grass and all.

Lake Bulunkul had been suggested as a detour from the Pamir Highway and we were all keen to explore off the beaten track. Yet beaten track it was, a mixture of old 4WD paths that had us wishing for mountain bikes to explore with, as it was awesome! Sparse rocky terrain surrounded the undulating tracks, the occasional salt lake, ramshackle village and river valley added stunning diversity to the scenery. A geyser was marked on the map and it turned out to be a trickle of cold water coming out of a metal pipe in the ground. Cresting to a plateau our maps didn’t match what was in front of us so we headed straight into a gale that blew half of our group over with its strength. 3kms of windstorm and dust tested our endurance to the limit and we sought refuge at some deserted buildings not far in the distance.

Wishing we had mountain bikes to go off trail and explore.

Into nowhere.

Making sure we are going the right way.

Desolate villages, people actually live here.

4WD tracks of awesome.

Green and red breaks the rocky monotony.

Salt lakes of beauty.

Can you spot the cyclists?

Valentina dwarfed by the surrounds.

When the dust and wind had settled we walked to the edge of the plateau and were rewarded with views of the glittering Lake Yssykul framed by the rugged mountains of the Tajikistan National Park. Following another track we meandered along the river that joined this larger lake to the smaller Lake Bulunkul. At the lake’s edge we watched as birds skirted and dived into the water hunting for the fish that would be theirs to eat. It was here that we waved goodbye to our new friends Valentina and Didier who were continuing their journey along the Pamir Highway and therefore stopping for the night at Bulunkul town. Thanks for the awesome days together guys and we hope to see you in Switzerland. Jeff decided to join us on our detour to the Wakhan Valley and our threesome became a foursome of fun as we headed south towards the river valley that divides Tajikistan and Afghanistan. A new road and a new chapter in our journey through the Pamirs, and one that Jude will share shortly.