Well quite, I hear you cry. Almost in Russia, Qinaliq (pr. Khunalukh) is a world away from Baku. Ladies wear headscarves, bees roam freely in the unkept meadows, villagers burn animal shit for heating, and houses rooves provide pathways and front balconies for those higher up.
If only the food had been edible:
Tajikistan deserves all the superlatives thrown at it; they all stick. So awfully dirt poor, uber hospitable, proud, surprising, with perfectly clear skies and blue lakes, and so very good at squatting.
Although the last to be uploaded, this is the first in the series of Tajik pictures and covers the north the west and the Pamirs to Ishkashim, on the border with Afghanistan:
Continue reading the road to dushanbe
The Eastern Pamir is the size of Holland and home to 16,000 people; even that is unsustainable. Murgab, the only town of note, has a market based in aircraft and shipping containers, and a constant pong of burning tesgerine; uber-unpleasant.
We travelled up from the Afghan border, through Bulunkul, Murgab and up to Jailang – don’t look for it on your maps, Jailang is a settlement of three yurtes and two whitewashed buildings at 4100m that are home to an extended family of yak herders.
High-altitude adventure at it’s best: