Lonely pylons cut across a rocky & deserted landscape close to our campsite ...
Last night in the Old country
One of the more important tasks before leaving Murghab was to fill up the bikes with as much fuel as we could cram into both tanks and any spare containers. I used to own a purpose designed spare petrol container, but this was thrown off the back and left on the road somewhere between Kiva and Samarqand back in Uzbekistan. My extra fuel therefore was carried in a 2-litre water-bottle wedged into the spare tyre. Petrol was sporadically available between here and Kyrgyzstan we'd been told, but we may need to ask the locals to find out if they've any spare they would be willing to sell. It seemed sensible therefore to buy as much as we could before setting off, as there sure weren't any well presented service stations selling a full range of fuels, with coffee and snacks and adjacent KFC or McDo' (thank goodness?). To highlight the sort of thing we might expect the service-station in Murghab was down a back-street. I would have ridden past and missed the place, but for another long-distance bike who'd got there before me and was refuelling a big Beemer. I watched with some interest as the petrol was hand-pumped out of a 52 gallon drum into a bucket. They took due care to pour it through a filtered funnel, but that was only going to stop the big bits getting into the tank. More importantly though research indicated the quality was likely to be fairly suspect.
Watered-down Yak's Piss?
I think it goes something like ... a mix of petrol, water and Yak's piss. I remember reading somewhere that you could test for watered down petrol by tasting it. Though after hearing the reference to Yak's piss, I was happy to let the onboard engine management sort things out. It either worked or not, cos I sure didn't fancy swilling any yak, goat or indeed any other animals pee around my mouth just on the off-chance the petrol had been watered down. I don't recall the cost per liter locally there in Murghab, but do remember it was a good percentage more than we'd paid elsewhere in Tajikistan. With little competition and along with a long bumpy haul over rough roads for the aging fuel-trucks, we had little choice but to cough-up!
Water was taken from that puddle in front to see if it was potable ... The result? Eeeuch!
We were to have one more night out in the wilds of the Pamirs before crossing the border into our next country. Kyrgyzstan was to be our last Stan' and each kilometre brought us closer. Before that though there was the opportunity to be able to pitch our tents right next to a lake. But this time, instead of scrabbling around in the dark as we did the night before Murghab, we'd actually arrived with daylight enough to make a decent campsite. In pitching our tents it was decided we'd utilise some of the local fuel and make a dung-fire.
Dung fire ...
The Pamir summer evening chill meant a nice fire would cheer as well as warm us. And along with a last minute purchase in Murghab giving us some inner warmth to look forward to as well. Kyrgyz' vodka as our chosen tipple (mind you, not that there was much else available) would accompany the spicy tuna rice. Hmmm, come to think of it, it might have been spicy tuna pasta? I forget whether it was rice or pasta now, as these were the only two food items we only ever seemed to cook ... but what I didn't forget was that we had some good bread. Out of all the staples through our travels so far, I did like the breads in central Asia. Mostly they were simple loaves fashioned into a round shape, with a flattened and sometimes patterned or nigella seed-decorated middle section. It was always cheap, always freshly baked and always tasty. I loved it!
Clouds touching down. With Photo-biker Bjorn ...
Out of interest more than necessity we tried filtering some of the water collected from the lake, using my purpose bought Uni-dyne water-filter. It came through clear as crystal, and certainly looked potable, but upon sampling it tasted bloody awful. The dissolved mineral content imbued it with a bitter taste that could not be ignored. It was too foul tasting to drink and was of no use for anything apart from washing dishes or clothes. This was no matter though, as we intended to press on to the Kyrgyz' border that day. There were settlements shown in Kyrgyzstan on our map where we'd likely be able to buy water, and in going through more mountains were also likely to pass clean streams where we could refill if needed. We sure weren't going to be waterless for too long ...
I have no idea recollection whatsoever of what I was doing in this picture. Might've been screaming come to think of it ....
There were a few Km's between the Tajik and Kyrgyz' border posts, and found we spent some working our way through no-man's land after being stamped out at the last Tajikistan check-point. We battled a rocky track for what seemed a long time, but was probably only 40 minutes or so. The broken road went on for a number of kilometres but during that time noticed a subtle change in the surrounding landscape. It was the colour that caught my attention. After a week or more of the Pamirs monochrome, colour was bound to jump out as something different. With my eyes becoming accustomed to seeing little more than a spectrum of grey as we traversed that rock-rich land, found we'd ventured in between two mountains clothed with the greeny-yellow of a spartan species of grass. We were riding down into a valley that was increasingly colourful. Grass could only mean one thing. Soil! It was then that it struck me. That we'd ridden right across Tajikistan and apart from odd pockets of growth down by the few river-gorges, there were almost no trees or shrubs in the Pamirs. The reason was simple, no soil. There was some water, but with little soil to anchor its roots any plant bigger than knee height was a rarity. Once away from the rivers the only vegetation were mostly low-growing with furry leaves to minimise water-loss and tap roots that burrowed deep into the sparse sand and gravels. And here as a kind of paradox, at the time of leaving the country we were reminded of the absence of vegetation because of it's sudden reappearance.
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