Sunday, September 19, 2010

Part II-Pamirs, Hindu Kush - Continuing Kalaikum to Khorog (population 35,200. Elevation 2100M)

September 9, 2010
It has been interesting to stay in guesthouses and get to see how real families live. The families have given us their very best and we are most appreciative. Our beds have been mattresses on a carpet and a quilt or blanket. I am very grateful for the suggestion from Alain Loyer for the suggestion of a bug net, and to Tasha Pairaudeau for the silk sleeping bag liners from Vietnam. We have been using these when it is obvious that washed linens are out of the question, which is almost every night. I will summarize by saying that the guide and driver most likely think that I'm some sort of a clean freak by my use of hand sanitizer and for my preference for peeing in the bush over the use of a "toilet". Briefly, while the President of Tajikistan like the President of Kyrgestan faces the 3 major hurdles of alcoholism, corruption and regional tribalism, when our guide asked me what I thought could be done to increase tourisim, very thoughtfully, I suggested that these 3 priorities: toilets, toilets, toilets. Currently, despite the modern architecture in cities, the girls wearing beautiful shoes and carrying the lastest bags, and the ubiquity of the cell phone and internet access, the toilets remain holes in the ground with urine and fecal-soaked wooden planks to place your feet upon. Sometimes, I just don't have the courage to face the stench and the slippery situation, so I beg for a roadside stop and hop into the bush or squat behind the Prado and think of the Queen (or stare into the face of a passing cow). I was thinking of the chemical toilets at the backcountry huts in Canada and was thinking that introducing the toilet value could be a great idea for Central Asia.

The Pamirs are known locally as Bam-i-Dunya (roof of the World) and once up in the valleys, it is easy to feel a little closer to heaven. The word "pamir" means "rolling pasture land" in ancient Persian. Tajik, Pamiri, Afghani, and Farsi are closely linked languages and like the borders, the people are closely related. That said, during the 1991 civil war in Tajikistan, when people tried to flee across the river into Afghanistan, they were shot. Bitter memories.

The road from Kalaikum to Khorog follows the Pyanj river, across from which rise the steep Pamir mountains on the Afghan side. Mostly, the mountains rise steeply up from the river valley, but in every stream trickling down to the river there is a settlement. We felt a bit like voyeurs looking across the river, in places only about 30M, into the often glass-less windows of the homes of Afghan villagers. A track parallels the Tajik road on the Afghan side of the river, but the track often petersout into the river or into a rock slide. We saw people walking and working in the fields and donkey trains, but only 3 motorized vehicles (a minivan, a small car, and a motorcycle) on the Afghan road. The Afghan villages and the people were dressed much like the Tajiks, but there was little sign of electricity. The splashes of green pastures and crops, the orchards and the landscape held our attention and interest. I kept wondering what the Afghans think about all of the traffic on the Tajik side of the river and wondered whether they call across to each other. There are 3 heavily guarded connecting briges and workers do have permits to go back and forth. Near Khorog there is a weekly market where Afghans and Tajiks can meet, talk and trade.

We arrived in Khorog on Sept. 9 to join a very festive mood and celebrations in the beautiful tree-lined park near our hotel, the Delhi Durbar. It was Independence Day and the end of Ramadan and it seemed the whole of Khorog turned out in their best national dress. A real party: a band played, politicians spoke, people walked along with their kids eating ice cream. Khorog is beautifully situated in a mountain valley along the Gunt River and about 100 years ago, a Russian with geat vision for the future, planted a botanical garden high up on a slope overlooking the city. There is evidence of every NGO that you can think of working here, with the Aga Khan Foundation taking the lead. We met a nice guy from Nepal working on a micro hydro project in Afganistan. Maybe in a few years, electricity will light up the lives in this part of the world. Despite the lack of electricity, the Nepali guy told me that everyone was aware of Pastor Jones in Florida who planned to burn the Koran. That little gesture has sparked even more animosity against Christians and the West. Little provocation is necessary to create the chaos that occurred in Kashmir last week.

I could live in Khorog and can see that like the mountain towns in Kyrgestan, there are very pretty villages in Tajikistan that could welcome the world. The Wakhan Valley, shared with Afghanistan is superly remote with stunning side valleys revealing stunning views of the 7000M peaks of the Hindu Kush (Killer of Hindus) marking the border with Pakistan. The Buddhist Monk, Hsuang Xang passed this way around 627 and Marco Polo tavelled through the valley in 1274. We passed through about 20 military checkpoints and our driver skillfully handled each one. We had heard stories about cars and goods being checked, luggage opened and delays, delays, delays, but we only had to present our passports and Hatam ingratiated himself with each guard. There was an exchange about the moans and groans of life, but thankfully, no bribes were requested.

We visited the remains of 12th fortresses and had long broad views up the valleys and into the Hindu Kush. We stopped at the Bibi Fatima Hot Springs and in particular, the calcite formations reminded me of Pamukkale in Turkey. Bibi Fatima is a bit "Dizney", is segregated between the sexes, but is supposed to imbue fertility upon all. Given that that is a bit late for me, we opted to hike up the cliff-side into the high pastures above the springs. Hatam and Vlad went for a bath.

The highlight while travelling on the still bumpy road was a stay in Yamg and a visit to the house museum of the Sufi mystic, astronmer and musician Mubarak Kadam Wakhani (1843-1903). We stayed at the home of his grandson, Aydar Malikmadov who has a very beautiful, typical Pamiri house, a friendly family, and a clean outhouse. The food that we were offered here was the best on the trip: plov (rice or noodles fried with vegs and meats, home made jams, and dried fruits from his own trees. Aydar took dinner with us and spoke Russian and a little English and Stefan did his best with fractured Russian. Down the road a little way, we stopped at Vrang to visit the Buddhist Stuppas and ruins of the hermit caves. The caves are pretty obvious, but you need alot of imagination in the "Ruined ruins". Then further down the vally we stoped at Langar walk up a steep hillside, through a Muslim cemetary and up the cliffside to see some of the 6,000 petroglyphs. Some have been badly vandalized, but many are lovely. One can easily recognize the forms of ibex, sheep, hunters and horses and remember the early Sythian gold impressions taken from these petroglyphs.

We have met a few other travellers: a French ethnographer working in Uzbekistan, a couple of nutcases cycling along the dusty, gravel-pitted road, and we picked up 2 hitchhikers at the military check post at Khargush on our way to Murgab-the guy from Omsk and the girl from Minsk. They met 3 weeks ago in Dushanbe and are travelling as "brother and sister". They hoped for very gullible hosts to believe that they had a common father: the guy was handsome, slim, fair but with jet black hair and eyes; the girl was slavic looking and blond. He said he was a photographer now living in Moscow and she was supposedly a Mandarin, Russian, Spanish translator in Minsk. They got stuck off the beaten track and we gave them a lift to the Pamir Highway where it was more likely that they could flag down a Chinese transport truck. I didn't envy their situation and hope that they make it.

From Khargush we descended onto the Pamir highway for a short way, noting a few salt lakes and desert. Posted just at the junction where we dropped the hitchhikers, was a big sign United Nations Fishing Project. No sign of Fish in this dusty dirty place. We drove on to Bulunkul, a place that truly seemed to be the very end of the world. I've never ever seen a dustier, poorer, desolated place. I have absolutely NO IDEA what keeps people there, but there are archaeological sites near by a lake and the area was long ago a major trade route between the eastern and western Pamirs. Maybe it is a part of the drug trade route, but there was no fish nor food to be had in the settlement and so we pressed onto Murgab. Bulunkul reminded me a little of small, Inuit settlements in Canada's North.

We travelled along the Pamir Highway to the town of Murgab, population 6500 souls, at 3576 M, like Khorg, a former Tsarist garrison. The only charm about the place is the sight of the 7546 M Chinese peak of Mt Muztagh Ata. To give you some idea of bleakness, electricity alternates daily, and people somehow survive in the dark, with lights that flicker, or have only 1 candle power. Again, we stayed with a kind family, and when getting up to pee in the night, stared up at a starry milky way, with unrecognizabel constellations, and mountain sillouettes. The next day we followed the power poles along the Pamir Highway, the poles the only relief breaking the solitary landscape of flat pastures, between rolling hills and steep mountain peaks. Shaggy sheep, sleek goats, fat cattle and yaks, and wide eyed donkeys were our only company. Huge transport trucks from China were the only traffic that we met. You will be assured to know that maybe the UN project did find success. Our guide remembered a little house selling fried fish. The man patching the side wall told us that he catches fish in a nearby stream while he walks with his herd of sheep and goats. His pretty wife in a red, sequined house-coat with matching scarf, cleans and fries the fish. The fish were fresh and with fresh warm bread, a welcomed change from the usual lunch of lagman (noodle soup of course, at this altitude laced with iodine).

Sept. 15, 16.

We are back in Dushanbe. We have had the luxeries offered by this old, faded Russian hotel: a sort of hot shower but big rooms to spread out our stuff and to get ready for the next adventuresome week of hiking in the Fan Mountains. It was 3 degrees and snowing a couple of days ago as we drove the Pamir Highway, and was 30+ degrees yesterday when we arrived in Dushanbe. Today it is about 25 degrees, overcast and rainy, but this city with the broad streets and tall trees is quite lovely. Success, we have had a long chat with the woman who sits at a desk with a TV set on our floor and have finally managed to get another towel and a piece of soap. Some of you will recognize the discipline of the great Russian empire and the terror that the "floor ladies" in a hotel can still wield.

Fortunately, both of us are holding up well. We've both had a few stomach problems, but luckily, nothing major. Love to all, Corine and Stefan

Tajikistan - Part I - The Pamirs - glimpses into the Hindu Kush and Afghanistan

Hello everyone, today is Sept. 16. We have just returned safely to Dushanbe after a week of travelling. We drove east and south from Dushanbe via Tavildara to Khorog, made a circuit into the Pamirs driving through the Wakhan Valley, across the Pamir Highway and back via Kulyab to Dushanbe. Here are some thoughts and highlights. Inshahallah (God willing), Mark will be able to attach some photos from Kyrgestan and Tajikistan.

Sept 9. Our guide, Vlad and driver, Hatam picked us up promptly at 9 am from the Poythat Hotel in Dushanbe. We proceeded through this busy city eastward toward Tavildara to Kalaikum and then onto Khorog. The road is described in the books as being rough, but that is an inadequate description. Here are some elaborations: Animal trails from prehistoric times evolved and became donkey-wagon tracks. From photos in the Khorog museum, we could see that sometime during or after WW II, a track was hand-hewn up the Wakhan Valley along the Pyanji river. During Soviet times, a sort of road was built and the road construction machines still sit rusting along the way. The road may better be described as head-bashing, bone-jarring, bladder-bashing rollercoaster. At any given moment, the road washes out, turns into sand or requires going over a rock pile. There could never be enough road signs to advise the unwary drive.

The best one was simply an exclamation mark. The ! was good for complete disappearance of the road, an indication of repaving-a work in progress, or no road at all. No signs indicated animals, people, kids, or ruts deep enough to swallow the whole car. Just after Tavildara, we crossed the Sagirdast Pass at 3252 M. The views along the Pamirs were were spectacular. High mountain pastures with cell-phone talking shepherds guarding their animals. The villages are small, composed of flat-roofed houses, stables and walls constructed from mud brick and wattle. Men in distictive Tajik hats, women wearing brightly colored salwar kameze outfits and flowered or sparkly head scarves, kids and donkeys, and dogs work the fields. Straw was being harvested by hand with sickle and scythe in the patch-work of fields with cows, goats and sheep munching on the stubble. The sun was very warm; people were stooped and working hard, but seemed cheerful, waved and were chatty with each other; and there was sort of a festive atmosphere in the fields. Whenever we stopped, people waved, greeted us openly and asked for their photos to be taken. The straw gets piled up on trucks and then piled in pyramids on top of the flat-topped houses. Some of the newer houses are covering the piles of staw with an A shaped tin roof. Change is slowly coming to this valley but the machinery and tools are right out of the last century. I have seen one or two decrepid combines that could be regarded as antiques in Canada. When the Soviets withdrew taking with them the technology, equipment and know-how the Tajik people have had to relearn how to farm and harvest by hand. We can see that the people are strong, resilient and determined. With everyone using a cell phone and satellite dishes here and there, they seem to be moving from middle-ages living conditions into the technology age quickly. Music sounds Tajiki or Persian. No Lady Gaga in evidence here.

Our road vehicle was a Toyota Land Cruiser, the Prado edition if you must know, but the tires are balding and smooth. Despite 2 tire punctures and a dislocation of the steering strutt from the right,front wheel, Hatam's very skillful driving saved us from disaster. Every second required his complete attention. At any time, I felt as though we were one bump away from overturning and plunging into the river gorge; maybe with a swim across the rock-boiling river into Afghanistan. Thankfully after a full day of driving, we stopped for the night at a guesthouse in a little village called Kalaikum.

Photos from Kyrgyzstan



Monday, September 6, 2010

Lady GAGA on the Silk Road

Okay, imagine us driving along the Bishkek road near the Burana Tower, about 80 Km from Bishkek, an 11th century monumemt while crooning along to Lady Gaga's "Ale, Ale, Alexandro". That tune will stick with me forever. Arriving at Burana, you see a mound to the north of a restored 30M tower - all that remains of the stump of minaret from the ancient citadel of Balasagun, founded by the Sogdians (ancient Persians) and later a capital of the Karakhanids. This Shamsy Valley yeilded a rich hoard of Saka (Scythian)treasures, including the heavy gold burial mask. In St. Petersburg at the Hermitage, we looked at the gold treasures excavated here. The intricate work was fascinating. So it seems that the Canadian-Kyrgez gold mine is simply picking up on the tailings left behind by the Scythians. Guess that's the reason for having to use so much cyanide. We found the Kyrgez people to be very attractive and enjoyed the last evening in Bishkek. While Kyrgestan is quite secular, this is the month of Ramadan. Young men and women, families, kids, grandparents flooded into the restaurant where we were having Kabobs and it was interesting to see that most people wear western clothes; the women in tight jeans, short skirts and stilletto heels. I could feel their side way glances at us and felt their contempt for our treking clothes. Where ever you are in the world, it seems that women are determined to look beautiful. Bishkek has lots of trees and parks and the roads are paved; it has been described as being like "an ugly woman in a beautiful dress". Very sexist comment, but goes along with the culture where men (Stefan) will always be served before women (me).

Sept. 4 2010. Bishkek. We had a nice but short stay at the Silk Road Lodge and awoke early for the flight to Dushanbe. Although we knew that the Americans are using the civilian airport as US base, it was a bit of a shock to see 10 big US Airforce military airplanes on the tarmac. Just as I remembered in Vientienne Laos in 1969, where the Viet Nam war was being provisioned from Laos, it seems that the same thing is happening from Bishkek for the war in Iraq and Afganistan. We were told that the Americans serving on the base in Bishkek are not permitted to leave the base. Everything is provided from the USA for the military personnel, but they are confined to barracks. Must be boring. We flew in an acient, Russian turbo prop aircraft over big mountain ranges covered with snow and glaciers to arrive in Dushanbe. We had been a bit worried about this flight as the major flights had been cancelled. However, everything worked and we flew into Dushanbe without incident. The only disappointment for me is that the weight restrictions have kept me from buying anything. The population of Dushanbe (estim. 600,000) is a little smaller than Bishkek (900,000) and Tajikistan is sthe smallest of the 5 Central Asian countries. It is described to be stable since the civil war in the 1990's but economically impoverished. It seems when the Russians departed from Central Asia, they left everything as it was but the people with special skills, training and know-how left too. So the factories stand abandoned, there are few markets for the produce of the counries, and many of the local men are working in Russian and sending money home to their families. Our hotel, Poyhat, previously called the Dushanbe Hotel, is a huge place with two arms and a big trunk. It was generously planned with double, wide marble stairways and chandeliers but everything is in disrepair and looks worn-out. The current president gets involved in everyday life and advises women that the chador and headscarfs are not Tajik standards and neither are gold teeth. From what we can see, about 90% of the women on the streets of Dushanbe are wearing a modified version of the "salwar chemise", pants under a matching long top. They look quite beautiful, tall and elegant and use every flashy fabric that you can imagine. Most wear a matching scarf or hat. The other 10% have been watching European TV and have become incarnations of Lady Gaga. I am constantly amazed that women can speed along broken, chipped sidewalks in stilletto heels and not miss a beat. They have tougher meta-tarsels than I and are undaunted by open sewers, uncovered manholes, and traffic that adheres to no written rules of the road. The Tajik ancestry has roots reaching into the Bactrians and Sogdians. The Turkic language is similar to Persian and to Afgani. While the country is reported to be on economic life-support, we have seen more new, spotless BMWs, Mercedes, & Hummers than you would see in Calgary. Our guide, Vlad, assures us that most of the economy is drug-related. While we have only met hard working normal people, like waiters and people in the shops, there must be another industry behind these scenes that I can only imagine. We've visited the market and have seen hand guns for sale. What I was looking for was good toilet paper. The paper provided in this hotel is recycled from something, the result being just like crepe paper but peppered with bits of wood. You can use your imagination.
We have met a few tourists: in Karakol we met a Swedish guy living in Verbiers France. He and a buddy had just climbed Khan Tengri (7,010M) on skis. He is an engineer by background and has a fascinating job working 4 weeks on and 4 weeks off doing sea rescue from Norway. It is a dangerous job, but he is very well remunerated and loves the time off. We have run into a few groups of French, and of course, the Germans travelling in a huge bus pulling a self contained "RolHotel". Yesterday we attended an opera in Dushanbe and met a couple from Atlanta, Georgia. The man was Afgani and is a Fulbright Scholar now retired and teaching here in Dushanbe for a term. Seems they wanted some English speaking company. He visited Kabul 2 years ago and he gave me his version of the political situation in Afghanistan and it pretty much sounds like Ahmed Rashid's books.
The central part of Tajikistan encompasses the southern spurs of the Tian Shan and Pamir Alay ranges, while the southeast comprises the Pamir Pateau. Within these ranges are some of Central Asia's highes peaks, including Koh-iSomoni (Pik Kommunizma) at 7495M. Tomorrow we will drive to Kalaikum via Tavildora. Please note that using the internet and computer is both timed and expensive. I don't have a chance to edit my posts. Hope all is well at home. Lots of love to all, XX00 Corine and Stefan

Karakol to Tash Rabat to Song Kul

September 3, Hello from Bishkek. Please forgive any typos, fragments and spelling errors. Just can't check them. Every few minutes the power goes down and I lose the last few words.
August 29. After the nice walk down the Arashan Gorge in 18 degree temperatures, we arrived back in the mountain town of Karakol. At 5 am we were up and on our way to the weekly animal market. It's like a gigantic auction market day: full with fat goats and sheep, sleek horses, cows, bulls and the run of the mill yak. The people attending were mostly men looking rather elegant in tall, white, felt karalpak hats. I learned to feel the sheep with their fat wiggly bums. I couldn't get my fingers all the way through their thick curly fleece. The air was thick with the smell of animal dung, sweat and cooking dough balls. The chaotic, noisy market set in the valley between two towering mountain ranges was very specil. After almost coming away with 3 sheep at $100/each, we went off to visit the local Russian Orthodox Church. Every self-respecting Russian still living in town was gussied up and geneflecting (never could spell that word). The wooden building was nicely constucted with domes and all and behind the church I noticed the Kyrgz priest necking with a pretty, blond Russian woman. One could say that "a good time was had by all". In the afternoon we took a taxi out to visit the Przewalski monument and museum. I only remembered this famous explorer of the Russian Geographical Society for the little horse that he discovered on the steppes. The stuffed beast in the museum has bullet holes in his hide. Poor Przewalski died in 1888 while hunting tigers when he drank the water and contracted typhus. The Tsar gave permission for him to be buried beside Lake Issy Kol, dressed in his explorer's clothes. Looking down from the grave site, one overloos the Mikhaylovka Inlet and a clutter of cranes, docks and warehouses-all once part of the old Soviet top-secret polygon for torpedo research in the 700M deep lake Issy Kol.

August 30, We drove from Karakol to Kochkor and enroute to visit the Broken Heart Mountain and Seven Bulls. These red rock formations are part of the interesting geological formations and close to the southern shores of Lake Issy Kul. We paused near the beach to wet our toes in the lake and to look at the few sunbathers still on the beach. Most of the big resorts are along the north shore and this side of the lake is famous for a garish resort built by a Kyrgz millionaire-what do they say, more money than taste! Along the way we drove through the town near the Kumkor Gold Mine. I'm not sure whether or not Canadians are very popular here. There was a nasty spill of toxic chemicals (cyniade) into a river. Several people died and the water was polluted. Gold mining provides about 20% of the economy and I'm told that the Canadian company paid a big fine. I do wonder whether or not the company adheres to a Canadian environmental standard. Kochkor is a little, alpine town that reminded us of Canmore, 50 years ago. Mountains on 3 sides, little unpaved streets, a market street and new guesthouses offering bed and breakfast. We stayed the night and drove up a rough and windy road to Naryn and onto the 10-15th century Caravanseri, Tash Rabat. The ruins are sunk into a hillside at about 3000M. A stream runs down the vally and cows, sheep, goats and horses graze all around; a perfect lay over for the well-to-do traveller over the centuries. We were told that there are remnants of a mosque, a well, and a dungeon in the original structure deep inside. The Soviets did some sort of restoration in 1984 and in the light rain and drizzle it was an impressive site. We slept in a yurt near the site and getting up every 2 hours to pee, we were rewarded with seeing the site with a star-studded sky, in the moonlight. In the morning we drove back down the twisty road, back through the town of Naryn where we almost got to meet President Rosa Otunbaeva, who was having lunch in the town where she attended school. We drove on over rutted, gravel roads, up big switch backs and onto a high alpine plateau. Wide open spaces, rolling hills, little streams and animals dotting the hillsides. After another 2 hours we spotted Song Kul, an alpine lake that is a gigantic watering hole for the pasturing animals. No wonder the animals grow big and fat, there is nothing for them to do all day but eat and run and play in the wide open spaces. We finally located our yurt camp, just as a big thunderstorm was approaching. A yurt is made from sheep's wool and coated with sheep fat to make it waterproof. The top has an opening that opens to the sky and the light that filters in is quite magical. However, in the rain, the flap is closed, the door is closed and despite the colorful wool and reed screens and the home made quilts, the space is dark, cold, smelly and very boring. The outhouses are about 50M away and bring no great joy. A freshly skinned goat awaited us and I must say that the long, silky hair looked much better on the goat. The goats are very cute and reminded us of our doggie friends, Finnegan and Smidgey.

We started to smell like the sheep and it wasn't all that appetizing to watch our hostess make a cow-dung fire and then cut our bread with unwashed hands. A little dirt is okay but I was thinking that there are real opportunities for health inspectors here. The "home on the range" experience was very worthwhile, but I must say that the hot shower and warm bed in Kochkor were very welcomed. Kochkor was a charming little town and the guest houses were clean and hospitable. It reminded me of Canmore 50 years ago before the streets were paved and the wealthy Calgarians turned it into an overpriced playground.
We will be sad to leave Kyrgestan. The Kyrgz people are very attractive and have a long, rich history. There are more than 80 ethnic groups living here and for the most part, everyone gets along. Despite underemployment and the political tensions, the country is a minature Austria or Switzerland with huge potential for agriculture, meat production and tourism. We have been eating Manty's (dumplings stuffed with veggies and meat), tomatoes that taste like real tomatoes, delicious soups, stews and omlettes made with yellow-orange yolks. Dinner for 2 is costing about $10.00 (including Stefan's beer). Unfortunately vodka and cigarettes are really cheap (a litre of vodka costs about $2.00; pack of 20 smokes costs about $.50). The country has major challenges to overcome corruption, alcoholism, regional tribalism. Thanks to iodine in all drinks, pristine in the water, and with lots of luck, we have been staying healthy. We are flying from Bishkek to Dushanbe tomorrow and will look forward to adventures in Tajikistan. Lots of love to all, Corine & Stefan