Iskanderkul – N39°6.8170′ – E67°51.2396′

9th August 2014      9-34’C        194km
Iskanderkul – N39°6.8170′ – E67°51.2396′

After a lazy start to the day, with a relaxed breakfast by the lake, I headed further west, toward the magical seven Marguzor Lakes.  The road varied from beautiful, recently constructed asphalt, to rocks and boulders.  I stopped for a delicious lunch at a small village restaurant, 15 somini ($3) for a large meaty soup, salad & bread.

I reached a section where the road was under construction and all the cars were stopped from proceeding.  I was told I would need to wait, 3hrs before any vehicles could continue on the new surface.  I parked the bike and cooled off, chatting to the locals also waiting, when a guy came over looking at the bike.  His cigarette lighter wasn’t working, and I offered him mine.  This made him very happy, and he went off to negotiate with the road crew, to allow me to ride along the dirt edge of the new road.  They agreed and I set off along a kilometre of very narrow, soft earth, until I reached the section where the crew was working.  This was a problem because it was too narrow to pass, and the new tar was too soft to ride on. I put my boot down into it and it sunk down over my toe.  The road crew were now getting very animated, indicating I should back up 50M where the road was firmer, and cross over to the other side.  But pushing the bike backwards, bogged in the soft earth was impossible.  Finally one of the guys dropped his shovel and came to help me. Together we pushed the bike back and I crossed to the far side of the road where I could continue. It was still very narrow, and I clipped a tar covered wheel barrow with the left pannier, but managed to not fall.
With the roadworks behind me, I turned off the main road and headed up a trail towards the lakes.
After 20 minutes, the track started becoming steeper and tougher, but I continued on, as the views at each lake kept getting even more magnificent.  The lakes and the outflowing river was a brilliant blue colour, the water being filtered through each lake on its way down from the mountain as melting snow.  I worked hard not to fall as the stones got deeper and the trail steeper. To the right was a steep drop into the lake, with little margin for slips or errors at all, and I was tired as it approached 6pm.
I passed though a few small villages of mud construction, the locals dressed traditionally and the men often observed riding a donkey, which is the most common for legged workbeast throughout the ‘stans’.

I passed a guy stopped by the side of the road with an old Russian motorcycle. I stopped next to him and asked “problemy?”. He shrugged and said “Benzene”, pointing at the tank.  I told him “Nhet problemy!” And pulled the small canister of spare fuel from my bike, giving it to him to pour into his machine.  Exceptionally grateful, we took a photo together before saying goodbye.

I decided to struggle onto the last of the seven lakes, and as I reached the waters edge of Azor Chashma, I was very pleased to see a beautiful area of flat grass, right next to the lake, nestled between the high peaks. There were two other groups of locals also camped there, and they waved me over enthusiastically, pulling me off the bike, taking photos and shaking my hand.  They all insisted that I must not cook any food, but eat with them.  I tried at explain that I agreed, but please let me set up my tent before it gets dark.  They continued trying to drag me away but eventually someone translated my request, and I set about trying to assemble the tent, with 8 ‘helpers’, overeager to assist but slowing the process down as they pulled, tugged and fought over tent pegs.  Eager hospitality of the most aggressive kind.
I managed to get the tent assembled and tried to wash in the icy cold water, all the time being watched by the curious observers.  It was almost too much when they just sat there staring while I changed out of my riding gear.  The women all looked away, but the men and children all took better seats closer to the action.

With camp setup, and body partially washed in the frigid water, I joined the group next to me, from Dushanbe they were a group of eight colleagues, from the company ‘Caterpillar’.  They cooked plov over an open fire and we ate, drank vodka and watched the full moon rise over the mountains. It was an amazing sight.  Full of warm Tajik hospitality, I headed to bed with the sound of the rushing river pulling me to unconsciousness.