Links to other cyclist blogs: A mid-season break in Dushanbe

May 28, 2014

John didn't really look like a world cyclist, cigarette dangling from his lips as he greeted me on Rudaki Avenue, the long tree-lined boulevard that runs through the heart of Dushanbe. John was one of the two 'Sloths on wheels' with whom I had exchanged several emails earlier in my trip, the other being his partner Gayle. They were staying with the same 'warmshowers' host as me in Dushanbe and, as John briefly explained, were now being held up by trouble ahead on the Pamir Highway. It was the first I had heard about it. Shootings. Warlords. Angry Mobs. Police stations burned down. Afghanistan border. Drug running. Grenades. It all sounded terribly exciting. But the Pamir Highway was now closed to foreigners, and so my onward route was blocked.

That didn't seem like such a bad thing once John showed me to the home of Veronique, a French European Union worker based in Dushanbe where she lived with her adopted son Gabriel. The house was like a paradise after my recent struggles. It was in a walled compound protected by guards, a large house with a big garden, all mod-cons, powerful shower, comfortable beds, washing machine, good wifi connection, table-tennis table, two tortoises and a parrot. Leaving was going to be difficult.

Veronique turned out to be one of the world's most wonderful people, hosting an incredible number of cyclists on their way towards the Pamir. She also cycle toured with Gabriel, and was planning to ride a tandem bike with him through the Pamir region herself later in the summer. But the problems in Khorog were causing all of us concern. As well as Gayle and John, another cyclist by the name of Gabor was also staying with Veronique. Gabor, a tall Hungarian, was so laid back most of the time he appeared to be asleep. Gayle and John had ridden with him for some time in Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan, complaining on their blog about him being slow to get ready, an ironic complaint for a pair of sloths to be making. At least I thought it was until I met Gabor.

A parade of border guards filled the streets one day, with no apparent sense of irony

John negotiating the price of cheap Chinese bicycle parts at the bazaar. I picked up a new jockey wheel for my rear derailleur. The guy wouldn't be moved on the 60 cent asking price but I coughed up

Lazy days passed. It had always been in my mind to spend a week or so in Dushanbe anyway, a chance to relax and recharge my batteries. After ten months continuous cycling it was like my mid-season break before continuing towards the fresh challenges of Russia, Mongolia and China that would lay ahead in the second half. Finding such a perfect place, with a host who seemed not to mind how long I stayed, and having such an excuse not to leave, made it even more difficult to move on. The company was also great. Gayle and John were a very nice English couple who were long term travelers with no set destination, going wherever the road took them. Or, more specifically, Japan. I liked John a lot, he made me laugh. Not so much with his jokes, which were terrible, but with the things he did. My favourite was when he went to a party in his pyjamas. After that party I naturally had an awful hangover, made worse by Gabriel, an energetic eight-year-old that Veronique had adopted when she lived in Rwanada. Gabriel had quickly picked me out as his number one playmate given my immaturity and child-like simple mind. He was a wonderful boy but with a hangover was a bit much. I managed to buy myself a few minutes of peace by inventing the 'sleeping game' and when that got boring the 'punching Gabor in the stomach' game.

The news from Khorog was confused but not encouraging, with a second incident following the first. Gayle, John and Gabor did not have permits to enter the Pamir region and they were now no longer issuing the permits in Dushanbe. I had got my permit when I got the visa back in Istanbul, so the pressure was on me to head off towards Khorog and see if the road was open or not. But it was 500 kilometres to Khorog on a terrible road and the prospect of cycling for several days and then being turned back and having to do it all again in the opposite direction did not appeal to me at all. So instead I challenged John to another game of table-tennis and we all waited some more.

The Pamir Highway is one of the world's great cycle touring roads. It climbs up to more than 4000 metres above sea level and runs through beautiful high mountain scenery. It was also one of only two ways that I could get from Tajikistan to Kyrgyzstan, and its apparent closure had me examining the other option. That involved going directly north over a couple of high passes and through a couple of tunnels. The first of these was called 'The Death Tunnel.' As Veronique explained it was "five kilometres long, no lights, there is a foot of water on the ground, big potholes which you can't see because they are underwater, no ventilation so it fills with smoke from the trucks, it is chaos."

I was undecided. On the one hand I had angry mobs and bloody violence, and on the other certain death in a dark tunnel. Angry Mob?... Death Tunnel?... Angry Mob?... Death Tunnel?... Angry Mob?... Death Tunnel. Almost every day I woke up and declared I would be leaving for the Pamir. Then an hour later I would have changed my mind to head for the Death Tunnel. An hour later and it would be the Pamir again. Needless to say I went nowhere.

Other cyclists that had left for the Pamir began to return. First was two young French guys, Simon and Basile, who I spotted sitting looking glum in a cafe. They had been turned back from the Pamir and now only had six days left on their visa to get to Isfara. However Veronique's home proved to be so comfortable that by the time they left they only had three days left to get to Isfara, and so they took a jeep. Next came Jona and Franzi, a German couple who had cheap bikes that they picked up in India. One way or another their bikes had survived the awful road towards Khorog, but not the police checkpoint where they had been told to turn around and survive the awful road back from Khorog. Another couple, Tyson and Hanne also returned and another solo cyclist, Rob, arrived from Uzbekistan. Veronique took the growing cyclist refugee camp that had been built in her garden completely in her stride. The final cyclist to arrive was Daniel, another German on his way from Vienna to Vladivostok who had also been turned back and had cycled 190 kilometres in one day to get back to the comfort of Veronique's refuge.

The animals also provided some entertainment

All of these cyclists coming back meant I finally decided that giving up on the Pamir Highway and going north towards the Death Tunnel was my best option. With a bit of luck I might even avoid the tunnel as there was an old road that went over the top and whilst I knew it would be a really tough road it sounded like a better choice than certain death. I planned to leave with Jona and Franzi, but they decided to stay a few more days in order to get a Kazakh visa and so when I finally left it was alone. Gayle, John and Gabor were all still waiting hopefully for their GBAO permit. Tyson and Hanne planned to try the Pamir too. Daniel would be following my route to Isfara a few days after me and given his speed would no doubt soon catch me. But despite all the other great cyclists that I had met I would be once again going on alone. Ten days off the bike had been enjoyable and much needed, but I was finally ready to return to the real Tajikistan. The show must go on and all that...

A collection of cyclists enjoying dinner together. And an eight-year-old boy. Some might say the eight-year-old boy has ruined this picture. I think he makes it.

P.S. Just as I uploaded this post and was preparing to leave for the Death Tunnel, Gayle and John appeared saying that GBAO permits were now being issued meaning the road to Khorog and the Pamir Highway might just be open again. I decided to take a chance and changed my mind, so out with the Death Tunnel and back to the bloody violence it was.

26/05/14 - 22km (unloaded)

28/05/14 - 5km (unloaded)

31/05/14 - 5km (unloaded)

02/06/14 - 5km (unloaded)

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