Road Trip Gone Wild at the “Roof of The World”

My head hits the roof of the Toyota Land Cruiser waking me up from my early morning “pass out”. The smooth roads leaving the Tajik capital of Dushanbe give us false hope for the journey to the start of the Pamirs. In reality, the roads are perfection until you reach President Rahmon’s hometown of Danghara, after that the quality is mostly downhill. The violent bump was only a taste of what was to come, for the next 19 hours we jolted, lurched, shook and banged against the interior of the 4×4 as we made our way from Dushanbe to Khorog, the gateway into the Pamirs.

The Pamir Mountains are among the world’s highest, strategically connecting the Himalayas, Tian Shan, Karakoram and Hindu Kush ranges. Previously an essential part of the Northern Silk Road, they are now more notorious for being on the “Opium Highway” or the “Heroin Express”. This morning though, I prefer to think of it as the “Beautiful Bumpy Highway”.

We bounce into the valley where the mighty Panj (five in persian) river thunders through, named after the five rivers that come together to form it. Mukhtor, our fantastic driver navigates the tight curves expertly and begins treating us to his favourite soundtrack – Toto Cutugno’s Lasciatemi Cantare Per un Vero Italiano. We laughed as we all sang along to italian lyrics, a surprise and a big contrast to the view outside the dusty windows. Across the river is Afghanistan.

The Panj provides a natural border between this part of Tajikistan and Afghanistan, at times only 20m wide, though the visibly menacing current would deter anyone from swimming across. Afghanistan both fascinates and intimidates for the same reasons, it is incredible to see the villages just over the purple murky water, so close yet untouchable. Women in long midnight blue burkas stroll along the banks, young boys dip in the shallow edges after a game of football. Simple mud houses are surrounded by green forests and lush fields under the otherwise stark sierra landscape.

The first twelve hours fly by, distracted by the stunning views of the canyon and about fifteen military checkpoints (Muhktor slipped them a couple of som or a packet of cigarettes every time); we barely notice the almost convulsive twitches we have developed. By the time we break for dinner, it is almost like getting off a rocky boat, our joints and balance slightly spasmodic. As night sets in and Toto Cutugno comes on for about the 50th time, we become restless, the road becomes never-ending and even the comforting full moon is somehow annoying. Finally around 1am we pull into Khorog, the main town of the Gordo-Badakhshan region.

The awe-inspiring peaks of the Pamir region are attracting more and more independent travellers every year, the Pamir Highway gradually becoming one of the must-do roads trips in the lifetime of an adventurer. But, the region is just as fascinating for its culture, history and politics. The Pamiri people are proud of their specific heritage, religion and language which has east-iranian roots. A region that is familiar with territorial, ethnic and border disputes, they are no strangers to conflict. Walking around Khorog, the police station is being repainted, black from flames that previously engulfed it during a protest weeks before. The Gordo Badakhshan Autonomous Region (G.B.A.O) has long attempted to fight for its independence from Tajikistan, provoking occasional spontaneous closure to outsiders by the government.

Unlike the rest of the country, the Pamiris are one of the few pockets of Shi’ite Islam followers in a region dominated by Sunni Islam. They are members of the Ismaili branch of Shi’ism and are followers of the Aga Khan. The Aga Khan claims to be a direct descendant of the Islamic prophet Muhammad through Muhammad’s cousin and son-in-law, Ali, considered the first Imam in Shia Islam. In a curious twist of international faith, the current Aga Khan IV lives in Switzerland and as the 49th Imam of the Nizari Ismailis is technically their leader. Mukhtor tells us about how the Aga Khan IV is their prince, providing a strange contrast of these remote mountain villages against the Swiss socialite backdrop of models and movie stars that the Aga Khan family appears to live in. As leader of the Ismailis, the Aga Khan IV receives payments from his followers each year, of which the total amount is unknown, but estimated to be hundreds of millions of dollars annually. Driving through the region, the admiration for him is partially explained by all the reinvestment that the Aga Khan Foundation has poured into developing rural health, education and food programmes.

The most exhilarating part of a road trip through the Pamirs is actually a detour from the Pamir Highway into the Wahan Corridor. The Wahan (or Wakhan) seems like a geopolitical mistake when you look at it on a map. Sandwiched between Tajikistan’s Badakhshan region and Pakistan’s Hindu Kush mountain range is a narrow strip of Afghanistan. This buffer zone was created by what Rudyard Kipling popularized as the “Great Game” between Russia and Britain. In 1873, the two empires agreed to use this Afghan strip to separate British India from Russian territory. Nowadays, the Panj and Pamir rivers provide a natural frontier between Tajikistan and Afghanistan.

We pick up Dimitri from Switzerland and Thien from Australia for our 3-day adventure into the Corridor. Trusty Mukhtor navigates the harsh road, actually scrap that, it is more like pebbles and dirt gathered into something resembling a path. We occasionally see cyclists enduring the road up in the hot sun, no matter how many times we spot them I am impressed by their stamina, being in the bouncing car is hard enough…

Nico and Dimitri ride on the roof of the Land Cruiser as we follow the never-ending Panj, then Pamir river into the corridor. For three days we move along Afghanistan, just a stone’s throw away, large deltas with veins filled with glacial water border the river and the snow-laden Hindu Kush mountain range constantly supervises from behind. We pass some small villages, but otherwise it is empty, vast and devastating and all to ourselves. Where the river slows down, it is very tempting to just swim across, just to stand on Afghan soil for a minute. Supposedly a Swedish guy tried that once and the military was on him in seconds. Maybe the feeling of being completely alone was just a well-concealed mirage.

There are ruins of ancient forts and natural hot springs along the way. The best hot spring was at Bibi Fatima, a small pool for each sex built into the rock alongside a blasting river, with a little claustrophobic cave for people to climb into for good luck. My sister and I held our breaths in suspense as a butt-naked lady tried to exit the cave backwards, seemingly stuck until a group of five women pulled her out. Entertainment at 3000m. If you happen to come across the hot spring in Jelandy, avoid it at all costs. Details not required. Trust us.

The road goes over passes of 4000m and more where saline lakes lined by red algae and cracked salt still breathe. Himalayan pink salt is a favourite of hipster kitchens, anyone for Pamiri blue salt? Mukhtor eventually delivers us safely back to Khorog and it is sad goodbyes with the funniest, warmest and nicest driver we have had so far.

The good driving experience however ends here.

Eager to start the main artery of the road trip, we head down to grab a shared taxi from Khorog to Murghab. It is one of the few places I have been to where shared taxis are 4x4s, there is the option of a mashrutka (minivan) as well, but we opt for the 4×4 as it seemed more sturdy. Oh how appearances can betray. The Mitsubishi Pajero finally sets off from town after gathering all its passengers including a woman who seems to be moving house from the number of boxes that we have somehow managed to squeeze into the car. We were just getting excited to finally be on the central part of the epic Pamir Highway when I feel an abrupt thud as steel hits asphalt and the car swerves away from the curve and leans at an angle as we screech to a halt. My first thought was – flat tire. Until I see the tire flying about 20m into the air and bouncing off into the river! The car had literally lost one of its wheels while we were driving and ground on its front-axel for about 200m.

Car drama #1.

Everyone somehow waits patiently as Vazir the driver disappears down the river and I try to wrap my head round the fact that everyone else expects us to get right back on into that car. Meanwhile, the mashrutka that we did not take speeds past us. An hour later Vazir miraculously appears with a new tire and bolts from the other tires are screwed off to secure this one. We are now off with four loose-ish tires. Reassuring. 

Not an hour passes before the car vibrates to a stop. Batteries are dead. We wait again for rescue on the deserted road, luckily Vazir’s friend the mechanic is only about an hour away, so we huddle in the car as temperatures drop with the disappearing sun. When they open the engine’s hood, the first thing we spot is the oil reserve – inserted into the corner of the motor in a plastic bottle, before the new battery still wrapped in all its cardboard glory is lowered into its place. How long before this car explodes?

If anything, we have learnt that patience is a virtue in the Pamirs, that, and faith that you will survive. As sun sets, the moon appears behind the golden valleys with its turquoise waters. It is clear that it has earned its name as the “Roof of the World”.

Finally in Murghab, we catch the spectacular At Chaybash Horse Festival and begin our search for another shared car to Kyrgyzstan. Our third driver Alek is off to Kyrgyzstan for his wedding and agrees to take us to Osh. His group of friends show up in a Mitsubishi Pajero and I jokingly check the tires, saying “they are not going to fly off mid-drive are they?” The answer I get is, “Of course not! Haha, very safe.”

We are driving along Chinese land, indigo red peaks soar into the sky, protected by a never-ending fence erected by the Chinese government in 2011 when they finally came to an agreement over a long held border dispute with the Tajik government. A slight bump in the road and there it is, the familiar thud and steering wheel manoeuvring.

The back tire is bouncing off into the air!

Car Drama #2.

Is it possible for that to happen twice in a row to two different cars you ask? Oh yes it is. I have to admit I am slightly skeptical of getting into a Pajero now…

Due to the urgency of his nuptial circumstances, Alek and his friends were better equipped than Vazir and this time we were back on the road in no time, once again stealing bolts from the other wheels. Everytime we took a downhill curve I could not help but pray that the tires would stay on. If it happened twice, why not thrice?

Thankfully it did not and we were soon at the breathtaking Karakol lake. I don’t know how many times you can describe a lake as turquoise, but it truly was, like the colour of my favourite scarf or earrings I would dream of having. A massive body of saline water, with island rocks dipping in its centre, watched over by icy mountains and a tiny village serving mainly potatoes and cabbage.

Beyond Karakol is probably one of the most beautiful border crossings in the world. At above 4000m, this check point between Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan is lost to the world. Wind that will catch your breath and take it away, dramatic glaciers cover their bordeaux rocks, floating into green moss and disappearing into ashen streams. Once we move into Kyrgyzstan, green takes over the grey starkness of Tajik rocks. We arrive in Saritash and out of the Pamirs.

A roadtrip gone wild. Tired but alive.