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

A Bowl of Vegetable Soup

I’ve been covering a LOT of distance the last few days, and in a sense, that’s very gratifying after my Bishkek vacay. I’m not entirely sure how to break it all up, wince I have stories form each day, so I’ll put it into smaller chunks, highlighting things worth mentioning, and maybe in a few days say something about the Pamir Highway in general.

From Bishkek to Osh with Meret.

Ever have one of those moments of complete silence with somebody you don’t know that well? Like your mutual friend leaves to go to the bathroom and the two of you are left just kinda..sitting there. You speak up…exchange an obligatory chuckle, then go silent till said mutual friend comes back. This was that…for 12 hours. But more on that in a quick sec… back to Bishkek…

So Tuesday I received my Uzbek visa from the consulate around 11am, which meant I was ready to head to Osh ASAP! This was the famed decision between flying (on hour) or mashrukta/shared taxi. It turns out the flight was actually kinda difficult to book, and they didn’t have a ticket for that day (or next morning) in my luggage weight class anyway (Pegasus air is kinda like Ryan air, so ya know, shoes cost extra, etc). Since it was the afternoon anyway, I figured I would go for the wheels route. The price difference between a shared taxi and marshrukta was small, so I went with the shared taxi for the comfort of a regular car seat (marshrukta seats are technically padded regular van seats, but they mostly remind me of those metal fold up chairs at school concerts). As my luck would have it again, not a lot of people were heading that way, so I ended up the only passenger in a VW station wagon FULL of stuff to be dropped off at various points a long the way. Passenger seat=winning.

As expected, my driver, Meret, didn’t speak any english, and my Russian/Kyrgyz only got us past pleasantries. We then communicated our ages, the fact that I’m single (big problem at my age in Kyrgyzstan), and he is married with 3 children. That was about 10 minutes into the drive. That’s when the “where’s our mutual friend” silence began. We made stops every 2 hours or so for food, tea, toilet, or to drop some random package off to somebody. Needless to say, I didn’t get a terrible amount of sleep. The good part, however, was that we arrived in Osh about 9 in the morning, which is a lot better than like…3am or something. Meret dropped me off at the hostel I booked for no extra charge, and we said our goodbyes. So glad to be at a hostel where I can refresh, right?

Not quite. This particular hostel (booked on hostel world, too!) was a bit rough around the edges…also on the insides. Unfortunately due to the rain the previous night, they had no running water. I was bummed out since it had actually been a while since I showered (we’re talking before Altyn Arashan and the van-tank…). Looks like I would have to hold off a bit more. So I rested for a couple hours, then hit up the city of Osh.

I’m not sure what I was expecting from Osh, but this was slightly below whatever that was. Perhaps the hype of the city’s history and it’s relatively large size works it up to be about what Bishkek is. But it’s certainly a less developed city, and much more drab. Regardless, there were some neat things to see. I walked down to the Osh Bazaar, considered one of the oldest bazaars in the entire region, which, is fair to say one of the oldest in the world. Osh was an important stop over on the ancient silk road route, trading goods from what was to become China and the western world. So to think of the fact that I was bartering (ok not really cause their prices were really good actually) and buying goods in the same city as they were thousands of years ago. That’s a neat thought. After the bazaar, I walked up Sulaiman Too, essentially the rock of gibraltar of Osh. I spent a while relaxing up there and just enjoying the city view and the fresh air.

A Bowl Of Soup

Back to the hostel, where uneasy going Australian (is there any other kind?) named Callum was making some vegetable soup. Since I wasn’t able to talk to Meret very much, Callum got hit with all the conversation I stored up. He was kind enough to let me help myself too, and over the soup we sat for a long time and had a long talk.

You see, he’s been traveling for 18 months from Sidney and targeting Istanbul. I’ve met a lot of long-term travelers, people kinda floating through different nations, etc. But this guys is doing it all on his bicycle, and factually started in Sidney…crossed Australia through the outback to Darwin, up Indonesia, SE Asia, China…across China and Tibet…and is now here. Hats off to you mate, you win. But back to the soup- we talked about a great many things, but two things stick out as particularly relevant.

Firstly, was the idea of taking your time to look around. You can imagine you don’t have many other options when crossing half the globe on your bike. He mentioned how he’s had the chance to really stop and ponder the world around him. In a physical sense, there’s a chance to observe nature and things you’d otherwise miss, say a birds nest, or a tree (don’t laugh, Peter and I ended up doing a fair bit of bird watching in South Africa). And in another sense, perhaps this is just an important mindset he’s developed. Sure, every traveler has places they just need to move through quickly, but what an opportunity to see the world like he is seeing it. It goes without saying (but I’ll say it anyway), let’s not move too quickly through everything. Take time to appreciate where you live, the people in your life, and when traveling, the people around you in those places.

We then talked about some of the famous Anatrctica expeditions. Namely, the Robert Falcon Scott expedition- the one that failed miserably and everybody died ( I brought that up…), and that of Ernest Shackleton, where all his men lived..surviving imperceptibly small odds, existing on blubber and whatever else (he brought that one up…). Concerning men like Shackleton, we discussed the exceptional leadership quality he had. Namely, because he refused to show himself as disheartened. Anytime a problem arose, he immediately went to finding a solution instead of harping on the issue. His positivity, without a doubt, saved lives.

Without being too dramatic, this was one of the best vegetable soups I have had. Perhaps it was the fact I hadn’t eaten in a while, maybe it was something nostalgic, or maybe it was the company, as we sat slurping, dipping bread, and having a laugh over a whole range of subjects. Sometimes we meet people we just click with, and it’s a lot of fun, and honestly, meeting other travelers is one of the best part of traveling.

You see, when on the road, it is so easy to get down. It gets lonely, it gets difficult. I mean, I can barely order food since I can’t read the menu or speak enough of the language to differentiate between subtle words with drastic differences. It is simply difficult. But I find those who enjoy problem solving tend to have an easier time of traveling. I LOVE solving problems and figuring things out, and maybe that’s why travel is enjoyable to me. But I very often can feel down or frustrated, and I’ll have to remind myself that positivity goes a long, long way.

Thanks again mate for the bowl of soup, it fed more than just my stomach.

-BK

A Week in Bishkek

Ahh Bishkek. This post-soviet town, nestled in front of part of the extraordinary Tian Shan mountain range, is a acntral hub of Central Asia at large, and especially in the traveler’s scene. Often regarded as a nice place to pick up some visas, those who decide to stick around for a bit (or…are forced to wait around) will find a pleasant, calm city, with incredibly friendly people, and a national pride that Bishkek is a leader among Asian cities. This is where the intelligencia thrive, the expats settle down, and you can still get that wild bazaar vibe you’re still hoping for when traveling to this part of the world.

I’ve already gone over some of the details as to my spending all last week in this town on my post about the “Bishkek visa trail”. That’s essentially what kept me around, and though I got to spend the weekend in Karakol (with Bob…), I came back to Bishkek last night, and today was off to the Uzbekistan embassy to see about my visa. It went fairly smoothly. She grabbed my application, said it’d be ready today, and I just had to go pay the bank (it’s all about the $$$). Once I did that (ten minutes), I came back…and she handed me my passport with visa inside. One little issue- my much-needed 2 entries was only single entry. I decided to take that moment and straight up say…I need two entries. “You need two entries?”. "Yes, on my application it says two entries". She stared me down like a lioness in front of a gazelle. This gazelle did not move. It worked. She took my passport…went back to the lion’s den, and came back with hand written “2 (two)” and the consulars signature. We’ll see if that flies at the border (won’t be the first time I’ve dealt with hand written stuff at borders). We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.

So I obviously didn’t sit around my hostel while this whole visa thing unfolded. I had a chance to go around town and see some pretty cool things.

When I talk about Bishkek being “post-soviet”, two things come to mind. First and foremost, I simply mean architecture. Lots of big, grey, block buildings take the center fold of bishkek residential communities, as well as the city square itself. Although the square is still very much beautiful! Plenty of statues and fountains. There is also a sizable statue of Lenin near the history museum. The second thing, is the mindset. When talking with people, there is a noticeable split between pro-russia or pro-byrgyz independence. It’s not my place to state which is better on Facebook, but it’s a topic of discussion nowadays. The Kyrgyz people fought hard for independence, but the infancy has had it’s growing pains. Many people look back at what having a big brother was like, and miss it. There’s money, a military to protect you, and stronger programs. Independence however, is just that…a chance to have your own identity as a nation, and be respected and regarded as such. The topic came up fairly often, and I thought it was pretty interesting!

Bishkek is full of parks, coffee shops, some shopping centers, and a few Begemont’s (fast food burger place). It has yet to reach the modernity of it’s sister across the border, Almaty, but the culture and vibe here is very relaxing. The best part, of course, is the view of the massive mountains, and the fresh, clean air.

I had the chance to settle in with the expat crowd a little bit, as there was one living in the hostel I was staying at. A very interesting guy, he came to Bishkek for a short term period, and ended up staying. Two years later, he is teaching at the American University of Central Asia, the premier university of the entire region. Anyway, Wednesday nights are trivia night amongst the expat crowd, and I tagged along. It was fun to chat with people from all over the world who have found a place here in Bishkek. It reminds me a bit of some of the international goals I had set when I charted a course into medicine. It’s a good reminder that it’s regular work, and not particularly easy to be settled in a new place. But they were a fun crowd, and of course, my team, “The Hobbits”, crushed the competition. It was a fun night.

Another highlight was my day spent at English Zone, and Enlighs-only hang out spot for learners of English. Rewind to the day before. I was relaxing in Ala-Too square when a young guy came up and started speaking English to me. We exchanged pleasantries, then he admitted that he wanted to sit and talk to practice his english. No problem! We sat for about an hour and (upon his request) corrected any mistakes he was making. He invited me to the English Zone the next day. It was a blast. From the moment you walk in, there is nothing but english allowed (foreign words are fine-able!). The head lady, Santana, invited me in, and asked if it’d be ok if I stayed a while, since having a native speaker didn’t happen too often. I ended up staying almost all day. We sat in groups talking about culture, american university, each others hobbies, etc. They wanted to know all of their mistakes, about how many idioms I knew (hundreds??), etc. I had a really great time, and even scored some free food.

Other than that, I spent my days walking around town, checking out the bazaar, taking care of SIM card business, familiarizing myself with marshrukta routes, and just trying to relax. It’s easy to want to rush from place to place, but when fate makes you take a breather, you should do it. It’s good to treat this as a bit of an actual vacation.

Tonight I head to Osh, the “southern capital” of Kyrgyzstan, where there is some substantial history to be explored there. It will be rather fast pace for the next little while, but I’m ready for that. It’s neat to see a people so excited about freedom, democracy, education, and making a name for themselves across the world. I’ve had a nice time getting to know a little piece of this great city, and in many ways will miss it! Of course, I fly out of this town, so it’s not all she wrote quite yet. For now, it’s time for that 18 hour drive to Osh… see ya on the flip side!

-BK