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IP-Trek 2009 (Silk Road and Fann Mountains)
The first thing I discovered about the exotic city of Tashkent is that it is roughly the same latitude as Seoul, which was my transit point into Uzbekistan. Others arrived via Istanbul or Moscow. We all had to travel a long way to reach this Central Asian country, fabled in the annals of the ancient Silk Road, and through most the twentieth century part of Soviet Russia. In fact, the countries of Central Asia didn’t exist on the maps as separate countries until Stalin drew some lines roughly corresponding to the ethnic tribes and gave “the Stans” names corresponding to their tribes. We would meet Uzbeks and Tajiks, and some Russians, on our Central Asian odyssey.
Tashkent was hot. 45 degrees Celsius hot. US$1 converted to 1,500 Uzbek ‘sum’. Not that there was much to buy – Tashkent still retains a very Soviet Russian ‘feel’, despite 20 years of independence. Eventually the group assembled and we toured the sights of Tashkent - mosques, a memorial to the earthquake that levelled the city in the 1960s, the war memorial, the fancy new buildings, the mud houses of the old town, the metro, and an excellent Museum of Applied Arts. The prime sight, however, was certainly the oldest Koran in the world (so they say), housed in a small Islamic library and opened to show the splash of blood where the prophet died....
Most of the time we sailed across Uzbekistan in a large touring coach of ancient lineage with our guide Rustam . We took an internal flight to Bukhara, and ensconced ourselves in the delightful family-run guest house of Sasha & Sons, before exploring this amazing old Silk Road city. The intricate baked terracotta brickwork of the Ismail Samami Mausoleum dates from 905 AD; and Maghoki-Attar is Central Asia’s oldest surviving mosque, with a 9th century facade, and built on a 5th century Zoroastrian temple. The huge Kalon minaret and mosque, the old madrasahs and covered bazaars, standing where they have for centuries, the Lyabi-Hauz Pool surrounded by ancient mulberry trees, the puppet maker, and the craftswomen plying their looms in an old caravanserai...such an evocative city.
Our bus sailed off across the desert once again, and after an interesting stop at a ceramics craftsman’s home and workshop (more shopping) we found ourselves at a yurt camp, riding camels. This was the day I took up beer drinking. The choice of beverages was water or beer, so you can understand my decision. The local Uzbek brand was ‘Sarbast’, and the more experienced beer-drinkers of our party assured me that there was better beer to be had, but I must say I enjoyed mine that day.
We then sailed in to Samarkand, and visited the mighty Registan square, with its looming madrasahs and minarets; the moving and beautiful mausoleums of Shan-I-Zinda; the observatory built by Uleg Beg, a grandson of Timur (Tamerlane); and the beautiful Bibi Khanum Mosque next to the huge bustling Samarkand bazaar, which has occupied the same site for many hundreds of years in this staging city of the Silk Road. Our visit to a carpet factory where hand-made silk carpets could be bought saw an afternoon of good trading in the old Silk Road tradition. I myself came home with far more carpets than I have floors.
Then it was time to gather the last few members of our trekking group, meet our Russian guide Feodor and young interpreter Nicolai (Nick), and organise ourselves for a week in the Fannsky Gori (“Fann”) Mountains of Tajikistan. After an eventful road border crossing into Tajikistan, we had time to explore a little of the town of Penjikent, replace one broken down van, and eat another meal with a predictable menu (fresh salads, an odd-looking soup, shaslik or plov – a kind of risotto – and watermelon). The menu rarely changed. But I must say that the bread baked in Uzbekistan and Tajikistan is absolutely delicious.
Our first night in the mountains was spent at the Artuch trekkers’ lodge, from which we set out the next morning on a steep climb into the extraordinary lakes and plateaus of the Fann Mountains. Our objective was the 4740m high Chimtarga pass, but stories were already circulating that the pass was deep in snow, and unpassable (pun intended). Donkeys carried our loads, and Feodor stepped out in front. The scenery was surprising and very beautiful, and we encountered many small pristine lakes. We also encountered some locals when we visited their tent and sampled their fresh goat yoghurt. We set up our first camp on the shore of the Kul-i-Kalon Lake, and a few hardy souls took advantage of the water for a (brief!) dip.
The second day of walking saw a very steep rise – we gained 1000 metres today to cross the 3860m high Alaudin pass; but then descended, straining the leg muscles. We passed a beautiful goat meadow with a big herd and saw an avalanche in the distance. The peaks around us were snow-covered. When we crossed the high pass, Feodor shook everyone’s hands, kissed the women, handed out Bounty bars, and called us “alpinistas”.
We then spent two nights camped above Alaudin Lakes, and a foray was made towards the Chimtarga pass, but it was thick with snow. Feodor planned an alternative route out, and we set off through some lovely walking over high passes and alpine meadows, in one of which we camped. The donkeys cropped the grass around our tents and brayed now and then. On our last night ‘under canvas’ (well, nylon) the Russian/Uzbek/Tajik staff threw a vodka party in the dining tent, an excellent antidote for the cold of the night.
The next day had us trekking over Laudin pass (3630m) and again through beautiful country, eventually finding some small villages of mud houses . A long day of walking saw us back at the Artuch lodge we had started from, and able to sleep in a bed instead of a sleeping bag.
Our next days’ walk took us through a more populated area, and we met some locals along the way, including a Tajik peasant lady who borrowed my walking poles and sunglasses and imitated us trekking along: “Toor-ist! Toor-ist!” We spent the night with a local family in a Tajik ‘home stay’ in the village of Zimtut. There was a full moon, apple and pear trees in the courtyard, plenty of beer, and singing as we all sat on the floor for dinner. The next day we bussed back to the border and the end of our trek through beautiful mountains we hadn’t known existed.
We had one more night in Samarkand to explore Timur’s tomb, and a drive back to Tashkent, before each making our long way home from Central Asia. There are some IP-Trekkers muttering that they need to go back to the Fann mountains – to cross that pass some day.
Annette Freeman February 2010
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