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. You can read the first part here.
Friday: Plan B
We’re sitting in our hotel room, thinking things over. We’d actually intended to be deep in the Pamir Mountains by now. The Honda’s in the garage and will be ready – if all goes well – in a couple of days. We’ve still got two weeks left before our co-pilots have to catch their flight home from Osh, the city in Kyrgyzstan on the other side of the Pamir Mountains – that’s what the young co-pilot’s school dictates. It’s 1,300 kilometres to Osh, over what we’ve heard and read are, in places, very poor tracks where progress is slow and laborious. We prefer to travel slowly. Staying wherever we like, spontaneously, and happily staying an extra day now and then. On top of that, we would venture into altitudes we’ve never experienced before. We don’t know how our bodies will react. We may well have to acclimatise quite slowly. After all, we want to enjoy the mountains in all their beauty without a headache. All this in a rush now: do we really want that?
We make a difficult but right decision: we’re calling off our Pamir Highway project for this year. We’d been so looking forward to it. But – or perhaps precisely because of that – if we rush through it now, it would end up causing more frustration than being an experience we would enjoy.
We start searching for flights and come up with a Plan B: the co-pilots will fly to Istanbul first and spend a few relaxed days by the Bosphorus before heading back to Berlin. I’ll wait here for the car (which I hope can be repaired) and drive it to Almaty in Kazakhstan for storage. If there’s enough time left, I’ll drive along the Pamir Highway; if not, I’ll go through the flatlands around it. Next year, we’ll be exploring Central Asia again as a family. Even though we’d pictured the trip quite differently: when things don’t go to plan whilst abroad, it’s a bit of a nuisance at the time. But looking back, you almost always realise that you’ve got to know the foreign country from a completely different perspective. You’ve gained insights that would otherwise have remained hidden from you. Tajik hospitality – and above all that eagerness to help – has already made a deep impression on us.
We still have some Tajik bureaucracy to deal with: Tajikistan requires us to register with a hotel, as we are staying in the country for more than 10 days. This is standard practice in all the ‘-stan’ countries. In the other countries, however, you can simply have the hotel sort out the procedure for you. In Tajikistan, it’s a bit more complicated: you need a letter from the hotel, which you must submit in person to the immigration authorities. There, you’re given another document, which you then have to present when you leave the country (*). In addition, for the semi-autonomous region of Gorno-Badakhshan, where the Pamir Plateau is located, a special permit is required, which must also be applied for at the immigration office. With a bit of persuasion (perhaps the charm of our young co-pilot also played a part), we manage to convince the stern official to issue the documents still today.
Sunday: Fairground Fun and Travel Tales
We’ve since moved on from the hotel to a popular guesthouse. It’s one of those watering holes for all kinds of travellers: young backpackers come and go alongside motorbike globetrotters weather-beaten by the elements and the world’s roads. Long-term bicycle travellers recover from the rigours of the 4,000-metre passes. New arrivals are getting to grips with their new surroundings. It’s a colourful bunch, and in the evenings the beer flows in the courtyard of the old building. Travel stories are told, people share their experiences, exchange information and inspiration. That’s one thing I particularly enjoy on trips like this: nowhere else do you get as many ideas for travelling as when you’re actually travelling.
There are posters in the hostel lobby advertising “Pamir Tour: Dushanbe – Osh: 9 days”. Well, if that’s your thing. But it’s encouraging to know that it’s at least technically feasible. Maybe I’ll manage to catch a glimpse of the high mountains after all, even if only briefly?
Eventually, Anar’s long-awaited voice message arrives:“We’ve got the car back from the body shop. The lads were working late into the night yesterday [Saturday!]. We ’re fitting the driveshaft right now. You can pick up the car today.”
No sooner said than done. It’s only when I take a closer look under the car that I realise: they’ve reconstructed the entire axle mount from new sheets of metal. I’m no mechanic, but it looks as though it’ll hold up. Anar isn’t here himself today, but he’s sent me a voice message asking me to take the car for a thorough test drive. Well then: it drives, it steers, and nothing rattles or clunks. I thank Anar’s staff and drive back to the hostel, feeling very relieved.
Our time together in Tajikistan is drawing to a close. In the evening, we set off on another test drive to the outskirts of the city, where we’d spotted a fairground by a lake on the map. A drive through Dushanbe after dark is quite an experience, and not just because of the chaotic traffic: the main roads are decked out with millions of colourful, flashing, flickering LEDs. Las Vegas on the Silk Road.
The funfair seems to be a permanent fixture. It’s all there: fairground rides, shooting galleries, candyfloss, teenagers on a hormonal high. Perhaps the music from the rides is a little less annoying than back home. I join the co-pilots for a go on the bumper cars; but then leave them to it. After Dushanbe’s traffic, I’ve had my share of bumper action for now. But anyway, now we’ve really seen Dushanbe from every angle.
Tuesday: Off We Drive, off We Fly
Early in the morning, a sleepy farewell at the airport, which (fortunately for us) is located right in the city centre. Hopefully the two co-pilots will still have a lovely time in Istanbul. I load the last bits and pieces into the car at the guesthouse and drive out of the courtyard. Destination: the Afghan border!
(*) Note, one year later: This time we’ve learnt our lesson and are getting an e-visa in advance. EU citizens don’t actually need one. However, for whatever reason, Tajikistan only requires this hotel registration from tourists entering the country visa-free.
Translated from German with the help of AI.
Last part: Hope and Fear in Dushanbe, Part 1
Leave a Reply