Khalai Khumb to Khorog (1/X); 17th June
17th June
A very difficult day. We left Khalai Khumb knowing it was likely the last place we would have home comforts such as a decent grocery store and WiFi for about a week or so.
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The roads were pretty bad, as they are currently rebuilding this stretch east of Khalai Khumb. This involves blasting sections with dynamite, before repaving, meaning the blasted sections are about as smooth as the moon's surface. The road also parallels the border with Afghanistan, with frequent foot patrols on the Tajik side by young conscripts. This makes it harder to camp, as they do not want you camping too close to the border.
The geography also does not lend itself to camping — the road follows a narrow valley, making it hard to find any sort hidden flat spot.
At about the 60km mark we stopped at a small village to pick up some bread and tomatoes. Whilst outside, a young guy in inform started chatting to us; where we were from, where we were going, etc etc. we said goodbye after filling up our water from a fountain.
In hindsight, this village would have been a good place to stop. There were some shaded spots in flat orchards where we could have probably camped. Not perfect, but OK. Instead, as it was still early, we continued in the hope that something better appeared.
About 5 km out of the village there was a side road, which we followed. There were two sets of Schwalbe Marathon tyre tracks on the road, indicating that this spot likely had been used to camp by other cycle tourists.
On the left hand side down a small path there was a burial site, with what looked like a local man paying his respects at a grave. We decided this wasn’t a good spot and went back to the road to continue.
After about 15km, a car pulled up. We were both exhausted by this point and had no interest to stop and chat to someone. There was only a few hours of light left and we just wanted to find a spot to camp. The driver was the young solider from the previous village. He could tell we were exhausted. He offered us some snacks. Normally I’d refuse, but in this case I was so tired I just wanted some sugar so said yes. He then offered the other caramel wafer to MayLyn. I’m pretty sure I also accepted this offer. He then reached into his backseat to grab some bread. We already had some bread, and we knew we had already accepted a little too much of his hospitality, so declined. We offered to pay but he turned it down, vigourously waved his hand.
We said thank you and exchanged goodbyes. About 1 km down the road we passed him again. He was walking up a path into the hills with two other soldiers, each carrying a small backpack. Almost certainly the three of them were heading for a night watch of the Afghan border. This guy had given us some of his supplies for the night because he could see we needed it. It was very touching realising this and I felt like maybe we had over indulged by accepting his snacks. We waved at him again, saying thank you. It's weird to think that these young soldiers are expected to shoot to kill if given orders, given their cherubic faces and generosity.
About 2 km down the road, we stopped to eat the soldier’s caramel wafers. I was desperatly tired and just wanted to camp, but there was nowhere suitable to pitch, owing to the very narrow valley we were cycling down. In the near distance I could see another cycle tourist coming our way.
This was Julian, who had set off from Almaty in the first week of May, and had cycled down to the Wakhan corridor and was now heading towards Dushanbe, and back to the UK via Russia and Georgia.
The Tajikistan portion of his trip was our one in reverse, so we chatted about that. He was also a similiar age to us, lived in London so we chatted for a while. It really lifted my spirits talking to him. He said there weren't many places to camp up ahead, and we said the same to him for his route too. As it was getting late, we exchanged numbers and wished each other luck. We discussed the possibility of meeting up in Georgia, if our timing matched.
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It got dark but we were able to continue cycling with the dynamo light on. On the otherside of the Panj river we could see Afghan houses, most with electricity and some playing TV.
In the end, we found a camp spot in the darkness, about 800 m from a Tajik military barrack, down a side road, behind some bushes. Afraid of attracting attention to ourselves, we didn't cook that night despite being completley spent. There was a thunderstorm in the distance and some light rain -- the lightenitng wasn't too close, but it was still initimdating.
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