After leaving Khorog, it was just five more days cycling along the Panj River, and then I said goodbye to Afghanistan and hello to the interior of Tajikistan. The hard part but not the natural beauty or friendly faces, was over, and the closer I got to Tajikistan’s capital, affectionately dubbed “The Dush” by local expats, the smaller the hills became, the greener the pastures, and the more frequent the shawarma!
This kid was pretty proud of his fish.
Above left: Grandma and grandson walking along next to the Panj. Right: the landscape is slowly spreading out.
I met this group of Polish cyclists heading the other direction! They were riding to raise money for the World Scout Jamboree 2015! Awesome.
More little punks asking to have their photo taken. My life is so hard.
Above and below: This family ran a restaurant/bar/guesthouse in the middle of nowhere. I had a nice room for only $1.50, but unfortunately crappy Tajik pop music played until 11pm when the last patrons left (I’m usually in bed at 9). They made up for it with their warm smiles and awesome dog.
The middle-aged fellow on the left saw my sad little pocket knife i bought in India for 50 cents, and gave me a hand-made leather sheath for it! Score!
Yes, that waterfall over there in Afghanistan was reallllyyyy long.
And look at that insane road. I was just flabbergasted all day every day looking at the roads on the Afghan side of the river. Some of them seemed to ascend a mountain at 30-45 degree angles, or be barely wide enough for a car, while hanging over a precipice that would have one wrong move sending you to your death. No wonder there wasn’t much traffic over there. Probably a good thing too. the Taliban might have an easier time controlling the region if they could actually get there.
Lots of really unique birds in this part of the world. Most of them were alive.
Candidate for world’s sketchiest bridge.
These kiddos happened upon my campsite as I was having breakfast. They look sketched out, but they totally asked for this photo.
As did these chummy young lads, who were carrying bundles of wood back to their houses.
The view from my guesthouse in Kalaikhum, the last town before the road parts with the Panj river and heads towards Dushanbe.
Just around a bend…
Up over a hill with one last look back at Afghanistan…It was like saying goodbye to an old friend who you don’t know when you’ll see again.
And suddenly I was in the land of beekeepers! Seriously, every other hilltop had these bee stations and old dudes camping out at them. This guy sold me some excellent honey and then gave me his bee hat and let me wander around for a bit.
I stopped at a gas station to rest in the shade and have a snack, and ended up sitting there with these guys for a couple hours showing pictures of my friends and family and getting free food!
A boy and his donkey…
Another boy and his donkey…and his mom…and a big load of grass.
The last day before reaching Dushanbe, I was exhausted, climbing up a hill, when I saw a sign that said “Soviet Restaurant” with an arrow pointing off to a little wooded area, so I followed it, went through a gate, up to a house, terrified some small children, and then finally an adult came out. I asked if I could camp on their premises, and the man led me down a path through a grove of apricot and berry trees to this building you see above. It’s an old abandoned restaurant from the Soviet days. The current owner of the property has turned it into some kind of orchard, but left the restaurant intact. Lemme tell ya, it was spooky. He told me I could camp anywhere, and as soon as he left I looked through the whole building to make sure there weren’t any dead bodies (or worse, live people) hiding out inside. But I shouldn’t have worried.
I did, however, settle on pitching my tent rather far away from the building, on a veranda overlooking the valley below. Later, the man came back and gave me a bowl of soup, and in the morning, his son brought me a bowl of yogurt. Apparently, many other cyclists have “discovered” this place as well; he said that this year alone, three other cyclists had come in asking to camp.
After a great start, I zip through some tunnels, and a few hours later…
I’m in Dushanbe! Surrounded by other cyclists. Third from the right, my host Vero is a warmshowers.org legend. Every summer she opens her house to Pamir Highway cyclists. When I was there at any given time there were up to 14 cyclists camping in her courtyard. Some had just finished the PMH like me, others were coming from the opposite direction. Many stories were exchanged, tips given, beers imbibed, and a good time was had by all.
Next stop, Uzbekistan.
This kid was pretty proud of his fish.
Above left: Grandma and grandson walking along next to the Panj. Right: the landscape is slowly spreading out.
I met this group of Polish cyclists heading the other direction! They were riding to raise money for the World Scout Jamboree 2015! Awesome.
More little punks asking to have their photo taken. My life is so hard.
Above and below: This family ran a restaurant/bar/guesthouse in the middle of nowhere. I had a nice room for only $1.50, but unfortunately crappy Tajik pop music played until 11pm when the last patrons left (I’m usually in bed at 9). They made up for it with their warm smiles and awesome dog.
The middle-aged fellow on the left saw my sad little pocket knife i bought in India for 50 cents, and gave me a hand-made leather sheath for it! Score!
Yes, that waterfall over there in Afghanistan was reallllyyyy long.
And look at that insane road. I was just flabbergasted all day every day looking at the roads on the Afghan side of the river. Some of them seemed to ascend a mountain at 30-45 degree angles, or be barely wide enough for a car, while hanging over a precipice that would have one wrong move sending you to your death. No wonder there wasn’t much traffic over there. Probably a good thing too. the Taliban might have an easier time controlling the region if they could actually get there.
Lots of really unique birds in this part of the world. Most of them were alive.
Candidate for world’s sketchiest bridge.
These kiddos happened upon my campsite as I was having breakfast. They look sketched out, but they totally asked for this photo.
As did these chummy young lads, who were carrying bundles of wood back to their houses.
The view from my guesthouse in Kalaikhum, the last town before the road parts with the Panj river and heads towards Dushanbe.
Just around a bend…
Up over a hill with one last look back at Afghanistan…It was like saying goodbye to an old friend who you don’t know when you’ll see again.
And suddenly I was in the land of beekeepers! Seriously, every other hilltop had these bee stations and old dudes camping out at them. This guy sold me some excellent honey and then gave me his bee hat and let me wander around for a bit.
I stopped at a gas station to rest in the shade and have a snack, and ended up sitting there with these guys for a couple hours showing pictures of my friends and family and getting free food!
A boy and his donkey…
Another boy and his donkey…and his mom…and a big load of grass.
The last day before reaching Dushanbe, I was exhausted, climbing up a hill, when I saw a sign that said “Soviet Restaurant” with an arrow pointing off to a little wooded area, so I followed it, went through a gate, up to a house, terrified some small children, and then finally an adult came out. I asked if I could camp on their premises, and the man led me down a path through a grove of apricot and berry trees to this building you see above. It’s an old abandoned restaurant from the Soviet days. The current owner of the property has turned it into some kind of orchard, but left the restaurant intact. Lemme tell ya, it was spooky. He told me I could camp anywhere, and as soon as he left I looked through the whole building to make sure there weren’t any dead bodies (or worse, live people) hiding out inside. But I shouldn’t have worried.
I did, however, settle on pitching my tent rather far away from the building, on a veranda overlooking the valley below. Later, the man came back and gave me a bowl of soup, and in the morning, his son brought me a bowl of yogurt. Apparently, many other cyclists have “discovered” this place as well; he said that this year alone, three other cyclists had come in asking to camp.
After a great start, I zip through some tunnels, and a few hours later…
I’m in Dushanbe! Surrounded by other cyclists. Third from the right, my host Vero is a warmshowers.org legend. Every summer she opens her house to Pamir Highway cyclists. When I was there at any given time there were up to 14 cyclists camping in her courtyard. Some had just finished the PMH like me, others were coming from the opposite direction. Many stories were exchanged, tips given, beers imbibed, and a good time was had by all.
Next stop, Uzbekistan.
