July 21, 2004

Hello Osama!

Pamir Tales - Part 5

Khorog, Tajikistan

First thing today was registration and the permit for the area. Three offices, one bank, $20 and two hours later I was done. Two new stamps in my passport.

My plan was to keep heading along the highway to the capital of Dushanbe. I'm not even sure if this is possible. I know the road has been washed out for thirteen days but rumour has it that's it's just re-opened.

Upon reaching the bus station I hear the familiar refrain that all the buses left at 7. I decide to wait and hope for a car or minibus. The station manager, two drivers, and everyone else within earshot tells me to forget it. There's no chance that anything else will go today. Go home, they say. Come back tomorrow.

I wait.

Two hours later a minibus that has slowing been filling up has reached critical mass. I can't stand the bus station any more and offer to buy the last three seats if we get going now. The offer is accepted. Nothing happens. Eventually the driver gets in and starts the engine. I jump in expentantly ready to hit the road.

I should have known better. Once again we drive all over town before, half-an-hour later, coming right back to the bus station! What on earth is going on? If I was in south-east Asia I'd just have to flash a bit of green around and I'd be swamped by people wanting to take me anywhere. Here? Fuhget it.

Eventually we get moving with a pretty full bus load. As this is now a couple of hours after the deal was struck and all the seats seem to be full I feel a renegotiation of terms is called for. The driver disagrees. My threats to immediately disembark, cash in hand, has the desired effect. He sees things my way.

The start of the trip is fascinating, completely different to the desert landscapes I'd seen for the last few days. Now we are travelling along a deep gorge, rushing river to the left, and on the other side, Afghanistan.

It seems strange to be so close to a country that is so notorious. From here everything looks very peaceful, even idyllic. Then walls of the gorge climb steeply and high all along this valley yet every now and then it flattens out a little and a beautiful village nestles in the space. Shaded by poplar trees and surrounded by lush green gardens. Each village is virtually isolated by the steeps cliffs. A narrow trail leads from one to the next, clinging precariously to the near vertical mountainside. Hand-built rock bridges spanning gaps.

As we followed this scene for many miles I'm almost overcome by a desire to visit these villages. They seem so perfect. Each one an oasis and linked by that amazing path. I begin to formulate a plan. There clearly was no transport across the river, definitely no bridges, but looking down I felt sure it was swimmable in a few places. I could jump off the bus, leave my big pack somewhere, and ford the stream carrying my small pack aloft. Then I could walk that path and visit the assuredly friendly villagers along the way.

But then reality came crashing in to my mind. The Tajik side was crawling with militia, guarding against just the sort of cross-river sortie I'd be forced to carry out to return to Tajikistan. The whole region was, to be honest, better known for its opium production than, say, potatoes. And I'd never find anywhere safe to leave the pack.

It was with great sadness that I abandoned the idea of my sojourn into possibly the only untouched part of Afghanistan, but then, for all I knew they could be kidnapping-crazed bandidos hiding out (although they'd be struggling to get a message to Al-Jazeera).

It was a nice thought for a while.

I returned my gaze to the Tajik side of the road. Just as pleasant but, with the continual checkpoints, not half as romantic. We continued down the valley for some time before finally turning towards the mountains and leaving Afghanistan behind. As we climbed higher night started to settle in. Eventually, at 10pm, the driver asked if we wanted to stop at a nearby roadhouse. He said he could keep going so the vote was to continue. I would have voted to stop so as to continue in daylight but I didn't even know what was going on until afterwards.

We continue the slow climb. We pass another minibus with the clutch and gearbox out on the road in pieces. They'll have quite a wait. It gets later and later and we drive on and on. I'm in the front next to the driver so I'm trying to stay awake to make sure he stays awake. Just a tiny mistake and we'd be off the edge in an instant. The rest of the van sleeps on oblivious.

The road starts to deteriorate. We cross streams and deep mud, needing the four-wheel-drive of the van to get out of one tricky spot.

Still the rest of the van sleeps.

Finally we find a place to rest and the driver quickly pulls over and turns off the engine. It's 4am. It was a simple guesthouse, just one large room with a raised platform and a bunch of blankets. It looked like heaven to me. I spread out a blanket as a mattress and another on top. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

Posted by David at July 21, 2004 01:44 AM