Khorog – Basid; 150 km, 10 hours
Before continuing east to the high plateau of the eastern Pamirs, I decided to backtrack from Khorog to the Bartang Valley and indulge in more of the rugged terrain of the west. I asked around, and was passed around, finally landing with three old timers in a “Soviet Union jeep” (actually it was a ’92, so technically a Russian jeep). After greasing the drive shaft, filling the radiator, and inflating the bald tires, they fired it up – with a manual crank, just like you would a lawnmower. It was the perfect rig: simple, and easy to repair when it breaks down (that’s when, not if).
The Pamiris are hearty folks accustomed to adventurous cross-country driving. About midway up the Bartang we approached an unstable slope of scree, where two landslides had impaired the road. The first slide deposited an impassable layer of sludge, and there were soon several vehicles gathered at the bottleneck. No need for a tractor - four Pamiris with shovels can do a better job, it was explained to me. The men were busy clearing the road as the women sat in their respective vehicles, scratching their arms, in a kaleidoscope of scarves and dresses. The first vehicle to make it through was an Aga Khan Land Cruiser, followed by a Russian minibus, the Russian jeep, and finally a Chinese minibus – dead on arrival, but an easy recovery job for the jeep.
The Bartang Valley is a dramatic river canyon, supervised aloft by a corridor of 5,000-meter peaks. From the river elevation of just over 2,000 meters, the canyon walls soar vertically 3,000 meters, uninterrupted, creating a topographical relief matched by few other places. At the head of the valley teeters Sarez Lake, formed in 1911 when a 6.5+ magnitude earthquake triggered a massive landslide whose debris formed a natural dam of the Murgab River. The ensuing reservoir, which now measures 16 cubic kilometers of water, poses a potential catastrophe of epic proportions were the natural dam to fail.
The jeep driver’s brother invited me to stay with his family in Basid – 90km up the Bartang Valley - where flocks of sheep playfully hop over the village’s clever network of gravity-fed water canals, whose primary purpose is to irrigate their fields of potato, wheat, and alfalfa, and orchards of apricot, apple, and mulberry. The canals also power a hydroelectric generator and, to my amazement, a giant wheat mill driven underneath by a paddle wheel. But viewed from the steep ridges above, Basid is a mere patch of greenery, clinging to a sliver of river alluvion, and dwarfed by an expanse of surrounding inhospitality.
Life in the Pamir Range occurs on the margin, affording little in the way of culinary luxuries, for example, as I discovered during the course of my homestays. Each meal consists strictly of bread, potatoes, and scraps of mutton. I began to look for symptoms of scurvy among the villagers. On our drive in, I had asked an Aga Khan health worker what the most prevalent medical issues were in the region: ‘Very bad roads, is the problem.’
‘Any other health problems?’
‘Lots of farmers, and many times injuring their back from manual labor.’
‘Ahhh, I see. But what about diseases?’
He pointed to his appendix: ‘This problem sometimes, and many diarrhea. We deliver pharmaceuticals.’
One day a little girl asked me if I had a ‘cure’ for her uncle’s painful knee, for which I administered a tablet of acetaminophen. Thereafter, on a daily basis, neighbors trickled in to present me with their ailments, and I was gradually relieved of my limited medical provisions. If only I could have anticipated their needs and brought more with me…
Before continuing east to the high plateau of the eastern Pamirs, I decided to backtrack from Khorog to the Bartang Valley and indulge in more of the rugged terrain of the west. I asked around, and was passed around, finally landing with three old timers in a “Soviet Union jeep” (actually it was a ’92, so technically a Russian jeep). After greasing the drive shaft, filling the radiator, and inflating the bald tires, they fired it up – with a manual crank, just like you would a lawnmower. It was the perfect rig: simple, and easy to repair when it breaks down (that’s when, not if).
The Pamiris are hearty folks accustomed to adventurous cross-country driving. About midway up the Bartang we approached an unstable slope of scree, where two landslides had impaired the road. The first slide deposited an impassable layer of sludge, and there were soon several vehicles gathered at the bottleneck. No need for a tractor - four Pamiris with shovels can do a better job, it was explained to me. The men were busy clearing the road as the women sat in their respective vehicles, scratching their arms, in a kaleidoscope of scarves and dresses. The first vehicle to make it through was an Aga Khan Land Cruiser, followed by a Russian minibus, the Russian jeep, and finally a Chinese minibus – dead on arrival, but an easy recovery job for the jeep.
The Bartang Valley is a dramatic river canyon, supervised aloft by a corridor of 5,000-meter peaks. From the river elevation of just over 2,000 meters, the canyon walls soar vertically 3,000 meters, uninterrupted, creating a topographical relief matched by few other places. At the head of the valley teeters Sarez Lake, formed in 1911 when a 6.5+ magnitude earthquake triggered a massive landslide whose debris formed a natural dam of the Murgab River. The ensuing reservoir, which now measures 16 cubic kilometers of water, poses a potential catastrophe of epic proportions were the natural dam to fail.
The jeep driver’s brother invited me to stay with his family in Basid – 90km up the Bartang Valley - where flocks of sheep playfully hop over the village’s clever network of gravity-fed water canals, whose primary purpose is to irrigate their fields of potato, wheat, and alfalfa, and orchards of apricot, apple, and mulberry. The canals also power a hydroelectric generator and, to my amazement, a giant wheat mill driven underneath by a paddle wheel. But viewed from the steep ridges above, Basid is a mere patch of greenery, clinging to a sliver of river alluvion, and dwarfed by an expanse of surrounding inhospitality.
Life in the Pamir Range occurs on the margin, affording little in the way of culinary luxuries, for example, as I discovered during the course of my homestays. Each meal consists strictly of bread, potatoes, and scraps of mutton. I began to look for symptoms of scurvy among the villagers. On our drive in, I had asked an Aga Khan health worker what the most prevalent medical issues were in the region: ‘Very bad roads, is the problem.’
‘Any other health problems?’
‘Lots of farmers, and many times injuring their back from manual labor.’
‘Ahhh, I see. But what about diseases?’
He pointed to his appendix: ‘This problem sometimes, and many diarrhea. We deliver pharmaceuticals.’
One day a little girl asked me if I had a ‘cure’ for her uncle’s painful knee, for which I administered a tablet of acetaminophen. Thereafter, on a daily basis, neighbors trickled in to present me with their ailments, and I was gradually relieved of my limited medical provisions. If only I could have anticipated their needs and brought more with me…
