It's not Cork
Trip Start
May 27, 2011
1
23
34
Trip End
Sep 30, 2011
Karakul, Gorno-Badakhshan, Tajikistan
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Yesterday we were very lucky to receive an offer of a lift to Lake Karakul with Harshal & Deepti who were also headed in that direction. About eight o'clock we were loaded up and on our way along the final stages of this difficult Pamir Highway. The drive was a pleasant one with lots to talk between the four of us and our eyes continually on the road, looking out for the landscape to get a little greener and our hiking grounds to appear. Also Harshal was eager to spot some yak but the truth be told, there seemed to be an unusual amount of nothingness here, just the endless desert, gravel, rocky mountains that we've followed for the past few days since Khorog, now joining the border fence to China on the right hand side. But we were still in high spirits and looking forward to Karakul. We were told there is another homestay there where we are supposed to be able to arrange trekking. If at all possible we want to rent a tent and maybe camp out one night before hiking the sixty kilometres onto the border.
An hour on and the landscape still hadn't changed. We came through yet another mountain pass and around another corner.
Finally, there ahead of us lay the lake, a deep blue scar in the earth's desert floor surrounded by the slightly snowcapped barren mountains in the far distance. Our hearts sunk. There'd be no camping here. Not even a boulder existed to shelter us from the night's fierce winds & freezing temperatures. Even that the sun is shining, the lake is frozen for eight/nine months of the year up at this height. Just because right now it's thawed, doesn't mean it's heated.
So we continued onto Karakul village and stopped at the first of two homestays that occupied this tiny settlement.
At the container bazaar the day before in Murgab we'd met with some Germans who had started their adventure in South Africa and were making for Australia. As we pull into the yard, there they were, packing their jeeps for the off again having stayed here the night. We all chatted for about half an hour before the jeeps went north, the direction we'd be taking tomorrow, and some bikers south, where we'd just come from.
We settled into the homestay, the owners here extremely nice & friendly, unlike the sour pusses from Murgab, with enough English to make the basics understood.
About midday the four of us set off for a walk. We passed through the village and came out at the shores of the lake. As I said, it was far from what we expected, and I was disappointed not to be getting some trekking and camping in, but it was a beautiful sight in it's own right. The deepest blue I'd ever seen lying lifeless in the desert sands with the rugged snowcapped mountains in the background magnified by the sun rays as clouds and shadows made shapes on all sides.
We made our way down to the water's edge and of course the shoes came off and in I went for a little paddle. I couldn't feel my toes after it. I let my feet dry on the sand and we hit off for a walk around the lake's shore. But we soon got bored and diverted our attention to across the road where the Chinese border lay. So we took a walk over to it, passing comment that noone had seen a single vehicle pass by since we'd arrived in the early morning. What would that mean for us tomorrow? Would we make sixty km on foot? The melting hot sun beating down from eleven in the morning to about four in the evening, quickly turning cold as the sun sets behind the mountains, freezing as the night's clear skies cover us until sunrise.
No. We were too ill prepared and realised we'd have to return to Murgab where we could rent a car, for not one existed out here. And if anything did happen to pass it would most likely be full from Murgab and continue to well past the border.
Returning to the village we passed like an army camp, a checkpoint between Karakul and the Chinese border. So as Harshal & Deepti continue back towards town, meself & Gearoid paid the camp a visit. It seemed deserted until we knocked. Three young lads, barely in their twenties, answered the giant metal gates. Strangely, all three were fidgeting with their pants, buttoning them up and adjusting the belts. We were a little uneasy, what the blazes were they doing? We didn't really want an answer to that but we did get our point across, from a distance, that we were eager to reach the border sometime tomorrow if they had any means of transport we'd happily contribute towards the petrol & inconvenience. But sadly they repeated what we'd feared, the transport for the border leaves from Murgab.
Dejected we headed back towards the village and actually slept a little with nothing else to do. I woke before the others and without thinking just went for a walk to nowhere in particular. Within three full minutes I'd reached the far side of the two streeted (is that a word, streeted?) village. What could people possibly find themselves doing all year round to keep them here? The mind was on overtime. Up ahead five or six donkeys were idling around, biting each others ears and it was obvious that one or two of them had their own minds wondering, as donkeys do, looking at the other female donkeys. There was noone around. I wonder if we 'borrowed' one, or even two, later tonight and strapped our bags on, walked five, maybe six hours through the nights cold, rested in the warm mornings sunshine before finishing the walk to the border, would we get away with it? Hit the donkey a shlap on the arse at the end, they'd find their way back, right? Yes the mind was on overtime.
Then I spotted across the road, where there was only three mud brick cottages, a sky-blue lada. Excited, full of hope and skipping into a jog, I made my way over to whoever might show their face. I'd offer them all the riches in the world if they'd do me the favour of taking me to the border. Nearing the car I wasn't sure if it had been moved for a while. But then again everything about this landscape was dust & dirt, a strong wind's gust could have settled the orange sand across the cars body. So I did what every man does when asked their opinion about a car. I put one foot on the tyre, under the wheel arch, and gave it a little shake. Just a little cos I didn't want to break it if it was on it's last legs. Someone opened the front door of the nearest house. A young lad about twenty. After diagrams in the sand, drawings of the car, two match-stick Irish guys, even a clock face, he finally understood what I needed and teased me, asking how much it was worth. I said half the price it'd have been from Murgab. He laughed and turned to walk. 'Wha?' I blurted rather loudly. Turning he smiled, 'machine no work!'. The donkeys were looking good again.
Soon the sun would be setting and the temperatures had already dropped, so I made my way back to the homestay where the other three were setting up movies on Harshal's iPad. We curled up with duvets and snacks watching Cars & had a good laugh amongst ourselves. Halfway through we made a break for the shore again to catch some sunset snaps, the biting wind seeing us return in no time.
Harshal & Deepti, being as kind & generous as ever, had a word with their driver and they agreed to take us tomorrow to the next large town which lies just past the border in Kyrgyzstan. Our worries put to one side we were able to sleep soundly that night.
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