Through Uzbekistan to Tajikistan
From Tashkent, we drove for about two hours, close to the Tajik border. This time, we try crossing the border in the middle of the night in the hope of avoiding the long queues we have become accustomed to. Sure enough, after just 2.5 hours with minimal waiting and plenty of chitchat with the border police, we enter Tajikistan at around 5 am. We found a nice parking spot amidst lush cotton fields and slept for a few more hours.
In the morning, a friendly farmer gives us the biggest watermelon I have ever seen, which will be our travelling companion for a couple of days as there is no way we can eat it all ourselves. Thus accompanied, we head for the Tajik capital, Dushanbe. We’re not used to the flat expanse of Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan yet. So we are rather surprised when, soon after crossing the border, the terrain becomes markedly more mountainous. After a few hours, we are already high up in the impressive Tajik mountains, following the winding highway to Dushanbe and admiring the breathtaking scenery.
We find a lovely campsite in the mountains near Dushanbe, where we enjoy a peaceful night.
Hitting the Pamir Highway
The next day is dedicated to running errands in Dushanbe. Unfortunately, we don’t really have time to properly explore the city, apart from what we can see from inside our van as we drive from one end of the city to the other. In the afternoon, we leave the city and find a parking spot one hour outside. En route, we fill up the tank and purchase a 20-litre fuel canister. In principle, we should be able to complete the entire Pamir Highway with just one refuelling, but diesel is scarce and we want to ensure we have enough fuel in case we need it.
The next morning, we finally set off. We hit the road and, after two hours of driving, we reach what we define as the start of the Pamir Highway (the exact definition is a bit hazy): the first time we are asked to show our permit for the road, which we obtained in Dushanbe. Not long after, the road becomes the only available one in a large radius, and we soon reach one of the most exciting moments of the entire Great Journey.
The terrain has become markedly more mountainous and arid, and we have long since left the lush cotton fields behind us. At long last, we see a flat expanse a few hundred metres below us, with a river flowing from a steep canyon. This is the Panj River, and on the other side of it lies Afghanistan.
It’s hard to describe how weird we feel as we follow this river for several hours all the way to Kalaikhum, where we stop for the night. For once, we have the clear knowledge that we are really far from home. We could also tell from the way people looked at us — they were very surprised to see a Mercedes-Benz camper van with a German number plate and two white guys, as well as a dog, sitting in the driver’s cabin.
But, sitting here in the hotel car park where we’re staying tonight, watching the Panj flowing past and the small Afghan village on the other side, I realise how absurdly unjust the world is. Svenja and I have the time, money and freedom to build a camper van and drive relatively easily to the Tajik–Afghan border. All the while, we are also taking a dog with us, and we have the means not only to feed ourselves, but him too. Meanwhile, less than a hundred metres away, across a single river, live people who, because they are oppressed by their own Islamic Taliban government, have an extremely low chance of ever being able to visit anywhere outside their own country. I don’t mean this condescendingly or pitifully. Judging by what I can see from my vantage point on this side of the river, these people probably lead quite happy lives, and I wouldn’t claim that my life is any better than anyone else’s. It’s just absurd to me that the opportunities available to any individual on this small planet can differ so widely and depend so randomly on a single factor: where they were born.
I don’t know what I thought I would feel when I came here. In fact, we’ve been so busy organising our trip here that I probably didn’t think about it at all. But I really wasn’t expecting such a profound experience so early on the Pamir Highway. In the evening, Svenja and I share not only a hunger and tiredness, but also a deep gratitude for being given the opportunity to be here and for each other for playing our part in making this experience possible.