Dushanbe to Mazar-i-Sharif, the story

I ended up covering a significant amount of ground on this leg of the journey. My original intent was to try to make it to Termez, Uzbekistan, the last stop on the border. But things moved along at a decent pace, and fueled by the fact that Termez hotels are few and expensive, I’d save time and money heading straight to Afghanistan. But we’ll back up…

In Dushanbe, I had a small breakfast of onions, egg, bread, and tea, then packed up my things to head out. It was a bit difficult mentally to leave this hostel. As I’ve mentioned before, it was one of the best I’ve been in, and to know that the next few days ahead may be a bit challenging make it difficult to leave a place of solace and rest.

I had to piece meal it to the border. I walked to the main street and took a city marshrukta to a taxi terminal, where I was bombarded with offers to take me to the border, all over priced and tough to negotiate. After settling on just one of my arms, we made the 45 minute jaunt to the border, where I was dropped off in well, kinda the middle of nowhere. When you’re crossing these border sans car, it always feels a bit awkward- just standing there, in front of a bunch of gates and fences and thinking “Guess I’ll just walk across this thing”.

The first officer asked me (well, gestured) for my immigration card. That’s funny, cause when I crossed into Tajikistan over the Pamir mountains, I didn’t get one. Well this is awkward. He informed me I can’t leave the country. Awkwardness intensifies. After letting about 6 other people (with their cards..) through, we had a heart to heart. $40 hallelujah handshake and I was through.

Upon entering Uzbekistan, I had my first taste of the :horribly inefficient: customs bureaucracy that entangles this nation. I had to empty everything out of my bag, go through all the files on my laptop (especially pictures), camera, SD cards, external hard drive and cell phone. After this (which…takes forever), I could come on in.

From there I took shared taxi to Denau, and on to Termez, with plentiful police stops on the way, where I had to get out and have my passport number and itinerary taken down into a notebook. Once in Termez (about 3 o’clock), I figured I was this close to making the run for Afghanistan, I may as well do it. So I took a taxi to the border, and had to leave Uzbekistan under the exact same customs nightmare as before, even though I’d been here for a few hours.

Afghanistan was remarkably easy to enter. Passport, itinerary questions, stamp, and done. Once past the last gate (and rows of military sandbags), I was in. The internets informed me it’s about half an hour to Mazar, so I found a taxi and off we went.

Desert driving vibes. Also shameless selfie

After an hour (I swear the travel information is the worst for this region), of driving through sand dunes and past HUMVEEs and turrets, I was in Mazar. Naturally, the taxi driver had no idea where my hotel was, and neither did other cabbies, or even other hotels. Oh, and the phone number was one digit short of being an actually functioning Afghani number. Well thank you Wikitravel (almost the only source on where to stay here) for the complete fail. It was off to another hotel, which was actualy very central to the Blue Mosque (shrine), and fairly westernized. I had running water, “wifi” (didn’t work at all), and a secure location to explore tomorrow.

Getting trafficky!!

Shoemaster

My first impressions of Afghanistan were a stark reminder that it is less developed than anywhere in this journey so far. Aside form the dust (which has only to do with the geography), I was reminded again the smell of sewage, dirt and grime from other countries like this. I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, and was even more grateful for the hotel. Apart form that, there were a TON more people out and about, Street vendors, juice stations, friends, people chatting, it was actually very lively and nice to see. I only went out the hotel to grab some dinner (chicke pea soup with goat meat and Non), then it was a shower and to bed for me. Tomorrow will prove interesting. I’ll have a good note to look forward to!

-BK

A Day in Dushanbe

I arrived from my epic road trip pretty late at night, and unfortunately, I hadn’t had internet for the last few days, so I was at the mercy of my travel book for a place to stay. It mentioned that there weren’t really any hostels in this town yet (…) so I opted for the cheapest hotel listed. Upon arrival they wanted to charge twice that amount, I talked them down (didn’t know I could do that at a hotel haha), and I was relieved I at least had a place to stay the night. The wifi was functional…but the water wasn’t (?!). Really too bad for a pricey hotel.

Today I woke up, and took a walk around the city's botanical gardens next door, which was the one convenient things about his hotel. Beautiful morning, and a gorgeous park with about 4 weddings going on in random places. So nice to see! Then I caught a taxi to the hostel I found online.

Park/Garden, Dushanbe, Tajikistan

Hostels are a tricky business. I can’t imagine running one (OK maybe I could a little), and people certainly have an idea about how they are. This usually involves imagining 50 20-somethings screaming at the top of their lungs, smoking cigarettes into the vents, and throwing furniture out windows. While, this may rarely be the case (that was an actual description of a hostel I stayed at in Barcelona), most are pleasant places to recharge and meet other travelers. Occasionally we stumble on a really, really comfy place that has a naturally refreshing feel to it. Today I found such a hostel. It’s spacious, comfortable, quiet, and the travelers here are all on pretty cool journeys with really great perspectives. It’s nice to be in good company and a clean, comfortable oasis.

For the first time on this trip, I met a fellow American traveler (not expat). We had that shared "hey-thats-MY-accent moment", and we hit it off just like the red white and blue on our flag. A California gal with a classic valley accent (sorry had to throw that in there =P), we chatted about our travels in the area, our thoughts on the people, cultures, soviet influence (don’t expect this theme to disappear), and how american’s perspectives are limited in this regard. It was a great conversation! We decided to hit up the city and take a look around.

Dushanbe exceeded my expectations (which, weren’t really anything, cause I had nothing to go on). It has a beautiful surrounded-by-hills setting, and is chuck full of beautiful parks, cafes, monuments, and of course, a sweet bazaar. I appreciate the muslim influence in the city, as that makes people considerably respectful and easy to get along with. Amy and I put food on the priority list, and meandered over to the bazaar, where we split/explored about 6 different variations of meat and cabbage fried in dough. We then headed to the fruit section, where we decided we were both lacking various vitamins in our recents diets. A purchasing of clementines (tangerines? idk), cherries, grapefruit, and pomegranate juice ensued. A special shout out to the pomegranate juice maker, who, after our ordering, had to take the extra time to put on his juice-making jacket, button it up, and get to work. It was hilarious in the moment. We then found a popular little stall with another fried something situation, and what can only be described as, well, corndogs. People were crowding this stall and destroying said corndogs with this lady’s special dipping sauce. Who would’ve thought? Well, naturally, I joined in the feast. Finally, we tried theTajik street food version of fish and chips, which had surprisingly good fries, and remarkably bony fish (kind of expected). We topped it off with some cherry juice, and a general prayer to hope that today’s food-venture won’t result in our eventual sickness, dehydration, and deaths.

Downtown Dushanbe

THE food stall

Feeling well fed and generally anxious regarding our culinary decisions, we walked to the city center. Here lies a collection of massive statues, government buildings, and (what was…) the world’s tallest flagpole. The grounds of the park were beautiful, the sun was out (OK it was kinda brutally hot), and we generally had a nice time (even though our hunt for chocolate ice cream was in vain). And I have to mention, this flag pole is remarkably tall. I couldn’t stop standing underneath it with my neck craned up; it was ridiculous, and I loved it. After the park, we found a nice cafe to sit and relax while we waited out a sudden and unexpected thunderstorm, and then it was back to the hostel.

541' Flagpole

All in all, I love when a place exceeds what I expect of it. Of course, this is easy to accomplish when our expectations are limited in the first place. And that brings up the thought that so much of traveling places is having an idea of what it’s going to be like, and so much of our experience is based on how reality meets up with that expectation, both for good or for bad. I guess what I’m getting at is that it’s much more enjoyable to be excited for a place, but to go at it mostly with a clean slate. Dushanbe is such a beautiful city, and I’m really glad I swung by this way.

This is also the first time that I’ve met multiple travelers in one place, as opposed to just one or two. There are two Croatians, a Chinese guy, two Tajik guys (have interviews tomorrow in Dushanbe), a Korean girl, and of course, the two Americans. There is something refreshing, enjoyable, and really fun about meeting and swapping stories and travel advice. The majority of travelers (especially who make it out this direction) are generally laid back, enjoy-the-moments kind of people (with a touch of street smarts and problem solving), with a great body of perspective that makes for fantastic conversation. We spent the night eating, drinking and talking about government systems, language, education, cuisine, history, eachther/our hobbies, and everything in between. There’s a common thread and it’s a blast to be a part of it.

I guess this is all just another lesson that travels reminds me of- here’s to good friends, and unexpected places we love. I hope I can continue to find the time to enjoy wherever I’m at, take a look around, and find people to make that experience better. Enjoy the Journey!

-BK

The Road to Dushanbe: Me and The Ladies

Khorog to Dushanbe

I’ve covered a lot of ground over the years. I’ve had some amazing opportunities, and always had a thing for getting out onto remote raids and seeing epic scenery. I perhaps was on one of the more scenic roads I’ve covered in my travels (at least top 5, we’ll say). Maybe it was the ‘off-the-beaten-path’ aspect, perhaps it was the fact I was bordering Afghanistan by maybe 100 meters most of the time, or maybe it was the energetic crowd I was with for the 15 hours journey. Sometimes you have days that just go really, really well. I had a great travel day.

The start:

Getting up at the crack of dawn in Khorog, I went outside to meet :whoever: was suppose to meet me at 6am to bring me to Dushanbe. This was via the driver I had from Murghab ro Khorog, who said his friend would meet me. When 6:15 rolled by (and given my previous lesson in Murghab), I placed out and started heading toward the little bus station. En route, parked in a more residential area was a short, stocky, pleasant faced guy packing up his LandCruiser. “Dushanbe?”- he asked. “Da, Dushanbe!”. We bonded. We loaded up my things a top the car, and waited for the next 6 passengers.

The people:

First was a pleasant lady who came with her mother to see her off. Next, came two ladies, each with a kid (about 4 and 6), but who seemed to kinda all come together. And a couple minutes later, fashionably late, came an ancient woman who, as she stepped into the courtyard, exclaimed something to which everybody erupted into laughter. You see, this matriarch was the mother of the two women, and obviously, those were her grandkids.

One of the daughters spoke a little english, but we quickly left english anyway and just preceded in Russian and hand motions. We covered all the basics: where I’m from, why I’m not married and where are my children?, what I do, etc. The Queen mother was highly pleased when she learned I was a medical student. It turns out she has quite the story. This lady is a traidiontal Tajik (well, Pamiri) dancer/singer, whose career over the years has taken her to England, all over mainland Europe, Moscow (where she owns a home- and her granddaughter studies medicine there), Afghanistan, and the whole region here. She was, in fact, just performing in Khorog. Cue the music and the dancing. She was hilarious, and a ball of energy.

An honorable mention to the kids, who were naturally adorable, but also a lot of fun to play with. When we were stopped to fix our flat tire, we entered into a fierce sequence of word-less games, which won over not just them, but the mothers and Queen Royal as well.

Now, I won’t pretend to know much about the inner workings of a woman’s mind, but I can make some geernal observations, and I an at least say that there are some incredible similarities between women everywhere. Examples: approximately every 10-15 minutes, they would erupt into scolding the driver for :something:, and then we’d all algae about it. At one point he stopped for lunch, and they ordered him to go inside and see what’s on the menu first (this was a first in all my vehicle rides). He reported, to which the Queen B exclaimed “NE!! something something”…and off we went to find a better place, about 2 hours later (and it was much, much better with outside seating, etc).

The Route:

It’s no secret that I’m traversing the Pamir Highway, the famed M41 through the Pamir mountains, starting (the most inclusive list) from Mazar-i-Sharif to Osh. Obviously doing it backwards, but last I checked, the road is two ways. It’s a winding, sometimes paved, sometimes mud, and everything in between road that crosses gorges, rivers, and climbs into the top of the mountains (in my case, starts from the latter and goes into the gorges and valleys). We in fact took a detour off the M41 itself, and stayed on the border of Afghanistan for basically as long as possible. It was stunning to watch as the Afghan peaks met the Tajik peaks with this turquoise river in between. What started in Khorog as a simple river bed evolved into a massive gorge and canyon complex that we were driving along one side of. I got to see it slowly pour into the valley that is central Tajikistan, and it was simply beautiful.

The journey include paved sections that we cruised along on, narrow dirt/rocky ledges, construction vehicles, cattle, to that-dump-truck-is-stuck-in-the-mud-and-we-can’t-go-until-he’s-out. The driver acted as DJ and we had a constant supply of mostly Russian/Pamiri/Tajik/Kyrgyz/Arabic songs , with the occasional American pop. The driver would stop at road-side stalls to buy treats for the car. The ladies brought snacks. I had a seemingly endless supply of dried apricots, some dried berry item, and an unidentified plant, with a delightedly tangy flavor. We ate, we sang, danced, talked, and mostly laughed for essentially the whole journey.

Occasionally we have days that are simply…great. There’s no great lesson to be learned or one things that made it so. It’s just a combination of “just right” that puts a smile on your face, and in our case, made 15 hours seem not that bad. I guess when seeking out the rare and out-there, what makes us the most happy is the comfortable and right-here.

Will relax in Dushanbe tomorrow to have a look around and recoup before continuing South West. Until next time!

-BK

A Cup of Tea

In Murgab, even though I opted for the :no electricity: guesthouse to save some money, I slept very well! It was mainly due to the fact that the first blanket weighed at least 10 pounds, and there were collections of furs on top of that one, so endless to say, I slept like a baby. Murgab operates kind of on it’s own time, literally. As in some people go by Dushanbe time, and some Kyrgyz, so having to meet my taxi driver at 10:00 was incredibly confusing. Naturally, he didn’t show up, and randomly meeting a girl who spoke english, she called him up. “Oh, I’m in Khorog now”. This, the guy who JUST LAST NIGHT was in Murgab, 7 hours from Khorog. She apparently swore at him a bunch and told him to fix it. So sooner or later, this guys buddy came to pick me up. After filling the rest of the SUV with passengers, we were off to Khorog.

This was the heart of the Pamir highway, and the essential reason I came to this part of the world. Known as the “roof of the world”, this (albeit mostly dirt and potholed) road soars alongside endless peaks of incredible ruggedness that went on seemingly forever. This is a nations of mountains, and we were in the heart of them.

One of the passengers, a customs officer, spoke English (and 5 other languages of course), so we naturally had a lot to talk about on our journey. Of note was the role of Tajikistan in Central Asia. He had a bit of a negative outlook on things, which is unfortunate. He spoke of a fundamental lack of natural resources or exports for their economy, and complained of the incredible corruption in the government. I didn’t have too much to say to this, since I never sort to telling somebody what I think their country should or shouldn’t do, I simply lack that knowledge or insight.

A Cup of Tea

Arriving in Khorog, the driver and I struggled to find the hostel I was intending to stay at. I opted for a homestay listed in my travel book right downtown. A very welcoming family, their home is attached to the city’s central park, and after settling (and SHOWERING), I went for a walk.

Immediate observation is the incredible freshness to the air here. It’s amazing, and reminds me only of a few mountainous places in the US. Secondly, mountains, mountains, everywhere. There is a beautiful clear river bisecting the town, and about 500 yards down, this E-W river joins another N-S river. Well, on the other side of that N-S river only 500 yards away? Afghanistan. Weird. Kinda cool. About 40% of my horizon is Afghanistan, and from here, it’s gorgeous. But another odd reminder that although most borders do have a geographic element (river), it’s still a political thing. These mountains all just seem one and the same, and the language here (which, is not Tajik actually), is spoken over there as well.

As I was walking, a guy roundish my age walked up to me and asked if I was foreign (how polite of him, since it’s dreadfully obvious). We started chatting, and I was refreshed by how good his English was. We just kinda shot the breeze, and it turned into a bit of a tour around town (this is how I learned about the border and immediate location of Afghanistan). Surush invited me to his home for dinner, and I accepted, and am so glad I did.

Here was a young guy (22yo), with a drive and passion for his country that struck me all at once as particularly unique, and all together familiar to some of the stories I’ve been hearing along the way. Having already received his Bachelors in Telecommunications (another theme), he did well, got an internship in China, and wasn’t satisfied. His dream is to make Khorog a better place. So he returned here. Unable to find a job, he took up a civil engineering position, and has been teaching himself the field as he goes in his spare time (as in actually- he attends the university here, etc). In addition to this, he has been attending English classes. All in all, he is unsatisfied.

We spoke (over a delicious dinner and lemon tea) for 3 solid hours. And it was mostly him. He spoke of a philosophy that the point of life is to make the world just a little bit better. He spoke of idea after idea of how Khorog could be modernized and improved (both telecommunications and civil engineering). He spoke of a dream that he could get a higher degree from Europe or the States “to have that life experience, to take something from there, and bring it back here to Khorog”. He has a vision to start construction projects to provide more jobs to the area. Of particular pride was the current construction (phase 1 of 8) of The University of Central Asia right here in town. He spoke of how the environment here makes it better to study in (it’s peaceful, quite, fresh). He spoke how they have done research on what makes a university great and are planning to implement those ideas. He went on about the civil engineering feats they are planning for it. He didn’t stop. And it was inspiring to listen to. He looked at me and with complete conviction said “this could be the best university in all of Central Asia. Maybe one day, one of the best in the world. Maybe your children will come to study here”.

When was the last time I was that passionate about something? When was the last time I was so proud of my country, of my hometown, that I wasn’t even faking it when I spoke of it’s potential? That I meant it with all my heart? Even typing this I start to think of excuses, all related to negative outcomes or why a place can’t become successful, etc. But, in a sense, Khorog, Tajikistan, a place may of you may have never, ever heard of in your lives, has many reasons NOT to become that. But hearing Surush speak, it melted away and I believed him.

It seems the fundamental difference is not only perspective, but an unwillingness to accept something less than your dream. I’d like to pretend I have that, but the truth is, Med school feels like a conveyer belt, and as long as I work really really hard, I’ll flop off the end, a doctor. Maybe the difference between him and I, is his ability not to just maintain a dream, but to not give up the act of dreaming.

Surush is actively following a dream. He is doing something about it, and it’s neat to see. I’m genuinely looking forward to the emails him and I will send over the next few years as we follow along in our lives. But I’ll tell you what, I’m inspired to rethink not just goals or “dreams”, but to remind myself of that ability to keep dreaming, to keep learning, and to stay active and alive about it.

One of the best cups of tea I’ve had.

-BK

Bump, Set, Spike

In Osh, I got up nice and early so I could be taken to the rendezvous point for my driver to Murgab, Tajikistan. Initially, the hostel was charing a WHOPPING $215 to get to Murgab (for the vehicle..), but I convinced them that I didn’t need a private tour, and just wanted to go with some locals. They agreed to this, made some phone calls, and said it would cost $49 (USD). Still a whopping amount of money, but mind you, this is an incredible distance, over terrible terrain with expensive (and rare) gasoline, AND most quotes are in the hundreds to get here. So I took it. A cab picked me up and dropped me off with the driver, who was loading stuff/passengers, and off we went. Advice to other travelers- Idk how you find these drivers, but my hostel was pocketing $30- if you pat directly its about $20 to Murgab at the local price.

And off we went. The Pamir mountains are a massive range, extending from Afghanistan into China and across these ‘Stans, and of course, there are micro-ranges within all of them. This section of road climbs up towards the top of those mountains, and skirts alone the ridge lines and plateaus between those ridge-peaks. It’s really something to behold, seeing the jagged top of these famed peaks, and all the while the landscape is something so strange. It truly is taking an arid landscape and placing it 20K feet into the air- desolate bowls, yet snow capped everywhere.

The Eastern Pamirs

Most people stop half way to avoid altitude sickness, since we were climbing up to over 15K feet from a little over 3K feet at Osh. We went straight there, and I just drank water, and prayed to baby Jesus that any ensuing headache wouldn’t be my final moments with cerebral edema.

In the land of Mitsubishi Pajeros and Toyota Landcruisers, these roads were made for SUV commercials. It’s not just large ruts, muddy trails, snow drifts, or rocks, it’s that all of these things somehow are occurring simultaneously. It’s fun to be a passenger sometimes.

Pamir Highway north of Murgab

I was reading in my travel guide places to stay in Murgab. It mints how it’s a hub for truckers to go to China (that pass is closed to foreigners), to get to Khorog, and even journeys into the Wakhan region. I was looking forward to snuggling up in one of the lodge-like guesthouses and swapping travel stories with other weary back-roaders.

Well, Murgab is out there. I mean…really, really out there. The 3 establishments I went to find login were all closed ( 2 just had locks on them, nobody around, no birds chirping, nothing). Stone houses line empty dirt streets as the wind howls through them. The bazaar is a massive collection of old shipping containers (I’ll assume they’re from all the Chinese trucks that decided they weren’t gonna make it). And the mountains were looming over all of this scene. It was a bit eery at first.

Murgab Bazaar

With the aide of the english speaking girl at the not-open-yet hotel, I meandered my way to a guesthouse in town. Very simple lodging, but the price was decent, and I had a roof over my head.

I decided to take a walk and look around. The bazaar was completely shut down, without a soul in sight. The gas station didn’t have anybody there. Save for a few goats, this place was so empty. That was, until, I followed what could have been the sound of the wind crying it’s triumph over this place, but was in fact the distant sounds of some laughing and cheering. As I rounded the bend I found, to my surprise on many levels, a lively game of volleyball going on with what seemed hale (ok maybe all?) of town around to watch. I stood at a distance at first, but I ws soon noticed and instructed to come stand right next to the score keeper and watch front row. It was a blast. It seemed like it was older guys versus a team of younger whisper snappers. Game one went to the young guys. Game two was close, but old guys took it. The third game was the most intense (at first), but the older guys hit their stride and took off. Bumping, setting, spiking (right?), you’d think we were watching the Tajik olympics. With every wayward ball, sniper-lied spike, or obvious blunder, everybody would “ooo”, cheer, and laugh hardily. The score keeper, in the mean time, was teaching me Tajik numbers as we followed along (he served as referee when things got tricky, too).

Set!

I’m really lucky to have found that volleyball game. I know I’ve written about how experience shapes your opinion of a place before, but I could start to feel my opinion forming on Murgab, and it was in a slightly (OK fairly) negative light. But then I found a community that is OK with shutting down the shops, turning the lights off and going out to have some fun as a village. :Opinion changed:, and I’m still learning that lesson.

To the old guys: keep playing like you’re young. Young guys: keep playing like you’ve got something to prove (you do). And the the rest of us, make sure we’re there, and start making community a priority.

-BK