A winter in Osh - Kyrgyzstan

For over 2,000 years Osh has been a landmark of Central Asia.  Alexander the Great passed through on his way towards India and it was a key trading centre on the Silk Road. It is also one of the few cities left from the old days that retains its statue of Lenin in the central square.

Osh is a gateway to the Pamir Highway that leads to Kherog in Tajikistan and then finally on to Dushambe. It is an epic journey.

I have since been back many times but that first winter in the early 90's was a real shock after Africa. The cold and wind chill ensured every field trip required careful planning.

The old order had departed back to the Russian Federation taking its expertise and Kyrgyzstan existed in a surreal twilight zone, quite unsure of what was going to happen next. 

People made the best of a difficult time. Dances were held in the Hotel Osh. The heating had failed and in that sub zero freezer, people danced dressed in thick fur coats and hats. Stalls out in the snow sold shashliks and plov and champanski and beer. Soft drinks and beer were hopeless as they froze in the bottle before you could swallow them. Some local vodkas were drinkable, but many tasted suspiciously of diluted diesel.

Above Osh is the Sulayman Mountain, Kyrgyzstan's only world heritage site. A mosque on the top was built by Babur a decendant of Tamerlane. Streams of ribbons attached to branches mark the way to the top, left to invoke prayers and wishes, particularly by women hoping for children.

On top of the Sulayman Mountain

Osh Market is one of the biggest in Central Asia and that winter it was encased in thick ice which made staying upright virtually impossible.

The crowd was so dense it was also virtually impossible to fall over, so when you began to slide it was a human version of pin ball as with increasing speed you bounced off the Kyrgyz around you until someone would grab hold until you regained your balance. Most fruit were  seasonally available and non existent in winter. The pickled variety for winter consumption left a lot to be desired.

Bus stop in the shape of the national hat

When spring arrived the city was transformed into a carpet of blossom. The snows finally melted and travel into the surrounding mountains was at last possible.

Bukhara & Genghis Khan- Uzbekistan

Whilst Kyrgyzstan is without doubt my favourite country in Central Asia, Bukhara in Uzbekistan remains my favourite city.

Bukhara has seen it all. Alexander the Great passed this way. When the Horde ransacked the city, Genghis Khan marvelled at the Kalyan minaret, before using it to fling his victims to their deaths.  When survivors eventually returned to the remains of their city they renamed it the Tower of Death.  

Kaylan Minaret

The extremely bad tempered 19^th Century Emir- Nasrulla, favoured lingering deaths for his victims in a bug infested pit, including two unfortunate British Officers which he eventually beheaded. He finally fled the advancing Russians to Tajikistan, leaving a trail of dancing boys in his wake as an unsuccessful diversion.

Bukhara had the greatest collection of madrasas in Central Asia before the communists arrived and left them to fade away. 

It was also a disease infested place with many of the inhabitants suffering from guinea worm known locally as Bukhara boil, contracted from the pools of water built in this desert oasis for people to wash, bathe and drink from. One of the first actions of the Russian regime was to fill these pools in, and to construct alternative water supplies, leaving only the marvellous pool of Layb-I- Khauz and its chai khanas intact.

Taking tea at the pool of Layb-I-Khauz

The Ark was the Citadel of the Emir and it was in front of these gates that the bodies of Stoddart and Conolly the two British Officers were buried.

The Ark

Walking through Bukhara is history brought to life. Bukhara Burnes may have travelled this way only a week or two before instead of 186 years ago. For over 2000 years Bukhara has played a key role in the region, from stop overs on the Silk Road to the Great Game.

Kyrgyzstan

Kyrgyzstan has changed since I first visited in the early 1990's, but remains a magical place. Back then it really was stepping into an alternate reality. Communism had gone away and suddenly a forbidden world was accessible after so many years of isolation.

I was one of the first westerners in the south of the country, establishing and managing the first programme for Save the Children Fund in Central Asia. Within the English department of the University I found interpreters and researchers. The geologists based in Osh, who knew the mountains, provided the field workers. Rarely have I seen such a team - they were immense in every way, and the driving force behind them all - Alfia, remains a close family friend. The one word she would never accept was 'nyet'.

The government buildings I visited were long corridors of empty offices in pristine condition. Phones rang on identical polished desks in identical rooms but no one was there to answer, they had all left. It really was surreal.

The mid winter weather was the hardest challenge after Africa. The cold was unrelenting and just daily washing when you had to break the ice on the water indoors, was a challenge. You could see why they all drank vodka; beer froze solid in its bottle before you could swallow it.

Kyrgyz horseman in the Tien Shan

None of that mattered once you got to the Tien Shan mountains and Lake Issyk Kul, the sheer scale of the place is majestic. Endless peaks and Krygyz men hunting on horseback with full sized eagles on their arms. The hospitality of villagers who rarely see an outsider let alone a foreigner is overwhelming.

An eagle ready for hunting

It is a place where I have made many friends and to which I return as often as I can.

There is often talk of marketing the country as the Switzerland of Central Asia, but this is to do an injustice to Kyrgyzstan. This land is on a far grander scale.

The national hat of Kyrgyzstan -the 'Al Kapak' for sale in Osh market.

Into the Khyber Pass

On the wall of my farmhouse in Somerset just inside the front door is a framed sheet of typed paper. The paper has yellowed with age but holds many memories. It was my first permit to travel into the Khyber Pass a very long time ago.

The permit was valid up to Torkham, the border crossing into Afghanistan. This was before the Taliban had taken control in Kabul, but the instability that was their precursor was already evident and the rest of my next journey into and across Afghanistan was to prove quite eventful.

The Khyber Pass is one of those places that fully lives up to the hype. It is everything those frontier of  Empire stories tried to capture and more. The railway built to rush British troops forward is an engineering marvel and the drive through the narrowest defile in the pass is unforgettable. Here the many regiments that were stationed in the pass have laid their regimental colours into the rock face to mark their passing.

You can see  why it was and is such an impossible place to defend. Towering pickets are built on endless peaks and the whole place exudes a sense of drama and history. The stone below at the entrance to the pass records the opening battle of the second Afghan war at the fort of Ali Masjid in 1872 .

You wander from the road without a guide at your peril as this is the tribal territories where the rule of law is the Pathan's tribal code of  Pashtunwali  and everyone is armed to the teeth.

Peshawar & Deans Hotel - Pakistan

Peshawar has always been the gateway to the Khyber Pass and Deans Hotel was the place to stay. Residents have included Rudyard Kipling & Winston Churchill.

Gateway to the pass

Peshawar used to be known as the Garden City and some few parts still remain despite over-development .  The collection of Buddhas in the museum, some excavated from the Takht-i-Bahi monastery - a UNESCO world heritage site - are simply stunning.  The old town was a must see and the Christian cemetery recorded service and death on the frontier.

Old Town

Much has changed in the thirty years since I first travelled in northern Pakistan.  Peshawar has been built up and tragically Deans is no more.  It was torn down to make way for yet another development.

Deans Hotel

So this really is a memorial to the many happy days I spent in the grounds of Deans (always booked into room 52 ) after travels up country, signing chits to prove I was a non-Muslim and entitled to drink the excellent murree beer.