Вдоль границы с Афганистаном, река Пяндж. Хорог - Душанбе Таджикистан. Центральная Азия 2024г.

Hi everyone, finally got around to the continuation! October 1, 2024 We've been on the road for two weeks now. On the fifteenth day, we reached Khorog, having covered 540 km in 17 hours, through the Pamirs at an altitude of over 3,000 m. Khorog is located at an altitude of 2,200 m, in a picturesque gorge on the Gunt River (a tributary of the Panj), and we decided to stop for a day to rest from the mountain marathon. We checked into the Alibaba Pamir Hotel after midnight, so we didn't even see where we'd arrived. We arrived at a cozy spot with a view of the mountains. While breakfast was being prepared, we went outside for some fresh air. Alisa immediately made a friend. It was quiet all around, without the industrial noise or the hubbub of large cities. The mountains blew cool air and at the same time warmed us with the warm sun. Breakfast was served in the attic. Fruits, vegetables, nuts, jam, honey, sour cream, and cheese—all of this came with the main course. We ordered porridge and an omelet. Since it was approaching midday, we had a hearty breakfast. It was time for a walk, so we left Sobol near the hotel in the shade to rest. I wanted to call a taxi, but the hotel owner suggested we go down to the river, to the main road, and take a minibus. So we did. A minibus is a keycar, something reminiscent of a Daewoo Damas, but slightly larger. It seats 7-8 people. The fare to the center of Khorog is 2.5 somoni—a little over 20 rubles. We stopped at a gas station along the way to refuel. The driver, a man in his sixties, spoke good Russian. We chatted about Russia and Yekaterinburg. Generally, it's easy to communicate with the older generation of Central Asia; everyone speaks Russian very well, which can't be said about the younger generation. We arrived at the central market and immersed ourselves in the local atmosphere. Alisa loves collecting parks from different cities, so we went looking for entertainment in Khorog. Along the way, we walked across the bridge over the Gunt River. The park is small, but well-maintained and cozy. Although there are fewer than ten rides, they were still able to satisfy our child's whims. We grabbed a bite to eat at the park's cafe and strolled along the main street. It gets dark quickly; night falls within half an hour. And it's time for us to sleep so we can continue on our way the next day, our destination: Dushanbe. October 2nd In the morning, we pack up our washed and dried clothes, say goodbye to our friendly host and his daughter, and set off. Along the way, we stop by the monument to the "Pioneer of the Pamir Highway." Once again, the road follows the border with Afghanistan across the Panj River. Afghans wash carpets, drive cattle, young people ride mopeds, and ordinary village life goes on. On the Tajik side, there are checkpoints every 5-10 kilometers. Two or three border guards regularly patrol the road, and fire positions made of stones have been set up. The road is narrow, without guardrails, and drops off into the river. It's a dusty dirt road. Since we left Khorog at lunchtime, our chances of reaching Dushanbe by evening were slim. We started looking for a place to spend the night along the way. We stopped at a small guesthouse. I'd already chosen a room. Natasha and Alisa went to take a shower. I was waiting outside when suddenly cars started pulling into the parking lot, one after another. It turned out there was a landslide ahead, closing the road. As a result, a large number of people looking for a place to spend the night gathered in the small guesthouse. We decided we wouldn't be able to sleep there, so we drove to Panj and camped on a flat area. Morning of October 3rd. The sun was blazing, we needed to get going quickly. Panj and the mountains again. We were very tired from driving through the gorge, like in a cage, no direction left or right. Dust and bumps. But soon the landscape began to change, flat areas began to appear, and after handing over another copy of our pass at the checkpoint, we left the Gorno-Badakhshan Autonomous Region. We stopped for lunch, taking a breather—it was a tense area, after all. We had some pasta and were back on the road. 200 km remained to Dushanbe, and we happily stopped for a stroll in the fields. Driving through Kulyab, we stopped for lunch and parked the car in the shade of a courtyard. Upon returning, I found a guy in a tracksuit and wearing prayer beads, who said, "Nothing happened to your car because I'm the caretaker here, and they even trust me with the keys (he twirled a cheap alarm fob on his finger), so you should probably pay for security." Thanks, I said, but I didn't order that service. The caretaker started hissing and cursing. We got in the car, started the engine, told him to step away from the car or I'd step on his feet, and off we went to Dushanbe. Such were the nineties. We sped on, the sun blazing, the breeze blowing. We stopped at a cotton field at Natasha's request. She's a craftswoman, m...