When I say jump, you say how (Pamir) high(way)?

After saying our goodbyes to the Panj River and the stunning Wakhan valley we began our journey towards the higher elevations of the Pamir highway. This is the second highest highway in the world cutting through high altitude plateaus and breathtaking mountain scenery of Eastern Tajikistan all the way to the Kyrgyzstan border and beyond. This journey would mark our last few days in Tajikistan and it gave us a send off to remember.

Bulunkul

We touched the glorious tarmac of the Pamir highway for mere seconds before we went completely off-road and towards the lakeside village of Bulunkul. 

After emerging from the sandy tracks bounded closely by mountains we found ourselves on a large flat plain, Bulunkul came into view not long after. It was a small village in the middle of nowhere and yet, after having a surprise lunch of tasty deep fried fish, we found a football pitch and were beckoned to join the game. For the first 5/10 minutes Brendan and I were absolutely unstoppable against these 6 year old children. Two grown men were making these stumpy legged youths look amateurish on their home turf. It was embarrassing really (for them obviously. Not for us. Why would it be embarrassing for us?). We were calm and skilful on the ball and we made darting, penetrative runs off the ball. If the UN had been present they might’ve commented that our display of pure talent in the faces of these disbelieving, helpless children, could’ve been seen as a crime of aggression on foreign soil. However, soon the 4000m altitude made itself known, resulting in us being practically immobile and gasping for air while the tiny limbed freaks ran circles around us.

To assure ourselves that we shouldn’t give up on our very solid plans on being pro athletes, we went for an intense amble to the big lake near the village with Drazen and Jeroen. Brendan and I, chewed up the metres like they were nothing. We were back. Once we had been joined by Drazen and Jeroen at the top, it began lightly snowing so after some closely contested rock based fun we headed back to the warmth of our guesthouse. After a relaxed bread filled evening we went to sleep in a long, stove-heated room. 

I awoke in the early hours of the morning and took a peek outside. My eyes saw snow everywhere and my brain got giddy with an excitement that my inner child (and grossly out of proportion and overtly bearded outer child) reserve solely for snow cover. We all wandered around the village which was glistening in the sun of the clear morning. We saw yak being moved around and children in the doorways of their warm homes staring out at the beautiful landscape. Luckily, Amari could still get us moving later in the morning so onwards we went.

Keng Shiber

I have Goats on the Road (one of my favourite travel blogs) to thank for recommending this place. It’s practically impossible to find anything else about it and it was one of the best experiences of the whole trip through the Pamirs.

Keng Shiber is a hunting base that people use to go out into the wilds to shoot Ibex and Marco Polo sheep in the autumn. It is just one building in the middle of the mountains with no road and no settlements anywhere nearby. We paid a little extra to get there but the consensus among The Chaps was that it was definitely worth it.

The family welcomed us in and we ate many yak products while slowly warming up near the stove. Yak yogurt, yak cream and yak meat were all on the menu which was a hit of dairy that we hadn’t had in a while. Despite our bowels sending out pangs of worry and grumbles of hurried preparation for the incoming dairy onslaught, we went for a walk around the area, quickly got out of breath and headed back. On this plodding return to warmth we saw the giant hairy yaks that had dutifully fed us grazing on the green pasture next to a lone stream.

That evening we got up to see the stars, which weren’t quite as impressive as I had expected at this altitude but it was still worth getting out of my warm multi blanketed bed into the freezing cold night to see. We awoke eager for a breakfast of more yakky things, then we were extremely lucky and got to see a herd of the rare wild Marco polo sheep on the mountainside adjacent to the accommodation. 

Note: if you can’t be bothered to look up what a Marco Polo sheep is, imagine your bog standard, dumb, woolly sheep but it took a hoof full of anabolic steroids. Then after enlisting other sheep to the club, it and its newly juiced up kin, shunned by the sheep elders, had to leave to be sheep titans alone in the wild. I’m not entirely sure that’s the “accurate” look into sheep social hierarchy that many biologists would be spouting at their sheep conferences or forums. But:

1. What do scientists know that I don’t? With their “evidence” and “years of pain-staking research”, frankly it’s a joke.

2. Are sheep conferences a thing? I made that up but it sounds real. 

Anyway, with horns that if you somehow unfurled them would stretch 2 metres and a body that could be a fluffy cow, they are very impressive creatures that are revered all over Tajikistan. Unfortunately, they were too far away to take photos of, or for Brendan to get naked and ride one (his only reason for coming along to Central Asia). 

Karakul

From Keng Shiber we stopped by in the bazaar of Murghab. This is the main settlement for this very large district despite having a population of only 4000. We came to peruse the stalls inside shipping containers but didn’t stay long. Drazen bought a traditional hat, Jeroen made a bazaar ‘how bizarre’ joke for the 200th time and this in turn made Brendan seethe with rage. All in a day out with The Chaps.

From Murghab we drove up to the highest point of the Pamir Highway at 4655m. From here we descended to Karakul, a big lake next to the Chinese border. 

Once we arrived at the guesthouse we had a wander around the town of Karakul which felt practically deserted. However, we did see some very cute chubby cheeked children and a rogue yak running around. The yak could be heard snorting and careering around the village, then it spotted us and proceeded to quietly peer at us from corners of various houses. The matter of whether a yak can peer has been brought up on this trip, but that’s an age old philosophical debate that I’m sure academics are still pondering over to this day, so we won’t go into anymore detail now.

We had also noticed on this day of travel that the people had already changed appearance from the more Persian/Asian looking Tajik people, to the more Mongol looking Kyrgyz people. This fairly stark change in ethnicity was later confirmed that evening at a vodka accompanied dinner. The previously mentioned mischievous driver (from the Wakhan post) decided to prove that the lovely guesthouse owner was Kyrgyz by swearing at her in Pamiri. She was oblivious and our evening continued without a hitch but slowly degenerated with the help of a lot more vodka. 

Waking up we reassessed our previous notions that polishing off 4 bottles of hard liquor at 4000m elevation probably would be fine. This reevaluation was quickly reinforced when Jeroen was shaken from his slumber. He looked like he was experiencing a living death. The drivers thought it was hilarious and completely our fault for buying the vodka that was literally as cheap as water. However, Amari was patient as Jeroen slowly gathered himself from a drooling blonde slab of barely conscious humanoid jelly, into a bleary eyed bumbling mess of a man that managed to drag his withered corpse into the car. Worth it. 

Final Thoughts

The Pamir Highway continues on into Kyrgyzstan but Karakul was our last hurrah in Tajikistan. It was a country unlike any other. I can safely say I have never been so consistently in awe in my life. Every turn brought something new and spectacular. Furthermore, the people were unbelievable in both their willingness to risk life and limb on the god-awful roads, but also in their incredible friendliness and hospitality. We love you Tajikistan.