Hello everyone, today is Sept. 26 and we are happy to report that we are
in the Ferghana valley in Uzbekistan.
The last blog post was from Dushanbe and we were about to leave on a trip
into the Fan Mountains and so I'll try to give you some highlights:
Sept. 17. Having recovered from the dreadful roads but spectacular views
along the road into the Wahkan valley and to Murgab, we spent a couple of
days in Dushanbe. Note, if you really want to avoid the car-swallowing,
bone jarring, pit-holes on the really bad roads, there is a flight from
Dushanbe to Khorog, but it only flys if the conditions are perfect. You
can wait for days and days to get a flight and in the end, most people
risk the roads. It is reported that during Soviet times, the pilots
received "danger pay" for this flight along the Pamirs. The mountains
create dangerous up-drafts but there was apparently only 1 crash in the
last few years, and that was supposedly when the plane was shot down by
Afghanistan. During our final days in the Wahkan valley, we heard that the
drug trade was alive and well. Apparently the trade follows along the
lines of the NGO's and as the saying goes, "follow the money". We enjoyed
each of the home stays and meeting the local people. You simply have to
stand back and applaud their courage and determination. Since the Soviets
left and the communal farms and factories closed, the people have learned
to plant and harvest their crops by hand, to manage their own animals and
somehow to cope with the concept of privitization. The lives, especially
for women, are harder than hard. About 1.5 million Tajiks are in Russia on
temporary work visas. Women of all ages and old men seem to be working the
fields and tending the animals and constantly washing clothes in any
standing water. Still whenever possible, we stopped to meet people and to
talk to them. They always made time for us, greeted us with smiles and I
learned about the land and about what they are doing. I noticed that
before the girls headed out to the fields, they took time to curle their
eyelashes and to apply make-up! The women most usually wore the 2 piece
salwar-kameeze, and brightly colored head scarves. The men worn a
smish-smash of suit jackets and trousers. The Pamiri people almost starved
to death in the 1990's and had it not been for the Aga Khan foundation,
there would have been a full scale disaster. I must say that I have new
perspectives on subsistance farming, survival and on the drug trade.
We arrived back in Dushanbe feeling as though we had a mild concussions
from the ravages of the road. After recovering for a couple of days we got
back into the Prado and drove north from Dushanbe, along the Varzob river,
on beautiful asphalt road. The beautiful black top lasted long enough to
get past the President's villa on the Varzob river, and then it fell
apart. There is a tunnel to end all tunnels. It is 5 Km long, only 5 years
old and constructed as a gift from Iran. It flood regularly, there are NO
lights, there is NO center line, there is NO ventillation, there is NO
pull over lane, and there are pot holes and contstantly broken asphalt.
Last year during the winter, several people died in the tunnel from
exhaust pollution. Who thought that a road could be so dangerous. The
Chinese are now working on the road and with luck and a few years, it may
improve. After a few hours of being shaken around, we turned up a valley
in the Hissar Mountain range and drove up to Iskander Kul, as famous in
this part of the world as Moraine Lake is in Canada. And in fact, it sort
of looks like Moraine Lake. Big, glacier covered mountains, a lovely
turquoise lake falling away into a water fall. During Soviet times, there
was a very large resort on the lake. Remaining are 30, 3 bedroom cabins, a
disintegrating, lakeside restaurant, and a sort of cafe. Of the 30 cabins,
about 10 are still good enough to offer bedrooms. The showers looked as
though they would issue toxic gasses, if they worked and the toilets,
well, they were bad! I laced the soup and tea liberally with idodine and
tried to stay focused on the beautiful mountains and think of some sort of
paradise when I had to use the toilet.
Sept. 19 Fansky Gory - The Fan Mountains. Now, why is it that I have never
heard of these before? This is an amazing mountain range, just beautiful
with more than 13 peaks over 5,000M. Over the years, a favorite climbing
place for the Russians. We left our car at Alautin lake, met our donkey
driver, Siad Marat and the two donkeys that would carry our tent, the
stove, and our food. We camped and began our trek up over Alautin Pass at
about 3700M. The guide, Stefan and I carried our own packs with sleeping
bag, mattress and personal clothes. The packs felt heavy, the trail was
wet with fresh snow and slimy from the droppings of thousands of grazing
animals. Both Stefan and I had quezzy stomachs, but at least we didn't
have the full out runs. The climb was a slog, I was glad to get to the
pass. Windy as it was, it was very nice to look around at the big peaks.
Along the climb, we met a group of 5 French tourists, and a couple of
Czech trekkers. All were surprised that we had been in Krygestan. Seems
that the BBC has been scaring people away from that beautiful country. We
had the views up the mountain pretty much to ourselves and we took in as
much as we could.
Sept. 20 Kulikalon Lake. After the pass we walked downhill, through
Juniper forests and among thousands of grazing animals to Kulikalon lakes.
A bit tricky walking. There was a trail but it was rocky, wet and dung
covered. This was a pretty lake, but I insisted upon treating the water
because of all of the animals. The guide was sort of surprised, but went
along with the Pristine treatment. We had a campsite on the lake and a
fire in the evening. Having survived the pass, we both started to relax
and enjoy the scenery. We started off in the morning after a coffee and
more settled stomachs, walking to Chukurak Lakes. These are formed by
valley streams and settle into a natural amphitheatre. We were stunned to
see the pee-green color of these shrinking lakes. I tried hard to think
that maybe the mineral deposits must have colored these lakes, but just
couldn't get past the animal smells and dung-covered slopes. I hit "the
wall" at the Chukurak Lake. When we set up our tent, we found the fecal
evidence and garbage left behind by many other campers. In this part of
the world, there is no park policy about latrines and it is a free-for
all. The results would simply astonish most of you and you would soon
gladly pay those park fees and 50% taxes just to have garbage and sewage
organized. I hated to see that we would be leaving behind tin cans and
juice boxes and I tried to clean things up around the campsite. It is a
losing battle, but at least, I hid the garbage bag and didn't leave any
fecal deposits! The evening was lit by a full moon and filled with the
echos of shepherds calling to their animals. My sorry mood dissipated at
about 6 am when to my great joy, a shepherd started to wake up this herd
and began a song that lasted for about 15 minutes. His voice rang clear
and strong, singing a mournful song in Tajik, and the echo following him
around the mountainous amphitheater. It was magical and I was sorry that
Stefan slept through it. In the morning I asked Siad Marat about the song,
he said that it was just a Tajik song "about life". Luckily we had good
hiking weather in the Fan Mountains. Cold frosty nights, blue skies in the
morning. The donkeys were good company making their strangled, plaintive
braying at the strangest times. Siad Marat slept outdoors and walked
around in the night. We felt well protected by him and the donkeys. The
guide, Vlad, was knowledgeable about the mountains and told us with matter
of factness, that if we had an accident there is simply no rescue service.
We looked down at the well known Artuch Alpinist Camp and then started the
trek out to Guitan Village via Guitan Pass at 2650M. We hiked down through
beautiful valleys, among more herds of goats and sheep, cows, donkeys and
through the poorest villages that you can imagine. Each village is walled,
and is composed of mud brick huts that house animals and people, mostly
women and kids. The sweet smell of dung fires filled the air. The running
water is from the stream running down the side of the hill or from time to
time, where really lucky, from a spring. Many of the villages do not have
access to a vehicle road and must walk considerable distances. This area
must be much like most of the area that we could see along the Pyanj river
in Afghanistan. I asked about medical services and maternal health. The
women have access to clinics offered by a medical worker and must travel
quite a distance if they want to have their baby in a hospital. The
country has poor maternal and infant mortality data and as I recall
Tajikistan has one of the highest infant mortality rate.
Sept. 22, we were very relieved to hike into Guitan Village and to find
Hatam, the driver and the Prado at our guesthouse. The animal track up to
this village almost defies all vehicular traffic. There were very few men
in the village and the man of this household had a very bad hip and limp.
This guesthouse had a sort of raised toilet with a broken toilet seat. It
was heartwarming to see the efforts that they were making. We had a
comfortable bed on top of quilts on the floor and warm water in a bucket
to wash off the dirt of the trail. After soup and watermelon, we felt
refreshed. After breakfast we piled back into the Prado and the man of the
house decided to accompany us to Penjikent. We stopped to visit Rudaki's
mausoleum enroute and to think about the famous 10 century poets who took
time to think about life and to write beautiful words that have withstood
time.
Sept. 23 Penjikent. Lovely tree-lined streets; enjoyed visiting the Sarazm
ruins 3000 BC, the remains of the Sogdian village 800 AD and of course,
the museum with a French guide who showed us all of the 5th century BC
ruins and pottery, followed by the Soviet propaganda.
Sept. 24 Khujand. After driving over more bone-crunching roads and over
the Shahkristan Pass 3378M, and through more terrifying road construction,
we somehow arrived in Khujand. Such a beautiful city on the Syr Darya
river. This was the site of Alexander the Great's eastern empire and one
could easily imagine his reasons for settling here. The climate supports a
wide variety of crops from cotton and fruits to vegetables and grains. We
wandered through the bazaar and enjoyed a last evening dinner with our
guide and driver in a ChaiHana (tea house) across from a theatre with a
Grecian frieze.
In the morning we drove from Khujand to Ferghana City. Sounds easy, but
the border transfer was something else. We left the driver and guide and
started to the the Taijik side of the border pulling our big bags. We
could see that Vlad and Hatam were watching our backs and probably hoping
that we wouldn't be running back for help. After several passport checks,
we were directed toward Uzbekistan customs and checks. After pulling out
bags across 1/2 km of "nomansland" in 35 degree heat, many passport
checks, writing down in duplicate our declarations, record of currencies,
watches, cameras etc. we we admitted into Tajikistan and found our new
driver Marat, waiting patiently for 3 hours for us. We managed to avoid
the latest military incidents in the south, to trek without incident,
survive highly polluted water, and even avoid getting polio. After just
one day in Ferghana City, we feel as though we are in another world.
Sept. 25. Uzbekistan feels considerably more stable. The streets in
Ferghana City are in relatively good repair, the food is tasty and the
levels of sanitation seem to be light years ahead of Tajikistan. Clearly
the economy is very much better in Uzbekistan. We visited the silk factory
in Margilon and have learned the process from mulberry leaf to silk work
to cocoon, into a hot bath, unfurling of over a km of silk strand,
spinning into silk thread, washing, dying and weaving into beautiful silk
products. Simply amazing! We see no evidence of religious tensions or
radical extremism. We've met happy, friendly people in the bazaars and
markets and we've found a good internet cafe. We had lunch at Cafe Bravo
under the mulberry trees, enjoyed eating "angry chicken" while listening
to Norah Jones.
Thanks again to Mark for posting our blog. Thinking of each of you.
Birthday and Anniversary wishes to those of you celebrating special days.
Thanks also to John and Sue Pairaudeau for suggesting Stan Tours to us.
There have been a few glitches, but overall, David Berghof seems to have
organized our trip very well. Travel in Central Asia, especially in
Tajikistan is not for the faint of heart. Love to all, Corine and Stefan
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