Dushanbe - Back home in water-deprived South Africa, I long for the turbulent rivers of Tajikistan, racing at breakneck speed through the valleys, brown with silt, huge waves crashing against rocks.
Not even the most experienced white-water rafter could contemplate taking them on.
During our recent visit, temperatures between 10ºC and 15ºC above the summer norm were melting the glaciers faster than usual, as well as the snow that, year round, blankets the towering mountain peaks. About 95 percent of the country is mountainous, and the Fedchenko Glacier is the largest in the world outside the polar regions. A staggering 700km² in area and 77km in length, it receives a snowfall of about 220cm a year.
From the minute we arrive in the capital, Dushanbe, it is obvious this is a country partly – and happily – rooted in the past. The international airport is within the city boundary, so airport and city seem like close friends, rather than having a distant relationship.
By 4.30am residents are enjoying the early cool – day temperatures are around 42ºC to 45ºC – sitting on benches or strolling in the park that adjoins the airport parking lot. There is a special smell in the air: of heat and dust, and yet a freshness – a certainty that this is somewhere different.
Tajikistan is a former United Soviet Socialist Republic (USSR) state and much of the Russian influence can be seen: enormous, elaborate buildings, and wide avenues lined with spreading trees in their prime. Because there is such an abundance of water, in summer, water carts go out early, damping the dust, cleaning the roads, and making life pleasant.
Tajikistan is bordered by Afghanistan to the south, China to the east, Kyrgyzstan to the north, and Uzbekistan to the west. South Africans may purchase a visa on arrival at the airport in Dushanbe. We paid $35 (about R470).
Dushanbe has a Museum of National Antiquities where, for me, one of the most interesting things is what is said to be the biggest wooden altar in the world, dating back to the 9th or 10th century. In another hall is a display of the magnificent gifts given by other countries to Tajikistan on its independence from Russia. To my embarrassment, when a museum guard asks me to point out which one our country has given, I have to admit South Africa has been remiss!
Our 10-day trip, travelling in 4x4s, left me with a plethora of memories. Perhaps the reader would like to pull up a map of Tajikistan on the internet, and trace with a finger an extraordinary journey – it may be the closest you will come to the country.
Heading east from Dushanbe, we cross the Khaburobot Pass, where glorious wild flowers blossom. At sunset, herdsmen on horseback, with sinking rays filtering through the dust stirred up by the sheep, hurried along by dogs, are a spectacular sight. It is surreal.
We spend that night at a tiny hotel in Kalai-Khumb, built beside a rushing, clear mountain stream. Meals are taken on a platform overhanging the stream, and that night we need earplugs so we can sleep.
Western food and lifestyle give way to typical Tajik food and living. Hotels are non-existent in the more remote parts, so home stays with families fill this gap in the market. Guests may get a bed, but the option of sleeping on the floor is more comfortable and fun.
A typical bedroom screams character, especially for those who enjoy gaudy. A huge, colourful carpet invariably covers one wall. The others are brightly painted, and the curtains are often chintzy and frivolous. On the floor lies an array of vivid carpets. Thick bedrolls – plush, small mats, sheets, and thick duvets, as the temperatures plummet at night – are piled against the walls. At night, the women of the house unroll these and make up the sleeping quarters.
The lounge-dining room has a low table, at which guests sit cross-legged on the floor amid bright scatter cushions. This can be a bit of a strain on ageing knees, but if you are lucky, you may be offered a couch or get to rest your back against a wall.
On a small table there is a plate of treats: fancy biscuits, sweets, that you may pick at throughout the day and after meals, if you have room.
Lunches and dinners consist of fabulous soups, thick with vegetables or dumplings, and plov, a mixture of rice, meat, fried onions and vegetables, similar to pilaf. Sometimes the plov is made with macaroni instead of rice.
When chips or potatoes are served, our eyes sparkle. Those from Ireland in our group say while the potato may be king in their country, it cannot compete with these spuds. We also sample stuffed peppers, and thinly sliced pasta, cooked with onion and cabbage and smothered in cheese and baked – a tasty but rich dish.
Breakfast may be rice porridge – which can be delicious when prepared in a special way and served with a dollop of butter, or it can be tasteless, depending on the area – delicious little pancakes, somewhat tart yoghurt, or eggs. The flat round breads are, on the whole, not wildly exciting.
Most public restaurants have tables, but all have a separate platform, with carpet, cushions and hanging drapes. After eating, guests loll here for a quick catnap – an incredibly relaxing way to recover from a meal.
Ablution facilities in home stays are communal. Occasionally there may not be a shower, and guests have to use the handbasins. Sometimes there is a traditional Russian banya, or steam bath. Such luxury is a highlight of our stays.
For several days we travel alongside Afghanistan, a stone’s throw away across the raging Panj River. This gives us an insight into life in the villages in that country. Narrow, winding roads, cut into mountains that plunge straight down into the river, look enticing. Along these move men on donkeys or motorbikes, while most of the women are on foot.
Hundreds of kilometres of such tiny roads link the Afghan villages.
At one border post, on Saturdays residents of both countries may cross the bridge to go to the market. Tourists may do the same if they leave their passports with the border guards. Sadly, we arrived on the last day of Ramadaan, during which such crossings are not permitted.
We are compensated for this disappointment that evening when, to celebrate the arrival of Eid, Tajik men are invited to entertain us. Playing traditional instruments, they sing strident songs, competing with each other, ever more loudly. It stirs the wilder side of human nature.
Then the men dance, with some taking the role of women, batting their eyelashes and eyeing each other suggestively.
There is nothing touristy about it, but when they pluck us on to the dance floor, the men in our group disappear hastily!
For some of our journey we travel beneath Afghanistan’s mighty Hindu Kush mountains, which unfortunately are mostly swathed in clouds. We swim in hot springs, some deep in the mountain. This being a Muslim country, although a relaxed one, the sexes bathe separately. In one place, the men’s public pool draws many with eczema, while the Bibi Fatima springs, named after the Prophet Muhammad’s sister, are favoured by women, who believe the waters can increase their fertility.
Encounters with the residents are friendly, but language can be a barrier.
In one village, a woman – clearly from the wealthy class and who is studying in Kazakhstan to be a cardiologist, but who is home on a visit – invites two of us to her family home high in the mountains.
We don’t have time to complete the journey, but come away from her uncle’s orchard armed with the sweetest apricots, of a plum-like consistency.
While most of the men have adopted Western attire, settling for jeans and T-shirts, Tajik women wear colourful traditional outfits.
Particularly fascinating is a shrine that subscribes to Zoroastrianism, Buddhism, Islam and Sufism.
Over its entrance gates are the horns of Marco Polo sheep or ibex, animals that are believed to be close to the gods because they live high in the mountains.
The altar, with inverted Buddhist bowls on each corner, is stained with blood and the marks of fire (Zoroastrianism).
Tourists need a special pass – an impressive document in Russian – to visit the Gorno-Badakhshan Autonomous Oblast, which makes up a vast part of eastern Tajikistan. Our tour company has applied in advance for this on our behalf.
Much of the eastern part of this autonomous region is thinly populated as scratching a living at between 3 000m and 4 000m is almost impossible. The lower valleys, however, are fertile, with lush crops and tall cypruses. The villages are mostly neat and pretty.
Having travelled through Khorugh as far as Ishkashim in the south, we turn north-east to rejoin the Pamir Highway, which runs from Dushanbe to Osh in Kyrgyzstan, and which in parts is the second-highest road in the world, after the Khardung La, or pass, in Ladakh, in Jammu and Kashmir.
Constructed by the Russians, the highway hardly deserves the name as in many places it is just a track of dust, potholes and stones. Despite this, it is hugely scenic, especially in the east, where the snowcapped Pamir and Allay mountains tower above a bleak landscape.
Leaving the town of Murgab and heading north, the traveller reaches Lake Karakul, which is in a meteor crater and is the highest lake in Central Asia. The landscape is almost lunar, with the lake floating in an unreal setting. At 3 915m, it is at too high an altitude to support aquatic life.
Climbing steadily to passes at altitudes of 4 655m and 4 282m, we scan the scenes for Marco Polo sheep, to no avail.
Finally we exit Tajikistan in the north-east corner, running alongside a long, fence border with China, and crossing into neighbouring Kyrgyzstan.
For me, Tajikistan is a country with real soul.
l The writer travelled with UK company Undiscovered Destinations: www.undiscovered-destinations.com, which uses agent Pamir Highway Adventure: www.pamirhighwayadventure.com
l The Hotel Gulistan Tour, in the centre of Dushanbe, is convenient.
Myrtle Ryan, Saturday Star