The Detouring Doctor

Kazakhstan is the most Russian of all the Stans. Of course geographically it is the closest to Russia, but the prevailing vibe here is European rather than Asian. Paradoxically the people here have the most Asiatic faces I have seen on this trip.
The former capitol and business hub, Almaty could be relocated to anywhere in Europe in the blink of an eye and one would still feel at home. This is a city of long tree lined boulevards sporting the best of haute couture boutiques. Cafes spill onto foot paths, impromptu art and craft stands are everywhere and buskers add further life and colour.
For a city of only 1 million inhabitants it has the western curse of peak hour traffic jams and it is not until you look down from the lookout at Kok tobe that you notice the dirty brown smog that blankets the city.
Almaty sits at the south eastern corner of the country right up against the borders with China and Kyrgyzstan. This was one of the factors mitigating against it remaining the capitol. Its location, though, has it nestled in the Tian Shan mountains to the south. In fact the mountains are visible from anywhere within the city. Even if you could not see them their presence is felt as all the north south streets slope significantly upwards the further south you go.
The mountains also mean that world class ski and skating resorts are on the city’s doorstep. For me as a tourist it is a 50cent bus to the resort at Shymbaluk. From there in the off season the ski lifts dont run but it is a stiff 3 hour climb from 2000 metres to 3000 metre Talgar pass to be among the mountains and glaciers again. Lucky that Pamir acclimatisation to 5000 metres hangs around for a few weeks!

This was Stalin’s favourite food says our chatty guide, Marat. He would eat his Latvian sprats on the best bread with Armenian brandy. Ot made me wonder what the millions he locked into gulags were eating at that time. As I am aitting here munching on Stalin’s sardines al fresco I also seriously doubt that he had a view to rival mine.

I am sitying on the edge of Charyn canyon some 210 kms down a very bumpy road east of Almaty in Kazakhstan, near the Chinese border. 12 million years ago a river carved this gorge through soft rock. Millenia of erosion has sculpted a fantastic wonderland reminiscent of the Grand Canyon. At only 90 miles in length it is very much a miniature of its American prototype.

After lunch we walk down into the canyon down a slippery scree slope braving the near gale force winds.

It is another 3 km through the magnificently sculptured and evocatively named Valley of the Castles before I reach the fast flowing blue green waters of the river for a photo and a wash. While there I exchange pleasantries with an extended Kazakh family seated havong a BBQ lunch. Before I know it I am tasting BBQ mushrooms and munching on melons thrust into my hands. Then, dear readers can you guess what is next? Yes its vodka time and here we are toasting each other’s countries and would you believe it, world peace!! Some chut chuts and 3 shots later I drag myself away from my new best friends to climb back out of the canyon for the drive home.

It is only a brief 90 minute flight from the 30 degrees heat of Osh but walking outof the airport terminal it is only 5 degrees here and the wind is icy.Welcome to Astana, the capitol of Kazakhstan. It is less than a month since summer ended here. Moscow is a further 2000km north and it is just on freezing point there. Suddenly the lessons of history crystallize in my mind. Napoleon and Hitler defeated by the Russian cold, were not complete fools. Unless you experience how cold it gets here and how quickly you cannot hope to understand.

Almaty is the largest city and business hub of the oil and mineral resource rich Kazakhstan. It was also the capitol until the dictator president Nazarbaev named this place, a medium sized provincial city as the site of a new grand, and grandiose, capitol in 1994. Renamed Astana, which in Kazakh means capitol, it is a growing city of extravagant and futuristic architecture in the middle of flat and bleak steppes.

This is a fascinating experimental city and a photographic gold mine. There is just one problem that this place shares in common with all contrived new developments. It lacks soul. The streets are empty there are no vendors, cafes nor any signs of life. Sadly I am left feeling as cold inside as I am on the outside.
Enjoy these weird and wonderful pictures.

All too quickly the trip with Saidali and Ismail of the Pamir guides winds down to the inevitable conclusion. After Murghab its a night at the azure blue Karakul Lake, followed the last day with the Kyzlart border crossing into Kyrgyzstan and the dizzying descent down to the heat of Osh at a positively oppressive 1000metres above sea level. There is just time for a day sightseeing around this attractive green modern central Asian city.

Karakul Lake

Pamir Alay Range from Kyrgyzstan

I bid my travelling companion Anthony goodbye as I fly out in the evening to Bishkek, the capitol of Kyrgyzstan ad that same night at 2 am to my final Stan, Kazakhstan. It is an exhauting night with snatches of broken sleep caught on hard airport benches before a 4 am arrival to Astana, the capitol of Kazakhstan. Just as Anthony before me I wait before an empty “Visa on arrival” window. When I gently ask one of the female customs people she berates me for arriving without a visa. She maintains there is no such thing as visa on arrival despite the fact that there is a counter for just that. After about 20 minutes a grumpy consular official arrives and I have my visa within 10 minutes. I then have to make myself understood at the lost luggage counter as my pack has already been removed as everyone else has cleared off. Finally emerge into the arrivals hall for another couple of hours of hard sleep on airport benches.

Behind Khorog Murghab is the second “city” of the Pamirs. Unlike Khorog there is not a single blade of grass or any other greenery or vegetation here. This is a depressing town of ugly squat scruffy mud brick buildings. Many have been whitewashed in the past, probably in Soviet times when this poor area fared well in the attempt to equalise the living standards throughout the USSR. Since the collapse of the soviet empire, Murghab has reverted to its desperately poor status.

Our travelling today matched the lowered mood a low key day up the Madian Valley. Our first stop was at the hotsprings. A landslide 2 years ago wiped out the road so the last 2km was a walk and a creek rock hop to what is a set of derelict buildings. The spring “bath” is functional but without human input to mix the hot spring with cold river water the bath water is unbearably scalding.

After a lengthy wait for lunch we visit 3000 year old petroglyphs only to find the addition of 20th century graffiti marring the whole experience. The mindless cultural vandalism leaves us feeling angry.

Murghab

We bid ourt yurt family adieu today and once again set off on another rough dirt track to Murghab. Our guide has avoided large chunks of the actual Pamir Highway for more scenic off road experiences and we are loving it!

We are on a track that sees no traffic. The landscape is protean here. The flat dry valley floor extends for miles in all directions. On one side are deep brown to ochre hills sculpted by erosion into fantastic shapes. On the other are the blackest of snow capped mountains all composed of crumbling shale. The occasional yak and goat herds graze on the valley floor and we stop at villages that see no traffic, let alone tourists. In one spot enjoying their hospitality of tea, bread and tasty yak yoghurt.

A dip in very hot hotsprings and a visit to see 3000 year old petroglyphs complete an idyllic day.

Dear Readers,

Please accept my apologies this should come before the Pamir trek entry. For some reason the program failed to save this one when I wrote it up a couple of days ago so here it is:

From Ishkashim to Langar the track continues to wind westwards. To our right our constant companion te Panj River separates us from the rugged mountains of th Afghan Wakhan corridor. Breaks in the foothills yield views of the 7000metre snow clad peaks of the Hindu Kush, tantalising and tempting trekking country.

Hindu Kush

At Kargush the dirt track veers left and we start the slow ascent up to the 4200metre Kargush Pass. To our right the Pamir river, a tributary of the Panj now separates us from Afghanistan. The mountains have changed and are now the heavily eroded ribbed and corrugated Pamirs. We have turned our back on the Hindu Kush.

Kargush Pass

The river now seems in parts to be more like a fast flowing creek that it would be easy to wade across and make the illegal border crossing. We see herds of whimsical Bactrian camels and finally we leave the Pamir river to tackle the steep switchback dusty climb to the pass. As we climb the rugged hills give way to gentler striated rounded mounds with colourful bands of yellow, red and brown soils. We have levelled off onto the 4000metre altiplano, so reminiscent of Tibet. Apart from the yurts here even the scruffy little villages look the same.

The landscape is dotted with salt pans and salt lakes varying in colour from turquoise to deep navy blue. We drink from sulpherous mineral water springs and sit down to watch the show provided by a cheerful little geyser.

Bulunkul Lake

Yamchen fort

Thermal pool

It is the variety of experiences along the Pamir Highway that impresses. The two nation journey from Dushanbe in Tajikistan to Osh in Kyrgyzstan has taken us along the mountainous border with Afghanistan with exquisite views of the Hindu Kush. There are ancient fortresses, caravanserais, glacial rivers and lakes through to hot springs and geysers. When we do ascend up to the Pamirs proper we experience a bleak, haunting but beautiful “moonscape” of sculpted rugged hills and snow capped mountains on the 4000metre altiplano.

The people also change with each variation in scenic tableau from Tajiks to Afghans to nomadic Kyrgyz with their whimsical peaked white felt hats. We have spent the night in a massive Kyrgyz yurt in the tiny hamlet of Keng Shiber at 4200metres above sea level.

Today’s 5 hour walk begins with a hearty cooked breakfast served on the yurt floor seated on magnificent deep red patterned traditional hand woven carpets and mats. A 10km rugged jeep ride takes us to the trail head for our walk up the Belainik valley to the high pass at 5000 metres.

We started at the terminal moraine of what must have been a massive glacier during the last ice age. The scalloped grassy U shaped valley is 1 km wide here and the snow covered mountainous walls rise 600 metres on each side. Yaks graze freely around a large yurt.

There is no path here, these are yak pastures in the warmer months and this is not on any well worn tourist track. At first we pick our way through rocky, grassy slopes pockmarked with marmot burrows. We hear the distinctive chirps of these shy furry little rodents but fail to see one.

More taxing on the feet is the transit through the frozen bog where we have to hop onto tussocky mounds which are islands in a large frozen pond. The occasional loud snap of frozen ice cracking warns us we have landed close to the edge.

Finally we pick our way up the rocky scree of the lateral moraine of the glacier, the tiny remnant of which we spy up high on the left hand side of the valley. The altitude is really taking its toll now and it is slow baby steps up punctuated with forced sucking in of the oxygen depleted air. Head down, concentrating the arrival at the top comes as a pleasant surprise. We are literally blown away by the biting icy wind roaring off the snowy slopes, and, more importantly, the panorama of snow capped mountains and the deep blue Zorkol lake beneath us figuratively blows us away.

Exhilarated we turn back to partake of the picnic lunch at the trailhead and a well earned rest in our yurt.