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Takht-i Sangin is an archaeological site in southwest Tajikistan, overlooking the Oxus and, these days, the barbed wire fence demarcating the border exclusion zone. There’s one small guard tower and an occasional Tajik soldier patrolling on foot. Because of the sensitivity of the location, would-be visitors have to get a permit to come, and ours were checked by an army officer in a truck, who happened to be passing the other way.

Turning off the main road towards Takht-i Sangin, we passed through several villages, strung together by an unsurfaced but fairly smooth track. We made good time, and though Google’s estimate of our arrival time still seemed wildly inaccurate, we reached the point where if necessary it would be feasible to walk. Once the last house was behind us, though, the quality of the track deteriorated significantly, becoming steep and rocky as we climbed a small pass.

We stopped at the top of the pass: we couldn’t not. The sun was already low and the Oxus stretched out before us, glittering in the late afternoon light. Whereas a few days ago, confined by steep-sided gorges, the river had been fast and angry, here in gentler terrain, it was broad and calm. In the shallow-bottomed valley there was also space to farm, so there were pockets of dark green irrigated land below the dusty mountain slopes.

We arrived, hot and dusty, in Khorog late in the day after our drive from Kalai Khumb. We dropped our bags at Lal, a hotel, hostel, and cafe in the centre of the city, dressed up, and headed out for dinner.

Anyone who has spent any significant time in the Pamirs will be able to guess where we went to eat. The reputation of Delhi Darbar (not part of the famous chain…) extends far beyond Khorog and, frankly, far beyond what you’d expect from the quality of the food. But just the chance to eat Indian food, even if it is mediocre, in the middle of Tajikistan is a treat. Founded years ago by an Indian-Tajik couple, the restaurant has achieved god-tier status; coming here is akin to a pilgrimage. We cracked open beers and snapped papadums, then feasted on butter chicken, dal, and paneer.

Rising early enough that the day was still cool, we went our separate ways for a few hours. Sophia and Miskola headed out of Khorog to hike at Khabnou, a picturesque spot where a small lake has pooled in a gorge. The views down onto the valley are splendid.

Meanwhile, I met a friend, Zarra, for tea, relaxing on the veranda of her grandmother’s garden. The house is tucked behind KFC — the altogether superior Khorog Fried Chicken — and given the altitude and the harsh climate, I was amazed how the plants were thriving. The flowers beside the house were bright and abundant. We ate tiny scarlet strawberries, and in a bid to pick fat, dark mulberries straight from the tree, I turned almost every part of myself a brilliant purple. Only Zarra’s baby son made more of a mess with this fruit!

Rendezvousing back in the centre of Khorog, we took a walk through Chorbogh, the city’s riverside park. Government propaganda was blasting out from the speaker system, which was unnerving and an unwelcome change from previous visits. But other than that, Pamiri families seemed to be going about business as usual, sitting on benches in the shade, eating ice creams, and swimming and shrieking in the huge outdoor pool. Khorog isn’t a large city, and if you spend enough time here, sooner or later you’ll bump into someone you know. Miskola and I had a good chat with Mirzo Mirzoev, who runs the excellent Pamir Ecotourism Association (PECTA), and I also saw a colleague from the Commitee for Tourism Development, who was visiting from Dushanbe. There are numerous challenges in Khorog, political, economic, and environmental. It’s a stunningly beautiful, enjoyable place to visit, but not necessarily and easy place to live. When the upgrading of the Pamir Highway is complete, better connecting Khorog to western Tajikistan, it’ll be an improvement, but that time is many years off.

Castle Karon — a citadel and substantial trading town just east of Kalai Khumb — was rediscovered only in 2012. A local shepherd saw a strange mound in the earth and must have mentioned it to someone, because a local archaeologist came to have a look. At first, they thought they’d found a mausoleum, but on further study it turned out to be a Zoroastrian fire temple: the empty chamber in the centre of the structure was for an eternal flame, not a body.

I came to Karon in 2019 and described it then as the Machu Pichhu of Tajikistan. Miskola has visited the site previously, too, so it was an appropriate reminder to us both about why it remained lost for so long that this time we missed it, drove past, and had to retrace our steps.

In 2019 I drove up all the way to Karon, albeit slowly and gingerly as the track is steep and narrow, with sharp bends. Now, it’s not allowed. Tragically, a team of my REDP colleagues were killed falling from the cliff after the driver made a minor mistake. Until the track is improved and made safe, everyone must walk.

We had left it as late in the day as possible to visit, but even around 5 pm the heat was still searing. We plodded and sweated our way up, wishing above all else for shade. Karon isn’t visible until you’re right on top of it, so there’s no visual cue as to how much further you must walk.

The first thing you see at the site is the fire temple, now excavated and protected from the elements beneath a plastic roof. It is grand enough in scale to almost justify visiting for it alone, but as you turn and scan the plateau, you realise there’s more all around you.

To one side, there is a polo field and stands, a couple of thousand years old. I was told by an archaeologist excavating the site that it could have accommodated 10,000 spectators; that’s not much smaller in capacity than Wembley Arena! This is a sparsely populated area. Was the climate and population density so very different then?

In the opposite direction, looking out towards the Oxus far below, is another large flat area with stone walls around it and some Graeco-esque columns. The columns are a modern addition, constructed for President Rahmon’s visit so he’d have something to look at, without using much imagination. That aside, this structure is important: it is the only extant example of a Zoroastrian water temple in Central Asia.

The light was fading now, and we knew we needed as much daylight as possible to get down safely to the car and back to the guesthouse. This meant we had to leave the upper part of the citadel for another day.

We decided to split the journey to Khorog over two days. After all, we weren’t in a rush, and there were things to see along the way. The first section of the road is smooth, as the road crews have finished their work and the asphalt is still in good condition. We left Dushanbe shortly after sunrise so as to miss the traffic, and with Sophia’s playlist sounding from the stereo, there was a lightness in the air. This wasn’t the adventure we’d planned, but it was an adventure nonetheless.  

Mid morning, we stopped at Hulbek Fortress, close to the city of Kulob. Dating from the 9th to 12th centuries, it is by no means the oldest of Tajikistan’s historic sites, but it’s one I have visited many times and have a certain affection for.  For the past five years, I’ve been the international consultant for the World Bank’s Rural Economy Development Project, and we’ve spent around $900k improving the environment and conditions at Hulbek. The site guardian was pleased to see us, and even lent us a lighter so we could light the camping stove and make a pot of much-needed black coffee.

Miskola was driving, and I dozed in the passenger seat. A bigger than usual bump in the road jolted me awake, and to my delight we had just reached the point where the Pamir Highway starts running parallel with the Panj. The Panj is the local name for the Oxus, and applies for the section between the confluence of the Pamir and Wakhan Rivers in the Wakhan Corridor, and the confluence of the Oxus and Vakhsh Rivers in southwest Tajikistan. The river, narrow but fast flowing through the gorges, is the border between Afghanistan and Tajikistan, and from the Pamir Highway the Afghan villages are only a strong stone’s throw away. Of course, we jumped out of the car to take pictures. This is OUR river. It’s exciting!

A short way before Kalai Khumb, our stop for the night, we pulled in to stretch our legs at Chorchaman Hills, a new mountain resort where wealthy families from Dushanbe escape for a weekend away. The almost life-size sailing ship and the mock castle are kitsch, but Chorchaman is in a fabulous location, with two impressive waterfalls thundering down into a stream which feeds into the Panj just beyond the parking area. A trio of boys were splashing in the outdoor swimming pool, their parents watching on nonchalantly from a distance. Here, the Oxus and its tributaries have not only created a dramatic landscape but also an opportunity for recreation and leisure.

Fighting back tears of frustration and disappointment, we had to make a decision fast. Should we cancel now, and maybe recoup some money on the flights, or fly to Dushanbe anyway and hope the problem would soon be resolved?

We flew. We called numerous contacts in Afghanistan and abroad to try and discover what was going on. Official information was hard to come by, so we pieced together a story from phone calls and tangentially related local media coverage. The road to the Wakhjir Pass – Afghanistan’s border with China – was finished. Taliban officials had conducted a border survey, and the Chinese Ambassador to Afghanistan had paid a visit to the Wakhan, too. Probably they are preparing to open the border crossing and allow the truck traffic to flow. Wary of foreign surveillance or interference at this sensitive time, the Taliban announced that nationals from NATO member countries would not be allowed to enter the Wakhan.

We could get a visa on arrival at the Sherkhan Bandar border post between Tajikistan and Afghanistan. We could enter Afghanistan, travel around, and visit any part of the country except the Wakhan Corridor, the one area which had always been accessible for tourists, which had a small but developing tourism sector, and was the only place we needed to visit. It seemed laughably unfair (though, for perspective, plenty of people – women in particular – have much bigger problems than this). There was, and still is, no indication as to when the restriction will be lifted.

For the first four, five days we stayed in Dushanbe, waiting. We repacked the expedition kit and caught up with friends and colleagues. We visited the Museum of Antiquities to see the 13m-long sleeping buddha from Ajina Teppe, and admired copies of the Oxus Treasure in the national Museum. We spent an evening at Hisor Fortress, watching couples in love take photos as the orange sun sank behind the mountains. There was time for a last visit to Rokhat Teahouse, a Dushanbe icon which has sadly been earmarked for demolition. Dushanbe is a pleasant enough city, and Miskola’s home town, but in late July 2024, it was not where we wanted to be. With no promising updates from Azim or anyone else, we rewrote our plans. We would travel the Tajik section of the Oxus, and if we heard that the Wakhan had reopened, head straight to the border. The Oxus Expedition would take place, but out of order.    

Preparing for the Oxus Expedition, Sophia and I looked at a wide range of different gauges, which could be used to measure velocity and/or the total water flow in a channel. Some were prohibitively expensive or heavy; others required an external power source or internet
connection. We needed something simple but rugged. Thankfully, Nick Everard, Senior Hydrometric Scientist at the UK Centre for Ecology & Hydrology (UKCEH) suggested somesimple, viable options, including the transparent velocity head rod (TVHR). The TVHR was developed by hydrologists at INRAE in France. It is a low-tech way to measure both the depth of a river and the velocity of the water at surface level. By taking these measurements at multiple point across a channel and inputting the data into a spreadsheet, you can visualise a cross-section of the river and calculate the average flow. I ordered two TVHRs, one to use in the field and the other as a back-up, in case the primary gauge broke or was washed away. None of the expedition team has a background in hydrology, and it is important to use the equipment correctly in order to get accurate measurements. I communicated at length with staff at INRAE, in particular the ever-helpful Mickaël Lagouy;
watched the instruction video on YouTube; and co-opted two much more knowledgeable friends, Matt and Jack, to give the TVHR a trial run in Wiltshire.

There will be some things on the mountain that I can’t control such as the weather, the snow conditions and the way my body reacts to the high altitude. I am therefore focused now on the things I can control, to help me prepare as best I can.

I was under no illusion that preparing for an expedition to the Pamir mountains was going to be easy. It requires physical and mental preparation, developing skills and experience in navigation, mountain travel and being able to recognise and avoid steep rocky terrain. The necessary tick-list I received when I started this journey was a definite reality check. I knew that there was a big challenge ahead of me and that I would need to push far beyond my comfort zone to achieve it. The key to my success was going to be my training.

An important part of my training was to find and create a tailored training plan to build my endurance, strength and cardiovascular fitness. After several conversations with other mountain climbers and hours of research I came to the conclusion that stamina and endurance are the most important facets of physical training since the majority of a mountaineering expedition will involve steadily hiking uphill with a rucksack over a long period of time – usually consecutive hours without a chance to stop.