Up the Pamir highway without a spring

After leaving Bishkek we had beautiful drive back over the Tian Shan mountains, staying at a favourtie camp spot we found on the way up, eating pot roast chicken, a major success, and sharing the campsite with some friendly locals of Ruski origin who gave us honey combe and wild rasberries (picked around our site) for pudding. Next day back through Osh and for some reason tons of military checkpoints (Cadie's womenly getting us through quickly), we camped below a low pass amongst the yurts before climbing the first 4000m pass of the Pamir highway the next day. The border between Kyrgzstan and Tajik must be one the most beautiful in the world, great views of 7500m Peak Lenin and other Pamirs all the way up, with Yaks, eagles and very sweet marmots, which look and sound like oversized Guinea Pigs, providing interest along the terrible road. A 20km no man's land between the two countries, in parts the road so bad as to be little more than a river, ending at the high and cold Tajik post on the 4500m Kyzl Alta Pass. Cruiser spewing black smoke in the altitude but otherwise running ok, we crossed easily into Tajik and into other world scenery - a high mountain desert with high white peaks all around, very reminiscent of Western Tibet - the heavily corrugated road following the soviet barbed wire fence and mine field of the Tajik / China border, a strong wind whipping up the sand and adding to the drama of the scenery, perhaps the most beautiful either of us have ever seen. That night we decended a little to lake Karakol, the highest lake in central asia and we'd say the most beautiful, a wonderful blue colour with salt deposits on its shores, surrounded in the distance by the white peaks of the Pamirs, all bathed in an ethereal white light. We drove a long way off piste on the gravel / salt pan desert to get to the lake shore, springing the first of our Tajik punctures just before setting camp in a freezing wind which kept us up most of the night. However we had a not so bad spanish omelette and few vodka shots (for medicinal purposes of course) to keep us going. After deciding (wisely as it turned out) not to attempt the puncture repair ourselves that morning, we took it to the tiny town of Karakol and asked there - the snug fitting new tyre taking the locals (who knew what they were doing) 3 hours to get the dam thing off the rim, the bead finally going after 10 or so times of driving over the tyre. After a nearly edible lunch with the family into the $3 bargain to fix the puncture, we pulled off the 'highway' - well it is a highway but a good road it aint - and took a terrible track up to some salt lakes and great views of the high mountains in China, camping along way from the lakes way off piste to avoid the thousands of huge mosqitoes at lake side. After a detour next day to the Madiyan hot springs that werent worth the effort, we camped next to a beautiful natural spring a few clicks off the road. The natural spring providing delicious drinking water and a great place to chill our 'medicinals'. That night we dined on a not so gourmet feast of spaghetti carbonara.. the ham a kind of spam that we think must be left over from the war, a foam texture that disintergrated when cooked... Ramsay would not have approved. We awoke from our two storey mansion and, gazing out out onto our extensive backgarden, went about our morning routine, only to notice that our rear coil spring had snapped near its top. With no spare and no prospect of getting one for 100's of clicks, called Charles on the sat (bat) phone for advice as to what to do. His advice - make a rubber bung, jack up the chassis and wedge it between axle and chassis. We did so out of two inner tubes, getting it spot on after two goes, and continued on our way at no faster than 10 to 15 mph - like being a cyclist without the effort!. After some debate as to whether we should take the shorter and better road straight through to Khorog, or the longer and worse road through the Wakhan valley, we wisely decided to take the latter. That nights camp by a stunning small salt lake, the v large paw prints of the almost mythical snow leapord clearly visible at the lakes edge. After a very rough pass next day we descended below 4000m for the first time in a while, following the Pamir river and the border with Afghanistan down to the Wakhan valley. At the confluence of the Pamir, Hindu Kush and Karakoram mountain ranges, where the borders of Tajikistan, China, Pakistan and Afghainistan all come within a few kilomoteres of each other, the Wakhan valley must be one of the most magical places in the world - where you can stare from one country (Tajik) over another (Afghanistan) to the high peaks of the Hindu Kush (in Pakistan), and turn your head left to the peaks of China in the distance. The valley itself is dotted with picture perfect villages made up of Pamiri houses, vegetable gardens and orchards of Apricots and mulberries, the villages populated by the colourful and friendly Ismaili Muslim people, the women unveiled and resplendent in their gold teeth (a feature of the region) and half wild gypsy look to their eyes. After stopping in a few villages to soak up the atmos we camped beside the raging (and flooding) Wakhan river on some high ground, springing another puncture on the way down. Next day moved on to the 'entertaining' border town of Ishkashim where we got the puncture fixed and where opium is sold openly (and herion not so openly) in the markets. No paper work (and no suspension) to cross the border for a little look on the Afghan side, on leaving town we bumped into two Germans, Martina and Sebastian on mbikes, who we had met in Khiva and with whom we camped the night with alongside the river, their bikes also suffering suspension problems on the rough roads. Next day through to Khorog and our first shot at getting the suspension fixed, though after hours of trying to persuade the Aga Khan NGO mechanics to part with a spring, we left with our rubber bung still in place, camping again by the now seriously raging river that markes the border between Afghanistan and Tajikstan, and which splits the region of Badakshan in two. For the next two days we followed (and camped by) the raging (now called Pyanj) river, close enough to the Afghan villages to wave and (after an astonished pause) be waved back to over the river. No road (or electricity) on the Afghan side, just a precarious looking donkey track that links the vertiginous villages - it wouldnt pay to be an Afghan with vertigo! After another day through the Gunt river valley, passing lots of burned out tanks (evidence of Tajiks civil war of only 10 years ago), we finally crawled into Dushanbe after 700 miles with no suspension, two punctures and 12 nights straight camping. Having indulged in Newby / Careless style dreaming of food all the way through (my desert island dinner was a cheese ploughmans with a pint of lager top, Cadie's roast duck noodle soup and at least 2 bottles of Sauv Blanc), we spent the weekend eating good food and drinking ice cold beer in NGO hangouts, and for a long time trying and failing to find a spring to fit our car. Eventually we were led to an afghani run junk yard where springs of a kind were availalbe, but in trying to follow the other car taking us (too quickly) there, the other one went too! Got both fixed up with second hand springs that are defintely not off a landcruiser, not a pair and one being bent to fit, but it was either that or wait 2 weeks for parts to be sent from Dubai, so we let them do their worst! We winced as we watched the guys try and fit the new springs, their methods seemingly unecessarily brutal for the poor old girl, but when you let someone loose on your car and cant speak the lingo it is difficult to intervene. Anyway they finally got them on, but afterwards the car became difficult to start when hot, a possible leak in the fuel system but from where not easy to spot. Still she would go after a few tries and so we set off (or so we thought) back to Kyrgzstan (and ultimately China) through the Garm valley for a couple of nights and an even better pot roast chicken, the Kenlowe fan packing up near the border - another call to Chalres on the Sat phone and the thermal electrics by passed, we now switch it on and off on the dash - before we were turned back at the border as it is apparently not open to tourists. This despite long descriptions in the Lonelyplanet that it is and a travel agency having confirmed to us that is was too. A very low point ensued, but after trying to persuade the border gurads to do us a favour, we turned back to Dushanbe wondering how we were ever going to get out of Tajik at all. After another puncture, Tom shutting his fingers in the door and some stone throwing locals at our camp that night added to the prevailing bad mood (and no Taj money to buy any medicinals to soothe it), we returned to Dushanbe to think again. As we couldnt go back up the Pamir h'way to Kyrg as our permit for the road had expired, to get to Kyrg we would have to go back through Uzbekistan (necessitating another visa and the time it takes to get it), as well as getting another Kyrg visa before finally getting there and thus China, the 'easy' route option staring us in the face was to take our chances in Afghanistan, and be in Pakistan in a few days. So, hamstrung by the ridicolous paper work problems that central asia requires, Stalin's crazy jigsaw borders between Tajik & Uzbek meaning one has to cross and recross one country to get to another, we took the only 'sensible' decision there was, to drive through Afghanistan via Kunduz, Kabul and ultimately through the Khyber pass to Pakistan..

Photos are of Lake Karakol, Yak in no mans land on the Kyzl Altyl pass, cruiser in her element, snow leopard lake, burnt out tank in the Gunt valley.