• From Dust We Ride
  • From Dust We Ride

Down from the mountains

Starting from Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan... Read more
  • Trip start
    August 25, 2025

    Plaza Premium Lounge, SAW Istanbul

    August 25, 2025 in Turkey ⋅ 🌙 21 °C

    Here we are now, after some intense days of celebration, tired at an airport lounge that pretends to be cozy.
    No news about the situation of our bikes which we placed into the hands of a Polish trucker six weeks ago... The unaware employee of the shipping company who promised to bring them to Kyrgyzstan's capital city. Tomorrow we are supposed to arrive there, so let's see how the journey comes into motion!

    RidingKismet and IronChris, but without Murghob and Kismet
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  • Arriving in Bishkek

    Aug 26–28, 2025 in Kyrgyzstan ⋅ 🌙 22 °C

    After a long day and night of traveling we then arrived at 7 am local time at the airport in Bishkek. Sitting in the taxi on the way to Salut hotel we have a first glance in what the law on the road is like...
    Thankfully, we can enter our room and get a late brekky, and then we collapse in the bed.
    Later, we stroll out and get SIM cards, cash and calories.
    Aiming for an early night we go back to the hotel, and since things apparently always work out well the truck arrives at the same time to make people happy.
    F*ck early nights, let's get some drinks and celebrate with a bunch of polish bikers the unloading of the truck!
    We remember how lucky we are: people shipped their bikes here for a 3 weeks holiday, to then wait 10 days for them to arrive. We just arrived this morning, and our bikes came just at the right time after a little rest.
    Excitement governs RidingKismet's face, she needs to kick it and RIDE NOW in the dark streets of Bishkek, so we did just that.
    And now, let's test pack the things and get started!

    RidingKismet and IronChris
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  • Windy roads to Almaty

    August 28, 2025 in Kazakhstan ⋅ ☀️ 31 °C
  • Almaty

    August 29, 2025 in Kazakhstan ⋅ ☀️ 29 °C

    Day 6
    Salam alaikum sweethearts, we're in buzzing Almaty! Not really just for fun though, but because of Kismet's unstartability. After having checked the spark and carbeurator next to the road in Samsy (a random village we stopped in for a drink) together with the local motorcycle hero (all the kids here go crazy on noisy Chinese 250cc motorcycles) we stayed the night at a locals backyard to then get a lift for Kismet to Freeriders Almaty workshop. Some snacks in the closeby park, groceries and an early night (finally) at a quite boring hostel. In the end, we think, we are fortunate since we really needed a rest.
    So fingers criss crossed Dimit at Freeriders can fix that thing!
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  • Grinding it down

    August 30, 2025 in Kazakhstan ⋅ ☀️ 33 °C

    ...As the diagnosis brought to light, the valve clearance in both exhaust valves is zero. Boring... This means either valves and valve seats are tremendously worn down (from one second to another?? Remember: she was running, then didn't start any more) OR in best case, a pile up of soot creating bigger clearances in the past that now just cracked and flew out the tube, allowing now the valves to sit in their original seat which means no clearance. If, if ....
    Maybe not willing to know the truth and also in lack of new valves, head and pipe gaskets, we leave the head where it is and grind and grind and grind the shims down to allow some clearance. This took the entire day ....The idea of reducing the thickness arose through deep discussions with Luca and Fiore, our Italian friends we met in Bishkek, and telecommunication with their XT350 pope back in Italy as well as our XT-legend Nico back home.
    At the same time, severe investigations are performed in order to get a spare head because you never know.

    In the end we try to always be grateful: this day allowed us to bite the bullet and do some uncomfortable work that you would not do when you have access to all the spare parts. For some reason, Fiore and Luca stayed all day long with us in the workshop rather to explore the city, helping us with the work, bringing us drinx, being a sunshine. Finally, we go to have the famous one meter mixed grill kebab for dinner.

    Guys, thank you, you are awesome!

    So back to the same boring hostel, catch some sleep, and back to grind the shims... Let's see where this journey brings us!
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  • Finding Reasons and Solutions

    September 3, 2025 in Kazakhstan ⋅ ☀️ 21 °C

    Salam fellows,
    A lot is happening in these intense days but eventually we're forced to have a break and slow down a bit.
    Grinding the shims down manually turns out to be ridiculous as we removed not even the thickness of a joint paper so we went to a grinding shop where in the end we are handed a fistful of shims from 2.1 to 2.4 mm. With 'em we adjusted a quite conservative/big valve clearance and run around the workshop spreading high fives to the workers as we fire Kismet up. We then get on the bikes and braaap off and we make it to the outskirts of Almaty as - on a very busy road, of course - Kismet again suffers of low pressure and faints. F*CK. Well, what did we expect? With these shims we might have adjusted the clearance somehow, but not solved the cause of its disappearance.

    We decide to call Adlet, a chap we just had met 20 mins before leaving Freeriders workshop and exchanged contacts *destiny*. He tells us to get to his private, small yet very well prepared workshop, with even a decent hotel just around the corner. Same evening, with a good soundtrack and chai we do the decapitation and with cylinder and head in hands we go to Adlet's friends Roman and Maxim (ROMAX, Almaty) the next day. They quickly find out the exhaust valve seats are lose, just in place out of convenience, which explains both variable valve clearance as well as lack of compression especially when hot. BAM, explanation found!

    Some very clever ex-owner apparently installed a high compression "tuning" piston, creating higher pressure and temperatures in the anyway quite hot running XT 350 combustion chamber. Different thermal expansion of the aluminium head and steel seats over time might have shaken them off their place.
    Apart from that, valves, head, piston rings and cylinder seem to be fine.

    They then offer us to:
    1. Hone the barrel just because they can
    2. Install some new valve seats
    3. Take 0.5 mm off the piston to decrease the compression (remember: high power is something for your home trail; if you want to get home in the heat with bad juice keep your head and piston relaxed...)

    This might take max 3 days they tell us, and although it's an unexpected start of our journey weirdly we are always grateful for the things that happen to us.
    We went to the industrial side of Almaty. We met very helpful people, cheers Denis (Ricambi motor) , thanks Adlet (the most badass engineer in Almaty), peace Olzhas, rakhmet to the guys who know somebody, call someone, drive around for us, drive us around, etc. We get to wrench on old bikes in good company, a lovely thing to do. Also, we are forced to keep the revs low for a bit and breathe, didn't really have a break since before we left home.
    We're breathing... Breathing the smoggy Almaty air, and IronChris' tissues are blood red when he cleans his nose.
    We're fine, life is good, the dust, the wind, they are waiting for us out there!

    Kick it always,
    RidingKismet and IronChris
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  • Katabraaap Katabraaap

    September 5, 2025 in Kazakhstan ⋅ ☀️ 28 °C

    Remember, the stuff was at ROMAX, right?
    So two days later we are told the parts can be collected. Fresh and shiny they are, and the bill for "the немцы" doesn't even say 50€. Max wants us to pay less, we give a bit more remembering that any solution including shipping anything from Germany would be more time and money consuming. Treat your wife and kids to a nice restaurant ;)

    We grab some gorilla energy drinx and snax and pull up at Adlet's workshop where we start the Friday evening wrenching. Carefully, meditational, yet with some old school hip hop and loaded with sugar and caffeine we throw the barrel and the head on, adjust the timing, install the periphery. In the meantime, Adlet's wife and a bunch of bikers come around to check the situation... What are these Germans doing with this tiny old bike? (Yes, neither of us are Germans and yet they refer to us as 'the Germans')

    Finally, we put the tank on, click click the kicker, and brrrraaaap she wakes up ❤️
    The crowd is cheering, the wrenchers hugging, everybody happy! We notice though it's past midnight now and indeed now the operation is a success, the party is over, everybody leaves, and we go to our shabby apartment room.

    We're ready to rumble now!
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  • Out of Almaty

    September 7, 2025 in Kazakhstan ⋅ ☁️ 29 °C

    Salam Alaikum, honey bunnies,
    We finally hit the road out of Almaty.
    Even though we had a lot of fun in Almaty we are happy the wrenching days paid off - Kismet is running so smooth, she starts so easy, she is willing to kick km! After a brief visit at Charyn Canyon we found a beautiful place to camp, light a fire, have a bebe beer. In the morning, our tent is surrounded by cows as we enjoy a coffee and get ready to cross over to Kyrgyzstan.Read more

  • Into Kyrgyzstan

    September 8, 2025 in Kyrgyzstan ⋅ ⛅ 17 °C

    The border in the south of Kegen is easy peasy, apart from a Russian lad on a Chinese 125 ccm there's only two other cars, and crossing into the other direction three Rock'n'Rollers in a beaten up car to whom we give a Kazakh sim card.
    From the steppe now it goes into the rugged mountains, empty lands, then fertile and peaceful valleys. It seems to be the season to bring the cattle down from the mountains, and around twelve times we need to find our way between the animals. We arrive in Karakol, one of the many towns we stayed during the last visit. We decided to retrace our footprints and stay in the same hostel, buy our favourite ground coffee in Kyrgyzstan 'Egoiste', head to the Dungan (Chinese Muslims) Mosque, eat up, and finally grab a drink in The Hut - a historic place for us. We met up again with the owner, a Kyrgyz with a girlfriend from Kassel, as we reflected on our presence there 2 years before.
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  • Crossing to Osh

    September 11, 2025 in Kyrgyzstan ⋅ 🌙 11 °C

    ...after one night in Karakol we continue to the west. We ride along the southern shore of Issyk Köl, a lake so big it resembles the sea on our right hand. On the left, red canyons and behind them snow covered mountain peaks. We're kicking some dust and mud on the gravel road, which in parts is being transformed into a wide tarmac ribbon.
    Later, the wind blows heavily in the valley of the Orto Tokoy reservoir, where horses, cows and camels graze in peace.
    We make it to Kochkor where first we enjoy a pizza to then decide to take a room in a guest house.
    The next day, a beautiful road north of Song Kul brings us to Kazarman. It's said to be the new road and in fact it is in pretty good condition although every now and then a landslide made it disappear and Murghob and Kismet tractor us through the rocky alternative.
    Kazarman - some say "the pearl of Kyrgyzstan" , some refer to it as "it's @ssh0le"... We have a Laghman, get some groceries and head out to to the dust again where we set camp next to the river.
    The following day starts with 100 km of heavy dusty gravel road up the mountains towards Jalal-Abad. The maps say it's taking ridiculously long, and in fact it takes even longer: Although leading us through a cinematic, wild landscape, the road takes it's toll as one tipped over truck blocks half of the road, and another one blocks it entirely. We have to then wait until two diggers pull it aside. The little traffic accumulated here, starting then a wall of death without any order once the road is cleared... One has to have IronBalls over here. After Joon Kunggöy the road turns to asphalt, giving us the true threat of the region: other traffic participants. Jalal-Abad close to the Uzbek border is a headache, to an extend that at 7 pm, after only 165 km, we decide to set camp in the mosquito governed swamps next to the busy road. After a short sleep, we finally make it to Osh, where we will stay three nights to recover minds, flesh and steel, since the bikes will have an oil change and us some drinx as well.

    Keep kicking, it's getting tough!
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  • Osh and ahead

    September 12, 2025 in Kyrgyzstan ⋅ ☀️ 17 °C

    Osh is a relief, as we arrived at a hostel and met other travelers.
    Although we started just three weeks ago and spent most of the time not on the pegs but in workshops, we have quite a lot to tell and are equally eager to listen to other travelers' experiences.
    At ZorroMoto we perform some maintenance on the Iron Ladies (such as checking the valve clearance...). The busy employee with the intercom on his head doesn't stop excusing that everything has a price, promising at the same time a discount here, a discount there - at the end it feels a bit like a rip off comparing the final price for the work we did on our own.
    But since everything has a reason and leads us to a good place, we get to know Alan, Manuel and Derek at Zorro's, and later Nick, who seems to ride his DR 650 on very similar paths like us for the next few months. We all have dinner together, tons of laughters and maybe a couple drinx too much.
    In a peaceful moment, RidingKismet and IronChris sneak out to the old graveyard - again a historical site for the beginning of their common flight.
    _____________________________________

    We hug, wishing each other farewell, and ride into all directions. Only Nick stays in Osh to do some maintenance, but we promise to meet up in the Pamir....
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  • Kashgar

    September 15, 2025 in China ⋅ ☀️ 17 °C

    Next morning we manage to survive the assassin car drivers to get out of Osh and make it to Sary Tash. We grab some calories at the small Chaikhana and hit the mattress early, since the plan is to get up early, leave the bikes at the hotel and cross the Irkeshtam border to China.
    So next morning we get out with little luggage, manage to stop a truck and take a seat in the dirty cabin, to take the bumpy road. It's cloudy, misty and cold, and serious soldiers in thick anoraks ask for our passports way before the border.
    While the kyrgyz side is dusty and full of unshaven soldiers, typical for this region, the Chinese side is an embarrassing, ridiculous demonstration of both, power and illiteracy. Since it's not allowed to hitchhike on a truck, we have to walk a stretch of no man's land, then take a shuttle from the border to customs.
    People ask us where we are from, holding our passports in their hands (on which it is clearly written). Very few employees speak another language than Chinese, and some seem to live in the realm of the unknowing when it comes to dividing the world outside of China into different sub countries.
    After the actual border, we find a taxi to bring us to Kashgar - stopping another four times at immigration checkpoints. It gets tiring, we agree.
    _____________________________________

    Kashgar itself: a new puzzle part on the silk road. We roam around in the old town, characterized by Persian style arches and arabesques and of course uncountable cameras. Obviously, the Uyghurs need to be controlled, not only suppressed.
    Tourists from the big cities though love to dress up in the traditional Uyghur style to do sexy photo shootings. We are impressed by the tourists cultural awareness in a region where people are afraid to be imprisoned when performing their way of living *eye roll*

    The food is good though...
    We are happy when we make it back to Kyrgyzstan - we miss our bikes and need to kick dust...
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  • Into Murghob

    September 21, 2025 in Tajikistan ⋅ ☀️ 5 °C

    Back in Sary Tash we play with the kids on the streets, they love it to dance and be tossed around. After somehow arranging a couple jerrycans of fuel we then cross the Alay Valley to the Kyzyl Art Pass (4280 m) that forms the mountain border in between Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan - in between Turkic people and the Persian empire.

    Again a remote border, 30 km no man's land in between the Kyrgyz and the Tajik post. We are the only ones crossing and nobody wants to check our luggage, just a stamp here, a fee there, and the soldiers are in a good mood since they're going home now for a couple days.

    The road can be described as interesting and diverse, and once we crossed the mountain range, we found ourselves in the empty world of the Kara Kul lake.
    Although made out of heavy metal, one of the heroes felt the urge to stop here to donate some iron tears, regarding the incomparable beauty of this place.
    The two knights cross the Ak Baital Pass, one of the highest points on the route, and Kismet and Murghob cough heavily at 4655 m above sea level. According to Luca, we are now allowed to say we've done the Pamir Highway.
    Passing the old caravanserai, a place of meditation and peace, the shadows grew long as the prophecy becomes true and Murghob is finally brought to Murghob.... This outpost of civilization at the verge of the world.
    Nick is lasciviously clapping at Aruf's, handing us some drinx. Time to inhale the smoke of burned yak dung and the absence of the noise we're used to from where we are from.

    And from now on, it's getting cozy and hard at the same time...
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  • Crossing Khargush

    September 23, 2025 in Tajikistan ⋅ ☀️ 2 °C

    We then have our last breakfast prepared by the lady with the beautiful golden teeth smile in Murghob, fire up the thumpers and head south. The valley here is a fairytale and we fly like the eagle.
    Where the road is asphalt, the driving is really sketchy due to ridiculously big potholes and waves that throw us around.
    A couple kilometers down we turn left into the empty lands to find the Grotto Shakhty petroglyphs, and later the abandoned Soviet star observatory. Without tracking, we still would hang around there.
    We continue since the actual plan is to get down to the Wakhan Corridor, so we have a café in the 40 foot container chaikhana in Alichur and leave the M41 to go south. What initially seems to be a normal gravel piste quickly turns in one of these roads that take you 4 hours for 20 km... Heavy corrugation, loose rocks, and deep sand demand heavy efforts, and RidingKismet is collecting bruises for the memories.
    Eventually, we arrive then at the military checkpoint near the southern border, where FlyingNick is sharing his cigarettes with some soldiers - again waiting for us for hours... Enough for one day. The soldiers signal us an empty shepherds shack where we hide from the cold wind and have a beautiful evening.
    Tomorrow everything will be easier...
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  • Along the Pamir and the Panj

    September 25, 2025 in Tajikistan ⋅ ⛅ 16 °C

    The next day we pack our gear and continue down the mountains, hoping for a bit better roads.
    We manage to kick 95 km in 9.5 hours.
    Again, we encounter sand and stretches of baby head sized rocks, and as a team building method RidingKismet would hand her bike to IronChris whenever things become a bit tricky.
    After a river crossing, Murghob shows difficulties and starts to stall, leading us to the weird assumption the CDI could be burned. Changing the latter brings nothing. Eventually, a loose connector is found to be responsible for power cuts... If not basic knowledge of electric circuits, then the learning of the day is that first of all we need to take more breaks to enjoy a coffee instead of getting annoyed.

    The more we descend, the more we get back into civilization, and the easier the roads become "normal", as our host in a guest house tells us. "Normal" means though some memories of tarmac in the villages, a bit of sand, and mostly gravel. That's fine.

    At Bibi Fatima's hot springs we soften our sore muscles, which is really needed, to then do the final stretch to Khorogh, the capital of Gorno-Badakhshan or the Tajik Pamir.
    We meet FlyingNick who, once again, arrived here way earlier than us.
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  • Dust, smog, and back to the city

    October 3, 2025 in Tajikistan ⋅ ⛅ 19 °C

    The last stretch from Khorogh to Dushanbe, the capital city.

    We head north along the Afghan border and RidingKismet prefers to stay in a hostel in Rushon to have some peace, while IronChris heads up the Bartang valley with FlyingNick. In the luggage we have some dead chicken and refreshments, since we will need them after eating dust. And there is a lot of it next to the wild creek, and lighting a big fire the pilots celebrate life.
    On the way to the capital city, a new asphalt ribbon allows us to fly along the Afghan border near the speed of sound.
    A puncture at the last Gorno-Badakhshan checkpoint allows us to have a break, and a charming soldier helps us fix our tyre and invites us for some snacks.
    Still, this delay led us to enter Dushanbe at dusk and smog joined the dust due to heavy chaotic traffic. Since Kismet has no backlights and indicators due to a fried regulator, staggering like hornets now the two pilots now fought their way to the Green House hostel, the place where all the travelers in the region meet to exchange stories, Infos, and for instance have a drink or two.

    In the end, the two heroes stay for nearly a week in this cheap hotel, trying to figure out how to get into Afghanistan in the following episode...
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  • Crossing borders

    October 5, 2025 in Uzbekistan ⋅ ☁️ 15 °C

    Salam salam guys,
    On our way south we first crossed to Uzbekistan, since in the consulate in Termez in it seems to be easier to get a visa for Afghanistan than on arrival in Shir Khan Bandar.
    The Tajik-Uzbek border takes time - on the Uzbek side you get a paper slip and need to collect stamps at different offices. They don't seem to take their job very serious as RidingKismet discusses with them, saying she's a female and the content of her panniers is not their business - and indeed, they don't bother us searching our gear.
    On the way to Termez the traffic is funny. Apart from cute ZIL 130 trucks, all the vehicles are either white tiny Chevrolets or white microvans, the latter apparently wanting to kill us constantly.

    Again, we arrive at the hotel in Termez in the dark and due to no vacancies, we are allowed to sleep in the family's living room. We must look wrecked, and the very friendly hosts give us a hot soup in the night and a small brekkie in the morning.

    Our mission in Termez is to get the Afghan visa plus a road pass for Murghob and Kismet. The embassy is a dirty, boring place, but after paying half a liver each we finally get the sticker in our passports.
    Let's go!
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  • Mazar i Sharif

    October 8, 2025 in Afghanistan ⋅ 🌙 19 °C

    ...in the end it took us two days instead of one to get the afghan visa in the dusty consulate, and again a day later we then crossed the Afghan-Uzbek Friendship Bridge in Hairatan over the Amu Darya river.
    Obviously, the two heroes have to admit they were a little nervous arriving at the Afghan post, regarding the fact that RidingKismet is not fully dressed according to the local rules and regulations in terms of dress and behavior. The offices in the Afghan side are dusty, and as so often we are encircled by border officials interested in our stuff. Scan the luggage, stamp passport and road pass, and off we go -
    Along the desert dunes south to Mazar i Sharif. Somewhere we are stopped at a fort because the local Taliban commander wants to say hello. After ~90 km we are welcomed at hotel Rahat in colourful Mazar i Sharif.

    What a contrast to the northern "Stans"!
    The people are very mixed in terms of facial features, skin and hair colour, and dress. Curious eyes are constantly on us. "Hovaryou" some greet with the little english-sounding syllables they learned somewhere, some are happy to accompany us for a bit to have a small chat - and nobody takes pictures of us, which feels like a relieving novelty after the experiences in the past weeks.

    We roam around the city, manage to get a SIM card (and are annoyed that women pay 15$, men 10$). We find an ATM that accepts foreign bank cards and are happy to have some kebab. We play table football with some kids in a hidden street in the bazars (and lose).
    We share a taxi with five others to go to the ancient city of Balkh, climb the old city wall and watch the kids flying their kites made out of sticks and trash. We get an ice cream and are suddenly invited for a big lunch.
    We think of this society, so different from the northern "Stans" and obviously from our home lands, that despite the introduction of fuel burning engines and smart phones, throughout decades of armed conflicts, maybe kept it's shape and way of everyday life.

    We didn't yet process the experiences of the first three days after crossing the border, but since we want to see as much as possible of this country in the limited time span of the visa, we saddle our donkeys and push on
    - to Badakhshan!
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  • Back East to Remote Lands

    October 11, 2025 in Afghanistan ⋅ ☀️ 26 °C

    From Mazar-i-Sharif to Wakhan.

    Instead of going straight south to Kabul, we decided to take a detour east into the remote lands of the Wakhan Corridor. Remember, we passed this region a couple of days ago on the Tajik side, so we needed to experience it from the Afghan side and shake hands with the people we waved at.
    Our journey out of Mazar-i-Sharif lead us through one of these "shortcuts" to Kunduz - a shortcut of dust and madness through the desert. When we arrived at our hotel in Kunduz, covered in dust, everybody looked surprised since there was a wedding going on, while we rocked up looking more rough than usual. "Didn't anyone warn you not to take that road?", we were asked by our host...

    Kunduz is far less urban than Mazar-i-Sharif and far more conservative (in fact, the hotel is run by the Taliban), so we didn't want to stick around for long and got the fuck out early next morning towards Faizabad.
    On the way there, we experienced some of the wonderful Afghan road characteristics, starting with people fistbumping or handing us drinx while riding, funny overtaking maneuvers, and animals on the loose. The roads in the villages are muddy and RidingKismet experiences a slip, turning the motorcycle clothes into camouflage colours. Locals make her sit in full gear underneath a water well, soaking her top to bottom.
    On the road, a young family from Faizabad stopped us to invite us to stay at their place. It became one of these beautiful encounters where people that have very little but a lot of love give us all they have to feel comfortable. Thank you, Zahrat, Shadāb, and daughters ❤️
    From Faizabad we continue to Eshkashem. The road leading through magical valleys is tarmac in times, and rocks in others. After a coffee at the river, RidingKismet fell again (not for the first time), but two times heavily on the left knee. That's bad this time, so bad that we considered to stop a car and let somebody ride the bike, while she sits in the car. But either nobody knows (or dares) to ride Kismet, or they are too uncomfortable to sit in a car, four men and a foreign woman. So, bite the bullet, with patience and pain we eventually made it to Marco Polo guest house in Eshkashem.

    Eshkashem, on the maps it is written in Latin, Persian, and Cyrillic alphabets as the town was cut by geopolitical decisions of old men. People were forced to split into two governments in the so called Great Game, creating a buffer zone in between the British and the Russian empires, cutting families and an entire micro cosmos in half.

    Here we sat down now, in an outpost of Afghan civilization. Nature loving Ismailis pray next to the creek, and we reevaluate our situation. What next? Enter the Wakhan, with a stiff and hurting knee on the bike? And what about the ignited border skirmishes with Pakistan? Will we be able to enter?
    Time to calm down and see what comes to us.

    Salamat, dears!
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  • Between Pamir amd Hindu Kush

    October 17, 2025 in Afghanistan ⋅ ☀️ 5 °C

    ...in the end, and through a very appreciated gift from our caring parents, we are allowed to take a Land Cruiser with driver and guide to give RidingKismet’s knee a rest and still visit these remote lands of the Wakhan Corridor.

    We manage the necessary paperwork and get on the road again. IronChris still needs the thrill and shoots off on Murghob the first one hundred kilometers – the road seems to be made for dual sport enthusiasts. Stopping at the river Panj, we wave at the people on the Tajik side – as we used to do from there, too.

    At the first guest house, Murghob is left behind for a bit and IronChris joins the Land Cruiser crew. And to be honest, we are happy to take a car this time because the road conditions are really challenging. The further we get, the more remote it feels – inhabitants living off the grid, relying on their beasts of yaks and camels.
    We follow the Wakhan river upstream to Lake Chaqmaqtin – which actually feeds the river flowing down to Murghob, and IronChris gets melancholic. Couldn't we drop a letter in a bottle to ourselves in the past? We don't even know what to tell ourselves, so let's forget about it.
    Up there, there is a segregated community of Kyrgyz who once ran away from the invading Russians and are now entrapped here, living in a time capsule, doing little trade with the Wakhis.

    The meals up here are, let’s say, efficient: rice and dry bread together with yak milk, yak cream, and yak yoghurt provide the necessary carbs and grease one needs to survive. And for something to drink? Salted chai with yak milk. The landscapes are breathtaking though, and the ride with Mahabat, the driver, and Imamdad, the guide – two guys of around 27 – turns into a surprisingly funny road trip with a good old Afghan playlist of almost 15 songs playing on a loop, creating everlasting ear worms.

    Afterwards we sit down to debrief and think about our experiences. Everybody says the Wakhan is impressive – and it is indeed. But going with a guide, being told what to photograph… maybe we’re too young for this. Everyone says, “look at the women, the women in their tribal dress, look at the women washing clothes at the hot spring.” Well, it’s good enough to get to see one, though, in an upside-down society where women are barely visible at all. “How open and liberal,” they say – great, I love it.

    The reality is: look at the little girls who, instead of carrying a backpack to school, carry a canister, collecting poop in the meadows to dry and light a fire when it’s cold. Look at the Kyrgyz, smoking opium in their yurts in a world they can’t go back and forth anymore. Look at the couple riding home with a child wrapped in a blanket after visiting the only clinic in miles.

    It’s good to have seen this part of the country, the Afghan Pamir – the wider image of Ismailis living in harsh lands. These five days in a car, away from our normal everyday problems, also gave us some inner peace, as this country is in general challenging to travel by motorcycle.

    And also, RidingKismet is now a bit recovered from her falls and ready to ride again. So, mentally and physically refreshed, with the heart full of new inputs, we are ready to continue on two wheels each (which is way more than enough, as we all know), going back the one-way road to Kunduz and then to the South.

    The border with Pakistan is still closed, but there’s a lot to discover – a lot of adventures waiting for the two heroes.

    So stay tuned, habibis! Bisous, bisous!
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  • The Road to Bamyan

    October 26, 2025 in Afghanistan ⋅ ☁️ 20 °C

    ...we fill up and move out of Ishkashem towards Faizabad, following the wonderful valley of the Kokcha river. Soon we notice a new local specialty — cannabis plantations! Big fields next to the road, sometimes even next to Taliban checkpoints. The stuff's officially illegal, of course, but rumor has it it’s an easy ways to make money in this very weak economy. We’ll keep that in mind…

    In Faizabad we meet again with Shadāb and his family. Because of some administrative tasks and not wanting to bother them too much, we decide to stay at a hotel. Still, all together we go to a fancy restaurant — and after a long fight, we manage to invite our former hosts. Good we ended up in a hotel, because some iron fever caught one of the heroes and a couple million defeated virus corpses were thrown out of the temple, forcing us to stay another night.

    As revenge for last night’s invitation, and as relief after this harsh night, IronChris gets a facial hair refurbish and a full face massage and cleanup at Shadāb’s “VIP Fashion” barber shop.

    After long good byes, we then continue, back to the T-boy's Kunduz hotel (the manager remembers and gives IronChris a hug), and manage to have an afghan pizza for dinner, and push south next day.

    On the map we find a “Taliban sanctioned camping place,” whatever the hell that means, and decide to give it a try. After talking to the guys with guns, they point us to a spot, and we end up in a private family’s backyard, happy to set up our tent and call it a day. We are introduced to the four generation large family and learn that our host, once a policeman under the former government, later trying to resist the current one, is now banned from working. His grandparents, obviously marked by time, trauma and also shelling, fought side by side with Ahmad Shah Massoud in the early days of the Mujahedin against the Soviet invasion.

    Later, on the way to bed, we are again introduced to some new guys, with guns this time. The “Intelligence" tell us it’s forbidden to camp here for security reasons. Great. After a spicy discussion with RidingKismet, they act generous and allow us to stay inside our hosts’ home instead of forcing us to a hotel. So we pack up in the dark, under the usual curious eyes, and the wannabe authorities don’t leave us alone until they’ve seen us step into the guest room. That’s Afghanistan, in the end.

    Next morning we apologize to our hosts for the late-night visit of armed fuckers and move on. The famous Salang Pass is waiting — notorious for one of these tunnels of absolute darkness and carbon-monoxide charm. We get ready with medical masks and a wet scarf covering the mouth, and extra light for RidingKismet.
    Fortunately, the tunnel is under construction, half replaced by a dirt road. Well, we prefer dust on our skin to soot in our lungs — good deal. After some roadside kebab we turn right and ride up the winding road to Bamyan in the golden hour. The bends are tight and wide, up the hill and down the valley, and we surf the evening light illuminating the rocks to our sides.

    Again, some grumpy black beards wants us to fill some form and sign here and there, before we finally arrive at our very cozy hotel.
    Bamyan, at last.
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  • Bamyan

    October 28, 2025 in Afghanistan ⋅ ☀️ 14 °C

    Bamyan is more used to tourism, so at first glance, less people asked us randomly about our origin - or we learned to be more deaf in this regard. We roam around the bazaar and pass by the souvenir selling chiringuitos, drink fruit shakes, and order western style fast food to our hotel room at night. We are not down to eat in a filthy and dark "family room", a dark covered space reserved for women or families.

    We then headed to the famous Buddha statues, or what's left of them (not much is left). We sneaked around and avoided the ticket booth to take some pictures - we are not down to pay an entrance fee for a sight destroyed by the same government.

    There’s that sense of running low, like the engine idling on bad mixture. We are exhausted, not only by being the foreigners all the time, but by living inside a society enforcing a kind of female apartheid: double-factor security not to belong, not to be part of this world.
    After recovering a bit in the quiet cozy hotel, we got ready to head to the capital city...
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  • Kabul

    October 29, 2025 in Afghanistan ⋅ 🌙 14 °C

    ...after Bamyan we rode then towards the capital city.
    Splendid restaurants can be found here as well as (empty) supermarkets for wealthy foreigners, in which your favorite corn flakes, blue cheese or cigarettes are available.
    At the Afghania Hotel, we finally meet other travelers to share the intense experiences we all have had in this foreign world. The Catalan wine dealer Xavi for example, who travels with his 22 year old energetic Australian son Kayl, and lets him organize everything. Or the Cyprus/Pakistani couple from Great Britain, Talaat and Kryss, who joined us for dinner at a wonderful restaurant to have a little bit of luxury. A great encounter, as these well-traveled people are tired of this distinct society as well, and advise us to take it easy and be less hard on ourselves every now and then.
    We meet weird yet endearing expats, the sort of people who inspire you, as you would not have the opportunity to sit down for a chat with them back home.

    On a short note of Kabul's sites:
    The bird market is madness.
    The mine museum is cheap and sad. A space dedicated to every artillary and weapon used in Afghanistan - how much effort is done to hurt human beings.

    From Jafar we get a beautiful Persian rug (you can not leave without one), and apart from a patoo (the beautiful afghan blanket), IronChris gets a hand tailored button down shirt.

    After four days of (physical, not necessarily mental) rest it's time to crack on: the border with Pakistan is still closed though, and it does not seem to get more relaxed here, so we decide to take the long ring road to the west.
    The adventure is not over yet - by far not - so stay tuned...
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  • Kabul to Herat - Through the Dirty South

    November 8, 2025 in Afghanistan ⋅ 🌙 15 °C

    ....after a small recovery and a couple of false alarms about the Pakistani border being open, we made a final decision to cross the country towards Iran through the dirty south. It wasn't what we wanted, but nobody could predict when the two siblings stop fighting.
    So we rode down the Ring Road: Ghazni, Kandahar, into the empty lands, deep through the heartland of the Taliban. Here, few foreigners want to go and hence people are not used to power rangers on two wheeled rockets, as we noticed on the gathering and staring of the local population. While riding, several near-death experiences occur, as drivers look and film while passing by too close, with the typical "wwwwhatis THIS!?" hand spin (if you know, you know). When stopping to figure out a restaurant or hotel, not a minute passed by until eight, twelve, twenty or more people surrounded us, staring at us with open mouths. Occasionally, one English speaker would act as a mediator; in other times, intimidated locals would just call the Taliban on us, expecting then a reward for snitching. Really nice guys.
    The authorities, in turn, would randomly look for us in a kebab shop to ask for our passports, or knock on our hotel door late at night to confirm that we are safe. A noble but annoying gesture, especially when equipped with Kalashnikov and no English.
    In Kandahar we bump into familiar faces: our Catalan/Australian friends, who look also weary from the grind of this world. With relief we hug and spend the evening debriefing on the experiences.
    Delaram, Farah Rud, from the desert to the hills. We sleep in stinky hotels and cheap chaikhanas, kilometers, kilometers, checkpoints and road side interrogations in the darkness, just ride, just arrive... Until the road turns north again toward Herat. Suddenly, the dream would switch, and the air is clean and the ride is good. We stop for a snack, and people are curious but not encapsulating us. Soldiers at checkpoints just do their job with a simple smile, or don't even stop us, until we reach Herat. The Persian influenced city has another, an endearing character - but by then, the weight of the past days is already heavy on our shoulders.

    No cozyness, no charme in the south. Time to get out of here.

    On the vibing, loud bazar, we find a hidden heaven where two girls give us peace with their intricate painting, and we get a piece of art. After months of riding like a clochard, Murghob gets a new seat cover and looks faster than ever. Two hours later, we are at the border with Iran - without having fully processed this one, we're ready to open a new chapter.
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  • Herat to Mashhad

    November 9, 2025 in Iran ⋅ ☀️ 17 °C

    Finally, we make it out of the country.
    Entering the Islamic Republic (I.R.) of Iran requires some patience though, as non-commercial crossings are not frequent and hence the process is not clear. There is no straightforwardness, and getting the Carnet de Passage sorted (you don't want to forget this one, right?) takes hours. After all, at the last checkpoint already after the border, IronChris is subjected to an interrogation ("why exactly do you want to visit our country?" - well you tell me...). It's already dark by now as we finally head off to Mashhad.
    Traffic system works here, it's a refreshing contrast. There are traffic lights and some people even respect them. There is proper coffee available at every corner, the streets are clean, and fuel costs nothing. The cost of 40l of petrol was 80 cents, and that was the foreigner price... still in disbelief! two locals insisted they will pay for us and before we knew it, one slammed his card into the hand of the worker and it was done.

    By 10pm our fingers froze and we decided to stop in one of the many coffee stops along the road to warm us up. While we didn't anticipate the huge temperature drop, we we're grateful for these kind of places. Like the fuel stop above, the owner refused to accept money from us as we were considered guests! Energized by our espresso stop, we roared into Mashhad just after midnight.

    It's starting to appear like a good place to calm down after the chaos of Afghanistan, let the pulse settle, maybe even forget the dust for a moment.

    Due to RidingKismet's worst handicap, the British passport, we need a guide in "the Irāns". Fortunately, she is able to compensate this issue by striking a very good deal with a guide she met during her last visit. For two weeks (out of four we want to stay in the country) Nadia is going to be with us and arrange our daily business. Not only a guide, but first of all a friend, and we're grateful to start a road trip with her!

    While in the city, we wander around, amazed at the contrast with the previous country. In a moment of delirium, IronChris remarked how similar Mashhad is to Barcelona... Clean and wide roads, crowds calmly passing each other, and the plethora of shawarma stalls. We are told Mashhad, a holy city for Shia Muslims, is a pilgrim site with a high volume of Arabs (specifically Lebanese and Iraqis) and this is reflected in the street food. The best Saffron also comes from here with the prices just a fraction of what it costs in other big cities.

    Like the pilgrims, we decided to visit the Imam Reza shrine, the third largest mosque in the world. Ridingkismet had to wear a flowery chador with Nadia and together we roamed around the very glitzy and sparkling mosque. White and yellow gold, emerald, turquoise can be found amongst the many jewels covering the walls.

    Our Mashhad stop was short but restorative, a little bit of luxury before hitting the road once again. And lucky for us, this means winding roads through the famous Hyrcanian Forest of Iran.
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