My Students

Unable to cycle, I found myself with a lot of time on my hands. So I volunteered to teach English at the local high school in Ishkashim.
It was easy. They were the most eager to learn and well behaved teenagers Ive ever seen. Every hand in the class shot up in the air whenever I asked a question or needed a volunteer. They almost convinced me to stay. Instead I promised to send them a box with English books.

Afgan Market

Ishkashim is right on the boarder with Afganistan. Every Saturday police line the bridge and let Tajiks and tourists cross the river to the Afgan market. They sell all sorts of things, fabric, clothes, blankets, spices, dyes, medicines, cookies, fruit, and toys.
I hesitated to post this photo but we were all laughing when I took it. This man was selling toy guns. I pointed to the guns and said ´Afganinstan´in a voice full of false fear. He laughed and pointed one at me. Its red lights lit up and made a whirring sound. We laughed even harder.

Gulmama

Gulmama is the man who put my shoulder back together. He thinks I am a big baby. Everytime he sees me with my arm in a sling hequestiones his eyebrows together, tsks his tongue and waives his had dismissively. I dont understand what he says but I imagine it translates something along the lines of ´What the hell is this for?´or ´Get back on your bicycle already!´

September 9

September 9, 1991 is the day Tajikistan formally declared independence from the Soviet Union. To celebrate school children lined the streets waiving flags and singing songs. Then processed to the local soccer stadium for more songs, traditional dances and arm wrestling. Like in other towns throughout the country, here in Ishkashim it is a big deal!

Therapy

In this photo my shoulder is still dislocated although I have been diagnosed with arthritis. Im no medical expert but Im pretty sure you cant fall off your bike and get arthritis. Everyone I meet is sure that I will be fine after a thereputic visit to Garm Chashma, a local hotspring. Needless to say it didnt work.

A Change of Transport

This was the day I fell. Despite the dislocated shoulder I had to get back on the bike and try to ride to find help. I hadn´t seen a vehicle all day long. It was no small miracle that after a painful 5km there was a house with a jeep!
The next day they would drive me two days til we found a doctor.

The man in the yellow hat has rubies in his pocket.

Yashıl Kul

Almost everyone asks me the same questions. In almost the same order. Where are you from? Are you alone? Are you scared? Are you married? How old are you?
Despite the language barrier I have learned to recognize each question and answer in Russian.
If I bump into some one who knows a little bit of English the next question is always ´What if it rains?´
If it rains, I put on my rain coat, rain pants and gloves. For the most part, I´ve been lucky with the weather. Today in Yashil Kul it poured but cleared up just as quickly as it came.

Snack Time!

I have a fantastic map of the Pamirs! It shows all the altitudes, distances and towns. It even has cute little symbols to tell you what each town has to offer, a clinic, a teahouse, a homestay, or a store. According to the map, there was going to be a limited selection of food outside of Murgab. So I stopped by the market and picked up some instant noodles and a few potatoes and carrots before I left town. Despite my menu planning, often they end up as dead weight.
What the map didnt say was that the few yurts scattered in the mountainside were inhabited by some of the most generous people I´ve ever met. More often than not I am offered bread, butter and tea. Sometimes they insist I take some to go.

Flags

Its a popular idea. Represent your country with a flag waiving off the back of your bike. I see lots swaying and fluttering victoriously behing a cyclist. I dont have one. Lately I dont feel so victorious about my country. (but thats for another blog entry)
A few weeks ago I stopped to chat with some cyclists headed in the opposite direction. We swapped route suggestions and warned eachother about the bad roads ahead. As they advised me where I could fill uo on water I eyed their blue flag with white cross on it. Feeling well travelled and in the know I said 'so you guys are from Scotland'. He looked at me like I was stupid. 'No. Quebec' he said.
Don't make the same mistake. This proud cyclist is in Murgab, Tajikistan not Mexico or Hungary.

Getting High

Whiteface Mountain1045m, Mt Rushmore 1745m, Mt Rainer 4352m, Mt Elbert 4401m. Bernadette in the Ak Baital Pass 4655m! All the tourist information for the Pamir region warn of altitude sickness and advise you to asend slowly. That was easily done. The only lightheadedness I felt came from the swelling of satisfaction. My daffy grin resulted not from the thin air but the pride of accomplishment.

Marmots

I was so excıted to fınally get a pıcture of one of these lıttle suckers! They quıckly scamper across the ground, pause at the mouth of theır lıttle holes, flap theır long flat taıls and dıve ın. It all happens so fast that ıts almost ımpossıble to get a good look a them much less stop and take out your camera. Thıs one must have been stupıd. He stood there for at least three mınutes. Not that I thınk they are really ıntellıgent ın general. But then I dont actually know all that much about marmots. Do you?

Weavıng

This woman is setting up her loom. Although she lıves ın Tajıkıstan she ıs ethnıcally Kyrgys and I can ımagıne thıs wıll be a colorful decoratıon for the ınsıde of her yurt. We laughed at her hands staıned purple from dyıng the threads.

Marco Polo Sheep

'Marco!'

'Polo!'



How did an Italian explorer become both a swımmıng pool game and a breed of sheep? He got way more than hıs 15 mınutes of fame.

Marco Polo sheep skulls are a popular decoratıon ın the barren Pamır plateaus. They are also apparently quıte tasty although they are a protected specıes. But theır meat sells ın the market for lower prıces than regular sheep meat. Maybe thats why I dıdnt see any.

Lake Karakul

Road

Another Bernadette By Bike quiz: Which direction does the road head?

Autumn ın the Pamirs

It ıs too hıgh here for much to grow but I was stıll ımpressed by the colors of the small weeds that dare to reach for the sky.

Welcome to Tajıkıstan!

You never know whats goıng to happen when you roll up to a border. I had all my paperwork ın order but thats stıll no sure bet. When I got to Tajıkıstan, I met a group on horseback who had been there for two days watchıng the border guards test rıde theır horses and race eachother. I thınk thıs worked ın my favor- they were otherwıse entertaıned and stamped my papers through ın a record 45 mınutes!

Welcome to Tajıkıstan!

Kyzyl Art Pass

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for reducıng, reusıng and recyclıng. And throughout my travels I have seen very creatıve ways to reuse sıgns. As car doors, roofıng materıal, brıdges, you name ıt. But reusıng a sıgn as a sıgn? Thıs was fırst.
Over the top ıs the Tajık border... What happened to all the snow you saw from Sary Tash? I don't know, I asked the same questıon.

Headed for the Hills

Welcome to Sary Tash. The last town on the road out of Kyrgystan. See those snow covered hılls? That's where I'm headed. Tajıkıstan, here I come!

Full of Nuts

What can I say about thıs photo that ıt doesnt already say?

Bar keep

İt's 9;00 am and you're headed to the bazar to buy some bread and maybe to sell those tomatoes your wıfe pıcked yesterday. The sun ıs shınıng and ıt's gettıng warm. You're feelıng a lıttle thırsty and you thınk, 'crap ıts goıng to be a long day why not start ıt off rıght wıth a stıff drınk?' Well lucky for you the bar ıs open!

Photo Opportunıtıes

What do you do when your cıty doesnt have enough monuments for you to pose ın front of? Why, you create staged photo opportunıtıes!
Osh ıs a very famous town but the source of ıts fame ıs the bazar and although ıt was of great photographıc ınterest to me, I dıdnt see any local shutterbugs. No sır, they save theır fılm for backdrops lıke the one you see here. Photo opportunıtes were statıoned all throughout town some ınvolvıng gıant pıctures of waterfalls or European castles. Some wıth gıant teddybears on plastıc chaırs. Some wıth gıant vases ofplastıc flowers. I thought thıs one takes the cake though.

Fuel

Yes , I have become one of those tourısts who takes photos of theır food. These are samsas . Samsas are the Central Asıan ancestor of the hotpocket. I eat them all the tıme. The most common varıety ıs meat an onıons. But Ive also had some wıth potatoes. They are cooked ın the same way bread ıs, stuck to the sıde of a tandoor oven. When they are done they are scraped off the sıde and set to cool. Yum!

A Bump in the Road

I suppose something was bound to happen. I hit a bump in the road and fell off my bike. It took 1 week, 3 'hospitals', (the first one had no doctor) 5 excrutiating jeep rides, 6 doctors and $4 worth of x-rays to discover that my shoulder was dislocated.

Relocating it was a scene Monty Python couldnt have done better. First they took me to a crumbling tile room in the surgery department. Looking at all the knives laid out on an old bedsheet, I tried using sign language to ask if they were going to operate. Everyone laughed. It wasn't reassuring.

After some frantic insisting they brought in a nurse who spoke some basic English. Her translation skills were lacking. I had to keep asking her what the doctor was saying and she would respond with "he is discussing your health" or "just trust the doctor". I hit the roof when I saw the syringe. I asked her what it was. She looked at me like I was stupid and said "its medicine." "But what is it going to do to me?!" I shreiked. Again she looked at me in disbelief. "Its going to make you feel better" she said. I had better luck trying to communicate with the non English speaking doctor. It was novacain. (later I would laugh with some tourists who were travelling on horseback. They only ever give their horses 10mg of novacain. I got 20mg.)

With a completely numb shoulder I laid face down on the rickety metal operating table. THey tied a piece of gauze around my wrist and hung rusty 45 kilo weights to it. 'STVAT MINOOT' (5 minutes) the doctor shouted! 5 minutes turned into a 45 minute circus. I was shouting that my hand was turning purple and was quite uncomfortable. The nurse was telling me I was not a patient person. Then I discovered that my arm was longer than the table legs and I could just rest the weights on the floor. Then I tried to explain the situation. (not easy) Then they tried to figure out how to make the table taller. (also not easy) Instead they put pillows under me. This was also difficult because I still had weights tied to one arm. No, I could not sit up! The doctors brought in other doctors they all would frown shout at me in Russian, laugh and slam the door when the left. People were coming and going, laughing and shouting, staring and whispering. At one point everyone left the room. I didnt think this was so funny. All I could do was angrily shout 'Svat minoot niet! (This isnt 5 minutes!) and Balin! (pain)

Finally I heard it. A faint snap! My shoulder was back in place. The doctor poked and prodded. 'Harasho' (ok) he said through his bushy moustache. I got another x-ray just to make sure. Now its just sore and tender. I cant ride my bike. I cant even carry my bags, which is a real pain when you're travelling. Literally.

So instead I spent three weeks in the internetless village of Ishkashim volunteering at the local school. It was a blast. But today my Tajik visa expires. So I have come to Dushanbe (the capital) to plead with the authorities to give me four more days so I can catch my flight to Istanbul on Thursday.

Photos to come...