Salaam alaikum,

If you’re familiar with this blog you’d know that planning is not a strength of ours whilst on the road. In fact I’ve recently come to the conclusion that a plan isn’t a plan until it has already happened, because when our ideas are formed (usually just hopes and dreams) the reality is that anything can still happen. So much so that any effort to create an initial plan was just time wasted. However this trip to Afghanistan was going to be a little different. Obviously we were beholden to the same judgments you probably are when you consider a visit to Afghanistan, but having heard it was possible we thought maybe now would be a good chance to try out this planning and research thing everybody seems to harp on about. So for about a week we chased the patchy wifi around Khorog trying to garner as much info as we could before the internet would inevitably drop out for the day. In the end our efforts provided little fruits as this photo essentially summarised everything useful we had learned. Aka not much.

The Wakhan Corridor is an epic region in North East Afghanistan. It is a small strip of land wedged between Tajikistan, China and Pakistan, 300km long and at its narrowest only 11km wide. The Great Game in the 1800’s was the reason behind its creation. The corridor was given to Afghanistan to create a buffer zone between Russian forces and British controlled Indian forces. Upon its creation the people of the region were divided into the new borders. This meant the Wakhi population became split between Tajikistan and Afghanistan, dividing families. A large group of nomads from Kyrgyzstan were also trapped in these new borders, some fled to Pakistan and were re-settled in Turkey, but today there are still about 1,000-2,000 Kyrgyz nomads living in Afghanistan. The Wakhi people and Kyrgz nomads are the main people you find in this region however many Afghanis come to trade or live because of the regions relative safety. The corridor sits in the province of Badakshan which is largely controlled by the Taliban but they have never made any ground in the Wakhan. The people of the Wakhan and mostly Ismaili Shia Muslim (religious minority) and despise the Taliban. A key attribute of the Ismaili is their focus on healthcare and education, particularly for women which is something not very prevalent in this part of the world. Having said that the Taliban were known to be only 30km from the town where you cross the border. The guards had plenty of videos to show us of the fighting in action. One of them could also had enough english to crack a few jokes, like how nice they were to not shoot the afghan cows that wandered across the border.

The Tajik guards did their paperwork and then unlocked the gate and sent us to the Afghan guards. Some more paperwork was done there, our bags were opened and glanced into as a tokenary search formality. and then we were on our way. They guards called a taxi from town and we were taken the 7km into the Afghan town of Ishkashim. It was nothing like we expected. We anticipated it to be a similar vibe to Tajikistan given we had literally only crossed a 50m river but it was like stepping across into a totally different world. Firstly the obvious poverty compared to Tajikistan was starc. No longer were there regular buildings, semi-paved roads or even many vehicles around. Everything was just dirt and mud, the roads, the houses, the shops. Religion and strict rules were also heavily enforced. There was a very notable reduction in women on the street, and the ones that we saw were either wearing a hijab at minimum, but many the full burka. All the men wore traditional dress. 

We were the only foreigners in town. Naturally that attracts many stares but despite our best efforts to wear appropriate clothing, we jumped at the first opportunity to buy Ana a headscarf and baggy dress. Our new disguise was far from inconspicuous so didn’t really change things that much.

Understandably foreigners attract exorbitantly high prices for everything in Afghanistan. For example even changing our US dollars to Afghani at the initial rate offered would have lost us $30USD in the transfer. Fortunately, Ana is a great bargainer and won’t rest until she gets a fair price. Unfortunately she receives zero status or authority in Afghanistan due to her not man-ness. So the bargaining job was left to me. Or you could rephrase that to be the job of charitable donations was left to me. 

The challenge was that since we were basically (and rightly) perceived as cash cows, everyone wanted a slice of the pie. This made it hard because unless we wanted to give away all our cash on day one, it felt like we couldn’t trust anybody. Particularly not anyone who could string a few english phrases together. Because any small service or favour would inevitably attract a fee. It automatically makes you judge everyone harshly because instead of believing people are acting out of kindness which feels natural, you have a narcissistic view that they don’t care about you, they just want as much of your wallet that they can get. A hard mindset to adopt and an even more uncomfortable one to maintain.

Hence our goal for the day was to get the paperwork all done and hit the road as soon as possible to get some peace on our own for the night and take in everything from the day. But as fate would have it, there seemed little chance of that plan happening. We’d arrived at 1:30pm and because the month of Ramadan had begun everything closes at 1pm each day. Missed it by that much! Additionally, tomorrow would be Friday, the national day off (weekend) in Afghanistan which meant we might be forced to spend two nights (at $25USD per person per night) waiting it out in Ishkashim. Something we did not have the budget for. We begged and pleaded until our taxi driver called around and got our tourist ID’s sorted and our paperwork delivered to all four police and military bases in the town. This set us back $40USD we hadn’t budgeted for but it meant we were on our way. 

A gang of 7 kids excited by our arrival walked a few meters behind us giggling and watching for several kilometres as we walked out of town towards the setting sun. As the town disappeared and the kids eventually turned back it was just us and the cool mountain air again. A calm came over us and was a huge relief from the chaos and intensity that the day until then had brought over us. We could finally relax. We had basically come to Afghanistan because a guide book we had suggested a 200km walk deep into the Afghan mountains that would be sparsely inhabited by nomadic Kyrgyz people grazing their goats and yaks for the short summer. But from the town of Ishkashim where we were to the start of the trail was also 200km, serviced by a rough, sometimes impassable road with a questionable and unknown amount of traffic. 

Our spirits were high though and we found it funny that it was one of the few places in the world where when we gestured to people we were going to walk the 200km to Sarhad (the town at the trailhead) they totally accepted it without hesitation. If I told people at home I was going to walk the 200km from Wangaratta to Melbourne to go see something they probably just wouldn’t believe me. But over here its what everyone does, that’s how you get around, you walk. So as we settled into the idea that we may be walking for the next 10 days to get to the start of the hike and debating whether we should buy a donkey to accompany us a little orange truck rumbled over the horizon behind us. Stoked that we would certainly get a lift we dordled onwards waiting for it to catch us. Then we sat down and waited for a bit…… then dordled some more. At this pace we were outrunning the truck as it bounced along the track. Literally 30 minutes later it had made up the kilometre gap separating us and they were more than happy to throw us on the roof. What better way to start the journey, even if our progress was at that of a brisk walk, and even if that lift then pulled over a kilometre later to call it for the night.

But no sooner had we jumped down then a Toyota Camry with a windscreen resembling that of a shattered spiders web came rallying down the road. After a lot of misconceptions about the price we would pay for the lift we eventually just got in and hoped for the best. The light faded and we continued fanging through the night. Until we just stopped. Outside was pitch black and there wasn’t a soul in sight. Then they gestured to follow them and we were led away from the car into the darkness. Hmmmm, what choice did we have. So we put our faith in them and followed. Over a few banks and fields and into some bushes we went. A dimly lit and quiet mud-brick home emerged. Inside was one big room with about 6-7 women and children quietly sleeping and waiting for the men to return. It was the family of one of the men in the car. The women brought in a fancy jug of warm water for us to wash our hands and face with before they brought out a few plates of delicious creamy rice, bread and some fresh mint and spring onion. It was a quiet and intimate setting while we all ate, sitting on the ground eating with our hands from the communal plates. Once finished, mats were rolled out to sleep on and blankets to keep us toasty. What a beautiful way to end the first day.

The next day started at 4:30am with the rising sun, the house stirred to life and the valley lit up to show us the incredible place we had arrived in the night before. 

We ventured back to the car to continue the journey onwards and to see what the next thing Afghanistan would throw at us would be. Those stories in the next post.

Spasibo,

Lachie