Last days in the Wakhan

Returning on foot to the track which provided the vehicle access along the Wakhan a day early, we wondered what we would do as we had arranged for the car to meet us the next day. To our complete surprise there was a car parked off the track. It could only be waiting for us. Somehow Adab had known and sent the car for us. This was a double birthday present for James as we could now enjoy a hot meal and bed in Ishkashim. We divided up our remaining food and gave it to the donkey men and headed to Ishkashim.

The following day we went to the local clinic to donate much of our medical kit. It had been built by the Agha Khan Foundation 5 years ago. One of the young doctors took us on a tour. There were special rooms for TB treat and two infants were in the malnutrition treatment room, where they would get 21 days of treatment. The clinic was basic but clean and tidy. A man waiting outside explained that he was here with his wife who was having treatment, his 4 month old child had died that week. The Wakhan Corridor has the highest infant mortality rate of any region in the world and this heart wrenching story was tragically repeated frequently here.

Me at the clinic

Back at our homestay we were not the only tourists. Tommy was a Belgian who had visited Afghanistan before and had had various adventures in Afghanistan and Iran which had helped him to develop a good command of Persian. We had a pleasant evening chatting to him.

Before heading back to Tajikistan we had a final look around the market and James was ecstatic to find pomegranates. He had nearly jeopardised our trip by buying very expensive pomegranates in the UK and then complaining that they were not as good as Afghan ones so now he was happy.

James very happy to have found some pomegranates

When trying to cross the border later that day we had badly timed our attempt as it seemed to be closed for an unspecified amount of time. The Afghans blamed it on the Tajiks saying that they were praying. If that was the case then it was the first time we had heard of Tajiks doing any praying. Anyway it gave us a chance to get a few good photos with the Afghan border police, as well as befriending a fellow stranded tourist who had a vehicle and driver. This was useful as we had no idea how we were going to get back to Khorog once across the border. He was Swiss and was profoundly deaf. He had spent a total of 2 hours in Afghanistan and proudly told us that it was his 56th country.

James doing his best mujahideen look

The Wakhan Corridor

Jumping into the back of the car with Adab and our driver we realised that there was a fifth person in the car. Peering over our shoulders from the boot of the vehicle was a toothless old man. By the time we set off we had also been joined by a soldier. Half an hour out of town we dropped the soldier at a check point and not much further along, the old man in a village. The road resembled a track at best and was non-existent at worst. Crossing the rivers, which were in full spate, was extremely tricky. Our drive would driver up and down the river side trying to select a suitable spot. Adab would get out testing the depth of the water and then we would gun it across from one island of safety to the next. However our luck ran out on the final crossing and we got completely stuck. Adab, James and I waded into the icy, knee-deep water and tried our best to push it out but to no avail. We needed reinforcements. The driver walked to the nearest village and returned with 6 men who, like men the world over, were enjoying the air of a minor crisis and generally feeling needed. With 9 men, 4 shovels and 2 larges poles for leverage, after half an hour of work the car was released from the muddy grips of the river. I took the photos.

Guess who the driver is? and notice that James is watching helpfully!

After we had bailed out the foot wells, and acquired a few more people who needed a lift, we were on our way again as the light was fading. The ever thinking Adab made a quick stop at the little village of Piggush to arrange for donkeys to be taken to the valley head whilst we got the final bit of paperwork stamped in Khandud the following morning.

Locals observing the fun.

Ishkashim - gateway to the Wakhan Corridor

In Ishkashim we met a young Afghan who had set up a tour company. Born in Ishkashim but a product of Afghanistan's turmoil over the last 30 years, Adab had always been on the move in his 22 years, to Kabul and Pakistan, where ever it was safe and his father could find work. Now he had returned to Ishkashim to set up a business. Although he had not been educated beyond school level his intellect and innovation were comparable with any Oxbridge graduate. He had this incredible ability to understand what we as tourists wanted, with Adab all the battles we had had over the past couple of months with logistics etc were over. We paid him to help us organise all the permits which we required to head into the Wakhan Corridor. He whisked us around the Governors office, border police and local police departments collecting letters, stamps and permissions. He had organised a car for us to leave that afternoon and had made the decision to join us to help us find pack animals and get the final permission we needed in Khandud.

Heading east out of Ishkashim, there was a distinct feeling of autumn in the air. The barley in the fields had turned golden and people were preparing for the harvest. The Wakhan Corridor has long been pivotal in history. Marco Polo recovered from Malaria here in the13th Century; it was a key Silk Road route. More recently Great Game encounters between the British and the Russians had been played out here, resulting the in the obscure pan-handle addition to Afghan territories, which was designed to be a buffer between the British Indian empire and the Soviet Union. It certain feels that there has been a long history of habitation here, unlike in the Eastern Pamirs. The people are also unique. In the Lower Wakhan the Wakhi people are Ismaili Muslims and the women do not cover their faces and traditionally wear rich red clothing and shawls.

James and barley fields

Me in the market

Wakhi woman in traditional dress

Invited in for tea. Local family in their home

Across the Oxus

With two weeks of camping food bought in Khorog bazaar we headed south along the Oxus. We drove south, in a taxi, for about 10 minutes until we realised that we had forgotten all our money, having left it by accident at our homestay with the remainder of our belongs which we wouldn't need during the next 3 weeks. The now bad tempered taxi driver sped back and we collected several bundles of 50 dollar notes. We were heading to a place without a bank, post office or electricity beyond what generators could supply - so we really needed that cash.

We had got our visas in London within a week and without too much trouble. There wasn't a queue at the embassy for tourist visas. Afghanistan is not top on most people's holiday destination list.

The drive south follows the Oxus which acts as the border between Tajikistan and Afghanistan in this region. For 3 hours we gazed across the river, which looked wadable in parts, at a place where time had stood still for centuries. There were no vehicles on the other side of the river only men walking with donkeys and women in burqas. Half of Tajikistan's GDP (which is the equivalent of the average Hollywood film budget) is spent on security along its long border with Afghanistan and we passed several Tajik patrols on our drive.

 Afghan/Tajik border post - looking into Afghanistan

The border crossing at Ishkashim is simply made up of the Tajik and Afghan border posts either side of a small bridge. Entering the other side was like stepping out of Central Asia into a different world. A world a lot more Afghan than we were expecting. All of a sudden we were in a world of bearded men wearing shalwar kameez, turbans and women in blue burqas. Now  no one spoke Russian but a surprising amount of people knew some English. Empty shells of Russian armoured personnel carriers lay rusting around town and many people carried small arms. But with a smile and a 'A-salaam Aleykum' we quickly turned the cold stares into warm smiles. The women only seemed to wear their burqas when walking down the one dusty street which was the centre of town. Away from this road the face veil would be pushed up and the burqa balanced to cover only the head.

Typical scene in Ishkashim

We had prearranged being picked up from the border as it was a bit of a walk into town. Two young Afghans came to meet us; Adab who would become very usual indeed and the driver of the car, who was also a guide. He became very excited when we told him that we were English explaining that he had just guided an English man on a trek, his name was Mr John and did we know him? We did happen to meet Mr John later in Ishkashim and managed a brief chat where we did establish that we were in fact from the same home town.

 Dinner at our homestay

 James with a local man and his motorbike

 James meets the locals

 New and old modes of transport in Ishkashim - a donkey tethered to a Russian Armoured Personnel Carrier