16.07.2019
It is 5.30 a.m. when I open my eyes and the day has already begun. Birds are chirping and the herd of horses that woke me up during the night is still there. 5 degrees in the morning and hoarfrost on the bike and the tent, grrrrrr. There's only one thing that helps, running katas (forms in karate), so I wake up, warm up and am motivated to set off. Finally an early start, I think to myself, and just as I'm about to leave, a Grand Vitara with a trailer pulls up. A guy gets out and comes over to me. He comes from East Germany and has a lot to tell and so it's again no time for an early start.
After a while we say goodbye and finally head for the Tajik border. The exit from Kyrgyzstan is easy and I am curious about the 20 km to the Tajik border, which I have heard so much about. The road can be impassable in the rain and is supposed to be a real challenge. Yes, it wasn't easy, but I was lucky because it hadn't rained the day before and the ground was dry. The road resembles a motorcross track, clay soil with knee-deep furrows and always 180 degree hairpin bends.
The Swiss hiking trails are like a flat cinder track in comparison.
I am quite happy that I did an off-road training in Hechlingen before the trip and so all Peter's tips come back to me bit by bit, especially one:
The front wheel is your friend! ! !
So always stand up, chin over the handlebar and in the curves, ass, shoulders and elbows out. It works like a charm and I really have fun ploughing through the terrain.
When I arrive at the border, some people are already waiting in front of the closed barrier. My morning acquaintance, a hitchhiker and a Swedish couple with a guide. International motorbike rule, I pass them all and am the first to stand at the barrier, and lo and behold, the border guard opens the thing and waves me in.
Passport control and a quick look at the motorbike, that's all they want and I can move on to the next checkpoint, which is only 20 metres further ahead. Luckily I had kept the Russian scrap for the motorbike registration, so I could easily leave the country, but I had to get a new one on entry, which of course cost 10 dollars again.
Ok, ready to rock and roll, off to the highest point of my journey, the Ak Baytal Pass at a whopping 4670 metres above sea level. Most of the people I have met so far tell me how difficult it is to get over there with a carburettor motorbike.
Ha, Ha, all I can say is that there are two motorbikes in the world:
Yamaha and all the others.
If you take care of your bike (clean the air filter and don't be sparing with the oil ;-) you can easily mill up there with a good 60.
At the top I first meet two bikers without a sense of humour, as they are pushing and wheezing.
17.07.2019
At 8 am we have breakfast and at 9 am we are ready to leave, but we still have to go shopping and refuel, which again takes almost 2 hours. It is not easy to find petrol, because they all drive with gas or diesel, but someone always has fuel. After the fuel stop we go shopping in the container bazaar and then off to "play in the sand".
Only a few more kilometres on the road and we turn right onto a gravel road, which shortly afterwards leads to a footpath with stones the size of footballs. I am amazed at how the two Augsburgers, Susi and Samuel, ride it all sitting down, because I am always standing in the terrain, I try it in the saddle, but get right back up again, it's no good for me.
We ride for quite a while through the vegetables, stopping again and again to film and take photos. When we are looking for a suitable place to camp, we stop at a Gisyre who has some erection problems, because he doesn't spit but you could rather call it drooling.
We take a few pictures and do something stupid, because we pour water into the hole and hope that something more will come. Nothing happens, so I go back and start pouring water again when the first real fountain surprises me. Great, the whole sauce in the face.
Everyone laughs, of course, and it would have been a great picture if someone had pulled the trigger at that moment.
It's a lot of fun with the three of them and so we arrive at the lake in the evening and set up camp for the night.
Together we cook a fine dinner and I bring the guitar forward once again and let it shred.
It gets a bit late again and we brave the wind that keeps blowing the sand in our faces.
What a beautiful gypsy life!
18.07.2019
During the night, the weather gods were kind to us as far as the temperature was concerned. As we are camping at 4500 m above sea level and two days ago I froze my butt off at over 3000 m above sea level, I was not so keen to do it again, but this night I only have a T-shirt on and feel perfectly comfortable in my sleeping bag.
Only the onset of rain at 4 a.m., which wakes me from my sleep, cools the temperature down a bit and I put on a jumper first. After another hour, my legs get cold and because I don't want to get out of my sleeping bag, I perform an acrobatic act and put on my trousers in my sleeping bag. When I've finally done it, I'm warm again, but never mind, I turn around again and continue to huff and puff.
The rain lets up and I want to get up and have a café. Oliver is already awake and so we start the cooker and to the amazement of the others I conjure up my café machine out of the suitcase, right, look at that!
Before we have breakfast, however, we have to move the tents so that they can dry and then we have happa happa.
The rest of the journey is exciting, because the ground is quite soggy in places and there are puddles, well actually they are almost small lakes that we have to pass through.
Newest insight: When in doubt - always step on the gas, and so we make our way back to the M41, which is the main road on the Pamir Highway. Now and then it is asphalted, but with bumps that are so deep that if someone drives in front of me and I am behind him, I can only see the helmet of the person in front of me.
Otherwise it's gravel roads or even if the road is so broken that it can no longer be driven on, then there's simply a track around the broken strip across the pampas. Once we had a diversion that looked like a clay pit, where if I had stopped my heart would probably have dropped.
I saw it in front of me and just as described above, changed down a gear and opened the throttle. The handlebars went out but the good Yami found her way through the mud and let me arrive safely on the other side.
For lunch we stopped at a beautiful river and I cooked spaghetti napoli for everyone. When we drove on, it was still 150 km to Chorugh and the road was quite long, but we were rewarded with fascinating nature.
Tired, dirty and smelly, we arrived at the Pamir Lodge at 6pm and treated ourselves to a room with its own shower and toilet, Western style, which means you can sit at No.2.
We are the only motorcyclists here, but there are many cyclists and bagpackers. As all travellers from all over the world like to talk to each other, we had a colourful, cheerful get-together this evening with Australians, Israelis, Fr.
Afghanistan border area
19.07.2019
In the morning, Oliver and I are already awake at 7 am and so we dawdle into the day, since breakfast is only served from 8 am, we can allow ourselves an hour to warm up. Together with some others we go up to the attic of the lodge where we have a very fine breakfast with homemade bread. After an hour of eating and drinking coffee, I start packing so that I'm not the last one again and everyone has to wait for me.
Since our two young stars have not yet crawled out of their cave, I have a good chance of being the first.
good chance of being the first.
It's getting close to 10 o'clock and Oliver has joined the others and is having a chat when suddenly Susi and Samuel, still a bit sleepy but already wearing motorbike clothes, come out of the room and saddle up in no time. They have overslept and now probably have a guilty conscience, so they skip breakfast. Nevertheless, Oliver and I are in no hurry and we want to do some shopping anyway.
By the time we finally leave Chorugh, it is noon and the planet is once again burning down without mercy. Ok, off we go into the Wakhan Valley to the Afghan border and after only a few minutes drive we reach the first check point. We are received very simply and also very friendly and pass through in 10 minutes to then drive comfortably along the river with a constant view of Afghanistan.
The river is wild and the colour is mostly grey, except when one of the smaller mountain rivers flows in from the side, then you can see wonderfully clear water that is ice cold. Well, that's logical, coming down from over 7000 metres.
As we take a break in the café, a Pamirski, a local Tajik from the Pamir Mountains, who is just walking home from his garden, passes by and sits down with us. Because Susi speaks perfect Russian and everyone here understands Russian, we can talk and get to know the life of the people here.
It's just like here, because they all say: everything used to be better in the old days. Only here, very few would say that the times under Hitler were the best, here most people still swear by Lenin and Stalin. Everyone had a job, no one had to go hungry and the roads and villages were in a great condition?
Well, one thing I learned a long time ago on my travels: never talk about politics, religion or football, you don't know where it can end.
After our little café, we continue through small villages where children run into the street and wave tirelessly. Once you stop, a football team comes up to you and they all want you to come and drink tea with them. I love tea, but since Russia tea leaves have been slowly growing out of my ears.
Our destination today is Bibi Fatima, a bathing place in the mountain where supposedly healing water comes from. From the main road, when m
20.07.2019
Today there is a lot of driving on the agenda and after a short detour to the supposedly largest Buddha statue in Tajikistan. At the fuel stop, the guys tell us to turn left just after the bridge, but Oliver's sat nav says 300 metres straight ahead. Yes, there is indeed a sign pointing to the left, but there is no road, or should we say there is only a track through a field. Oliver asks the little boys standing around and they say: Da Da - means yes. One of the overzealous ones tells us to follow him and runs ahead.
Our dear Oliver follows him and the three of us just look at each other in disbelief and I decide to wait in the shade. I listen with pleasure to the sound of the boxer and am not surprised that I hear the engine but do not see the BMW. Then it gets quiet and barely 5 minutes later Oliver comes and asks if someone could help him.
Samuel is the coolest, because his comment is: "I don't listen to little kids.
The two of us walk along the path and already see the misery. The Schweinchen Dick, as the BMW is called, is lying in the ditch and won't move another millimetre. With our combined forces we can lift it out and then heave it centimetre by centimetre over a small bridge consisting of a large stone slab over the ditch.
It's just the right kind of sport at 40 degrees in the shade and in full motorbike gear.
So we go back 300 metres and then perhaps take the path that was described to us. We arrive at the foot of the mountain where the statue is supposed to be. Again some people show up and give us the children as guides. They all walk up the mountain in flip-flops like young chamois. My two comrades-in-arms, Oliver and Samuel, are a bit out of breath, but for me it's all right.
Ok, scrambling up a mountain at 40 degrees at an altitude of about 4000 metres leaves its mark on me, but I still have enough air to be able to wait victoriously at the top with a cigarette for the others. The air only stops when I see the reason for the effort, which is nothing, except a pile of stones and a plaque saying that there used to be a Buddha temple here. No big statue, no temple, just junk.
All good, but we enjoy a wonderful view, which we would have had from any other mountain that would have been passable by motorbike, but we have done something good for the circulation. We take one or two photos, have a look at the landscape and then, of course, we go down again.
At the bottom, Susi is already waiting for us in the shade of a tree, surrounded by some children. We hand out a few more balloons and small keychain torches and literally make a run for it.
The villages become rarer and the landscape more barren. When we reach the last village before the pass, there are two roads.
21.07.2019
The morning is full of surprises. As I crawl out of the tent, I am immediately overcome by a natural need, and because everyone is still asleep, I can pursue it quite comfortably, I thought.
Now I'm sitting at my chosen spot, with a wonderful view, a wonderfully cold light of dawn, a few metres further down the marmots are getting on with their day's work and the next moment I can hardly believe my eyes.
A camel comes traipsing through from the right, right under my nose, stops and watches me do my business.
Now I'm really in a dilemma, because I don't usually have my camera with me in the toilet and on the other hand I don't like spectators, so what can I do? As it stares at me penetratingly and chews its desert grass with relish in an 8th movement, I try to communicate with it and tell it to keep on looking, but it has to stand still until I'm done and have fetched my photo.
Well then, done, wash my fingers, off to the tent and when I'm back at the scene of the action, the humpy one must have used a magic carpet, because it's in the same place as before, only 200 metres further down. How does that work? It took me less than a minute to get to the tent and back, but the hunchback didn't give me an explanation. I zoomed and zoomed, but unfortunately I couldn't get the photo as sharp as I saw it when it was standing in front of me. Well, you can't count on a camel's word of honour, I'll remember that for the future.
Now everyone else is awake and we make breakfast, pack up and go back on the track. Today there are again cool passages with deep sand and gravel, a challenge every time, because you never know where the front wheel wants to go. You can give the rough direction but where it ends up is "in sha Allah".
So every now and then there are a few small sandbaths or a small rodeo where you try to catch the rear wheel again.
I've always been lucky so far, because I strictly follow my realisation when things get dicey....
Just step on the gas and it works.
Honestly, it looks really cool too! ! !
Soon there is another check point, which means that you are almost through the valley. After this, however, the road becomes a "milk frother". What makes off-road driving no fun at all are washboard tracks with as many "I'll sink the Lada deep" potholes as possible. These circumstances ensure that you can't accelerate to 80 or 90 km/h, because then you would fly over the grooves to some extent and not bounce back and forth on the bike after a few kilometres with half a concussion and a distorted field of vision.
Fortunately, we meet other travellers and so we often have a reason to take a break. A very cordial
22.07.2019
Today I had a good night's sleep again and because there is not much on the programme, I take it easy. A bit of shopping, well, what one understands by shopping in Murgab down in the Container Bazzar, a bit of luggage reloading and above all one thing - relaxing.
Around noon I get a Whats App from Marvin, yes, he wants to ride the Bartang Valley again and is now on his way to Murgab and should be there in the evening. Great, so everything is fine, it was worth the wait and the decision against the coin was the right one.
So there is nothing more to do today and we laze through the day together until evening when Marvin arrives and expands our circle. He too has many stories to tell and we sit cross-legged at our table until our legs fall asleep, surrounded by these colourful tapestries and almost psychedelic ceiling paintings and feel like spice traders in the caravanserai of yesteryear.
What a trip........
The Bartang Valley - The Coin Did Not Lie
23.07.2019
An early morning, everything packed before breakfast and after the morning ceremony we set off together. 4 single cylinders and Piggy Dick roll out of Murgab towards the north-east. It doesn't take long and we cross the 4650 metre pass where it all began, or rather where we met for the first time.
A few déjâ-vu photos and on towards Karakul Lake, because shortly before it turns left into the Bartang Valley. Now the time has come, as I said once before:
I`m not a man of Great Goodby`s
With melancholy in our hearts we say goodbye to Susi, Samuel and Oliver and go our way into the mysterious valley of beauty.
At first I can hardly concentrate on the trek because my thoughts are still circling around the wonderful time with the three of them, but that is about to change because the sudden swing of the handlebars brings me back to the present.
I was lucky, I completely overlooked the muddy section. But it wasn't easy to see, because it wasn't much bigger than a football field.
Ok, fellow rabbit's foot, now it's time to get all my senses together again, otherwise it won't be long before I'm kissing Mother Earth. No sooner said than done, all antennas on and there comes the next obstacle, a flat but quite long river crossing. Take three deep breaths, loosen shoulders and arms, chin over the handlebars and on entering the water - ass backwards and open the throttle - Grrrrr, yes man, it's fun when the water splashes left and right up to the hips.
The valley suddenly narrows and we pass a more or less wide path where suddenly a guy appears in washed-out military clothes and a hat that looks like it was stolen from Stalin himself. I can't wait to see what he wants.
He asks for my permit for the Pamir, which I show him, but I have a funny feeling about it and he tells me to wait a moment. Then he comes back to me from a self-made hut and waves a piece of paper in front of me. I take it and look at it.
Well, my friend, you must have carved the stamp out of a potato, but respect, at least it's a colour copy with the map in stamp size on the back.
I show him my hiking map of the Pamir Mountains and explain to him that this is the official permit I received personally from the Tajik consul in the Swiss capital in Bern and that I don't need any more.
He looks at the map with wide eyes, nods and wishes me a good journey.
Thank you very much my friend, good luck with the other tourists, someone is bound to fall for your trick.
After a while it's time for a break and we're hungry too. Since we are driving along the river here, which is also nice and clear and cold, I
24.07.2019
The night was a challenge again, on the one hand I had a while to fall asleep because of the strong wind and on the other hand the temperature dropped so low at 3am that I tried to keep warm with wool socks, down jacket, long trousers, two sleeping bags and my motorbike jacket over my feet. After two more hours of freezing, I crawled out of my cave and had to put on a café so that I had something warm to drink.
The breakfast alternatives weren't particularly tingly either, because Marvin only had porridge, which is oatmeal mixed with hot water and, in the best case, milk powder, which turns the whole thing into a mass that I would use as paste to stick wallpaper on the wall. The deluxe version is then with sultanas or some kind of fruit. Yes, you can hunt me down with that, because it reminds me of my time in England and Scotland (sorry, dear islanders, but you won't get the first prize for fine food any time soon).
Well then, a second café, 4 dates and a piece of stale bread will have to do. Off we go, towards the dreaded "Stoney river crossing". Everyone I have met so far who has ridden the Bartang has told me about this special place, which leads through a river bed and is particularly deep, with a lot of current, difficult to enter and exit.
However, no one told me about the hill that comes before it, where you drive down a steep slope over stones the size of dinosaur eggs.
Now, at the latest, I'm wide awake and on the ball. We see the last signs of human civilisation when we cross a muddy field, because on the other side there is a yurt and the people there even have a car. So that's why the path there is rutted and nicely softened by the small stream.
Now we are away from it all. No people far and wide, just nature and plenty of it. We drive down a pass with super sharp hairpin bends, and when you look down into the valley, which is about 50 centimetres off the road, it can make you feel a bit queasy. An estimated 300 metres vertically downwards, if you were to fall, you wouldn't have to worry about your old age pension or how to get the bike back up and whether something was broken.
That would probably be a thing of the past.
Off-road tip no. 3:
If you look like shit, you drive like shit.
So, always look where you really want to go.
A place at the pass shows why cars rarely pass through here. When I look to the left, I see a rock avalanche cone that is about 400 metres long and 30 metres wide and ends directly at the road. If you want to drive through it with a car, you need a bit of balls, because you can only do it with an inclined position and a bit of drifting.
Thus, if you shovel away a little bit at the bottom
25.07.2019
Marvin's Honda is quite thirsty and we need fuel. So we ask in a village and one tells us where. Now he wants to ride on a motorbike and unfortunately doesn't understand that it's not possible because of all the luggage. A little disappointed, but not really offended, he starts to run. But the whole thing is cross-country. We follow him and arrive at a hut where a woman is sitting on the stairs counting peas.
Our human guide and the lady want us to sit down and don't stop until we do so on the wobbly wire frame in front of the house. Now they bring bread, tea and Ayran, Marvin gesticulates wildly with his hands to say that we need petrol and no food. I take it a bit more relaxed because I have experienced this a few times. You have to accept the hospitality, otherwise you wait forever for petrol.
After a quarter of an hour, the "petrol pump attendant" arrives, who is also the lady's husband and probably even the mayor. Now we negotiate and another quarter of an hour later he comes around the corner with a can full of petrol. I take out my petrol filter again and of course there are big eyes again from those present, with lots of Oh, Ah, Da Da.
Finally, the tank is full, we eat, say goodbye and move on. As we leave the village again, Marvin accelerates and I find myself in a cloud of dust without any visibility. So I have to slow down and swerve a bit to the left. The dust cloud disappears and what appears?
A motorbike lying on the ground without a rider. Marvin has taken a sand bath. I stop and the first question is always - are you OK? I'm fine, just a small bruise on his hip. I help him put the trestle back up and we first look at the reason for the involuntary free flight.
The sand has two tracks in the middle from the cars, but you can only see them when you are in them, so the chances of getting out of it in one piece are relatively slim. The two tracks are filled with powdery sand and give the front wheel no grip at all. Then the Honda is inspected. Stones and sand in the headlight, a torn belt holding the luggage system and a bent handlebar.
A few metres further on there is a large stone in a minibus, which is now used to straighten the handlebars. Unfortunately the handlebar is bent in itself and so we have to dismantle everything and go to work with a long iron bar. But because we don't have anything to clamp the thing in place, we don't do it and ride on. Marvin has a strange feeling at first, because he steers slightly to the left and the bike still goes straight. Well, he will get used to it.
We keep going and the water holes get bigger and bigger and we keep taking pictures of our passages to see how they look.
26.07.2019
The next morning, as usual, we first have a café, which is slowly running out. But that doesn't matter, because in a few days we'll be in Dushanbe and there we'll have civilisation again. Which means that you can also get European food there. Our two Dutchmen quickly finish packing and because they are a bit more leisurely on the road than we are, we arrange a meeting point in Rushan, 40 km away.
They drive off, Marvin and I are still packing the last things when we suddenly hear motorbike noises again. A little surprised, we see Merijn coming back and we are still laughing, thinking that someone must have forgotten something. But when Els comes back we know that something is wrong. And so it is, she has bad news.
During the night a landslide came down not a kilometre ahead and buried the entire road for about 100 metres. What now? Waiting is one option, and of course talking to the locals. They are quite optimistic that it should be OK by tonight or maybe tomorrow. For our part, we first take stock of what food we still have.
Well, we can get by for two days, and there is a village further on where we can get some potatoes. Yesterday I had to beg Merijn for cigarettes and he gave me the pack, so he asks me if I still have some. Now I was sure that I had given them back. He doesn't have them.
Then it dawned on me, I think I left them on the bag at the back of the bike during a little break yesterday, just before we went to our camping spot. What a bummer, I feel guilty because they are the last cigarettes we had and we are 3 smokers. It doesn't help, I don't have any appointments at the moment and so I get on my bike and ride back the way we came from yesterday.
If there's one thing I can rely on, it's my eagle eye and after 3 kilometres I see a flattened box lying in the sand. When I stop and pick it up I can hardly believe it, it's our cigarettes. Well, aren't I the lucky one? The others will be happy too. So I drive into the camp full of victory and proudly present my find.
I use my binoculars to see what's going on in front of me on the buried road - ah, nothing - what a miracle. Well, it's unlikely that anything will happen today, so I put up my tent again and settle in.
Camping chair, hammock, kitchen, shower and the guitar. Els has bought a ukulele and is learning to play.
That's great, now we have time and so we have a little jam session, which of course leaves its mark on the waiting locals. It doesn't take long and we have an audience. We open a "Br
27.07.2019 Day 2 - locked in paradise
A new day with many expectations dawns. The morning is quiet, because I am once again the first one awake, I enjoy my café under a tree in complete peace. The birds are chirping, the goats come to visit and far and wide there is no one to be seen. If you ignore the fact that we are stuck here, it is actually paradisiacal.
Slowly the others crawl out of their tents and join us, only the strange Germans with their red jeep seem to have no interest in any communication. Well, they're probably either having a crisis with each other or just off their heads.
It doesn't take long before the jeeps start rolling in again, packed with Tajiks who are also waiting under the trees in the shade along the road for us to continue. But a glance through the binoculars tells me that nothing is happening yet. I walk the few metres down to them and ask if they know anything more. Now that's a welcome, they offer me a cigarette and a cup of vodka. I guess they don't think anything will happen today either. I accept with thanks, after all it's like a morning pint.
As we are chatting, they invite me to the upcoming wedding party. I thought it was yesterday? Yes, it was, but that was the party for the bride, today it's the groom's turn. Cool, I'm supposed to take everyone with me, they tell me, and I thank them and tell them we'll join them later.
Because the effect of the vodka is not long in coming, I take a little nap and am a little surprised when it is already afternoon when I wake up with a reasonably clear head. Oops, quite a long sleep. In the meantime, the others have run up to the buried road and give a report on the situation. In the meantime, the municipality has called in a bulldozer from the village on the other side, 20 kilometres away, and it is on its way. Unfortunately, it only drives 5 km/h and the workers are not happy with the payment, which probably reduces the speed to half.
We wash up and make our way to the wedding. Even the two grampled Germans come along, well who says, they are still thawed out. Yes, in emergency situations it is better to stick together.
But when we arrive at the party, it is almost over. On closer inspection, this is also logical, what should they celebrate in the evening if they don't have electricity to turn on the lights.
Our two Germans, let's call them Hansel and Gretel, go ahead. The other 4 of us are still sitting on a tree trunk when a young man comes up to us and asks in English if everything is alright? We thank him for asking and the usual questions come again. Where do we come from, what have we seen, etc.?
28.07.2019 Day 3 locked in paradise
The sky didn't fall on my head but my feeling was confirmed, because when I did my morning business and came out from behind the bush, I saw the two of them with a richly laid breakfast table, and this early in the morning as never before in the last few days. Do you have something to hide, I think to myself, but say nothing and just stare at the table. With salami, café, toast bread, jam, Nutella, fear and lo and behold two omelettes and they eat it all by themselves. Their mouths must be too full for a "good morning", because all I get is a grim look.
You know what - I wish you the shits for the rest of your journey.
When Marvin is awake he takes the initiative and gets on his motorbike to ride into the village and start a raid. The other three of us stay behind and cook café again. An hour later he is back and has got no less than 30 eggs. Plus 17 packs of instant noodles and a handful of potatoes, onions, a loaf of bread and a clove of garlic. Well then, let's go and fry some eggs.
After a hearty breakfast, I go back to my new favourite pastime, watching the workers with binoculars and reporting to the others what's going on. Like the last few days, the locals and the reckless ones arrive around 10am, walking along the gravel road to catch one of the shared taxis on the other side.
Because even the Tajikis are getting bored, they look for a job, some mend a spare tyre, others wash their cars, others lie down under a tree and count clouds or even the goats passing by. When Els asks me if we can play some music, I immediately join in and it doesn't take long for a crowd of people to gather around us.
One of the gentlemen is already very interested in my guitar and asks if he can play, of course, and he starts playing music that is very strange to me. It must be a traditional Bartang Blues or something like that. Some of the boys even start dancing to it and we have once again started the party in the "Lost Paradis". How cool is that. No one gets upset because the road has been blocked for 3 days now, everyone accepts it and makes the best of it.
In the afternoon, suddenly there is excitement, everyone rushes to the car and speeds off in the direction of the construction site. Since everything is still geared towards field camps, we can't keep up and before I pack everything away again, I first check the situation. You can see that the bulldozer has probably already managed to drive over the newly built hill and the boys with their jeeps want to do the same.
Like a little child, I watch everything from a safe distance, and sure enough, the first one tries it with the car. It takes a while but he manages it.
29.07.2019 Day 4 Caught in Paradise and Redemption
The morning is like always, calm and with soft light slowly filling the valley. The same ceremony as every morning, I feel like I'm in the film "Groundhog Day" Ah, it does have one special feature. I don't know how, but somehow a colony of ants has found its way into the tent and thus into the rest of the bread. But since this is our last bread, we knock the unwanted visitors out and all those still inside give an addition to the otherwise meagre breakfast. I've never had it before - dry flatbread with peanut butter and ant flavour.
Tastes a bit crunchy and lively, but is definitely very protein-rich. After three hours I have the feeling that I should pack up, because I am sure that I will continue today. Just as I'm getting down to work, I start to feel uneasy again. So I take out my binoculars and see salvation, the cars come through and the mountain stops. Now let's get out of here before the mountain changes its mind again.
Marvin comes over to me and says with great disappointment that the two Germans, Hansel and Gretel, have left the oasis in a hurry and have not even said goodbye. I console him with the words - what did you expect from those two idiots? Be glad they are gone and hope they don't block the whole road.
We saddle up and drive to the construction site. Wow, they have actually built a road over the slipped area. With the usual gesture of thanks we ride past and step on the gas to get up the hill, which consists of loose gravel. Whew - all 4 motorbikes made it. Now we step on the gas to ride the last 40 kilometres out of the valley.
When we arrive in Rushan we go for a meal and are served by a really polite waiter. When he asks me what I would like, he flirts with me. He's a real babe, but I wiggle out of the affair and say that I'm married and therefore off the market. Once again I'm lucky, but later it turns out that the village has a lot of homosexuals. It's strange in an Islamic village where everyone is so conservative.
We do some shopping, fill up with petrol and leave again. It is still a good 600 kilometres to Dushanbe on gravel roads in the mountains. As we are not in a hurry, we plan to do it in two days. Once again we look for a camping spot on I Overlander and drive the rest of the day almost without a break. We arrive shortly before dusk and set up our tents.
Already during the drive I have a funny stomach and when my tent is pitched I get stomach cramps. Oh crap, I thought we had already done that in Bishkek and once should be enough. The night shows me otherwise. I get a whole hour's sleep and have to go back to the prairie again and again. This is really sh.....
30.07.2019
My feeling in the morning is as if I had been run over by a train and so breakfast is cancelled. We continue to Kalei Chum, where we do some more shopping and then make our way up the 3252 metre pass, the northern route to Dushanbe. As we climb and the temperatures drop again, my stomach feels a little better. Only the signs with the warnings of landmines give me another sinking feeling in my stomach now and then. So I am a little more careful than usual when I pee, I don't want to enter Nirvana so quickly and especially not with my trousers down.
At a junction my sat nav says left, Merijn's says right. Els also says left and so we continue left. The natural road becomes a track and shortly afterwards we find ourselves in the most remote villages of Tajikistan. Man, they make big eyes, they have probably never seen a motorbike before. With a bit of asking and a few extra tours we make it back on the right track. Lunch is cancelled because it is so hot again in the valley below and so we ride all day, because that is the only thing that cools us down - the wind.
160 kilometres to go and it is already evening, so we look for a camping spot as usual. We find a great spot right next to the river on a small hill and settle down. My dinner consists of two bananas, a beer and dehydration salt. Because I didn't sleep the night before, I go to bed pretty soon and hope that tomorrow will be better.
31.07.2019
New day, new happiness. The night was quiet for me and I was able to sleep through it, which definitely gave my mood a big boost. I still skip breakfast because I don't want to risk anything. Just as we are about to leave, El's bike won't start and there goes an early start. Helmet down, park the moped and get the tools out. Reason check - is she getting fuel? Is there a spark? Mhmmm, not possible, so I lowered the tank, took out the spark plug and that's where I think I found the culprit. The spark plug is pitch black and oily.
We already know that your bike gets too much fuel, but the fact that it eats more oil than petrol is new. Well, the first thing they suggest is an emergency operation. Because we're in the middle of nowhere, I suggest cleaning the spark plug first and if that doesn't work, we'll see. Ha, my luck hasn't run out, because after the plug is back in, the bike starts up for the first time.
And we continue on the odyssey of the Zyggi T.R. We drive until noon again and only take a short break with water and biscuits in the shade of a tree, fill up with fuel again in a small village and are surprised to suddenly see the best asphalt in front of us. Ah, what a satisfaction. I haven't seen real asphalt for almost two weeks, so it's really fun to give my old Barana a run for its money. Since we are at a normal altitude again, 1800 metres, she runs like a young chamois.
After another hour it is time for a break and we find a small stream with trees where we settle down and have a snack. Then we continue, unfortunately the tarmac is repeatedly interrupted by road works and a wind comes up that stirs up the dust. On a small hill, as I ride between two huge rocks, a squall comes up and develops into a full-blown sandstorm. I lower my visor and turn on all the lights I have so that at least the oncoming vehicles can see me.
I want to get through it as quickly as possible and when the storm subsides I accelerate because the next sand wall is already approaching from behind. When I come to a small town I stop to wait for the other two. There I am, half an hour later, and far and wide there is no sign of my two Dutchmen. I turn around and drive back almost 20 kilometres, but I can't find them. At the side of the road I see a couple of young people and ask them if two yellow motorbikes have come through. They answer in the affirmative and so I think that they might have taken a different route through the city.
Dushanbe is only 50 kilometres away and so I try to catch up with them. Somehow I get the feeling that something is wrong and so I stop again and wait for another half hour. Nothing to see, well, we have agreed on a meeting point in Dushanbe and I head for that first.
When I arrive at the Green House Hostel, there is no sign of them and the guys at the reception have received the request but have written back that they are fully booked. I leave a message and drive on to the other hostel we have chosen together. My sat nav says only one more kilometre but I am in front of a roadblock. This is the highest police building in Dushanbe and because I am a tourist I just drive through.
Of course, this causes a stir and as soon as I am inside, several policemen are standing around me with wildly gesticulating arms. "So look", I point to my sat nav, "there's a hostel, a long drive, and I'm going through there, whether you want me to or not". It worked and to save face they show me the way, which is on the sat nav anyway. Rach Maat and Servus.
But my two Dutchmen are not there either. Now I'm starting to get worried and decide to have something to eat and, if I don't hear anything, to drive back again.
Then I get the relieving call from Marvin that they have turned up at the motorbike workshop with a van, because El's motorbike has given up the ghost. An hour later they arrive at the hostel where I have nested. There is great joy and I feel a bit bad that I didn`t go further back to look for them. But all is well, I have already bought 4 litres of beer and put it in the fridge.
A small Indian woman wants to show us around, but we just want to eat something and then finish off the evening with a beer. She seems like a spacecookie to me, because she says all sorts of strange things. She really wants to take us to a fast food restaurant, but on the way she tells us that the food there is two months old and everyone who has eaten there has taken food poisoning home with them. Great, and why should we eat there then? The explanation is that she gets some money there when she brings guests from the hostel.
Sorry honey, but that's not going to happen. We walk a few metres further and there we find the Tajik version of Mc Donald - MAG DONER. The girl strongly advises us not to go there, as you have to wait over an hour for food. We go for it and go anyway. It takes just as long as it takes to prepare a fresh hamburger and it tastes fantastic. Our little Indian Teletubbi has said goodbye and gone back.
Full and happy, we walk back to the hostel and make ourselves comfortable on one of the sofas outside. The beer is flowing and they tell me the whole story. Shortly after the sandstorm, El's motorbike made strange noises and she stopped. Fearing that it could break even more, they organised a van and drove it to Dushanbe.
After midnight we are all so exhausted that we fall into our beds in the air-conditioned room and sleep the sleep of the victorious.
01.08.2019
Breakfast is at the hostel, but it is a bit strange, because the lady at the reception seems to have a disease. Her mobile phone is stuck to her ear and she can't stop talking on the phone. The highlight is that she is talking and dumps porridge into my plate. I speak very loudly because I assume she can't hear me very well through the phone and tell her I'd rather have eggs for breakfast. If looks could kill, I would probably be over the Jordan River by now, to stay in the language of the country.
When I ask for more bread and café I have managed to cure her illness, she puts the phone aside, mumbles something and puts a piece of bread down for me and points with her chin to a cup containing Instand Café. Okay, I take the hint and spare myself further questions, which she confirms by picking up the phone. I quietly eat my breakfast and move outside to wake the other two, because breakfast is only served until 10 and it is already 10 to.
After Merijn and Els have eaten, we drive to the workshop to check on the sick pony. Not good news, because the alternator has come loose and completely shot the cover. We have to get a new one and that is not easy. We spend the whole morning until 2 pm searching the internet and contacts to find the part. It takes at least 2 weeks to send it and costs 200 dollars just for the package.
When so much crap happens to you, it's worth a midday beer. We're going to eat something first - just around the corner, says Marvin, who has also arrived at the workshop in the meantime. After 20 minutes of walking at 45 degrees without shade we have made it and are completely dehydrated, which has an effect on our beer consumption. Ok, but the food is also very fine and so we sit in the air-conditioned room with another beer and look for the parts.
I don't think it's going to happen today, just because of the heat, of course?
As I am an optimistic doomsayer, I have dragged all my motorbike equipment to the Resti, the others have left it in the workshop and when we come back it is closed and nobody is there. Well, what can I say, I drive home and buy some groceries on the way, make sure the beer is cold and then wait for you.
It takes almost two hours until they arrive and because it gets even hotter in the afternoon, they are completely tired. Well, a little siesta never hurt anyone. But it lasts until the evening and then everyone is hungry again. This time I choose a restaurant that sounds really good, because they have a beer garden and traditional food. It's 3 kilometres to the restaurant and we walk it, because we've been sitting in the saddle enough the last few days.
The food and also the wheat beer are fantastic and so we feast on a roof terrace with a view over Dushanbe. As air conditioning, they have mounted garden hoses on the ceiling that let water down at regular intervals, what a cool idea. Food good - everything good. After a really nice evening we stagger back and see the city at night and its scary drivers, because they drive as if the lights were broken, but surprisingly few accidents happen.
Back home, some other guests are awake and we join them. Because we don't have to go out tomorrow, it's a longer day today and we have a fun international group at the table. Egypt, Uzbekistan, Iran, India, Holland, China and me as the official representative of Switzerland, which unfortunately most of them don't realise and think it's Sweden. I let them believe that I am tired of explaining the small pretty country, which is as visible on a world map as the Gallic village in France. See you tomorrow - good night.