24 Hours in
No Man's Land

At 11:49 in the morning we drove out of the Kyrgyz border post.

But we did not drive into Tajikistan.

Ahead of us, the road climbed toward Kyzyl-Art Pass and more than 4,000 metres of altitude. Behind us was the Kyrgyz checkpoint we had just cleared. My wife and I were travelling in our camper van with our 2.5-year-old son, and we had already decided that we were not going to rush this part.

So instead of crossing the mountains immediately, we spent the next 24 hours in between.

We drove up the valley and came back down. We walked. We cooked. We played with our son. We stopped for photographs, collected water from the mountain, drank hot tea and drove the same empty road in both directions.

For one day, this strip between Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan became home.

Leaving Kyrgyzstan without entering Tajikistan

I was driving the Pamir Highway as part of my one-year camper-van journey. The plan for this section was simple on paper: drive from Sary Tash in Kyrgyzstan, cross into Tajikistan and continue through Karakul toward Murghab.

The problem was altitude.

From the Kyrgyz border area, the road rises rapidly toward Kyzyl-Art. We were travelling with a small child, so I did not want to leave one high checkpoint and immediately push farther into mountains above 4,000 metres.

We needed time.

At 11:03 we arrived at the Kyrgyz border post. The formalities took less than an hour, and at 11:49 we were through.

There is something strange about passing a national border and then deliberately not continuing to the next one. Normally a border crossing is a few minutes of neutral territory, barriers and paperwork. Here the distance between the controls was part of the journey itself: a mountain road climbing through a huge, almost empty landscape.

That empty space was where we stayed.

Water before the climb

Seven minutes after leaving the checkpoint, at 11:56, we stopped for water.

We carried a 100-litre tank in the camper and another 20 litres in jerricans. Running mountain water was accessible beside the road, surrounded by snow and frozen ground, so I climbed down with the containers and filled them.

It is one of my favourite photographs from the crossing because it explains van life better than a photograph of the road ever could. We were travelling through one of the highest mountain regions of Central Asia, but the immediate job was very ordinary: find water, carry water, put it in the van.

I would not present this as advice to drink untreated mountain water. It is simply what we did there.

By 12:25 we were already around 3,570 metres and stopping again for photographs.

There was no reason to hurry.

Driving into the valley — and coming back

We continued climbing.

At 12:59 we stopped in a dry river valley above 3,700 metres. Snow lay between the rocks, the road cut across the mountain above us, and once we walked away from the van the scale of the place became much clearer.

We walked around the valley with our son. We played. Then we drove farther up, stopped again, turned around and came back.

This became the rhythm of the afternoon.

Drive. Stop. Walk. Look around. Drive a little farther. Come back down.

The fact that we had nowhere we needed to reach that afternoon changed the entire crossing. Kyzyl-Art was still there for the next morning.

At around 13:16 we chose a place for lunch at roughly 3,800 metres. By 13:30 we were cooking. We finally ate at 15:06.

There were no restaurants, cafés or roadside services involved. Lunch was simply whatever we had in the camper, cooked outside in the mountains, followed by cookies and warm tea.

That was our afternoon in no man's land.

Back down before sunset

We did not spend the night at the highest point we reached.

By late afternoon we turned around and drove back down toward the Kyrgyz side. At 17:09 my wife was driving as we descended again toward approximately 3,450 metres near the border complex.

The light was disappearing quickly and the cold returned with it.

The previous evening I had already learned where I wanted to park. I had put the van down inside a ditch where the terrain gave us some protection from the wind. By morning the camper and the landscape around it were covered with snow.

It was not a comfortable campsite in the normal sense. It was simply the place that worked.

We had spent most of the day going up and down the same stretch of mountain road instead of treating it as something to get through.

Then we slept and tried again the next morning.

Morning in the snow

At 07:25 we woke to clear weather.

Breakfast came at 08:36. After that we packed up and started climbing again.

The road looked completely different under morning light. Fresh snow covered the mountains while patches of ice remained on the track. At 09:33 we were stopping for photographs again. Seven minutes later we were looking at damaged sections of road.

This time, however, we were not turning around.

We drove back through the valley we had explored the previous day and continued toward Kyzyl-Art.

At altitude, distance can become deceptive. A road may look as if it crosses an open plateau, but every section involves another climb, another bend and another change in surface.

Later along the Pamir route, my dashboard equipment would show 4,710 metres above sea level.

That number gives some scale to this journey. Once you are driving the high Pamirs, 4,000 metres is not a summit you visit and immediately descend from. You can remain at extreme elevation for long sections of the route.

Kyzyl-Art

At 10:11 we left the last outpost before the climb.

At 10:12 I engaged four-wheel drive.

The road ahead was white with snow and ice.

Thirteen minutes later we were standing at Kyzyl-Art.

The red sign in my photograph reads Kyzyl-Art Ashuusu and gives an altitude of 4,282 metres.

My old notes record Kyzyl-Art Pass as 4,318 metres.

I would not hide that difference. These stories are reconstructed from photographs and old notes, and here the photograph gives a number that does not match the one I wrote down. I trust the sign more than my handwriting.

The important part of that morning was simpler: after spending the previous day driving toward this place and retreating again, this time we continued.

The icy road behind us dropped toward Kyrgyzstan.

Tajikistan was ahead.

The Tajik checkpoint

From Kyzyl-Art we drove the short distance toward the Tajik border control.

At 10:50 we were descending from the pass. At 11:12 we were dealing with passports and customs.

By 11:30 we were inside Tajikistan.

On my crossing, the Tajik post felt much more basic than the Kyrgyz one, but the people were welcoming. After the paperwork, the road opened again and we continued toward Karakul.

That was the end of our 24 hours between the two border controls.

Almost exactly one day earlier we had left the Kyrgyz post and deliberately stopped short of Tajikistan.

Now we were moving again.

Karakul

The road continued across the high plateau toward Karakul.

By 11:53 we were descending toward the flatter country before the village. At 13:57 we arrived in Karakul itself, and at 14:26 we reached the shore of the lake at roughly 3,900 metres.

After a day surrounded by snow, rock and narrow mountain valleys, the colour came as a shock.

The lake was blue-green, almost turquoise, with the snowy Pamirs stretching across the entire horizon.

I drove the van down close to the shore and stopped.

Twenty-four hours earlier we had been driving back toward Kyrgyzstan because I did not want to push higher that afternoon.

Now Kyrgyzstan was behind us, Kyzyl-Art was behind us, and the van was parked beside Karakul.

The road to Murghab was still ahead.

The Pamir Highway beyond Karakul

Karakul was only one stage.

From there the M41 continues through some of the highest road sections of the Pamirs, including Ak-Baital Pass, before dropping toward Murghab.

I had already travelled sections of the Pamir Highway during the summer of 2012. This winter crossing in 2017 was different. Snow covered roads that I remembered bare, ice changed how slowly I had to drive, and places that had been easy stops in summer required much more attention.

Even stopping beside the road could produce another Pamir surprise: wildlife, empty valleys, enormous skies and almost no traffic.

But the part of this journey I remember most clearly is still the first 24 hours.

We did not conquer anything. We barely covered any distance.

We walked around. We cooked lunch. We made tea. We played with our son. My wife drove, I drove, we moved farther into the valley and came back again. Then we slept in the snow and started over the following morning.

Sometimes on the Pamir Highway, travelling slowly means travelling the same kilometres twice.

From Karakul, we continued toward Murghab and deeper into Tajikistan.

If you are continuing through the region, see my guide to the Tajik Wakhan Corridor for the next part of the journey.