Entering Uzbekistan (not by camel)

Our time in Tajikistan drew to an end and we tried psyching ourselves up for Uzbekistan. We were both a little wary, as we'd heard many negative stories about border guards and police 'shake-downs' of foreigners in Uzbek cities. We were also not too excited about being stuck in cities for the next two weeks. There would be no camping for us in Uzbekistan due to the compulsory registration system where foreigners are required to provide evidence of their accommodation. Apparently this is only required every third night, but we didn't want to take any chances as border officials can make up the rules as they go, especially if you look like a wealthy foreigner. We didn't want to give them any reason to have a problem with us.              

We had heard many bad stories from other travellers about the border guards in Uzbekistan. These were mostly from people exiting Uzbekistan, rather than entering, but still we were a little nervous. To help us with the border crossing we decided to purchase the traditional dress (a kurta) and wear it for the crossing. Given that I'll probably never wear it again I thought I may as well get the most flamboyant one I could find. Just for laughs.

Me in my leopard print kurta. Our driver trying to fix the car in the background after just having crossed the border.

Here are a couple of the horror stories we heard from people when trying to leave Uzbekistan:

A guy from Spain we met at Green House Hostel in Dushanbe said that when he tried to enter Tajikistan from Uzbekistan using the Denau/Tursanzade crossing he was arrested for having prescription medication for back pain. He was taken to the city of Termiz, several hours drive south of the border crossing, was detained for five days, and was required to pay for a lawyer and get blood tests. Eventually he was allowed to cross the border into Tajikistan.

A couple we met on the Pamir Highway had been detained for five days for having prescription medication - for which they had a letter from their doctor back home. I think the medication was some kind of sedative to help with sleep. They also had to pay for a lawyer and were out of pocket more than a thousand dollars once the ordeal was over. They were also crossing the Denau/Tursanzade border. 

This may have something to do with Uzbekistan's relationship with Tajikistan more so than their war on drugs. However, they are very serious about the eradication of drugs, possibly a knee jerk reaction to being a neighbour of Afghanistan, the largest opium producer in the world.

The night before we did the crossing we did a purge of anything that may be considered contraband. We had read online that codeine is illegal in Uzbekistan. We weren't sure if it was true but just in case, it went in the bin. All medication that wasn't in its original packaging, in the bin. All religious or political material from our kindles - deleted. John Piper sermons on my phone - not deleted. There are some things I can't live without.

From Dushanbe it only took around an hour to get to the border where there were several 'illegal' money changers waiting for travellers. In Uzbekistan, all money is changed on the black market due to inflation and other economic problems. Changing on the black market will get you twice as much for your dollar than if you change it at the official money changers, which only really exist in banks or fancy hotels. Even though it's illegal, I liked this system as every hostel owner, taxi driver and street vendor is a money changer. So you never waste time looking for a bank or a money change. If you're motivated enough, you can also negotiate your exchange rate.

Taxi drivers don't go over the border and you have to walk across no man's land from the Tajik to the Uzbek check points. Thankfully, this is only about 100 metres. We got many smiles and comments of "Uzbekski!" from Customs officers and the border guards about our kurtas and it proved to be a really good icebreaker.


The border crossing was incredibly quiet, with hardly anyone around. After getting our visas stamped we entered a final building where we were ushered to the front of the very short line. Big benches waist high rowed each side of the room and we were instructed to put packs on the benches and empty them. Everything came out. Tent, sleeping bag, powdered milk, toiletries, underwear! Everything. They went though our medications asking (in Russian) what everything was for. Our explanations were limited to touching the relevant body part - head or stomach. They went through my kindle, asking what was on it. Then they went through my phone. Photos, videos, music etc. They looked at my play list which contained a lot of John Piper and some Christian music. 'What type of music do you have on here?' I was asked. 'Pop music' I said. 'Do you have anything religious?' My heart skipped a beat. 'I have pop music', I said. She must have seen something to prompt the question but after x-raying my bag and hiking boots she let me go. Whew! 

All up the border crossing probably took about an hour. It was a hassle, with us having to repack our bags in rapid time as there was quite a queue after us by this point, but it all went smoothly.

Now we just had an eight hour car ride ahead of us to get to Bukhara. We got a taxi at the border, plugged into our podcasts (at high volume in order to drown out the loud local pop music that blared from the taxi's speakers), and settled in for what we assumed would be a restful, if long, journey.

Alas, before long we were stopped at a check point and searched again! Despite there being four passengers in the taxi, the local passengers were waved through and Claire and I were taken into a separate room, our packs put on the bench, and were requested to take everything out. Again. 

The guards were two young women who diligently went through every item. One of them picked up my bag of brightly-coloured tampons and with a questioning look indicated she wanted me to explain what they were. It took several attempts with me making lots of hand gestures south of my cervix. Thankfully, Claire then offered the Tajik word for 'blood' and the guard pieced it all together. She went very red, shared some embarrased laughter with her colleague and us, and that was the end of my search. They even helped us pack our bags back up.

We had assumed when we negotiated to go to Bukhara with our taxi driver from the border that he would,  you know, take us to Bukhara. Turns out he had other plans. He pulled over at the town of Karshi, loaded us and our packs into a different taxi, and headed north with his remaining passengers to Samarkand. On a side note, he had tried to convince us several times during our drive that we really wanted to go to Samarkand. We remained adamant that we wanted to go to Bukhara. So he had to pay a portion of our fare to the next driver, and find new customers to fill his car to Samarkand.

All up we changed taxis four times before we reached Bukhara. The driver for the final leg chain-smoked as he drove and Claire spent a lot of that trip with her head out the window getting increasingly headachy and grumpy.

It was after dark when we finally reached Bukhara. For the icing on the cake, it turned out our driver wasn't going to take us to our hotel. He left us near some local taxi drivers, to whom we then had to pay an extra fee to get to our lodgings.

Things improved significantly once we reached our hostel. We stayed at a beautiful B&B called Rustam & Zuxro which had the best breakfasts in Uzbekistan with pastries, fruit, eggs and real coffee.

View of the courtyard at Rustam & Zuxro B&B

We slept in a mixed six person dorm and thankfully we were so exhausted each evening from all the sight seeing that we had no problems sleeping.

I hope you like really old buildings because next post will feature some architectural highlights from Bukhara, Khiva and Samarkand.

Yagnob Valley, or thereabouts...

After our hike through the Fan Mountains, we had a few days to kill before entering Uzbekistan. We decided to spend a few nights in what we thought was the Yagnob Valley. It turns out the Yagnob Valley is about 20km further than where we ended up, and we never did learn the name of the valley we were in.

Our map indicated that the road to Yagnob Valley was pretty remote. However, the Anzob tunnel, which is on the main road from Dushanbe to Khojand, was closed for reconstruction, causing all north-south traffic to be re-routed onto another road which went right past the turnoff to the Yagnob Valley. This alternate main road was in a laughably bad state, with many a pot hole, and much of it unsealed. Traffic was slow and followed a thin river through a narrow gorge with high rocky walls. Despite the poor road and slow journey, the scenery was amazing and this has been one of my favourite roads to travel so far.

The village of Margeb.

We got a taxi to Margeb, which was the first town off the busy, re-routed road. It was much more peaceful here. We had thought this village lay in the Yagnob Valley, but learned upon arriving that we were wrong. We asked locals the directions to Yagnob, which they indicated with their hands and arms... a very long way.

Hitting the road.

After walking less than 5km we came upon an apricot orchard. Our plan was just to have lunch here, but after snacking on some (ok lots) of fresh apricots we decided to spend the night. 

We left the apricot orchard early the next day and walked further into the valley, grateful for the fact that the high valley walls meant the road was in shade. After a couple of hours, though, the sun came overhead and the valley started to heat up.

Walking into the valley.

The river swung east and we followed it for a few more kilometres before Claire's sickness revisited. We stopped for break in the shade of an apple tree, where Claire promptly fell asleep. When she awoke the day had become hotter and she was still feeling substandard. We decided to find somewhere close to camp for the night. We walked on a bit further before we found a flat spot next to the river, shaded by a tree and close to a beautiful clear waterfall that fell across the road and joined the river.

Claire at the waterfall as it crosses the road.

We pitched our tent here and happily collapsed in the cool shade. It was a lovely campsite, with a little sandy beach and plenty of river boulders upon which to perch and watch the water as it danced and frolicked over the rocks. 

Claire wasn't feeling any better the next day, so we decided to have a rest day before heading back to Margeb the day after. By this time we were well and truly over eating two minute noodles, and were very eager to return to the apricot field. Much to our dismay, when we finally reached the orchard it was full of local villagers harvesting the trees. We were terribly disappointed and hungry. We continued walking into the village and came upon three women (a grandmother, daughter and grand daughter) on the road who were returning from their harvest with several buckets full of apricots.

While Claire was busy devising a strategy whereby one of us would distract them while stole one of the buckets and made a break for it, the women engaged us in conversation then poured handfuls of apricots into our eager hands. A few minutes later, we were invited back to their house and provided with a small feast.

The lovely mother and daughter who invited us back to their house for chai and food.

After this early lunch we headed back to the road a hitched out of the valley with a couple of locals. They were headed south, and we were going north back to Sarvoda, so they dropped us off at the main road. We waited here for a few minutes before a lovely young truck driver picked us up. Unfortunately, his truck broke down about an hour into the drive, but we were picked up by another car and made it back to Sarvoda that afternoon.

Hitched a ride to Sarvoda in one of these bad boys (before it broke down).

We had another rest day in Sarvoda before getting a taxi back to Dushanbe. In Dushanbe we stayed with a couch surfer for two nights. He was a lovely Afghan guy who worked with a humanitarian aid organisation helping refugees and stateless people in Central Asia. He and another guest he had at the time were very hospitable, taking us out for dinner and showing us the sights of Dushanbe.

Fun times in the Fan Mountains

Ahhhh... the Fan Mountains... possibly my most anticipated destination for all Central Asia. I mean, just look at it!

Day One

Getting there wasn't as easy as I'd anticipated. We had suspected there would be a lot of traffic going in and out given its popularity, but due to the condition of the road and its remoteness there isn't a lot of local traffic. We tried our luck at hitch hiking and after 10 minutes a truck driver gave us a lift to a small village about 8km up the road.

By this time it was late in the day, and not much traffic was coming through, so we decided to find somewhere to pitch for the night. We walked to the edge of town hoping to find some flat ground next to the river. No such luck. The land rises quucly after the last house in town, leaving no flat, empty space on which to camp. We walked back into town hoping to find a friendly local who would let us pitch in their garden. Almost straight away we came across a bunch of women sitting opposite a nice flat garden with lots of trees providing much-sought shade. We gestured to the green spot and asked 'palatka?' Meaning 'tent'? The owner seemed a bit hesitant and after some talk between the women we were instructed to follow the children. They led us down to the river to a nice vacant piece of land where we could spend the night. The children thought we were quite the novelty and played around the tent until it got dark.

Day Two

To ensure we got a ride the remaining 20km to the Alplager, we got up early and stationed ourselves next to the road, waiting for cars. After half an hour or so, a car eventually came along. It had three male passengers who were happy for us to jump on board. They got out at a village about 6km short of the Alplager, so we paid the driver 60 som to take us the rest of the way.

The Alplager is home to some stone buildings (one included a kitchen which could do meals for a couple of dollars) and a few scattered tents. Instead of spending the night here with the other hikers we decided to head straight to Lake Alaudin (1st and 2nd photos) and camp on the lake. It's only about a 40 minute walk to the lake, but factor in more time if you would like to stop and admire the many beautiful lakes on the way up.

Our tent on the lake front of Alaudin.

Day Three

Morning views of Alaudin Lake.

Today we were heading over the 3860m Alaudin Pass to get to the Kulikalon bowl. Thankfully it wasn't a long distance, but the pass was steep and it took us about three hours to get to the top from Alaudin Lake.

Views of Lake Alaudin heading to the pass.

View of Kulikalon bowl from Alaudin Pass.

From here it was a long, knee-jarring descent to Lake Dushakha, which sits at the base of the 5489m Mount Chimtarga, where we pitched our tent for a chilly nights sleep.

Lake Dushakha with Mt Chimtarga in the background. 

Day Four

Kulikalon bowl is filled with many spectacular little lakes, the biggest being Lake Kulikalon.

Lake Kulikalon, where we sat and enjoyed our lunch.

Tomato and cucumber in stale bread (again).

It was a very short day, so we took our time to find the best camp spot we could. After walking in circles around some beautiful lakes we settled for this one. Again, Mt Chimtarga in the background.

Not long after we pitched, a local man came over and chatted with us, wanting to know where we were from and where we were going. It's amazing how much communication is possible even without speaking the same language.

Day Five

Morning view from our tent.

I woke up feeling unwell, after having had an uneasy sleep with stomach pains all night. Claire was also a bit off colour, but despite this we decided to tackle the pass, to get back to civilisation as soon as possible in case we got really sick.

After 30 minutes of walking I felt like vomiting all over myself. Just when I thought I couldn't go on any further a man with a donkey rode past. I think he could see the pain we were in. He stopped and looked at me, then gestured to my pack and pointed to the donkey. 'Are you sure?' I said, even though he didn't speak English. He took my pack and saddled it on the donkey. This was too good to be true! There had to be a catch. 'Skolka stoit?' I asked, meaning 'How much?' He waved his hand to indicate no charge. 

Ok, usually I'm a bit of a puritan and have kinda judged hikers who hired porters or animals to carry their gear (unless you're over 50 years old, then you've totally earned it). But in this case I was willing to make an exception. I was sure I was going to vomit before reaching the pass and the less gear I carried the more chance I had of making it to the top. So we saddled up the donkey with both packs and continued to walk and take in the amazing views.

Laudon Pass.

I'm ashamed to say that the donkey, carrying in excess of 30kgs, kicked my arse up that hill. Well not exactly a hill, but a 3630m pass. 

The best donkey in the world on the pass.

The donkey owner on top of Laudon Pass.

It was all down hill from here. The donkey owner took an alternative route about half way down but before we parted ways we made a picnic lunch to say thank you. 

Claire and donkey owner enjoying some chai and naan (tea and bread) with a beautiful view.

We made it back to the Alplager by 1pm and waited near the road for a car to arrive and hopefully take us back to Sarvoda. We knew that cars were very irregular, so we had enough food to camp the night and walk the 25km out the next day if we had to.

After waiting for an hour a ute turned up with some passengers in the back. We thought they would most likely be staying the night, but after chatting to the driver we learned he was just dropping people off. So we got down to the business of negotiating. At first he asked for 200 somoni. Ouch! AUS $44 for a 25km ride. I think not. We offered 100 somoni and eventually agreed on 130 somoni (AUS $28.50). Yeh, it's expensive but it's a one hour drive and the road is really bad - the worst I've been on in Tajikistan, actually, but also incredibly beautiful and fun.

Exhausted and elated from such a great week in the Fan's, we crashed at the Guesthouse in Sarvoda, and decided to follow it up with a rest day, with lots of fresh veggies and relaxing.

Lake Iskander-Kul

After spending one night in the very hot and humid Dushanbe we decided not to waste any time getting to the Fan Mountains. But before slogging it out in the Fans we decided to have some chill time at Lake Iskander-Kul.

We heard the road north of Dushanbe was a bit treacherous. The five kilometre Anzob tunnel en-route was notorious for accidents. Thankfully it was closed as road works were taking place, but that meant we would be heading over Anzob Pass instead, which is also known to be a dangerous stretch of road. With this is mind, we decided to size up the taxi drivers wisely before committing to get in any cars. Upon arriving at the northern taxi stand we were inundated by taxi drivers shouting destinations in our faces, 'Iskander-Kul? Alaudin? Khojand?' It was overwhelming, but at the same time gave us some leverage to bargain. I think they were originally asking 400 somoni. We accepted a ride from an older driver who spoke a little English and wasn't too pushy. We bargained him down to 100 for the two of us for the drive to Sarvoda. Unfortunately, that was a share taxi price so we had to hang around for an hour or so while some other passengers arrived to fill up the car.

I'm glad we were warned about the drive. Not only was the road steep and dangerous but many of the drivers on the road were completely reckless - overtaking on blind corners and going way too fast on gravel roads. Thankfully our driver was sensible and even stopped so we could take photos while going over the pass.

View from Anzob Pass 3,372m 

He dropped us in Sarvoda quite late in the day, so we decided to stay at a home stay in town called Mehmonkhona Yazdon.

Our homestay in Sarvoda 

It was only 10 somoni a night (AUS $2.20) and the host family was lovely. The taxi driver gave us his phone number before dropping us off in case we ended up in Khojand - his home town.

The people in western Tajikistan are very hospitable. They seem less interested in making a profit off you and more interested in getting to know you. For example, the next day our taxi driver to Iskander-Kul invited us into his home for 'tea' as we passed his home town on the way to the lake. 'Tea', we soon discovered, meant a small feast, including bread, yoghurt, biscuits, and fresh apricots (straight from their tree)!

Our taxi driver and his son having us for tea.

He even loaded us up with two bags of dried apricots on our departure.

The drive to Iskander-Kul is stunning. The road follows a river through a deep gorge with corrugated rock formations on either side.

The pastel blue lake is surrounded by high mounds of granite rock overlooking the water.

We hadn't even set up our tents next to the lake before our neighbours invited us over for dinner and vodka, and insisted we join in their target shooting. We passed on the vodka, but weren't going to say no to the rest...

Apparently Iskander-Kul is quite the party lake for local tourists, and where we stayed (Turbaza Iskander-Kul) gets busy and loud on the weekends. Despite this, it was relatively calm and peaceful where we pitched.

Thankfully for us, we were just there for two nights and took off on the Saturday morning. But not before a group of locals insisted we join them for breakfast (and vodka) at their chaikhana, a little platform off the ground with cushions and blankets.

Once again, we took up the offer and made lots of hand gestures in order to communicate our ages and marital status. These are inevitably amongst the first questions we get asked. I got my first marriage proposal, but am still way behind Claire.

After eating way too much food, we decided it was time to hitch back to Sarvoda. It has been pretty easy to hitch hike in western Tajikistan compared to anywhere else we've been in Central Asia. In Kyrgyzstan they always expect payment due to just about every car being a taxi. But here hitching appears common and the locals seem to do it as well as travellers.

After sitting at the boom gate entrance to Iskander-Kul for an hour or so we got a hitch in a truck. Claire and I perched awkwardly in the front bench seat next to the driver and another man crammed against the gear stick. Our legs got pins and needles after the first twenty minutes, but who can complain when a local gives you a lift out of the goodness of their heart. They were kind enough to drop us right to our homestay in Sarvoda. Loving the local generosity in Tajikistan.

The flight of death!!! Khorog to Dushanbe.

After spending three nights at the Pamir Lodge in Khorog we eventually made it aboard the infamous Khorog to Dushanbe flight. This flight only runs when the weather is perfect, and is consequently prone to being cancelled at the last minute. But after reading the following description in Lonely Planet, we decided it was a must for our itinerary:

"The aircraft scoots between (not above) mountain valleys, flying with wingtips so close you could swear they kick up swirls of snow. In Soviet days this was the only route on which Aeroflot paid its pilots danger money."

- Lonely Planet

We heard that getting a ticket on this flight was tough, but nothing could have prepared us for the chaotic and nonsensical process.

First, you must go to the airport with a copy of your passport and put your name on a waiting list. We did this and were told to come back at 9am in two days time. When we returned two days later we were told our names were not on the list and they did not have the copies of our passports. Grrr...

A plane was scheduled to arrive at 12 noon that day but the 16 seats had already been sold. The man at the airport counter (which is a misleading description as the counter was nothing more than an arc shaped hole in a wall 25cm wide and 20cm high) said there was another plane at 3pm but it was also sold out. He didn't speak any English, so all of this was translated through helpful locals, who were also scrambling for tickets. After insisting we needed to get to Dushanbe that day, and after several visits to the hole in the wall (on one of which he found our passport copies) he told us to come back at 2:30pm as there might be tickets available. That sounded dubious. We settled ourselves down to wait just ten metres from the little hole in the wall so we were in view.

At 2:30pm I went back with our passports and US $200 ($100 per ticket) and competed with a bunch of others also trying to get on the flight. After much persistence we were finally given a ticket which was reminiscent of a plane ticket from the 1990s, printed with red ink on carbon paper. 

I couldn't believe we were getting on this flight. I had been feeling anxious all day with the waiting and now it was happening! After more anxious waiting in a small terminal lounge we eventually stepped out onto the tarmac and saw our lightweight Tajik Air plane that would either be our passage to Dushanbe or to the afterlife.

The plane seats 16 but there were more like 20 people crammed on that flight, including one kitten (cageless).

Unfortunately, the sound of the engines was disturbing to the poor cat, but that didn't stop it from enjoying the views.

Which were spectacular.

If I had the opportunity I would definitely take that flight again. Yes, it's expensive, dangerous, cancelled regularly and a pain to get tickets, but it's like being on a scenic joy flight through amazing mountainscape for 45 minutes. The alternative is to take a 12 to 14 hour share taxi on some dangerous roads that are prone to landslides. Both have their advantages and disadvantages but I know what I would choose if given the opportunity again. Just look at this view!

Pamir Highway: Part Two

View of the Wakhan Valley in Afghanistan

Day Four - Alichur to Langar

Giant hole in the road from Alichur to Langar.

This year Tajikistan has had an unusually high amount of rain, resulting in land slides, erosion and the closure of the road between Khorog and Murgab. Driving in heavy rain can be hazardous but thankfully the weather was clear for us.

After much swerving and avoiding of crevices, we eventually came to the serene Lake Bulunkul. There was no one else was there so we took the opportunity to soak in the beautiful scene and listen to the birds. The lake was very still and reflected the white clouds and blue sky like a mirror.

Although I wouldn't recommend camping here as the place is swarming with mosquiotes, hence why I'm wearing my puffy jacket.

We backtracked to the highway and kept our eyes open for cairns signalling the start of the walk up 'Panorama Ridge'. This is a steep, two hour ascent with mountain views of China, Afghanistan, Pakistan and, of course, Tajikistan.

The hike was not easy as we were up pretty high (maybe around 5,000m) so I was severely short of breath before the walk even got steep. Towards the top, I had to stop every ten metres just to slow my heart rate down. Any secret fantasies I had of one day being a mountaineer were severely dashed along with my ego. I was sorely tempted to turn around on multiple occasions but my pride wouldn't let me. My perseverance eventually paid off when, after two hours of hard climbing, I reached the top and was rewarded with stunning views.

Kevin sitting by a cairn enjoying the panorama.

The descent was significantly faster than the ascent, and after spending some time at the top we were back in the car within 20 minutes.

Before long we called a stop again so we could take photos of the stunning Wakhan Valley. 

The Wakhan River provides a natural border between Tajikistan and Afghanistan. It's exciting to be so close to a country that's so inaccessible at the moment. It's also incredibly beautiful. Not only is Afghanistan visible, but the snow-capped Hindu Kush mountain range in Pakistan also be seen beyond the Afghan mountains, as in the above photo.

These views were my favourite section of our journey and I had to stop myself from constantly asking Danier to keep pulling over for photos.

After driving across bare and rocky landscape all day it was a startling change to drive into the very green town of Langar.

The town is really beautiful and you will be tempted to stay more than one night. Unfortunately, the locals are very used to tourists and they will make every effort to relieve you of your money. We had a somewhat bad experience with Nigina Homestay and soon learned we were not the only ones. Another traveller had found the host stealing money from their luggage, and others commented that they just generally felt unwelcome.

However not everyone is looking to take your money and some locals just want to have their photo taken. Like these lovely ladies.

Day Five - Langar to Yumchun Fort

Before leaving town we took a short walk to the cemetery. It's on the side of a hill and you can keep walking up to a bunch of petroglyphs in the caves above. Apparently it is difficult to tell the originals from the more recent graffiti left by vandals.

Our first stop was at a Buddhist stupa (pyramid looking thing) in Vrang. Only a short walk from the road, it was well worth the side trip.

After admiring the view of town and taking lots of photos we headed back to the car. Only to find it less one tyre and Danier with spanner in hand.

'No problem, no problem', he reassured us.

Thirty minutes later the tyre was back on and we were back on the road.

There are many ruins and old forts along the Pamir Highway but Yamchun Fort is supposed to be the most scenic and, I must admit, I was pretty impressed.

To get there it's 6km of very steep switchbacks all the way up. But once you get to the top the lookout is remarkable.

If you keep driving past the fort you reach Bibi Fatima Hot Springs. This is the best hot springs I've ever been to. Even though it's enclosed it still feels really wild and natural. There are several rooms to bathe in (men and women separate, and private or public) but the quality of the spring you get is just a matter of luck. The room I went to was a public one and was built into the side of a waterfall. The hot water cascades down the side of a rocky mossy wall into the pool below where there were many naked women. Women come here to boost their fertility, maybe because many of the calcite rocks in the hot springs look like parts of the female anatomy. I tried to take a photo but because of all the steam and naked people it was rather difficult.

We stayed the night at Charshanbe homestay, the main room of which was set up in typical Pamiri style. It had a lot of character and many carpets on the floors and walls.

Day Six - Yamchun Fort to Khaakha Fort.

We had planned to spend the following night in the town of Ishkashim, but had been recommended a cool homestay that prior to Ishkashim, right next to the historic Khaakha Fort.

We had been told the place was called Intizor, but we didn't quite know what to expect. As we pulled up at the entrance we were a little wary, as it looked a little old and run down. But looks can be deceiving, as it turned out to be the best homestay of the whole trip.

We were greeted by our crazy host, a middle aged man and his young family. Soon after we arrived the son changed into traditional Afghan dress...

And then our host insisted we dress up! How could we refuse...

Kevin, me and Claire.

Our host was so animated and full of life, he loved shaking our hands and slapping us on the back. His poor wife was often shaking her head at his antics and secretly smiling once he turned his back.

Our host family

They were so hospitable they insisted on killing a goat in our honour. I felt bad that the family would make such a sacrifice for us until I witnessed the killing of the goat. Then I felt bad for the goat.

Host after slaughtering the goat. With a trail of blood on the ground.

After our delicious dinner the party really started. As soon as it got dark, out came the boom box and the disco lights. I don't know where they got this equipment from but it felt like we were at a blue light disco from the 90's instead of in the remote Pamirs. Our host hit the dance floor showing us some Afghan dance moves. He tried in vain to get us up dancing too, but we were too stuffed full of goat to contemplate movement.

Day seven - Khaakha Fort to Khorog.

Sadly today was our last day on the Pamir trip. We woke to the sound of rain on our tents. It wasn't much of a sight seeing day as it was cold and wet, so we drove directly to Khorog which was relatively short journey.

Khorog is the gateway to the Pamirs, as most tourists start from here and head east, instead of what we did. There is an organisation in town called PECTA, which has a range of resources to help those heading out to the Pamir.

Danier took us to the Pamir Lodge where there were more cyclists than the Tour de France. It is a busy place full of lots of adventurous types. Lots of tents on the lawn and people sleeping on the balcony. It was a bit hectic for Kevin so he decided to stay somewhere a bit quieter, and closer to town and food.

This was the official end of our journey together. It was a sad goodbye, especially to our driver Danier who was fantastic.