The Pamir Highway (Part 1: West)
After a day in the town of Panjakent in the far west of Tajikistan and a couple more days wallowing in the easy delights of Dushanbe (a city that has grown on us considerably), we headed out on the first leg of our 13 day traverse of the Pamir Highway. A problem with a collapsed road meant our driver (Tohir) couldn’t pick us up, so we arranged a stand-in (Kesha) for the first day and a half.
Known as ‘The Roof of the World’, the Pamirs are amongst the highest mountains on the planet and connect to other ranges including the Hindu Kush, the Karakoram and the Himalayas. Most of the range is found in Tajikistan along with the highway that traverses it. The M41, as the highway is technically named, runs from Dushanbe to Osh in Kyrgyzstan, skirting the border with Afghanistan for many miles, and is the second highest international road in the world (only topped by the KKH as it crosses into China at the Khunjerab Pass). It was partially built as a Russian move in the Great Game, but only with the advent of the Soviet Union was the highway actually completed in 1937. It’s long been a dream of mine to cross the road by some means or other, either by bicycle (only nutters do that) or public transport (only nutters do that too) or by 4×4, which is what we plumped for, however we opted to take the slightly longer route that veers away from the M41 for a while in order to cross the Wakhan valley, a whopping journey of around 1,500 kilometers.
Not much of interest on the first day though, mostly spent escaping the city and slowly working our way to the western area of the Pamirs. This excepting the marvellous Hubluk museum and fortress. Kesha bribed the caretaker to let us in as it was closed. It turned out he was the archeologist in charge of the site’s excavation and reconstruction for the last 47 years. A wonderfully charismatic guy with broken English – every sentence started with the word ‘sorry’ for some reason – he enthralled us with his passion for this once vital hub on the Silk Road. Unusually the fort was designed as two halves, with square castle-like towers and crenellations for the ‘European’ half and rounded minarets and watch-towers for the ‘Asian’ half. He also showed us his self-penned UNESCO status submission pack and photos of himself meeting the president and fighting in the Soviet army in Afghanistan in the 80’s.
“Sorry – welcome to my museum”
Gardener required, Hubluk Fortress. Enquire within.
From Hubluk, we started to enter the territory of the Pamirs proper and finished the day at a wonderful homestay – the marvellously named Hotel Zing with whitewashed walls, a beautiful rose garden and the roar of the river to lull us to sleep.
A deadline to finish two new road tunnels before a presidential opening meant we had to be up at 3am to make a dash across the diabolical connecting roads before work started for the day. We eventually made it over after 4 hours and had a woeful hot dog and egg breakfast in a cafe with the worst toilets in existence. Then on to Rushon to meet Tohir and swap cars. A fun stop for green tea and a watch of local ‘TV Badakshan’ which was showcasing a series of traditional songs through the medium of hopelessly inept school-children. The criteria for getting on the show was apparently a distinct lack of singing talent as all were either tone deaf or had voices that made fingernails down a blackboard sound musical. We briefly met Tohir’s previous clients, a very camp giant of a German, a vegetarian Argentinian lady (wrong part of the world for that love) and an all American chap called Brad, naturally, who was a dead ringer for William H. Macy. The nicest but oddest bunch of folk.
We drove to a suspension bridge in the beautiful Bartang Valley, from where we planned to hike up to Jivez village and stay the night in a local homestay. Unlike our rather hairy experiences in Pakistan, this one was more palatable for having planks laid lengthways, but the crossing was still very bouncy and disorienting due to the extremely fast flowing river just beneath. Now a hardened veteran, Helen took it literally it in her stride…
Jivez suspension bridge
The walk to the village had a decent height gain, but was pleasantly shallow and meandered up through a valley with a pristine white-water river crashing down alongside the rocky path. As we ascended, we brushed past many small bushes and disturbed the resident cicadas who flew out into our faces and spattered us with liquid – we later discovered this was urine. Being p*ssed on by insects wasn’t the best of starts, however it was surprisingly hot so I guess we couldn’t really complain. We were in need of proper refreshment as we reached the small collection of guesthouses at the start of the idyllic village several hours later though. The owner of ours (Gulsha’s) greeted us effusively and soon produced the mandatory pot of green tea and a few sweet treats. We were shown our sleeping quarters – a corner of a raised platform in one of two rooms with a thin mattress and duvet. The other room already had eight people’s bedding in place. We shared ours with a large Greek man named Nikos (more on him later). Basic, but functional, there was a fabulously cold outdoor shower which was most welcome to cleanse our sweaty persons and the rest of the afternoon was spent enjoying the wonderful sunshine, surrounded by everyone’s washing & pants hung up on lines and tree branches.
The route to Jivez village
We met the rest of the guests, a tour party, most of whom were British. Two of them we’d seen, at a distance, camping in the Fann Mountains, and them us. We’d been known to them as the ‘yellow tent people’ at the time. Perhaps the altitude had made us look jaundiced…. They also referred to us as the ‘people with the demented noisy donkey’….. Reputations established, we enjoyed a delightful evening, everyone gathered around an outside table tucking into hot laghman (noodle soup) and hearty conversation…
Gulsha’s place in the lovely Jivez village
Please don’t read this next bit if you’re squeamish… Next morning the mood altered somewhat. We’d awoken early, washed, dressed and waited in our corner of the room for breakfast time. Nikos, a little way to our right, got up, clambered outside and made his way to the loo. He was back in a few minutes and got back under his duvet. That’s when the smell started….As everyone else started to get up, he asked if anyone had any Immodium. I said that I’d brought some along and he asked for a couple of tablets. He reached out to take the small pot I keep our drugs in when I noticed that his hand was completely covered in sh*t. I recoiled and managed to drop the tablets into his outstretched, soiled and quivering fingers instead. We went for breakfast quickly. Only when we’d finished and got back to the room did we discover the full extent of the situation. Nikos was lying on his side, away from us, with the duvet to one side. His entire backside was covered in what seemed to be, at first glance, a dripping cowpat of his own making. The stench in the room was unbearable. We pitied him for sure, but our overwhelming sensation was that of total revulsion. The man may have been ill, but clearly didn’t give a sh*t about his own personal cleanliness or about anyone else encountering the sight and smell of his condition, let alone the guesthouse hosts having to clean up after him. Actually, that’s the wrong phrase – he clearly did give a sh*t.
Oh the horror of it. Alas once seen, things cannot be unseen. Apparently once smelled, things cannot be unsmelled either – real or imagined, we could not get the stench from our nostrils as we made our way back down to the bridge….
The Bartang Valley
Our journey to the largest town in the Pamirs, Khorog, was a blessed distraction. The weather turned and the rains began, strangely welcome as a means to cleanse our faces and minds both. Mundane things were delightful. We bought a Christmas decoration as a souvenir of Tajikistan and were very pleased.
Khorog has one attraction, the botanical gardens, set a few miles into the hillside and surrounded by towering mountains with drifting clouds. It was drizzling, though that was not stopping an army of gardeners trying to tart up the place in advance of another imminent presidential inspection. It was once a grand affair to be sure, but no longer. Weeds and tall grasses obscured most of the lower plants and all the labelling of the trees was lost in the mess. Paths to now derelict buildings had disappeared and the only accessible area was an empty bandstand. In an effort of depressing futility, the gardeners were attempting to inject an element of order and colour to the place, putting bright red bedding plants along the paths that remained. Cheap petunias and pansies in a once exotic botanical garden…. The other activity was the construction of a concrete model of a snow leopard using wire mesh. The animal had a realistic head, but an entirely square body. Let’s hope the president appreciates cubism.
We left for the village of Ishkashim, slightly off the true Pamir Highway, heading into the Wahkan valley. We stopped at a hot springs complex – Garm Chashma – where the water over time has constructed a gigantic white slow-motion explosion of calcium complete with real but fake-looking stalactites. Access to the pools is restricted to single sex visiting times. When we arrived there was 10 minutes of ‘man time’ left so I quickly grabbed a towel, stripped off (only naked persons allowed) and plunged in. I say only naked persons allowed, but looking around I realised I was the only one naked – everyone else had shorts on. Hmmm. Possibly misinformed there? ‘Man time’ quickly disappeared in any event – the owner came and informed me it was now ‘woman time’. I was tempted to sit and wait to see what reaction I might get, but thought better of it and swapped with Helen. Helen sensibly opted for swim-wear but was disconcerted at the large local ladies who most definitely did not. She focussed on the floor.
Once again the weather turned in the afternoon so the rest of our journey was drizzle and bluster. Ishkashim however, is a pleasant little town and the only place on the whole of the Tajik / Afghan border where you can cross with special permission to the Afghan market. Strangely we had no desire to set foot in Afghanistan again, but it wasn’t market day anyway so the point was entirely moot. What we did have was a desire for alcohol, so rambled into town hoping to find a place to grab a beer or two. As luck would have it we stumbled on the ‘Pamir’ cafe where the Russian speaking owner dug out some cold Baltika beers and showed us to a curtained off, pine-clad & shed-like seating area, complete with potted Geraniums. Traditional Tajik tunes drifted into our drinking shed as we savoured our brews – it was fabulous.
Dinner got even better as we encountered a group of German cyclists, all of whom were ‘of an age’ and attempting to cycle a decent part of the Highway. Their guides, a couple of likely Tajik lads, produced a large bottle of very smooth Russian vodka and happily shared it around. Lots of toasts, lots of downing and a lovely warm glow. It’s a great country for spontaneous hospitality…
Without a hangover in sight we cracked on with another busy day. This part of the journey still skirts the Panj river, but the scenery of the Wahkan valley gets ever more magnificent. Here the land in the valley is flat and open and the river is wide and shallow. Set that against the abrupt and almost vertical rise of the Hindu Kush beyond and you have an intensely dramatic landscape that demands your attention. The setting could therefore not be any more perfect for a couple of fortresses we visited. The first, the KahKaha fort, has suffered greatly from erosion and is steadily dissolving back into the ground. The land it commands, however, is lovely. The second, the Yamchun fortress, is an entirely different affair. Set high above the surrounding valley, this 3rd century stronghold perches on a rocky outcrop and is miraculously intact for its age and its position exposed to the elements. When we visited, a lot of renovation work was being carried out by UNESCO, so it resembled a building site. A new bridge connecting it to the rest of the hillside has yet to be built so we had to scramble down a pretty treacherous path and then up the side of the fort to even get in. Magnificent views it may have, but for the moment, that’s it. Hopefully the Tajiks will realise that a bit of discrete signage can really bring places like this to life.
The fabulously situated Yamchun Fortress
The Panj River with Afghanistan to the right
Up by the Yamchun is another opportunity to get wet with the locals. The Bibi Fatima hot springs was open when we arrived, but I could only get into the lesser of the two pools (the main and most dramatic one being firmly in the realm of ‘woman time’). Helen declined this one, so I had another naked plunge with a few other lads. Very hot indeed in this one and I was glad to escape to the cool air after 10 minutes.
A brief but entertaining stop in the village of Shitkarv, where someone had erected one of those naff ‘I (heart) town’ signs, but this time with tongue firmly in cheek no doubt. More entertaining was a visit to a Buddhist / Sufi museum where the curator played some of the many stringed Tajik instruments that were littered around the place and made me pose like a rock star just for the hell of it.
Not a patch on its sister town of Superkharv
Our final day on this ‘half’ of the road trip was spent hiking to and from Pik Engels Meadow, a fairly high altitude pasture at the foot of one of ‘communism’s most enigmatic mountains’. A fabulous day indeed. We had a lift in the Land Cruiser a little way up from the village of Zong, but then trekked steeply upwards to an irrigation channel cut into the hillside to divert waters from the river coming down from the meadow. It was misty and drizzling and we encountered shepherds and dangerous looking dogs as we ascended. We couldn’t see a great deal, but persevered through the increasingly heavy rain until we arrived at the soggy meadow, full of sheep, goats and donkeys. We glimpsed the surrounding mountains as the mists moved in and out, but no sign of the elusive peak. We picnic’d in the wet (a can of what we hoped was tuna fish and some stolen bread from breakfast) until the rains and mist cleared enough for us to see more of our magnificent surrounds. Coming down the weather cleared and we were treated to a very brief glimpse of the peak itself from a distance and the magnificence of the Hindu Kush range opposite in Afghanistan. A great day indeed. We felt pretty fit, the altitude wasn’t getting to us at all (we hiked up to 4,000m) and our limbs & joints behaved themselves admirably despite the 1,100m descent. We treated ourselves to a cold beer, watched the sunset and felt great about the world….
Pik Engel’s Meadow
The path back down to Zong
The Wakhan valley and Hindu Kush beyond
Footnote: We’ve been encountering a peculiar phenomenon in this part of the world – the idiosyncratic world of the Soviet bus-stop. Helen’s written a side piece on these unusually artistic examples of utilitarian architecture and we’ve had great fun with Tohir trying to explain why on earth we’re interested in stopping to photograph some of them. He just thinks we’re mental.
Simon (14th June 2025)
Well yet another type of experience (,smelly).but so glad you are enjoying all the ups & downs. Love reading all the funny bits. XX
It’s certainly a varied experience doing this, that’s for sure…!
I can’t get the visual ‘well described’ sight of ‘sh*t’ from my mind! Cheers, seriously you’re made of strong stuff!!
Ha ha – sorry about that. We can’t get it out of our minds too!! It’s not always a great experience doing this, but it’s pretty much always memorable…
Firstly, so glad to hear from you, I was starting to get worried. Secondly, worst toilets in existence?? Were they that bad or are past experiences a distant memory?
Did Helen qualify for the show??
I like your approach, take her to the worst suspension bridge in the world, the rest will be a piece of cake!
…… I could literally comment on every sentence youve written here, so instead we’ll just have a session drinking a beer, or wine or rum/gin n ginger and chat over your pamir Highway adventures.
Ha ha. Helen was over-qualified for the show…!
Only went quiet due to bad comms in the mountains btw
Sorry I’m a bit behind in catching up with your antics. Lovely to see pics of the two of you, especially the one with you both on. Obvs all the views are great, but it’s good to see you too! Xx And my comment about Nikos is that at least you didn’t have to stay there for a 2nd night!! 🤣
Hi Katrina. Don’t think my stomach could have coped with that…… The memory is still haunting us!!