Tajikistan > The Wakhan Valley

We’ve passed eleven thousand kilometers. Eleven thousand kilometers from home. There are still about thirteen thousand kilometers to Tokyo. The halfway point of the journey is coming into view. In the shower, I can’t get warm water out of the tap no matter what, even though there is a fairly large boiler. I wash my hair with cold water. After all the dust, it feels like rope. At breakfast, I meet two guys from Hong Kong. They are hitchhiking and using public transport from Hong Kong to Uzbekistan. On the Pamir, everyone has their own travel adventure.

Tajikistan - Reattaching the exhaust under the watchful eye of local youth

In the center of the village, we stock up on water and continue along the border with Afghanistan. First, we come across the Khakha Fort. The ruins date back to the third century. Today it is a military area. When we try to walk toward the fort, a soldier whistles from the top of the rocks and makes a cross with his hands. The fort is off-limits. On our way back, a father is photographing his two sons in front of our car. I can’t help but laugh. The road between Ishkashim and Langar was supposed to be the worst stretch of the Pamir Highway. However, there is proper asphalt. Probably all the reports and travel accounts I’ve read are outdated. The asphalt quality is fairly good, likely only recently laid. Along the way, we hear the exhaust again. Not a good sign. The clamp the mechanic found after searching last week is slightly too large, so it doesn’t hold properly. The exhaust has rattled loose again. We park the car, jack it up, and push the exhaust back into place. All of this happens under the watchful eyes of several boys lying on the ground, curious and observing. After the repair, we take a side road to the Yamchun Fort.

Tajikistan - The narrow mountain roads in the Wakhan Valley

The road rises steeply, gaining about fifty meters with every bend. Just past the fort is the Bibi Fatima hot spring. We decide to visit the bath first. We are directed to the men’s bath. As we are about to put on our swim trunks, gestures and some Russian make it clear that this isn’t necessary. Warm water seeps down the rocks. The men in the small pool laugh at me because I find the water very hot. From a small niche in the rocks, a man crawls out. It’s incredible that he fits in there! I am invited to join, but I indicate that my build won’t fit. A sturdier man demonstrates that it’s possible. I politely decline. Next to the hot spring is a small local restaurant. A young woman approaches us in perfect English and asks if we want to eat. She explains that she studied in Dushanbe but returned to this region because her whole family lives here. On the way back, we stop at the Yamchun Fort. The 12th-century fort sits 500 meters above the valley. The view is breathtaking. We continue our route through the valley. The road is excellent. Where there is no asphalt, there is gravel as preparation for paving. In the village of Vrang, we spot a Dutch Volkswagen van. It belongs to Reinier and Anna. They’ve been traveling for two months.

Tajikistan - The Buddhist stupa at Vrang

They plan to drive to Almaty and then return home via Russia. They invite us in for coffee. Vrang is actually already past Yang, where we had planned to spend the night. In Vrang, there is an old Buddhist stupa dating from the third century. It’s a short walk up the hills. The layered, pyramid-shaped stupa shows that the Wakhan Valley was already an important route in the past. Higher up in the mountains, we can also see the cave dwellings of monks. It is still early afternoon. We decide to continue on to Langar, which was originally supposed to be tomorrow evening’s stop. Two hours later, we arrive in Langar. We find a homestay with a room available. A simple room with a double mattress on the floor. The toilet and shower are outside. It doesn’t look like this place gets many guests. In the center of Langar, we try to buy beer. In two small huts, there is none available. A man walks with us a short distance and points to the left. I get the impression that the village ends here. I don’t see a shop. He knocks on a garden door and calls out that tourists want beer. I can just make out the words “pivo” and “turist.” The door of a small shop opens. We would never have found it ourselves.