After we got stranded at Iskanderkul, an adventure awaited us that we hadn’t anticipated: hope and fear over our vehicle, an emotional rollercoaster in a city that revealed its beautiful, absurd and warm-hearted sides to us.
A chronicle of events:
Sunday: Arrival in the Capital
We cruise towards Dushanbe at a cautious 60 kph. The route from the north into the capital runs partly through a canyon with tight bends. Later, it passes through a series of tunnels. The challenge: outside, the sun is blazing; inside, the tunnels are completely unlit and, depending on their length, quite hazy with fumes. In other words, when you drive in, you can’t see a thing for the first few seconds – until your eyes have adjusted to the brightness of the headlights. This adds a whole new level of thrill to a route that’s already exciting.
I rang Anar a few days ago to let him know we were coming. Anar runs a garage in Dushanbe that’s popular with overland travellers. When I first rang, I was surprised to hear a voice speaking fluent German. I ordered some new shock absorbers. Following the diagnosis in Tashkent (one shock absorber was leaking oil), I’d decided to have them replaced before tackling the Pamir Mountains. Now another call, this time regarding the suspected faulty propshaft. Anar is going to have a look to see if and how he could organise a spare part. The garage is going to have a bit of work with our adventure vehicle.
After the ordeal at Iskanderkul, we treat ourselves to a hotel with air conditioning and a swimming pool in the basement. We’re met with somewhat puzzled looks from the receptionist as we carry crates full of gear from the car into our rooms. Tomorrow the Honda will be off to the garage; we want to keep our stuff with us until then. The hotel is situated in one of the last remaining old town streets in the centre of Dushanbe. At the behest of the permanent autocrat Rahmon, the capital is being modernised at speed. Old buildings are making way for generic glass-and-concrete structures. Will these emerging concrete wastelands ever attract visitors, just as Soviet buildings attract fans of brutalism today? In any case, we’re glad to still experience a bit of the old Dushanbe while we’re here.
Monday: Making Plans
The car’s been cleared out; I’m making my way through Dushanbe’s chaotic traffic towards the garage, whilst the co-pilots are chilling out by the hotel pool. I’ve got used to the fact by now that Central Asia’s traffic tends to be on the hot-headed side. But Dushanbe really takes the cake when it comes to road madness. The fact that the vast majority of Tajikistan’s car fleet consists of Chinese electric cars with mind-boggling acceleration figures makes things even more interesting.
Anar welcomes me into the workshop. He’s already done some research: there’s a cargo plane from Moscow landing twice a week. He could order a replacement shaft with the next flight. The new shock absorbers are already waiting in the workshop. But first, of course, they want to take a thorough look at the car and carry out a diagnosis. I hand over the keys and hail a taxi (with a driver who, hopefully, has not gone insane) to take me back to the hotel.
After a few days of meat-heavy meals (and with the prospect of even more of them in the Pamirs), we savour the varied cuisine of a big city. In the evening, we visit a trendy Korean fast-food restaurant. A welcome change, even if the Korean dishes have been adapted to Central Asian palates (less condiments, more fat).
Tuesday: The Plan Is in Place
In the afternoon, Anar reports: The shock absorbers will be fitted today; the propshaft is indeed shot and needs replacing. The next cargo plane is due to arrive on Friday. Today is Tuesday. So there are at least four days to go before the part arrives. Time is slowly running out, as we have a strict deadline – the end of the school holidays – by which the co-pilots will need to board their flight back home. We’ve been so looking forward to these unique high mountains and don’t want to rush through them. After a bit of back and forth, we’ve come up with a wild plan: Anar will fit the new shock absorbers and order the propshaft from Moscow. In the meantime, we’ll drive without four-wheel to the town of Khorog at the foot of the Pamirs. Anar will send the new propshaft to Khorog by shared taxi (shared taxis cover the route from Dushanbe – which will take us several days – in a breakneck dash in a single day). I’ll then fit the shaft myself in Khorog.
Wednesday: The Plan Is in Jeopardy
The next morning, I’m already on my way back to the garage to collect the car. Anar’s lads have been working on it late into the night. Which makes me think of Berlin: if you don’t already know someone there, you can easily end up waiting weeks just for an appointment. Here in Tajikistan, everyday tasks are often more complicated and time-consuming than we’re used to back home. But time and again, we see the drive people here have to help one another, even when the solution doesn’t lay in the middle of the road. I wish we had that sort of solidarity more often.
The car is still parked over the pit; Anar is on the phone with a customer. Before we get down to business side of things, I take the opportunity to have a look at the car from underneath. Always good to have a second pair of eyes. Brand-new shock absorbers sparkle beneath the springs – nice. No propeller shaft between the gearbox and rear axle, as expected.
Right, whilst I’m at it, I’ll have a look at the other chassis parts as well… – When my gaze falls on the area above the rear axle, I’m struck by disbelief and horror: at one of the four mounting points, the rear subframe has been completely torn away from the bodywork! A piece of bodywork is clinging to the subframe, and there’s a gaping hole in the bodywork.
“Listen, Anar, I’ve got some more work for you guys.”
One thing is certain: whatever happens next is going to throw a spanner in the works of our travel plans. I’m still cautiously optimistic. Over the last few days, the workshop has been busy welding back together the thick chassis of a heavy travel truck, which had cracked following an accident. But the welder won’t be free until tomorrow, so we’ll have to be patient until then.
Thursday: The Plan Falls Apart
I got up early to go for a walk up the hill that towers over the town, before the midday heat sets in. A small avenue, closed to traffic, winds its way up the hill. Every now and then, small pavilions under shady trees invite you to take a break. A side path leads to a memorial, complete with an eternal flame and Soviet tanks.
Before I reach the top, my phone buzzes. Anar texts: “The welder’s had a look at the car. There’s nothing that can be done. Too much rust.”
Oh crap. That’s the absolute worst possible scenario. How can this be? Knowing that old Japanese cars tend to rust a bit more, I only bought the car after a really thorough inspection of the underside. Neither my garage nor the German road-worthiness inspector noticed any structural rust anywhere. Either we were all blind, or someone did a really good cover-up. I’ve owned so many trouble-free old cars, but with this one of all things, I’ve obviously picked a real dud. What now?
“Are you sure? There must be some way to fix this?” — Anar contemplates. There’s another specialist bodywork garage, he says. He wants to ask them. “But they can’t do it until next week.” So it seems we’ve got a few exciting days ahead of us.
My mind is racing. Is that it then for our grand journey in stages? I do what always helps me in situations like this: I come up with a vague Plan B. If the Honda is beyond repair, we’ll leave it here in Dushanbe and drive into the Pamir Mountains in a rental vehicle. Then fly back home. There, I’ll get the same model again. Next year, I’ll bring the ‘new’ car to Tajikistan. I’ll then transfer the modifications and new parts from the old car to the new one, and we’ll sell, give away or scrap the old Honda. We won’t let this get us down that easily. We’ll carry on, one way or another. The curse and blessing of old, cheap cars.
Translated from German with the help of AI.
Next part: Hope and Fear in Dushanbe, Part 2
Last part: Stranded at Lake Iskanderkul
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