With its 7,000-metre-peaks, the Pamir Mountains belong to the so-called roof of the world. Neighbouring Hindu Kush and the Himalayas, it is one of the world's highest regions. The former Soviet main road M41, known as Pamir Highway, leads through the mountainous region on the border with Afghanistan and China from the Tajik capital of Dushanbe to the Kyrgyz city of Osh, past towns, villages, settlements and endless, vast landscapes.
With every step I take, my leg muscles cramp as if they were doing much more than just putting one foot in front of the other. Great, I think. Feels like I never worked out before.
I walk on, step by step, until I finally see past the peak. A rugged mountain range stretches out below me with thousands of small and large, brown and white peaks, surrounded by deep blue water. Up there, I (almost) forget this painful ascent and oxygen-depleted air. This summit above Lake Karakul is the highest point of my life, so far, with an altitude of almost 4,700 metres.
This day is my last on Pamir Highway and the view could hardly be more impressive. I set off from Dushanbe just over two weeks ago, when I still had almost 1,300 kilometres ahead of me - through the Tajik and Kyrgyz nowhere.
In euphoria, I look over to my companion Eliza: ‘Look at where we are!’ We really have made it. Without four-wheel drive, I managed to manoeuvre my Peugeot van with its two and a half tonnes of pure oldness over these early autumn mountain passes, even pretty much without any damage. Pride isn't even a word for what I feel, but it wasn't easy after all.
Two Golden Rows
It is early September as we hike under the hot midday sun from Khorog into the next mountain village. After crossing the river on a shaky wooden bridge, we climb the steep trail. The higher we climb, the further the view into the valley. The river is lined with poplars, providing a surprisingly green contrast to the dry, rocky slopes on either side, which are coloured in brown and grey.
Once we arrive in the remote village, it doesn't take long for locals, especially the little ones, to notice us as obvious non-natives. At the latest when they see Vedi, every toy seems to become uninteresting. They look, whisper, point at us and then slowly approach. Vedi, who is almost always the centre of attention in Central Asia, enjoys their awareness that is brought to him today as a piece of bread.
Eventually, the adults notice us and invite us in. We enter a house whose large living room is lined with fabrics. Both the floor and the walls are covered in bright patterns and colours that - typical Central Asian style - don't always match but always contain at least one floral pattern. We take a seat on the floor and sit cross-legged at a low table. Although the food supply in the Pamir Mountains is not particularly plentiful, we are served plenty of tea, potatoes and sweets. A few children sit in a neat row right next to us and watch every move - and Vedi too, of course.
You can see life in the eyes of the man who's hosting us. Wind and weather seem to have dug into his skin and his hands, they are furrowed and rough. His laughter brightens up his face every now and then, and in this room dimmed by the fabrics, light reflects from his golden teeth. As we say goodbye with gratitude, he smiles at us with the two rows shining bright.
This article was published in the Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung in October. Check it out!
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