Afghani Encounters on the Silk Route

The dream was vivid. I was cycling down a steep, dirt road towards a fast moving river that ran into a deep, arid valley. When I dared to lift my head from the treacherous road I saw a spectacular snow-covered range of mountain peaks. Finally I arrived at the bottom of the valley. Andreas, our Silk Route tour leader, tells me that the road ahead is closed due to a landslide and the only way onward is to cross the river.

“But that is Afghanistan” I exclaim.

“Yeah, I know” he says, “but look how amazing it is.”

“Are you mad?” I yell.

“Well you are the last one. Everyone has crossed” he responds.

It is with that anger ready to erupt that I woke up and heard the soothing sounds of a fast-moving river. I lay there for a few minutes, contemplating the dream and what caused it. It does not take my psychoanalyst to figure this one out. After all, I am in Khorog, the gateway to the Pamir Mountains, sometimes called the Rooftop of the World. The town is located on the Tajik side of the Pamj River. I, and the intrepid cyclists of the 2016 Silk Route Cycling Expedition, have just cycled across the tough and beautiful Rooftop of the World – though I must admit that unlike all of them I did spend a fair amount of time in the support vehicles. Of course I thought I had a good excuse. After all I joined this intrepid group only three weeks ago and I am not in the same shape as the cyclists who had been hard at it since Beijing. The only problem with that excuse is that there were a few other sectionals riders, none of them caring much to enjoy the view from the comfort of the support vehicles.

As I open the zipper of my tent, facing me across the river is a striking mountain; yes the mountain is in Afghanistan, the Afghanistan that has been in the news and our consciousness since 9/11. As I look at the other side – a few buildings among the trees at the bottom of the mountain, somehow this peaceful site feels unreal. After all, I do not feel a threat or any uneasiness, quite the opposite! Instead, I have a curiosity and the desire to go and have a closer look. I am not the only one. At least half a dozen riders mentioned over the last few days that they would love to touch Afghani soil and were questioning Jovid, our Tajik guide, about how would it be possible to do so.

Fortunately, neither Jovid nor Andreas were able to help them, but they did point out that only two hundred meters from where I am standing is a bridge. On the Tajik side of the bridge there is a complex where once a month Afghani traders bring their wares and Tajik buyers will haggle over prices. Hopefully for both sides, it will be a win-win proposition.

I have my breakfast at the Serena Hotel, on whose grounds we are camping. Then I take my Tajik money and, like all the other riders, I head to the Afghani market to do what inhabitants and traders from far and wide have been doing on the Silk Road forever – trading, chatting, breaking bread and sharing a few stories – perhaps even establishing  friendships that will last a lifetime.