India ( + Photo Gallery)

My initial plan for India was to ride down to Mumbai to visit a friend, chill out at one of Goa’s beaches and then possibly ship the motorcycle from Chennai to Bangkok. But after I had a good look at the travel guide again, and after listening to what other overland travellers had to say, I realized that this was a somewhat crazy idea. After all, I only had about 5-6 weeks time, and India means huge distances and, as I was told before: crazy traffic. (I later found that ‘crazy’ is the wrong expression. ‘Homocidal’ comes to mind – at least when you’re on a motorcycle and therefore on the receiving end of the psychotic drivers’ style of steering a bus or truck).

So instead of going all the way down to Mumbai, I decided to take a 'short-cut' through the provinces Rajasthan and Uttar-Pradesh into Nepal... still a good 3000 km. That way I didn’t spend most of my time on the bike, but actually managed to actually see something of the country and spend a few days in each place. And I’ve got to say: India is beautiful, and I’ve got some fond memories from this country.

Two questions I asked myself towards the end, after I survived India without any accident, relentlessly dodging busses and trucks for 3000km: Would I come and visit again? – Yes. – On a motorcycle? – No. Maybe. But not unless it’s the right season to go up into the mountains around Ladakh.

For a more detailed report (including comments), have a look at my India Album on FlickR.

The full-screen slideshow version can be found here. (To read the report during the slideshow, click 'Show Info' in the top right).

Here are some samples from the album:

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Pakistan ( + Photo Gallery)

Our route through Pakistan took us from Khunjerab Pass down the gorgeous Karakorum Highway to Islamabad. Because of our delays with getting through China, we went down the Karakorum Highway a few weeks later than expected. But as it turned out, early October was just perfect for us: clear skies, moderate temperatures and colourful tree-foliage during the autumn season.

Whilst up in Pakistan’s mountain regions, Len and I split up to go our own ways, and I took a side-trip with 2 other motorcyclists into the Deosai Plains high-altitude plateau: a rewarding side-trip, but unfortunately I had my first major off and injured my right leg (nothing broken, but a fairly swollen foot & knee).

In Islamabad, I took a bit of a rest whilst I was waiting for the Indian visa: camping in Islamabad was cheap as chips, and I had time to get my broken laptop screen fixed, wait for my leg to heal, do some route-planning for India and ‘pakistanify’ the bike with some colourful stickers (still not quite as colourful as the Pakistani trucks).

I followed the Great Trunk Road down to Pakistan’s “cultural capital” Lahore and from there crossed into India. As always, pictures say more than words: For photographs, which include comments & descriptions for a more detailed report, have a look at my Pakistan Album on FlickR.

The full-screen slideshow version can be found here. To view comments during the slideshow, click 'Show Info' in the top right).

Here are some samples from the album:

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China ( + Photo Gallery)

Coming from Tourgart Pass, the road to Kashgar is not much different to the last 200km we had done in Kyrgyzstan: mainly corrugated washboard, the trickiest part of which are the never-ending lines of enormous Chinese trucks on their way to export goods into Central Asia: they hammer down the road and throw up so much dust, visibility is about as good as on a foggy winter morning in the Lake District. And just as the dust-cloud opens, the next truck’s already approaching quickly. General attitude of the truck drivers: “survival of the fittest”

Kashgar lies in China’s Xinjang province, which is predominantly of Uighur (muslim) population & tradition. It is the most westerly city on the Chinese Silk Route and has a very relaxed atmosphere to it. As long as we left the bikes parked at the hotel, we didn’t need a guide for the city, and so we took a few days to relax and enjoy the diversity of Chinese & Uighur food. One evening, our agents from Newland Travel took us out for a meal (or should I say feast?) in a traditional upper class restaurant. I’ve got to say it was the most delicious meal I’d had in a very long time: at least 6-7 courses of local specialities, accompanied by various kinds of tea in different flavours.

Over the course of one long & interesting day, I went to see the Animal Market, Sunday Market and Kashgar’s Old Town. This (and our onwards journey to Pakistan on the gorgeous Karakorum Highway) is probably best described in photos rather than a lengthy blog-post:

I’ve uploaded some more photos into a separate China Album on FlickR, including a brief write-up underneath the photographs. (Here's the same album as a slideshow. To read my comments in the slideshow, click on "Show Info" in the top right corner).

A few sample images:

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Kyrgyzstan to China

On a Tuesday afternoon, we’re told the final ‘go’ for China. We’ve got three days to get from Bishkek to the border (Torugart Pass): the pass has just been re-opened one day ago and will close again in four days for Chinese holidays. Guess we’re lucky for once…

In anticipation of flying to bikes (which would have meant: drain engine oil & petrol for safety reasons), we still have the crap fake Chinese “Shell Super Helix” engine oil from Tajikistan in our bikes. But with the help of a local biker from Bishkek and Yulia’s translation skills, we manage to source some decent Motul oil, which we take with us to do the oil change en-route in Naryn.

The road from Naryn to the Chinese border takes us through the most beautiful scenery I’ve seen so far on this trip, the highlight being the valley around Tash-Rabat, where we stay in a yurt-camp about 3h ride from the Chinese border. It’s the end of the season, and with winter approaching quickly, most yurts have already been taken down. In the morning, we realize that we were lucky the yurt-owner accepted our last (and insufficient) Kyrgyz cash for a ‘yurt & breakfast’: at 7am, the nearby river is still partly frozen – it would have been a freezing night, had we camped out in our own tents.

We leave around 8:00am and get to the border about 2h later. On the Kyrgyz side, the border crossing is reasonably straight-forward (although a bit lengthy due to a bus-load of tourists going the same way as we). About 10km through no-man’s land and we get to the first Chinese check-point. As promised, our Chinese guide-car is awaiting us. Another 5km later, we get to the second check-point: we leave the bikes outside & get taken into the border building by our agents to have some Chinese instant noodle soup and ‘do business’: $1400 change hands (counting twice on either side) – the price for 2 people & 2 bikes to cross for 5 days through China with a guide-car. An insane amount of money, but still cheaper than bypassing China by airplane.

Over the course of our instant noodle-soup meal, we realize how difficult it was for our agents (Newland Travel) to get us into China on such a short notice: the managing director himself had come to the border to pick us up. At first, the Chinese border guards didn’t want to let the guide car through to pick us up at our meeting point – until the managing director made a phone-call to a ‘special friend’ at the Chinese Immigration in Urumqui.

To cut a long story short: after a thorough luggage-check (border guards looking at every single item and opening every bottle from contact-lens fluid to mouth-wash), we’re permitted to enter China. And we know: this time we’re really “off the radar”: not the usual Chinese license plates, no Chinese driving license, no insurance paperwork, no nothing: We just let the guide car go in front & let the agents do the talking at the various check-points on the way to Kashgar. Agent’s connections & bribes. THAT’S where our $1400 went. (Note: doing China on your own vehicle the official way costs the same amount of money – Newland Travel’s price was good, and I can highly recommend them).

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Kyrgyzstan: Bishkek (2)

Something I had been looking forward to in Bishkek was to finally meet someone who’s been really helpful & encouraging via e-mail: Arne, another contact I got through Horizons Unlimited, is a Danish guy and motorcycle enthusiast who’s currently working in Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. Arne’s job keeps him really busy, working in agricultural projects between the two countries, and I’m lucky to meet him one evening whilst he’s here on a brief visit.

We’ve got a real good meeting in central Bishkek, and very unexpectedly Arne offers us to stay in his flat in the heart of town. He’s hardly there anyway, he says, and the way it looks we might be up for a long-term stay here whilst trying to arrange shipping the bikes… so why not stay in his flat? We happily accept the offer and once again, we’re treated for absolute luxury – just like back at Trevor’s place in Dushanbe. On top of that, Arne introduces us to his project manager Yulia. Over the next week, Yulia helps us with internet access, translations from Russian to English and trying to find a cheap cargo-agent to deal with the bikes. (Yulia, if you’re reading this: you’re a real gem, and without your help things would have been so much harder, if not impossible to arrange – Thank you so much for all your help and efforts!)

As it turns out, Arne is a good friend of Trevor from Dushanbe, and they’ve recently gone for a little ride-out in the same area we’ve been to just a few weeks ago in Tajikistan. Arne also dreams of doing a long-distance motorcycle-trip one day – maybe from Central Asia to Europe. What a great idea, of course, but: One evening, we have a conversation, which turns out to be a bit of an eye-opener for me. Back in England, when I was preparing this overland trip, I often struggled with the paperwork that’s involved with crossing various countries by motorcycle. But when you’ve got Tajik license plates (like Arne does), things get so much more complicated… Where do you get your carnet de passage from if there’s no automotive club in the country? What about bike insurance when you enter Europe? All at once, the paperwork I thought was difficult to deal with in Europe seems to be like a walk in a park compared to what you’ve got to organize when you want to do the same thing, starting in Tajikistan.

One day, Arne and I set out for the outskirts of Bishkek to visit the used car market. I already noticed the large number of German cars on Bishkek’s streets., and the car market is just the same: endless lines of BMWs, Mercedes, Audis, Volkswagen, amongst some Hummers and Toyota 4WDs… and all of them in absolute mint condition. Apparently, they’re all getting here overland – some of them even have the German license plates still on. As one of Arne’s friends in Bishkek explains: there’s quite a large Kyrgyz community in Germany since the fall of the Soviet Union, and they buy second hand cars in Germany. Their Kyrgyz friends come over to Germany to pick up the cars, and with the German license plates drive them overland to Kyrgyzstan. Once in Kyrgyzstan, the cars get polished, waxed and (if necessary) fixed up, until they’re sold second hand. Probably with a healthy profit, considering the relatively cheap labour in Kyrgyzstan.

Back to our ‘dead end road on a bike problem’: We get all sorts of prices from various shipping agents, and all kinds of requests of how to disassemble the bikes to make them small enough to go on an airplane. And in most cases, it takes a good few days, if not a week, to even get a rough quote. Our favoured option (Galaxy Air) turns out to be fairly vague: there might be a cargo plane going to India or Pakistan – but we won’t know for sure for at least another week.

As time passes, I get increasingly annoyed about the long-winded process of getting a definite quote from any of the shipping agents. Thanks to Arne’s offer of staying in his flat, we’re not spending any money for accommodation. We even got television with CNN and BBC World News amongst a dozen of Russian and Kyrgyz channels. But I very soon get tired of all the news repeats about the financial crisis, the US election campaign and the hotel bomb attack in Islamabad… time to move on, or at least to try & see something of Kyrgyzstan. After all, we’ve already extended our visas here, and all we’ve done in this country is to wait for spare parts and things to happen…

After a long time of waiting in Bishkek for 2 weeks, very unexpectedly things suddenly start to happen: during an internet session, I receive two crucial e-mails within a few minutes: One is from Iza and Kamil (Singapore-to-Poland overland bikers we met near Sary-Tash about a month ago), the other is from their Chinese agent. Iza and Kamil somehow managed to cross into China. They know that we are trying to get into China and asked their agent (Taher from Newland Travel) to contact us. The deal is perfect, though it comes at a prize: $700 per person/bike seems a lot of money to cross through to Khunjerab Pass/Pakistan, but we also know that this is the standard rate for a motorized vehicle and the mandatory guide in China.

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Kyrgyzstan: Bishkek (1)

We arrive in Bishkek on a Friday, and it’s already late afternoon as we’re trying to find our way to a cheap guest house. The last 700km have been mildly concerning: I was riding with a knowingly damaged rear shock absorber, and every time I put the bike on the side stand, I noticed the rear end of the Dakar going lower and lower, until there was probably not a single drop of oil left in the hydraulic dampening of the bike. But I made it – so all good.

After asking for the way to the guest house a few times, Len and I get separated in the maze of intersections on Bishkek’s roads. As I arrive at our planned destination, the first person I encounter is an old friend whom I last met in Uzbekistan: Salva, a fellow traveller who’s been cycling in Africa and Asia for the past 2 years. The second person I meet is Gubi, another motorcyclist who’s just come from Mongolia. Gubi hears about my rear shock problem and kindly offers me a hand in fixing it: he enjoys a bit of mechanics, he says, and appears to be very keen to fix my bike problem the best way he can.

I’m in a bit of a rush, trying to get to the local UPS office before they close for the weekend. Thanks to Salva, who kindly lends me some money for picking up my parcel, there’s no need for a cash machine right now and I arrive at the UPS office just in time, after the taxi-driver couldn’t find it for half an hour.

So, with the help of UPS Bishkek I’d like to get the parcel out of customs. Preferably before the week-end, to get the bike fixed in case we get the “go” for China on short notice. “Not possible” I’m told. But they’ll try to do their best to get through to customs on Saturday. At last I’m finally dealing with someone who’s helpful, seems to be on my side and understands the urgency of this.

As expected, I receive the rear shock absorber no sooner than Monday. Still no good news from China, though, and whilst Gubi and I are busy working ourselves through the BMW repair manual to change the shock, Len sets off to inquire with some local shipping agencies: we agreed to ship from Kyrgyzstan to Thailand. If we shipped to India or Pakistan, we’d have to ship again from there to Thailand, as Burma/Myanmar is a no-go for motorcycles. The only other option we have comes from a contact from Horizons Unlimited (probably the best website for overland motorcyclists): a contact there managed to get himself and his bike from Kyrgyzstan to India for a real bargain: with a small cargo airline (Galaxy Air) on an even smaller IL-18 turbo-prop machine – bike tied to the side of the airplane interior. (Check out this video from a fellow overland motorcyclist who did this last year). Now THAT would be a real adventure! Options for India are open again it seems…

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Kyrgyzstan: Osh to Bishkek

We’ve been in Central Asia now for over 2 months, and against all odds we still haven’t had to pay a single bribe. Quite an achievement, I would like to think. And not so much for the money, but for the records, I will try to keep it that way. Well – our next encounter with the local police should become quite a challenge for this ‘no bribes paid’ record…

We set out from Osh to Bishkek. Fantastic tarmac – an absolute joy to ride. No traffic signs at all, in fact not even a sign that tells us about the beginning of a ‘city speed limit’. When all of a sudden, the race marshalls (=police) flag us down. With a big smile in their face the cops show us their digital speed-gun display: 75 km/h. 25 km/h too fast. Oh well… and I thought this was a bypass-road around the village, no?

They ask for our driving licenses & show us their paperwork. Official fee on the list: $7 per person. Yet he (wrongly) shows me the fee for speeding 30 km/h too fast: $15 per person. Nice try. “But, of course”, he communicates with sign language, “no problem”. Rubs his hands, moves one of his hands towards his back pocket (=his imaginary wallet) and starts to grin.

This one single hand-movement is enough to remind me of my anti-bribing principles. Although we were ’speeding’ without even knowing about it: we’re certainly not in a rush. Plenty of time to challenge a few corrupt cops & see if we can get away without paying anything at all. I get my notebook out and draw a little birds-eye view of the road, trying to sell them the story that, since they’re metering the speed from the side of the road, they must have picked up both bikes at the same time: “A car is 2m wide, a bike is not. So that lovelt speed-gun of yours was measuring both bikes at the same time, and because we were 25m apart from each other, the speed-gun shows the wrong speed. Alright?” Doesn’t really make sense, but the point is to steal the cop’s time: if all the speeding-fines go into THEIR pocket anyway, then time equals money. And the more time they spend with us, the less time they’ve got to catch other people speeding. Ten minutes later, they’re sick of discussing the whole thing, and we’re back on track to Bishkek.

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Kyrgyzstan: Osh

Osh brings us back into a much warmer climate, and back into the land of ear-bursting lorry-horns, cash machines, a good choice of restaurants, cheap phone calls to home and, above all: internet access. And the first email check since one week brings with it another problem: the rear shock I had ordered a week ago has been built to my specifications – but it hasn’t been delivered yet. In fact, for reasons unknown, it hasn’t even been shipped by Hagon Shocks – meaning: it will arrive in Osh within 5 days at the earliest. Yet another entry on the list of companies who’ve failed to deliver what they promised.

Nurlan, a friendly & helpful guy from Osh Guest House, helps us with safe storage for the motorcycles – and just as we ride into the parking premises, we get approached by Vladimir, a local Russian biker who happens to know a good motorbike mechanic in the outskirts of Bishkek. Bike-storage is safe as can-be, with an enormous beast of a growling dog guarding the premises. As we’re chatting away with Vladmir (Nurlan translating quite a few bits here), Len notices a missing subframe-bolt on my bike… and a quick look on the other side of the bike shows the same: both subframe bolts sheared off. THAT’S why the bike had been handling so badly since Murghab… I’ve got to say I’m rather embarrassed about this – but I never thought about checking the subframe bolts & simply blamed the bad bike handling on the corrugated roads.

After a brief intermezzo in Osh Guest House’s dormitory, we move on into a hotel (for the same price) to make ourselves comfortable & set up a base for the next week. Hotel Alai is a slightly run-down place with a true Soviet feeling to it: it’s cheap & cheerful, provides us with two separate rooms, one door key, cold water shower (funnily NOT during day-time), frequent power cuts and a bunch of not-so-cheerful hotel employees… but the place will do for now. It’s close to the main bazaar, and after setting up our two camping-stoves in the room, Len quickly gets into a routine of delicious cooking.

Whilst waiting for the rear shock absorber to arrive, the next week passes rather quickly: we make plenty of phone-calls to friends & family, every now and then go for a meal and a few beers in the evenings, visit Nurlan in Osh Guest House for a chat, and above all: ‘operation China’ still isn’t sorted out yet. Without much success, we try to find a Chinese lorry driver to take us ‘off the radar’ over Irkestham Pass into China, and through various sources of information (including our agent in China), we’re trying to find out when & if any other borders might open again, or if there’s any official ‘put-the-bike-on-a-truck’ alternative that’s within our budget.

One week later, my awaited spare part from the UK should arrive any time soon. And indeed, good news: it’s finally arrived. Bad news: it’s in Bishkek, some 700 km away – and I’ve got to pick it up in person. Any further delays from my side will cost me $3 per day for storage fees in the customs office. “Great”, I say to the lady in the UPS Bishkek office, “What would you say if you ordered a new TV and one week later you were told to pick it up a full 2 days journey away from where you actually wanted it delivered?”

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Tajikistan – Pamir Highway (2)

I wake up feeling cold & dizzy. No, not a hangover – it’s the altitude that’s getting to me, albeit very slowly and thankfully not a real altitude sickness. I walk down to Lake Sassyk-Kul (the ‘Stinking Lake’) for some photographs of the lake and valley and notice quite a lot of salination – a sign for the abundance of minerals in the Pamirs and the lake in particular. The lake’s shoreline is a feast of colours in earth tones & green, and would probably be a dream for biologists who are studying micro-organisms.

Back at the campsite, Len’s already half-way finished packing his panniers and tells me that the local sheppherd’s dog has just eaten all our bread from the plastic bag I had put it in. But the problem isn’t so much the bread – it’s more my motorcycle which doesn’t want to start up. At first, Len and I think that I might have left the light switched on or the GPS plugged in. Then Len tries to start up HIS bike, and he’s got the same problem: the engine struggles to turn over and refuses to start up. Too much of a coincidence. Probably the engine oil back in Dushanbe wasn’t quite what it said on the box (“Shell Super Helix 15w40”), but only a Chinese fake. We take off the luggage and push the bikes up a little slope – not much fun at 3700m in the cold. And with a bit of luck we manage to jump-start the bikes down the little gravel track. Great – so it really WAS the engine oil… and it’s not gonna get much warmer for the next few weeks.

Len sets off before me, whilst I’m riding back to a view point to get a shot of the lake and surrounding scenery. On my way back I meet some motorcyclists from Iran 2-up on a Suzuki GS1000, a plastic bag wrapped around their hands for wind/cold protection. Hang on – a 1000cc bike from Iran? It’s illegal to ride bikes over 250cc in Iran, no? They explain to me that they somehow got the bike on the black market & rode it from their home to the Turkmenistan border during night-time, so they wouldn’t get caught by the local authorities. Since then, they’ve been touring around Central Asia, trying to get to Beijing. But with the Chinese border closed, they had to turn around at Irkeshtam Pass and are now heading back into Iran.

I continue East on the empty Pamir Highway. The only vehicles I would see on this day are a convoy of mini-vans loaded up with toilet paper from China. Seriously - I mean: toilet paper!? Even if everyone in Khorog had the runs at the same time: Who on earth needs this much toilet paper? And above all: Wouldn’t it be easier to recycle local paper-trash into toilet paper? Shortly after Alichur Len’s bike is parked up next to a yurt. Chai-time it seems. The yurt-owners are from Alichur but of Kyrgyz descendence. They feed us with plenty of tea, home-made bread, fried noodles, yak butter and yak yoghurt. Once again we realize that sign-language goes a long way, and we would have loved to stay longer. But if we want to get to Murghab in time, we better move on. Weather and road conditions can change all too quickly up here in the mountains, and after last night’s late arrival we better play it safe this time.

Since crossing the 1st pass on the highway, I haven’t seen any trees or bushes whatsoever. The whole landscape looks barren, yet beautiful, and the only vegetation are dry steppe grass and some green bits of grass around the river beds and lakes. We comfortably make it to Murghab on very good roads, with only the occasional hump on the road and hardly any potholes at all. Finally, the Pamir Highway (or “M41”) is true to its name ‘highway’.

Murghab is a small mountain town with a wild-west feeling to it, nicely located near a lush green valley full of sheep, goats and yaks. At the end of the town we quickly find the eco-tourism office who provide local home-stays in the area. Gulnamo’s place is basic but well-kept, overlooking the local market suqare. She’s got two rooms for visitors, an outside squat toilet and shower facilities.
Although it’s the second biggest town on the Pamir Highway, Murghab is a lot more basic than Khorog. Whilst Khorog offers all sorts of facilities like cash machine, restaurants, internet cafes and even a university, Murghab is quite the opposite: electricity is available only in the evenings, and even then it’s just about good enough to charge up camera batteries – looking at the lightbulb during dinner-time I’d say there’s just about 5-10 volts coming through the cables, and whenever I try to charge up my laptop, the fuse blows within a few seconds. Water is supplied twice a week with a truck, from which the locals fill up buckets of water to take inside their homes. And with winter-time approaching quickly but no forest nearby, people mix yak-dung with earth and water to shape little ‘cookies’, dry them in the sun and then use them for firing their stoves. (Winter here means temperatures down to -30 degrees)

Within this basic environment, Gulnamo is doing the best she can to provide a little comfort zone for us travellers: food is basic but very tasty, with different kinds of vegetable each day (whatever is available on the market in the mornings), and the shower is actually better than the one we had in Khorog: Inside the bathroom is a little stove, which is accessed from outside the bathroom. On top of that stove is a huge metal bowl full of water. Every day, an hour before shower-time, Gulnamo fires up the stove to heat up the water. Next to the hot water is a bucket full of cold water – and an empty bowl to mix hot & cold water to the desired temperature. Very basic – but it works!

As we meet a group of travellers from France, we decide to prolong our stay in Murghab for another day. Len’s more than happy to chill out for a bit longer and catch up with some emails and blog-writing, and I join in with the others for a day of trekking in the mountains. We share the costs for the guide between the 6 of us, and seeing the ‘roof of the world’ from a 5000m viewpoint is hard to beat and shows the Pamir plateau from a different perspective than a bike ever could.
Something I wasn’t sure about when preparing for this trip is fuel availability in the Pamirs. There’s certainly no petrol stations around, and if anything, fuel is sold from local homes. As I’m taking a stroll around town, I encounter a group of motorcyclists from Poland who also need to fill up. They’ve been in this area a few times before and they speak Russian. One of the guys introduces himself as Sambor – and suddenly that rings a bell. Whilst researching fuel availability through one of the web forums back in England, I had been in touch with Sambor. And now we actually meet in person & he shows me where to get fuel… what a small world! As expected, the fuel comes straight from the bucket and by the sound of the bike engine it probably WAS 80 octane fuel – before someone diluted it with water & a good dose of yak-piss.

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Tajikistan – Pamir Highway (1)

The western gateway to the Pamir Mountains, Khorog is a small & relaxed mountain-town and capital of the autonomous region of Gorno-Badakshan (‘GBAO’). People here descend from Persia, and follow the religion of ‘Ismailism’, a certain form of Shiite Islam but without formal structure. During Russian times, the area depended very much on Moscow, and since the fall of the Soviet Union it’s been trying to be independent. In order to get here as a visitor, one needs a special GBAO Permit from the Tajik government (usually straight-forward to obtain).

On the way to Khorog, we see an endless number of enormous Chinese trucks going West – certainly enough trucks every day to supply the whole of Central Asia with cheap mobile phones and plastic toys for the next year. Without doubt: China is an exporting country. (Although I do wonder how these lorries will make it to Dushanbe… there’s only two roads, and we’d just about managed to get through the better one of them on our off-road/enduro bikes).

Although Khorog has a nice feel to it, there’s not really much to see and we don’t want to spend too much time here. We are planning to go south towards the Afghan border and follow the Wakhan Corridor back up to the Pamir Highway into Kyrgyzstan.

We stay at the cosy ‘Pamir Lodge’ for a few days, and just as I’m about to prepare the bike for the next stage of the trip, disaster strikes for the first time: The bike’s been extraordinarily reliable so far. But now, as I put the bike on the centre stand so I could oil the chain, I suddenly see oil rapidly dripping down just in front of the rear wheel. ‘Oil’ means either something engine-related or ‘rear shock absorber’. I have a better look at the mess, and after consulting Len we both agree that it’s got to be the rear shock. I put the bike on the side stand, and the dripping stops… maybe one of the seals inside the shock has disintegrated after all those miles on corrugated & potholed roads? Time to consult some F650 bike forums on the internet.

As it turns out, the problem really IS the rear shock absorber. Although the bike rides fine and without any suspicious ‘pogo-stick’ behaviour, I’m not confident to take on the Wakhan corridor (we had heard various reports about some tough off-road riding there).
To make things worse, we just heard rumours that China has closed the border to Kyrgyzstan recently, after some bomb attacks in Kashgar. We consult our agent in China, and he confirms that it is currently impossible to enter China via Torugart Pass/Kyrgyzstan. (Why we had to actually prompt our agent to tell us these rather important news is beyond my imagination – surely, this is essential information for our onwards journey). Seems like the real adventure has just started: Stranded in Tajikistan with a broken shock absorber, and with no onwards journey into China.

That evening, it turns our we’re not the only ones who are stranded: two other motorcyclists had their bike ‘serviced’ locally, and some brainiac of a mechanic managed to pour water into a gel-battery, rendering the whole bike useless with (due to the lack of motorcycles here) no bike-batteries available. Another traveller tells us about his experience of being stuck for one night inside a mini-bus in the middle of nowhere: one of those long Chinese lorries had a broken axle, blocking the whole road, and it was too dark to do the repair that evening.

Anyway… back to our own problems: If China is closed – how can we get from Tajikistan to Pakistan? Some of the travellers here are planning to cross through Afghanistan – an option we’re considering as well. But after some research and looking at the current safety situation in Afghanistan, we decide against it. I order a new rear shock absorber from the UK, to be delivered to Kyrgyzstan within the next 7 days, and around mid-day we finally set out for the Pamir Highway.

The Pamir Highway was built by the Russians between 1931 and 1934, mainly to supply troops and provisions into this remote border area of the former Soviet Union. For 700km, it stretches across one of the highest and least inhabited mountain regions in the world, which the locals call ‘roof of the world’ (although I thought they might want to discuss this with their Tibetan neighbours ;).

As we ride through the villages in the Gunt Valley towards the first pass, the scenery is still relatively green, with a fair bit of agriculture, bushes and trees along the road. Only in the distance can we see the enormous mountain ranges with snow-capped peaks. But the higher we get, the more barren, uninhibited and moon-like the landscape becomes.
Approaching the 4200m Koi-Tezek Pass, the nice tarmac we had so far soon turns into a seemingly neverending section of loose gravel. The sun’s already gone down, but we can’t quite pitch our tents yet as we’re not acclimatised to the altitude. In the dim evening light we just about make it back onto tarmac, before we finally descend to around 3200m near Lake Sassyk-Kul to set up our camp in the dark.

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Tajikistan – Dushanbe to Khorog

Over the past week, we had a very relaxing time in Dushanbe. After 5 months on the road, staying at Trevor & Yuli’s family home was a welcome change for us, and we quickly got used to all the modern amenities: air-conditioning, good skype-connection to phone family & friends, washing-machine and even a hot shower… what a treat!

After registering with the local authorities, we made use of our time and sorted out some bike maintenance: oil change, clean air filters and put on the knobbly tires as we weren’t sure about road conditions on the Pamir Mountains.

Trevor offered us to stay even longer, but it was time for us to get moving again. There are two routes, which lead to Khorog (gateway to the Pamir Mountains and capital of the autonomous Gorno-Badakshan region): The Northern route leads over the 3200m Sagirdasht Pass and is only open during summer. The Southern route follows the Afghan border and is about 100km longer. After consulting one of Trevor’s Tajik friends, we followed his advice and took the Southern route via Nurak and Kulyab alongst the Pyanj River to Kalaikhum.

The first day was a breeze: tarmac roads all the way to Nurek, where we camped out near one of the highest water dams in the world. The next day, our hopes for more tarmac roads should soon come to a grinding halt: shortly after the Shurabad pass, the so-called ‘road’ quickly deteriorates into a blend of gravel, dust and water-filled corrugations, leading through dried-out river beds (up and down through quite a few passages with large gravel/stones) towards our first river-crossing. Just as we suss out the river crossing, a driver from one of the oncoming cars warns us about the bad conditions ahead. Nice – so it’ll get even ‘better’, yes?

Half an hour later, we find ourselves on a building-site, which follows the Afghan border. Someone had decided to build a new road, and open it to traffic whilst it’s still under construction – great! The single-lane track is lined with warning signs for landmines (leftovers from the Afghan-Russian war), and every other kilometre we pass construction sites with workers, trucks and diggers. A tiring 3 hours later I look at the GPS: we’ve just done about 50 kilometres, and at this speed we probably won’t make it to the next village before sunset. To make things worse, Len gets stuck in an uphill section of loose gravel. Despite the knobbly tyres, the bike won’t move an inch and the back-wheel’s just spitting stones. We take off the luggage & shift it up the ascent, and with some careful throttle and a good push from the back, we get the bike out (‘supported’ by the hopeless honking from the cars in front and behind us).

Another 15 minutes later, we find a roadside chaikhana/restaurant, the owner of which is more than happy to see us and allows us to crash out for the night. A close-by stream provides clean water, and people feed us chai, bread, homemade yoghurt and some delicious apricots from their garden. Finally, after a long day a much welcome change for the better!

Morning comes, and with the breakfast comes the good news: “good roads after Zigar village” we’re told – only 10km away. And indeed: Most of the road from Zigar to Kalaikhum is smooth tarmac, with not a single pothole… something we hadn’t seen for a long time! Bikes are going fine, and for a change, the lack of potholes makes it possible to actually enjoy the gorgeous scenery here, riding in the valley between the Pamir & Hindukush mountain ranges.

Just before Kalaikhum, things get back to normal: OK-ish roads lined with potholes - although with a motorcycle, they’re relatively easy to navigate around. Len’s cruising ahead whilst I take the occasional photo-stop. And as we catch up in the evening, I can see Len & his bike on the right (as usual, surrounded by a crowd of kids), and a local girl on the other side of the road, shouting something over in English & signalling that we shall come over. Sulya’s English is fairly good, and with our lack of Russian language skills, it is very nice indeed to be able to communicate for once. She introduces us to her family, insists that we stay with them for the night, and 5 minutes later we find ourselves in their front-garden, surrounded by an abundance of delicious food: chai, bread, tomatoes, cucumbers, scrambled egg, nuts from the mulberry tree – and the obligatory cups of local vodka. Looking at the amount of food, I expect this to be for the family as well – but no: they’ve eaten already, and prepared it only for us. Once again, the word ‘hospitality’ is taken to a new level. (I’m fairly aware of the basic way of life outside the big cities here – and large plates full of tomatoes and particularly fried eggs are certainly a little bit of luxury).

Over the course of the evening, Sulya translates between us and her family, and we have an incredible time filled with laughter and lots of smiles. As the full moon comes up behind the trees, I sink into bed under the open sky, knowing that this has certainly been one of my most memorable evenings in Central Asia so far.

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Tajikistan - First impressions

I've been buzy cutting a little 6m video of our first 2 days in Tajikistan. Thanks to Justyna from EnduroStany , who kindly provided all the footage she filmed during those 2 days.

So instead of trying to write about the awesome landscapes and people we encountered, I thought it'd be better to post this video onto youtube. A big thank you also to our mate Trevor here in Dushanbe, who kindly took us up in his family home, where we had a great & relaxing time before we will hit the Pamir Mountains, and good internet access (for the first time since leaving Iran!) to upload this video.

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Tajik Bureaucracy

Like most other former Soviet Republics, Tajikistan still has some rather annoying & unnecessary bureaucracy in place, an example of which is that every visitor has to register with the local authorities (the ‘OVIR’, a modern version of the ‘KGB’) within 5 days of entering the country. Considering the awful road conditions, I’m glad we actually made it to Dushanbe in time.

So, off to the OVIR office, queue up & fight off the locals who’re trying to jump the queue, show our passports, pay the registration fee & be happy, right? Wrong! Tourists are not allowed to register themselves personally. Instead, they have to go through one of the local tourist agencies – off course, for yet another fee!

So thanks to yet another prime example of Soviet bureaucracy (and an exercise in madness), what should have taken 10-15 minutes ended up taking 3 full days. On day three, after several hours of waiting in the tourist agency’s front garden (we were told to come at 4pm), we finally get our passports & registration certificate back, 7pm.

(Note: In theory one should register again upon entering Tajikistan’s autonomous region of Gorno-Badakshan, in either Murghab or Khorog. We didn’t do this, and had no problems when exiting Tajikistan. The only thing they asked for at the border was the initial registration paperwork. If you’re coming from Kyrgyzstan you’ll probably do the registration in Murghab – take a photocopy of your passport with you, as Murghab has limited electricity & the local OVIR office can’t do photocopies).

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Leaving Uzbekistan for Tajikistan

After 4 weeks of following the Silk Route in Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan, we are getting increasingly tired of hot and boring desert rides and so are very much looking forward to a change of landscape.

On the 2nd of August we leave Samarkand and make our way towards the Tajikistan border, some 40km away. From what I’ve heard and seen, Tajikistan has some of the most stunning landscapes in Central Asia: the Pamir mountains, stretching just North of the Afghan border.

Just a few km east of Samarkand, outside the main silk route trail, the tonws and villages already look a little more remote and less developed. Petrol stations are closed because of a power-cut, but a few km before the border we finally find a little garage where we convert our remaining local currency into some bottled, overprized & low-octane petrol.

As we rock up to the Uzbek border, the bikes once again get the full attention of the border guards. One of the guards takes particular interest in the bike’s GPS, pressing all the buttons he can. After a quick hand-shake & greeting, I decide to take his new little toy off the bike – the result being a sulky border official. Without any sense of humour, he points at every single piece of luggage: “Open! – Check!”…. great – well done, Bjorn! Maybe not the best idea to provoke a border guard. But then again: I don’t take his mobile phone & start messing around with it, do I?

2 hours later, we can finally leave Uzbekistan and make our way down a 100m track towards the Tajik border post. Another hour or so and we should be stamped into the country. Well… not quite: as it turns out, our visa starts running on the 4th of August. So we’re a full 2 days early. Great trip-planning, isn’t it? Back in London, I had spent a fair time mapping out the route and dates in my calendar. And yet I still managed to mess up one of the most basic & essential things… well done, once again!

A little glimpse of hope comes up when one of the border posts hands me over his mobile. An English-speaking voice with a decidedly Russian accent tells me exactly what I was thinking: that it should be possible to resolve the situation with a bribe. We decide that a $10 ‘contribution’ should be enough – but it soon becomes clear that ten bucks isn’t anywhere near worth a negotiation. Disillusioned we go back to the bikes, and with 2l of water, 3 apples & some bread in the pockets we prepare ourselves for 2 jolly nights of camping in Noman’s Land, between the two borders.

The best place for our campsite is about 50m away from a small farm-house, behind a few trees next to a river. The river water is so dirty, I’m sure I could use it to process my films if I wasn’t using a digital camera. Luckily, Len manages to score some tap-water from the border house, which is clean enough to boil & make some tea. Later in the evening we get a visit from Makhmut, one of the Tajik border guards we had met earlier, and another local guy. It’s the end of Makhmut’s shift and they’re here to check if we’re doing alright, and if we need anything. “We’re OK for water, but something to go with the bread would be nice.” 10 minutes later, we’ve got tomatoes, cucumbers and a bottle of vodka in front of us. Happy days!

Border crossing – Day 2: Although the trees cast some shade on the tent, it’s soon getting too hot in the tent. 9 o’clock marks the early end of my attempt for a nice lie-in. It’s not long before the first travellers make it across the border, all of who donate some food and clean water towards our ‘Stupid Motorcyclists Survival Fund’: over the course of the day we get spoilt with water mellons, energy bars, nuts, crackers and even some pot noodles from England. According to one of the tour agents who come through, we are THE topic of conversation at the border – everyone knows about us. Nice.

With nowhere to go, a full day between borders can get pretty dull at times, the only entertainment being to find a new spot in the shade every few hours, as the sun makes its way across the horizon. As I’m sitting underneath one of the few trees staring towards the Uzbek border post in complete boredom, all at once I see a huge red rectangular object, which from the distance looks like a bit like a British telephone box, slowly making its way across the border. I close my eyes, and when I open them again the red thing is still there & getting closer: what appears to be a UK telephone box, IS in fact a UK telephone box with an old lime-green/black bonnet “Mr Bean” Mini underneath. Crikey!

The two guys inside the car introduce themselves: Ben and Lewis from team ‘A Very British Adventure’ are part of the Mongol Rally, which takes them overland from London to Mongolia in aid of charity. Shortly afterwards, their female counterpart “Heels on Wheels” arrives: a pink Citroen with 2 high heels as a mascot. It’s getting later in the day now, and the heat is a bit more bearable. We start to fill our water bottles through the water filter & prepare for tomorrow’s ride into Tajikistan. We could cross the border at midnight but don’t want to ride in the night & instead aim to get up as early as possible in the morning.

But things soon change again – this time in our favour: A group of five people on 3 motorcycles from Poland comes past and they stop for a quick chat. I was on my way to the Tajik border guards anyway, and so I accompany the others up to the border post. If possible, Len and I would like to do all the bike & customs paperwork now, so we can ride off as soon as we get up. Luckily the polish bikers speak fluent Russian and explain my inquiry to Makhmut (the guard who supplied us with some food the day before). A brief discussion between them, and the following translation puts a big smile on my face: Makhmut wants us to remember him and Tajikistan in good spirit, and since it’s only another 5 hours to go until midnight, he’ll let us pass through the border now so we can travel with our new friends from Poland.

Getting into Tajikistan takes less than 30 minutes, and about 20km into the country we soon find a suitable campsite for the night: the locals point us towards a safe spot near the river where there’s enough space for all the bikes & tents. Food & a well-deserved beer in the panniers, we rock up to the river. Happy days, it seems… if it wasn’t for my first ‘off’: trying to cross a little muddy stream on the way to the camp, I loose control of the bike and the pannier corner falls straight on my left foot – a mere 15m away from happiness.

The pain soon diminishes and I’m humping along trying to set up the tent for the night. Thanks to Justyna, a trained vet from our EnduroStany friends, I get the appropriate treatment, followed by some ber and vodka. 2h later I’m alright to hit the sleeping bag for a good night’s kip.

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Turkey (3)

Back in Bandirma, we get the bikes back from our friend Bora to set off and cross Turkey within three rather long riding days through Anatolia and a brief sightseeing stop-over in Capadoccia.
Our last day in Turkey begins in Erzincum and takes us to Dogubayazit (or ‘Dog Biscuit’), about 40km from the Iranian border.
Some 100 miles before Dogubayazit, all at once the landscape is opening and getting decidedly more dramatic, with Turkey’s highest mountain Mt Ararat peeking through the clouds every now and then.

Strong side-winds make it difficult to keep the bike in a straight line – and at times, we find ourselves riding at quite an angle, pressing the bikes against the wind. There’s hardly any vehicles going our way, and oncoming traffic is dominated by large Iranian and Turkish trucks coming towards us – causing strong air turbulences that make it even more difficult to keep the bike upright and steady.

Dogubayazit has a distinctive frontier-town appearance to it. It’s located in the middle of nowhere, in a valley between two mountain ranges at the end of a long deserted highway. As we enter, a huge sandstorm is making its way across town. In a very strange way, I feel that I’ve just found myself in the middle of the first ‘Star Wars’ movie, and Dogubayazit is in fact Mos Iceley – a remote desert town where adventures start. I wouldn’t be surprised if, anytime soon, I bumped into Han Solo & Greedo having a game of poker at the bar.

As soon as we stop the motorbikes, people gather around us and look at us as if we were aliens, with either a funny nose & ears, or growing two heads. Within seconds we’re surrounded by children practicing the two words of English they know: “Hello” and “Money”, over and over again. We soon find a suitable hotel where the motorcycles sleep in the hotel lobby – and even better: a restaurant with decent food on the other side of the street. Some tasty kebabs, salads and a few beers in front of us, we can finally relax and look forward to tomorrows first ‘serious’ border crossing into Iran (which I heard can take anything between 2 and 5 hours).

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