Stepping Into Spring

[TaurusTheBull]

Hi,

When someone who doesn't speak your language insists you drink a mini-bottle of Chardonnay 35,000 feet above Ukraine, it's hard to say no.

It summed up my first Wizz Air flight - unexpectedly pleasant. The worst part of the trip was the packed bus to Budapest airport. After that it was a breeze.

It took four hours and forty minutes to advance the clock a further five hours. So a lunchtime 11C in Budapest was replaced by a very late evening -11C in Astana, KAZAKHSTAN.

I stayed the night at Nursultan Nazarbayev Airport, which is clean, modern and spacious, with padded seats to lie on, a 24-hour money-changer and tourist information desk. The two terminal buildings are adjacent. The newer international building opened in 2017, whilst the older 2005 building is the better place to sleep, and has a supermarket on the ground floor.

Kazakhstan devalued the tenge in 2009 and 2014, but the slide was worse after August 2015, when the government let the currency float, making the country very cheap for foreigners. This, coupled with the 2014 introduction of free 15-day entrance stamps on arrival, now extended to 30 days, makes visiting Kazakhstan an enticing prospect, still under the tourist radar.

Bus 10 links the airport to central Astana, running every 10 minutes from 6 am until 11 pm, and costs 180 tenge, less than 40p (1$ = 378 tenge).

Akmolinsk (1832) became Tselinograd (1961), which became Akmola (1992), which subsequently became Astana (1998). Like Canberra and Brasilia, and Washington before them, Astana is a planned capital city, sitting astride the Ishim River.

Astana is far from anywhere, but in a vast, resource-rich country ruled by a long-term autocrat, that didn't matter. Billions were spent on a quirky New Age city containing the strangest structures, with designs by prestigious architects such as Norman Foster. Despite only having a million residents, the city is very spread out, and so it's possible to wander through the parks and along the river with hardly anyone around.

The central city axis leads from the Peace Pyramid, across the river to the Presidential Palace, past twin golden towers to the central tower which resembles a golf tee, the Bayterek, and on to the Khan Shatyr shopping-and-entertainment centre, inside the World's biggest tent structure. Either side are eclectic high-rises that curve or undulate from vertical. Astana's rich symbiology has drawn the inevitable Illuminati conspiracy theorists.

The ultimate Astana twist is provided by the weather. It is the World's second coldest capital, after Ulan Bator, and the river freezes over for several months in winter. I walked across a few times, watching a few folk fish-holing. There are few people around, though main roads are busy with traffic.

The icy pavements require careful navigation, especially early or late in the day. It took just three days to catch a cold, but I was saved by a previously booked flight out, so I sniffled my way to the airport for my midnight escape.

Astana airport is very quiet. I was the only person going through immigration, after the security scan I was merely asked to take a sip of my water, and the woman in the airside "Books & Gifts" shop was asleep.

Scat Airways 52-seater Bombardier CRJ200 was only half-full, the most pleasant 2.5 hour flight south to Dushanbe in TAJIKISTAN, where I found a quiet padded bench to sleep for a couple of hours before the consul turned up to issue my visa-on-arrival ($50 for up to 45 days).

Ten fingerprints and a digital mug shot taken, no form-filling, very straightforward. E-visas are readily available online. The whole visa process has been made easier in the past few years. In my case, a further $20 was required for the GBAO (Gorno-Badakhshan Autonomous Oblast, which constitues nearly half of the land area of Tajikistan) permit necessary to visit the Pamir Highway, and obtainable at the DIA in town. It was too early in the season to go there, the road usually being snowed up until early May.

I changed money at the airport, getting 943 somonis for a hundred US dollars, against the online rate quoted at 937.

An afternoon high of 1C in Astana was replaced by 20C in Dushanbe. From bleak winter to joyful spring in less than three hours. Snow-capped mountains to the north and east attest to the recent departure of winter.

For a country I'd previously given little thought to, Tajikistan was a blank canvas, and yet the order, modernity and cleanliness of Dushanbe came as a surprise. Central buildings look grand. There are posh new bus shelters. Parks are well tended, litter-free, and amply provided with seats.

Women were busily planting flowers in the city's parks whilst colourfully adorned locals paraded down the streets, all in preparation for Navroz, or Persian New Year, celebrated throughout the region, and starting on the vernal equinox. Apricot and apple trees were in blossom. Spring had arrived on cue.

I was disappointed in the lack of seemingly traditional markets. Modern shops in modern buildings are the norm. Any subliminal thoughts I may have had of bargaining for goods with wizened old Tajiks in large tented bazaars were swiftly quashed.

Dushanbe grew from a small village in the 19th century to the present-day city of 800,000, originally spurred by the geographical location at the meeting of two rivers, the location of a popular Monday market (Dushanbe means "Monday"). Between 1929 and 1961 the city was known as Stalinabad.

Food, drink and accommodation are cheap. I had a big clean room to myself for a fiver (64 somonis), at an apartment near the railway station that had recently opened as a hostel. WiFi was unreliable, but Premier League football was shown on TV. Two hundred metres away was a good local restaurant selling the popular Plov (rice, meat, veg, bread and pot of tea) for fourteen somonis, about £1.20. A pint of draught beer at a local bar was four somonis, 33p. A swirl cone of delicious Tajik ice cream costs a bargain one somoni.

Foreign tourism in Tajikistan is still in it's infancy, and the only souvenir shop I found had mainly tapestries, pottery and pennants of Lenin. So only a century out of date! It makes a refreshing change from overly touristed cities such as Budapest. The trend in Central Asia is for free visas: Kazakhstan and (this year) Uzbekistan having followed the years-old example of Kyrgyzstan. Tajikistan would do well to follow suit.

For those who don't speak Tajik or Russian, language is a problem, although cyrillic names can soon be figured out.

It's hard not to like a warm, quiet, affable city in the throes of spring, where heros are ancient (10th century poet Rudaki, 9th century Samanid leader Ismail Somoni). Dushanbe is a pleasant place to relax, observe and reflect before venturing further.

The northern 'bus terminal' (shared taxis and marshrutkas) is about 10 km from the centre, along Rudaki Avenue, and easily reached on bus 3. Just before it is the ugly cement factory, but its roadside walls are lined with many tiled paintings of Tajik scenery, historic buildings, people and cultural items. One of these inspired me to visit it the next day.

Situated 25 km outside Dushanbe, via two marshrutkas, Hisor is a town four km from old Hisor Fortress. The original fort dates back over two thousand years, and is now, along with the walls, re-constructed. The arched gateway and iconic cylindrical pillars at the front date from the 16th century, pre-dating similar pillars found at Bukhara in Uzbekistan. Across the old market square is a 17th century madrassa (where teaching ended in 1921), restored mosque and caravanserai. A small modern amphitheatre sits in the hidden bowl below the fortress, and when I arrived colourfully-attired women were in pre-Navroz dancing mode.

After five days I headed back to the northern 'bus terminal' and jumped into a share-taxi going to Khujand, 295 km away, 150 somonis. The road climbs over two three-thousand metre passes, both of which are marked with long tunnels, and the second of which our driver negotiated at 100 km per hour. Road surfaces are good, but vehicles give a wide berth to places where rocks and stones have tumbled onto the road. After toilet, sick and food stops, we arrived in Khujand five hours later.

Khujand is a quarter the size of Dushanbe, nestled at the western end of the fertile but sometimes restive Ferghana Valley, astride the Syr Darya river. The river flows westwards to the Aral Sea, and was hijacked in Soviet times for cotton irrigation, causing ecological disaster and shrinkage of the Aral Sea. In fact, the huge Kayrakkum Reservoir, 20 km north of Khujand, was created in the 1950s by damming the river to generate HEP from the runoff. Locals call this 55 km stretch of water the "Tajik Sea", and its shores have drawn wildlife, fruit orchards and sanitaria.

Dating back over two thousand years, Khujand was part of Sogdiana, and the location of Cyropolis, targeted by Alexander the Great. Largely destroyed by Genghis Khan's Mongol hordes in 1220, the city rose again and, after spending the period from 1936 until 1991 as Leninabad, reverted to it's former name when Tajikistan achieved independence. Part of the fortress has been reconstructed as the Sughd Museum.

Khujand was in New Year mode, with a quiet March 21 holiday followed by traditional music and dancing the next morning, in front of the neo-classical theatre building. "Navroz 2019" is cyrillicised as "HABPÝ3 2019".

Set back from the main street is Sheikh Muslihiddin Mausoleum, in front of which children happily chase pigeons, and across the adjacent public square is Panjshanbe ("Thursday") Bazaar, a delightful market set in and around a cavernous building.

News came from Kazakhstan. Nursultan Nazarbayev finally relinquished power, after thirty years, and his chosen successor announced that Astana's name would change... to Nur-sultan. The Kazakh couple from Almaty, staying at the hostel, were somewhat bemused by it all, and wondered what they'd be returning to.

I took a share taxi south, back over the first pass, right at Ayni village, and on to Panjakent, 250 km and 100 somonis, less than a tenner. The roads are decent and wide enough for ample overtaking, though traffic is generally light.

Panjakent is a town in the Zervashan Valley, gateway to the Fann Mountains and to the Uzbek border. Settlement here dates back over two thousand years, and evidence can be seen on the hills overlooking the town, where there are many clay-brick remains built into the landscape. There are marvellous views over Panjakent and the surrounding mountains.

I stayed two nights in a 3-bed dorm, with flat screen TV, and breakfast included, for $10 per night, at Umariyon Hotel, on the quiet main street a few hundred metres from the bazaar. With fruit trees in blossom, and snow-capped mountains either side of the valley, late March is a good time to visit, though a little early for trekking in the Fanns.

Not to be deterred, I caught an old minibus for the 90-minute trip up to the village of Shing, gateway to the so-called "Seven Lakes". The track winds upwards another twenty-five km or so, along a steep-sided craggy valley, past a few small villages, to the seventh lake. I walked past the fourth lake in four overcast hours, seeing a dozen vehicles (or 'machines', as the locals refer to them) in that time, and meeting mainly goat-herders.

There are no shops here, so I stayed for two nights half-board at "Mijgon Homestay" in Padrud village, 160 somoni per night, at an elevation of 1,768 m. The meals are basic and the power off during the day. I ate with the family in their warm living room, complete with large flat-screen TV. Experiencing family life is the real value in places like this.

On my full day I set off for the upper three lakes without the burden of my small pack. Number five is small, and the last two are the largest, surrounded by white peaks. I trudged up the track behind the village at the far end of lake six, braving wind and some rain, but finally admitted defeat after encountering ice and thick mud across the track above two thousand metres, not having boots. The weather wasn't too bad, a few locals were out scavenging wood, but Lake Seven in March proved a little beyond my (lack of) preparedness.

Today dawned cloudy, and then magically cleared to blue skies for my walk out. Five km after Shing, with no passing traffic, I thumbed a lift from a truck leaving the nearby gold mine (operated by Zijin Mining, Chinese), and quickly followed it with another lift back into Panjakent. All in all, a very satisfying three-day trek, and one in which I was privileged to be the only trekker.

It's time for a rest day in Panjakent tomorrow before testing the border with Uzbekistan, supposedly visa-free since February 1.

Cheers
Taurus

[NomoneyNohoney]

"Scat Airways ..?" What were they like?

[TaurusTheBull]

Hi NMNH,

The Scat (unfortunate name) Airways flight was rather overshadowed by the circumstances. That is, a flight that was due to leave a sub-freezing Astana at 0010 was delayed an hour, and passengers were taken to the plane by an airport bus. I got back on the bus as there was a slight delay whilst twenty-five people waited to board, standing in the freezing cold. That would be my only complaint, since I wasn't bothered by the delay.

The flight was half-full, capacity about 52 seats. Two and a half hours, including a snack and non-alcoholic drinks, served soon after departure so people could grab a couple of hours sleep. Good, friendly service. Quiet for a small jet. I had two seats to myself and plenty of leg-room. I paid about £60 so it was good value for the region, though obviously not comparable to European budget prices.

I'd readily fly with Scat again.

Cheers
Taurus