Khorog – the Pamir region’s biggest “city” – deserved a few days. Not only were there a bunch of other cyclists to hang out with at the Pamir Lodge hostel, but it was the first time in months that we were in a place with both a) cool enough daytime temperatures to be reasonable to spend time outside; and b) more than 0 decent food options. Khorog Fried Chicken, soft serve ice cream on every corner, not-so-old fruits and vegetables in the bazaar, and even a quite good Indian restaurant with vegetarian options (100% worth the next day’s diarrhea) gave us plenty to occupy our time and stomachs with.
At this point, we had to decide whether to continue along the main Pamir Highway route M41 or to take the Wakhan Valley detour. Both have their advantages – the former being more paved (= less ass pain on a bike primarily made for roads) and the latter being more remote (= more feeling of adventure). Instead of choosing one, we figured our best option was to do both, leaving the bikes for a few days to explore the Wakhan Valley by car and foot and then coming back to cycle the M41. Along with some Hungarians that we met at the hostel, we got a shared van to Langar, the furthest along on the Afghan border. Of course the van broke down half way and we switched to a taxi from there. In Langar, at 3000 meters elevation, we pitched the tent for the night, ready for a big hike the next day.
The trail took us past ancient petroglyphs intermixed with modern rock carvings purporting tales of decades-old travelers such as “Vlad was here, 1993”. As we climbed, we gained a fuller perspective of the extent of these mountains. Engels peak rose above us on one side, its 6510 meter (21,358 ft) summit piercing the skyline of “smaller” 5000-6000 meter mountains. Having previously lived in California, where the continental US’s highest mountain reaches only 4,421 meters (14,505 ft), my perspective on what is high elevation was changing. On the other side, we could see straight across Afghanistan’s Wakhan Corridor and into the massive glaciers of Pakistan’s 7000+ meter high (23,000+ ft) Hindu Kush range.
For the first and only time on the trip, the elevation, blazing sun, and lack of water hit me with a splitting headache as I stumbled back down the trail. A few liters of stream water and returning to below 4000 m helped, but we decided to stay in a guest house in Langar for the night. $6 seemed reasonable for a large dinner and a mat on the floor. The owner of the guesthouse drove us to some nearby hot springs for a relaxing bath that evening.
There were no buses the next day and bargaining with a taxi driver seemed too hard to deal with so we opted for hitchhiking. The first ride was a local jeep with at least 8 people already crammed inside but they still managed to make space for the 2 of us and our backpacks. A sweaty and bumpy half hour later, they let us out in another village. We started walking to regain feeling in our legs and soon enough a giant Swiss SUV came by. In Switzerland, 4 people inside the car means it’s already full, but they had enough space in the trunk for our backpacks and offered to give us a lift to the next town on the outside of the car. The next hour was spent standing on the platform below the door and hanging onto the roof rack for dear life as the car bounced along the rocky road. Wind in our faces, Afghanistan and Pakistan just across the river, giving high fives to kids as we rolled through small villages – this kind of hitchhiking is much more exciting than sitting in a cramped car!
From Ishkashim, we had only a short wait until our next ride. This one was the longest – not because of the distance, but because we had to stop halfway for the driver to play a soccer game against the next town. We sat down on the grass and watched the Wakhan Valley’s biggest sports rivalry unfold in front of our eyes. Well, to be honest, the game not very exciting. The drive, however, was quite nerve-wracking as the driver and his friends entertained us with stories of how they acquired their driver’s licenses – while passing trucks at 100+ km/h on blind turns. The driver won his license by betting with the so-called local “licensing authority” on the outcome of a football game, and would have had to pay twice the normal license fee if he lost. Neither outcome required a driving test. One of the other passengers traded an especially nice sheep for his license and he noted that most people have to give 2 or 3 sheep to get a license, so he got a very good deal. The lack of driving instruction was quite apparent but, luckily, we finally made it back to the hostel in Khorog several hours after sunset.
Khorog’s most exciting (and probably only) event of the year happened to be the next day – a music festival! The lineup ranged from local folk music to American country and made a great excuse to lay on the grass with a few beers, ice cream, and plant-based treats from across the river.
We had plans to set off the next morning along with Radir, a friend of Detti’s, who had come to Khorog to ride the rest of the Pamirs with us. Thanks to the post-Indian-restaurant food poisoning, that plan had to be put off a few hours while I enjoyed sitting on my last flush toilet for several days. Finally, in the afternoon, we set off, leaving our hostel at 2200 meters to spend the next 3 days riding up and up and up.
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