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.

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!