A few days exploring Tajikistan

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While doing a week of volunteering in Dushanbe I tried to work out what to do with five additional days I had tagged onto the trip to go and explore the country. I was equipped with a slightly dated Lonely Planet for Central Asia, which dedicated a scant 46 pages to travelling in Tajikistan, 33 of which were about Dushanbe (which I had been exploring already), the Pamirs (too far afield for the time available), or Afghanistan (unfortunately not allowed on my single entry visa…). So there wasn’t much to go on. From what little information there was I decided to head to Iskanderkul, a lake in the Fann mountains, and Sarytag, a small village just beyond it which I hoped would offer some hiking opportunities, although the blistering 40 degree heatwave and my perpetual tendinitis of the foot were going to be a slight constraint on that.





I hunted around on the internet and found a few agencies that offered tours but there was very little info for the independent traveller. Accommodation booking websites such as Booking.com provided a wealth of options in Dushanbe, a couple of options in Khojand but absolutely nothing in any other parts of the country. I located a local homestay booking company, ZTDA, which appeared from the somewhat broken website to have various homestays available in the region I planned to visit. I then had an endless email ping pong with the ZDTA representative, getting somewhat frustrated on his complete failure to meet the brief: only accommodation and transport means just that. I do NOT want a guide and to waste two hours seeing traditional bread made FFS…..



After giving up on that, and having sorted out a local SIM card I then made use of the translator trainee to call up and book one of the scant options identified in the Lonely Planet. Success! I now had bed and board sorted for the first two nights. The other two nights were still up in the air. I decided I wanted to head to Vertical Alaudin, mainly because it is near some good passes for trekking, and because it is the highest (and therefore probably the coolest) place to stay without camping. I tracked down a number for a chap with a hut by the lake, and sent him a message to ask about accommodation availability and cost and whether I can get any food there. The response was somewhat cryptic, with no info about location or availability of food (somewhat essential details…) so I guess I will need to pitch up and see if I can work it out when I get there.



The next issue was transport. I had tried to rent a car but couldn’t find any available in Dushanbe. At all. I blame the all the suspicious looking US “business people” who were swarming around the city in Toyota landcruisers - highly conspicuous troops of spooks. Putin had paid Dushanbe a visit the week before which might explain the sudden interest. Next up I tried the chap who had driven us to Hissar and Varsob the first weekend. He reverted with an outrageous quote of $500 for the return trip, with some timing criteria thrown in for good measure so he could slot it around other commitments. Had it been a helicopter ride I might have considered it for mildly long than the nanosecond I took to reject the ridiculous offer.



In the end I decided to head up to the cement factory transport hub, the base for shared taxis heading North. You can circumvent sharing if you want by paying for all of the seats, as I did. As soon as I got out of the city taxi I was surrounded by a mob of chaps eager to “help”, none of whom spoke English. Luckily I had the name of the village I was heading to in crylic so I avoided being sent off to Sarvoda instead of Sarytag. One roguish looking fellow took the lead and with a bit of too-ing and fro-ing, pointing at the map and typing some numbers on the calculator my back pack and I were bundled into a Honda 4WD, having - I think - agreed to a price of $100 for a solo trip, which was in the right ballpark based on my research.



Off we rocketed onto the two lane highway through a steep sided valley, past our lunch spot from last Sunday. The valley walls were littered in scree and rock fall, so the road was regularly punctuated by tunnels varying in length from 50 meters to several kilometres. I was very glad not to be cycling. The longest tunnel was thick with exhaust fumes, so if one of the numerous lorries didn’t mow you down you would probably succumb to the fumes instead. Periodically my driver slurped some green gunk out of a plastic bag, and then a few minutes later would open his door wide open before spitting globules of green sludge out onto the road, thankfully not when an articulated truck was coming around the corner in the opposite direction but we did nearly swerve into the gutter a few times.



After a couple of hours we turned off the M34 and onto the dirt track, bumping up a steep pass for about an hour, stopping for some photos at the top, including a selfie of us both on his phone, then down past the turquoise Iskanderkul (Alexander’s lake) to Sarytag where I was greeted by the jovial older lady proprietor. After paying the driver he gave me a great bear hug before charging off leaving clouds of dust.



I had hoped that getting above 2000m would offer some respite from the blistering heat but there was little tangible improvement. In spite of that I headed for a short walk up a shadeless valley to work out the lay of the land. I didn’t go far before deciding it was too unbearably hot and then turned back. As I rounded the corner I nearly got mown down by a Honda 4WD which skidded to a halt. “Victoria!” It was my driver who had scooped up three tourists, one of whom must now have a very soggy butt after I spilled nearly a whole bottle of water on the back seat.



After lunch (there was lots of tutting from Madam for only eating about half of the various mountains of carbs) I conked out on my bed. The temperature was knocking on 40 degrees. Urgh. Far too hot to do anything. I dragged myself up at about 4pm and headed up one of the other valleys for a walk meandering along the river. I soon worked out that a good way to keep a little cooler was to dump my silk scarf in the stream of glacier melt, wrapping it around my head and tucking it down my front, repeating the exercise every thirty minutes or so. The scenery was spectacular with steep sided valleys clad in scrubby trees towards the bottom and largely rock and scree further up.



After about 6pm as the sun started to dip behind the mountains the temperature finally became fairly pleasant. I figured it would get dark around 8pm so I then made my way back along the same route. There were a few more locals out scything the grass, and kids scampering around. They are really friendly with several stopping to chat - not always successfully given my lack of Russian. Then back for supper of soup (meat and vegetables), a small bowl of fresh salad, the obligatory stale bread, yogurt and the traditional tray of sweets, all washed down with gallons of green tea. To be honest you aren’t going to make a special visit here for the food. It is passable sustenance just about covering the key elements of a balanced diet, albeit in far from the right proportions. I also really don’t understand why the bread is perpetually stale. It must be baked in big batches just one day a week…. Apparently it doesn’t ever go to waste either, so the same well handled concrete lumps get recycled continuously until someone is starved into submission. I dread to think how many times each lump has been picked up and rejected. Urgh! I think I might start squirrelling them away for disposal on my walks.



Around 10ish I settled down for the night. It being a guest house/ homestay there was a toilet (western and clean, rather than squat one thankfully) and shower block rather than an en suite. I noted that the route from my room, while somewhat treacherous, was at least well lit so I wouldn’t need a torch for my nighttime visit.



The next day in a quest to try and beat the heat, I was up by 6am for brekkie (stale bread, surprise surprise, a couple of eggs, jam and butter and coffee), and headed out by 7am. There was an hour of reasonably pleasant weather, but by 8am it was unbearable once again. To think you Brits are moaning about one day of 40 degrees temperatures. I have had been subjected to that every day for the week I have been here, with more to come over the remaining four days. Urgh. Give me grey and rainy weather any day! The main issue is progressive dehydration, so I have been religiously chugging water and green tea. Luckily I came equipped with several packets of purification tablets so I don’t need to contribute to the plastic waste problem by buying mountains of bottles of water.



Today I honed my keep cool strategy by periodically taking off my tee shirt and hat and giving them both a good dunking in the icy river. They would drip for a couple of minutes, and I would reap the cooling benefit for about 30 minutes which made all the difference. I followed the Sarytag river up stream, crossing a rickety bridge onto the right hand bank. I passed through a mixture of meadows, and juniper forests which thankfully offered some protection from the pulsing heat of the sun. In a few cases where the ravine narrowed the “track” veered up steeply away from the river across rocks and scree before looping back down to the river again.



Eventually I reached the Dukdon river which was a raging torrent cascading down from the Dukdon pass some 1300 meters above. The path followed the river steeply ascending through sparse trees and across giant boulders, so I periodically scrambled on all fours. After about 15-20mins, I was defeated by the heat. My feet were agony, not only from tendinitis in my right foot but also from “hot foot”, which I suffer from when cycling in the heat as well, in the left foot. By this stage it was around 10am. The sun was already ferociously hot, and this would only get worse during the 2.5-3hrs it would take me to get home.



On the way back I took lots of short breaks, and regularly submerged my clothes, but it was still pretty brutal. Just by the herders summer camp I bumped into a couple of girls who have been working for a charity in Tajikistan for many years, so I was able to check with them whether I would be able to wing it with accommodation at Vertical Alaudin. They seemed to think that would be fine and that I should be able to get some food there. They did reiterate that it would be very basic, so I might pick some food supplies (as an alternative to the darn stale bread!). They also said the lake was one of the most beautiful spots in the Fann Mountains, so I definitely need to check it out.



Just as I was getting back into the village I was subjected to the first dog attack of the trip. I had seen the two dogs before - one enormous mountain dog, the size of a St Bearnard but ten times as ferocious looking, and one the size of a Labrador. The previous time they were with a couple of herdsmen and a troop of donkeys. That time the owner managed to placate the scarier beast so it didn’t attack me, but unfortunately he was nowhere to be seen at the encounter near the village. The beast galloped towards me barking and gnashing it’s teeth. Luckily I had my walking sticks so I swung them violently in the direction of the horrible animal, and scurried past as quickly as my sore feet would allow. Bloody dogs. Shoot the lot of them…..



I got back to base just before 1pm, and settled into a lazy afternoon of reading/ writing/ snoozing/ rehydrating while awaiting for the sun to dip behind the peaks and the temperature to subside below 40 degrees so that I could summon up enough enthusiasm to venture out again.



The unrelenting heat seems to have leeched every last drop of energy from me, so I finally got going again at 6pm and had a gentle meander along one of the tributaries. The temperature was finally quite pleasant. The evening sun accentuated the coppery tones of the mountains that rose steeply on all sides. One valley was somewhat scarred by a now defunct Chinese gold mine. Access is barred so I didn’t go to check out if they had missed a few lumps before closing shop.



On returning to the homestay, I enjoyed a cleansing blast under the really good shower before enduring another dinner of guess what? Yup you got it - stale bread - this time served with an undecipherable soup, and a really small yummy cucumber and tomato salad (sadly the portions were in inverse proportions to how tasty the dish was). I then tried to liaise with the proprietor’s daughter to arrange transport the next day to Sarvoda, from where I would head up the next valley over to Vertical Alaudin camp. Well that was the plan. After a bit of miming, a couple of words of Russian (from my Lonely Planet), and a long conversation between her and someone on the phone I was not remotely sure whether it was all arranged, and if so what the price was. Ah well, let’s see what materialises tomorrow, if anything.



After a rather interrupted night (I had clearly been a bit over zealous with my rehydrating…), I got out for a short hike in the one direction I had not yet explored. 6-7am is optimal walking temperature, so there were quite a few locals up tending to the livestock. Interestingly enough it seems to be predominantly women working in the fields as I understand that many of the men are in Russia earning Roubles to send home (or to try to, given the current embargoes). When I got back for brekkie a chap, Ali, turned up to discuss my transport requirements, so it seems that something was organised last night. We agreed the price of 400 Sonomi ($40) which was only marginally above the price specified in the Lonely Planet, then I jumped in the passenger seat, with Imran his six year old son behind me, for the long bumpy ride back down the mountain, past Iskanderkul and various other dusty hamlets before briefly joining the M34 in the valley below.



We stopped at a collection of petrol stations, fruit stalls, and other shops selling indeterminate things. It transpired that this was the “town” Sarvoda. OK…. Having clarified that Ali’s SUV was not sufficiently robust for the 30km off road schlepp up to Alaudin Camp, the next issue was to locate a vehicle/ driver. One guy offered to take me for 800 Sonomi which seemed far too steep however bad the road was. Then another chap said he could arrange it for 500 Sonomi, down from the 600 he initially quoted, which I agreed to. I then bought a few provisions (fruit which seemed to be entirely absent in Sarytag) and bread (rather surprisingly not completely rock hard).



As the driver and vehicle didn’t seem to be materialising, I consulted a book that I had downloaded “Trekking in Tajikistan”, in that there was the phone number of Saifidin, who allegedly had a UAZ (whatever that is), and would do the trip for around 200 (although this was likely a rather dated quote). I tried calling the number and spoke to him, but he only spoke Russian or Tajik, so there was a bit of a communication issue. I then asked around where there were a few dusty trekkers milling around to see if anyone could talk to Saifidin on my behalf. A Russian girl offered to help and arranged him to take me for 300 Sonomi, meeting in front of the shop in 5 minutes. Perfect!



Feeling quite smug, I waved goodbye to guys who said they were arranging something for me. They didn’t look too happy. Ah well. As soon as we turned off the main road it became very clear why a special type of vehicle was required. The road was abysmal - it was littered with massive potholes and bottomless puddles, loose rocks and small boulders. Periodically we had to negotiate rickety bridges made of random bits of branch or metal haphazardly tied together with fraying rope. For long stretches the valley fell precipitously away, with the odd carcass of vehicles below. Not very confidence boosting.



About 10 minutes into the ride the engine spluttered and the vehicle stuttered to a halt. Hmmm. The phrase “you get what you pay for” sprung to mind. The driver managed to kick start it again by rolling down the hill in reverse, and off we set again. The car proceeded to repeat this every few minutes. My confidence in making the full 30kms started ebbing away. We were trying to negotiate a steep trappy section of road through a hamlet when the vehicle gave up the ghost altogether, obstructing a heavily laden minivan behind us. So it seems that the last laugh was on me!



A couple of the guys got out of the van behind to help direct my driver back into a driveway so that they could pass. I decided at this point to give up on Saifidin, so I gave him a few bank notes and tried to see if I could get a lift in the van. The older Tajik guy made it clear that the van was full, so I started to beg,saying that I didn’t take up much space. At that point all the passengers started piling out in an endless stream as though it was a Tardis, so I could see his point, and was preparing to wait for the next vehicle to flag down. The younger Tajik guy had a different view and arranged with all the others - a Russian family with four teenaged kids, and another Tajik guy - to squeeze me in. Then off we went. The Tajik guys (with the exception of the driver) spoke really good English, and the Russian Dad and the two girls also spoke a little too. They were all really welcoming and friendly.



After another hour and a half of tortuous bumping along we arrived at the Vertical Alaudin camp. With the help of the Tajik guy I sorted out accommodation in a very basic hut, and was invited to join them for lunch and dinner. Before eating I headed out for a walk up to the Alaudin lake, and was just sitting by the lake admiring the gorgeous view, when an old toothless guy came up to check on me. It transpired that it was Ali who was the park ranger who I had tried to arrange accommodation with. He then showed me where his house where I could stay with his family. So I arranged to head there for tomorrow night, which will save traipsing back down the hill for a couple of kilometres after tomorrow’s hike. So it all seems to be falling nicely into place.



I headed back down to the Vertical Alaudin camp to find my new buddies tucking into lamb, bread (relatively soft - whoopi!), salad and melon, with a bit of locally brewed wine to wash it down with. They all shunted up to make space for me to join them. There was also an American girl and another Tajik guy who were going to be hiking with them. So it seems that I have lucked out, as a result of the earlier mishap, by having some fun company and great hospitality.



After eating I found a nice shady patch of grass for a bit of relaxation. As I had a nagging headache I popped a couple of Ibuprofen and drank lots of water. The accumulation of days spent in 40 degrees heat were not unsurprisingly taking a toll. I had developed a phlegmy cough, slight chills when not being assaulted by the sun, and was definitely somewhat lacking in energy. As a result I decided to skip dinner - I wasn’t hungry anyway - in order to get a really early night and hopefully keep the lurgy at bay. The following day I was planning to conquer the Alaudin pass, plus a bit extra, which would not be a viable option if my health deteriorates further.



I conked out shortly after 8pm and slept through until around 5am, then lolled around in bed for another hour. So if that wasn’t enough rest to do the trick, then there would be no hope. I still had a headache and cough, and didn’t exactly leap out of bed full of beans, but I definitely didn’t feel any worse than the previous day, so I figured I would stick with the original plan and then bail if I felt too rubbish. I joined the others for a spot of brekkie before making tracks.



The first part of the day involved lugging my enormous backpack 75% crammed with entirely superfluous items for a trekking trip - computer, iPad, office suits, high heeled shoes to name a few. Although I only had to go about 1.5kms, the route climbed about 350m and involved navigating rivers, tributaries and very rough stoney terrain. I was very grateful to jettison the pack at Ali’s place when I arrived. Ali was not around and it wasn’t clear to me that his wife was expecting me, however she offered me tea and the standard hospitality plate of sweets, biscuits and bread. As I was slightly low on supplies for my trek I scoffed a couple of biscuits, but left the bread (on the assumption that would be as stale as all the other bread I had been offered recently. Whether she was expecting me or not, she seemed ok with me dumping my rucksack which I gratefully did.



From Ali’s hut I launched straight into the 1000m Alaudin pass climb. On the Maps.me app (really good for planning trekking routes in this part of the world) it looked like the gradient would be one in three most the way up. Initially I picked my way up the steep dusty boulder strewn track between small fir trees. These slowly became steadily sparser until the route meandered up to an open rocky expanse. By this stage several of the 5000m+ surrounding peaks came into view. I was labouring more than usual up the climb but I didn’t feel quite as flaked out as I had feared. Although it was nudging towards 9am the temperature was far more tolerable than in Sarytag, aided by being around 3000m above sea level and the refreshing breeze.



It wasn’t until I was about 500m from the top that I saw another person - a couple of chaps cajoling three heavily laden donkeys down the pass. Some time later a couple of guys and two Italian girls followed behind. I discovered later in my evening social rounds that everyone apart from the two girls were “entourage” (including a cook and an interpreter!), and that the donkeys were carrying a massive tent, a table, chairs etc. Clearly the delux approach to “camping”! The last part of the climb was a major slog. The pass topped out at ~3750m so I expect the altitude was also taking a slight toll.



From there I planned to descend about 500m over a couple of kilometres to a view point where you could see some of the other turquoise lakes that the Fann mountains are renowned for. The route was initially steep slippery scree, before reaching pasture which was thankfully a little easier for descending. As I was running very low on water I topped up my bottle from the stream that ran alongside the route (adding a couple of purification tablets- an essential precaution). On the way down I passed a couple of Russian chaps, and then a group of five Russians - two chaps up ahead and three girls labouring up with enormous backpacks. I stopped and chatted to all of them, as they all spoke a little English.



When I got down to the viewpoint I chilled out on a rock for a while and tucked into my paltry supplies - a banana and an orange - while admiring the view, before summoning up the enthusiasm to back track up the steep hill. I have to admit it was quite motivating to know that the ascent was going to be a darn sight easier for me than the poor girls up ahead. They had made very little progress since I last saw them, and it didn’t take long to catch them even though one of the guys had come back to relieve one of them of their backpack while the other chap was setting up to cook some lunch. At that pace they are going to be cutting it fine to get off the mountain by sundown.



When I crested the pass for the second time the first pair of Russian guys were there taking some photos so I stopped to chat with them again, before heading on down towards Alaudin lake. By this time I had been under the beating sun, devoid of shade for the best part of six hours, so I was keen to get back to base. I find descending on the slippery scree really hard on my knees so after about 20mins I stopped to give them a break, and to eat my last bit of sustenance - a dry rather indigestible sweet roll. The two Russians were making progress descending on the left side of the valley, where as I had chosen the right hand route. As the two routes met we arrived at much the same time so I ended up linking up with them, chatting as we went. I established that they liked Boris Johnson (I couldn’t agree on that point) and really disliked Putin and that Russia was going downhill (both of which we were all in agreement with). They were great company so we chatted away the whole of the torturous descent, encouraging each other on. They gave me a giant snickers at one of our many stops. Never has chocolate tasted so good!



We finally got to the bottom around 4pm. I think I set off from the lake around 8.30am, so it was a decent day’s walk, and thankfully I felt no worse than when I set off. Ali’s wife put on a delicious spread of Plov (rice with a small chunk of meat and vegetables), salad and watermelon, as usual washed down by a potful of green tea. Happy days! Once I was adequately recovered I set off to find my Russian friends, which I duly did at the far end of the lake, and then I wandered back chatting to all the other campers (the Italians plus entourage, a British couple, a couple of Europeans of some description, and another couple of Russians).



My sleeping quarters were more akin to a treehouse than a tent, while perfectly comfortable, I was really not looking forward to the time when I needed to relieve myself at 3am. It would involve navigating a set of rickety stairs, onto a large uneven boulder that needed to be scrambled down. I definitely planned to avoid using the long drop toilet in the pitch dark, with its poo splattered wooden slats for foot holds, as I didn’t want to drop my phone cum torch down there inadvertently.



Why is it that the number of times I need to go to the loo in the night has to be in inverse proportion to the level of difficulty in navigating to an appropriate place for doing so? Four times that night!!!! Ok it probably had lots to do with quaffing several pots of tea and about 2 litres of water after I got back from my trek, but still. However, I was given ample compensation for the inconvenience by the incredible night sky. There was a slither of moon and a blanket of bright stars, and the most vibrant shooting star I have ever seen.



I rose just before 6am and headed out for a walk around the lake, past the snoozing campers, then up the hill away from the lake on a rough rock strewn dirt track. The sun had yet to emerge from behind the mountain peaks so the temperature was nice and cool. I followed the track for about an hour as it steepened and the surface became increasingly slippery, as I noticed when I turned for home. On the way back I heard the calls of some herdsmen who were pushing a flock of sheep up the valley. This made me a bit nervous because where there are sheep there will be at least a brace of ferocious mountain dogs. I learned that they clipped their ears so their opponent wouldn’t have anything to hand onto when they got into fights. Luckily this time they didn’t think I was close enough to warrant an attack.



On my way back past the lake, most of the campers had emerged from their tents. I was glad to see the slow group of Russians had made it to the camp. I stopped to find out how they had got on - they apparently crawled into camp at 8pm (4 hours after us), just as it is beginning to get dark. They still seemed quite broken so I think they are going to have a recovery day today.



After a yummy brekkie at Ali’s of tomato omlette, not too stale bread and green tea I packed up, and hoiked on my mammoth over weight backpack and tentatively navigated back down to Vertical Alaudin where I was hoping my transport would be to take me back to Sarvoda. As soon as I got close to base there was a shout “Victoria!” and a wave from the transport guy. Sorted! This time the vehicle was a robust looking 4WD of some description. My backpack was tossed onto the backseat, and I took the passenger seat, and then another random chap jumped in the back. The positive side of being up front was that the view was better, however on the negative side you could see how close we careened to the edge of the road and the precipitous drop to the ravine below.



The journey involved blasting down the mountain at full tilt then ramming on the brakes to stop to chat with various locals. We had impromptu stops for photos with a batch of raggedy local kids; to laugh at a motorcycle rider trying to navigate the river; to pick up his sister (I think…); to take the photo ID out of the top pocket of the park gate security guy and then to take the piss out of him for how serious he looked; and then several more stops for indecipherable reasons.



We jettisoned the other passengers towards the bottom of the climb, and finally when we got close to the intersection with the main road we parked up. I got out the vehicle and lingered around while he went and opened a garage door and started revving up the engine of a saloon car. It didn’t seem to be ticking over too well from my untrained ear. I was then ushered down some steps and offered a seat on a veranda overlooking an orchard. As we only had a few words in common I had no idea what was going on at all. The driver disappeared off and the person I assumed to be his wife started bringing the usual Tajik hospitality fodder: bread, sweets and biscuits, tea (chai). It was supplemented by fresh apricots and apples from the orchard (very welcome), and a weird yogurt pancake thing (disgusting).



Travelling without being able to communicate can be a somewhat bizarre experience. So often you find yourself in obscure places, at the mercy of others with no clue what is going on…. After about 15 minutes the driver came back obviously having showered and changed into his city / saloon car attire, and off we went. After a few minutes more drive down the rough dirt track we reached the lovely silky smoothness of the M34. Sheer bliss!



We then had a quick stop in Sarvoda (not sure why), and then a stop at a garage to drop of a wheel and tyre, and then we actually drove for about 45mins without any stopping. Wow! There was the odd hairy moment like when he drove just centimetres behind a truck that was overtaking another eighteen wheeler with a couple of vehicles coming in the other direction. We managed to force our way into the nonexistent space between the two lorries with a cacophony of horn blasts from the truck behind. Around Varsob we pulled in again, this time for a quick car wash. FFS. Enough is enough. When he subsequently asked me if I wanted to stop for lunch I made it very clear I just wanted him to just bloody get me to Dushanbe. It turned out that he was going to dump me at the transport hub by the cement factory, so we parted company there and I hopped into a taxi to Serena hotel, a slightly tired “used to be swanky” hotel in the centre. However, it had a cool rooftop swimming pool which was a nice place to while away a few hours before a few hours kip before my 4.30am flight via Dubai back home.

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