Fann Mountains

Words and pictures cannot convey the experience of leaving Dushanbe, entering a toll road and literally driving through tunnel after tunnel ( the longest being 3 miles long) as we snake through mountain passes and watch the rivers by our side running parallel for a time of the road. The first 60 or so miles are on a well paved road, built by the Chinese with the long tunnel built by an Iranian company. After some photo stops, we reach a turn off and leave the paved road for a 24km stretch through a narrow rock/dirt road with switchbacks and other assorted hazards. We eventually reach Iskadurallake, named for Alexander the great. It is glacial turquoise, and we go for a short hike along a path that is next to a river, with the river eventually developing into rapids. There is a waterfall up the path but the path becomes quite rocky, so I turn back, satisfied with the walk. We get back in the van for the last 8km stretch that borders the lake, then seems to head straight into the mountains on narrow switchbacks. Thankfully, we have excellent drivers. We drive through a small village and then reach our guest house, a castle in the sky surrounded on all sides by mountains and rivers. It is stunning and remote. I ask Farid, our local guide about who lives in such a remote place. They are farmers who produce some crops, milk and cheese and then transport it back down to Dushanbe to sell. We enjoy dinner in the communal room of the guest house, tomato salad, satisfiying chicken noodle soup, and a dish of potatoes, cabbage, carrots, and meat. We turns in early. The next morning we wake up to a hearty breakfast of fried eggs, bread with fresh made butter and homemade jam. We then start out on a hike to the summer village, where a handful of families live in original mud, stick houses. We start out walking but the road is very rocky and a light rain has started. Some of us opt for SUV transport that winds it's way further into the mountains until we reach the point where the vehicles can't continue, as there is just a handmade set of bridges , up a rocky, mud hill to a collection of small huts and wonderful women who welcome us into their homes. The children sing their national anthem for us. We spend some minutes trying to express gratitude for being welcomed into their community.Read more