to Karakul Lake: No bacon sandwiches in Karakul

July 25, 2016

Four tents are perched on a green shelf above the river. Overnight the flows have gone down and the river is crystal clear again. It got just below freezing last night, and there is a thin layer of ice on the water bottles we left outside. Even though the sun rises over the mountain and starts to warm our campsite it is still too cold to hang around.

We pack, have some cereal and a cup of coffee and push our bikes back to the road. About five kilometers down is a cluster of houses and a few yurts, a sign claims there is a “hotel”, but they probably don’t mean what we think it should be. The road is horrible, rough gravel with a nasty washboard surface. Lots of bicycle tire tracks indicate how the search for the smoothest line to ride is located.

We were expecting more downhill, but the river only drops slowly and the road has quite a few rises and drops. The surface is so bad that it really doesn’t matter whether you go up or down. We bounce along and see the camp of the two Belgians that passed us last evening. The valley is magnificent, a wide braided river bed with snow covered peaks on all sides. The mountains behind us loom larger and larger as we ride away from them. That doesn’t seem right, but from a distance it becomes clearer how much they dominate this valley.

We pass by another caravanserai, it has been used by goat and sheep herders for a long time. Parts have collapsed, there are holes in the ceiling and the plaster inside has been defaced with graffiti for many years. Too bad, places like these should have some protection; Marco Polo could have slept here.

Jo has caught up with us and we ride together to the town of Karakul. The last 16km are dead straight with a few rolling hills to the town and the headwind that has picked up makes it quite a challenge. We have beautiful views over the lake though. On the other side are sand dune-like mountains, behind that tall snow covered peaks. The two Swiss girls catch up while Patrick and Jo are taking some portrait shots of each other with a pair of Marco Polo sheep antlers.

Whatever we were expecting from Karakul, like a nice homestay and grocery store, we find none of that. The town has a post-apocalyptic feel where half the houses are in an advanced state of disrepair and appear abandoned. Across the road is an abandoned army base with roofs caved in, barbed wire and watch towers. Jo has been craving a bacon sandwich, none of us had even a remote expectation to find anything like that in Karakul, but what we find is much less.

A local leads us to two shops, neither have much. Jonathan, the German doctor also shows up, a little later the two Belgians. One of the Swiss girls had volunteered in Sari Tash and could communicate with the locals, locating bread and eggs for us to hard boil. We decide to ride a little further, from the outside the homestays don’t look that inviting and we are worried the home-cooked food here might make us sick. Better to camp and eat some instant noodles tonight because we are running low on food. The village does provide us with some eggs, a couple of loaves of bread and bottles of coke.

About five kilometers north of town is a river crossing where we and Jo decide to camp for the night. The Swiss and German decide to go another 10km to the next river. Our campsite has beautiful views in all directions, but the mosquitoes are horrendous. Whenever the wind dies down just a little there are swarms of the little buggers. We fix instant noodles and retreat to our tents enjoying the views from behind mosquito netting.

We cross a wide floodplain with tall mountains in the North. One more hill, then down towards Karakul Lake.

Karakul Lake in the distance. There is a 16km straight stretch of road, we have a stiff headwind.

Jo riding on the long straight towards Karakul.

On the long straight road towards Karakul.

Abandoned police post on the outskirts of Karakul.

Karakul, not quite what we were expecting.

Downtown Karakul. We need the locals help to locate a store. There are no signs.

The "store" is a backroom of a house, some boxes with cookies and instant noodles.

Jo at a low point when he realizes there are no bacon sandwiches to be had in Karakul.

Do not buy bread from this lady! They might look alright, but the inside is doughy and pretty much inedible after one day.

Jo perked back up once we find some eggs. He is boiling them here for easier transport on a bicycle.

There is no running water in most Tajik towns. People have carts and go to the local well or river.

Today's ride: 56 km (35 miles)
Total: 910 km (565 miles)

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