Profile
Blog
Photos
Videos
A leisurely start to the day with a breakfast at 1000 consisting of 3 eggs each, bread, cheese, butter and jam. When the fried, soft yoked eggs arrived Maria looked at me concerned and asked 'How do you catch Semolina?'.
We took a short drive at 1100 to start our visit to Solomon's Throne, a holy place on top of a local mountain. A steep initial climb cross country took us to the concreted and railed path that lead us past the museum and on to Babur's Shrine. The views were stunning and on the way Ulan explained that the many caves in the hill side dated back to the Bronze Age and that they were used during Soviet times as a hiding place for locals evading the grip of communism. Today, the caves are used as healing places as the mountain is said to be holy.
As we walked to the summit we were shown several holes in the rocks where visitors could insert limbs with the expectation that whatever ailment was present would be healed. There was even a small, shallow cave into which barren women can crawl with the hope of getting pregnant. Not one for such folk tales I reckon they'd have as much success getting pregnant here as they would by
Anyway, Maria took the opportunity to plug a hole with her right hand, the palm of which has been hurting due, we think, to over use of the camcorder. She also slid on her back three times down a very smooth rock that must have been used for centuries to cure lumbar problems. What's the odds that she's cured already?
At the end of our trek is a small shrine dedicated to Babur as it marks the place where he used to visit Osh, pray and enjoy the view from the mountain. Inside the small prayer room we were shown the imprint made by Mohammad in the rock floor. His forehead, knees, elbow, right hand and thumb, including finger nail, were all etched into the rock, which is said to have melted when he touched the stone surface in the act of prayer. Mmmmmm Let's leave it at that shall we?
On the journey to Sary Tash we encountered numerous cattle and sheep herders on the main highway, taking their animals to the mountain pastures to graze. It was no problem getting past as the flocks seemed to know the routine and more often than not they made way for the noisy mechanical chariots. We reached the first pass at 2400 m, which was patrolled by soldiers until as recently as 1984 as a permit was required to cross the border into China. Without the need for such bureaucracy these days we take a stop to enjoy the view then get back on our way for the remaining 5-6 hours of our journey through the valley. Ulan tells us to enjoy the tarmac road as we won't have such luxury for much longer.
Ulan was right. We soon encounter what can only be described as a road under construction. Heavy plant, lorries and men can be seen all along the route plugging holes in the road. It reminds me so much of the private roads back home where the residents are communally too stingy to repair them and prefer instead to abandon the highway code and all road discipline in their vain attempts to find a surface that is vaguely flat. It also became apparent that the inhabitants of the valley look totally different to the residents of Osh, or Fergana for that matter; they look distinctly Mongol.
We encountered a check-point 2 hours in, that wasn't there 2 days ago, consisting of 2 uniformed policemen and a plainclothes narcotics agent. It's likely that there had been a tip off that drugs were being imported in lorries arriving from either China or Kazakhstan and so the barrier was put in place to try and apprehend them. The driver got out and went with the plainclothes chap, wallet in hand, and I thought that there was no way that he was going to pass without coughing up a few Som. I kept a keen eye on his wallet as the two of them conversed but didn't see any exchange of money so assume everything was ok. We were soon on our way.
Maria and I thought the scenery on the drive through was spectacular. The colours of the rocks were incredibly vibrant and the reds and oranges contrasted starkly with the white of the mountains that peaked through every now and then and the green of the meadows or low rolling hills. Every so often, the beauty was interrupted with the pyramids of black of aggregate/ shingle lining the roads or the bright yellow CAT plant neatly lined up. I could easily have stopped every 5 minutes to take more pictures but avoided the urge as I wanted to keep us more or less on time. I regret it now and fear that the pictures that I did take will not do justice to the magnificent spectacle that greeted us every time we looked out of the mini-bus windows.
The glorious experience could not last forever, however, and the closer we got to the next pass, the more the weather became inclement until. Pretty soon we found ourselves in the middle of a snow storm and we hadn't even reached the 3600m summit. The road up the mountain was a muddy bog that was becoming increasingly treacherous as the falling snow melted creating even more mud. Our driver was extremely competent and although he often took his eyes off the road to speak with Ulan he always seemed to know exactly where he was. We reached the summit at 3600m and got out to take the obligatory photos. On a god day the highest peak in Central Asia (7000m) is visible from the top but today we were lucky if you could see 50m. I just about managed to get something that would give an idea of how bad the weather had turned and thought I'd take a picture of the oncoming open-topped van to give some perspective. I still feel sorry for the poor shivering horse in the back that still had 30 minutes of that atrocious weather to endure!
Nearing the homestay accommodation for tonight, Ulan mentioned that the toilet was outside. 'So no shower tomorrow then' Maria tested. 'You can shower when you get to Kashgar' came the reply. We were a little miffed at this as we wanted to be a little smarter tomorrow for the Chinese border crossing. That plan was now out of the window. We also did not have any wet wipes as this was the first time we'd heard there would be no washing facilities. Doubly out of the window!
Washing facilities excepted, our room for the night is wonderful. We have a traditional carpeted bedroom with loads of blankets and cushions and the 'dining-room' is similarly decorated but has a lovely warm coal fire and low level eating table. The owner, Mr Mirabek, is a wonderfully kind man with a warm smile and extremely generous nature and has been supplying us with copious amounts of black tea and a scrumptious dinner. His cute, but positively shy daughter, has also been bringing us tea but refuses to say anything or smile, not even when Maria gave her some chocolate. She just accepted it then rushed out again.
We decided to have an early night and watch Legally Blonde in bed (well sleeping bags really) and, although I needed the loo, foolishly thought I could hold it in 'til morning. We enjoyed the film but my bladder was starting to protest at having to inflate to the size of pregnant cow's udder so I got dressed, found my head torch and strolled to the loo. It was gone midnight. When I came back I managed to blind Maria with the torch. In my consideration not to disturb her I thought it best to keep all the lights off; what a cunning plan that was.
- comments