Leaving Khujand was easy enough, headed to Isfara. Past Isfara I would leave Tajikistan for Kyrgyzstan and on to Osh. And it was in Isfara that my sense if direction and ability to think deserted me. I could recount for you each mistake I made, but will summarize by saying I wasted four hours looking for the correct road to cross the border, but was looking in the wrong place. I was too far south, and when a police officer gave me directions to where I wanted to go, following his advice got me to Kyrgyzstan, but on the wrong road.
By taking the road he directed, I crossed into Kyrgyzstan without going through immigration or customs control. In this part of the world, that can be very serious. I stopped in the first town, Batken, and tried to explain to another police officer. All he could or would say was "Osh." So I headed to Osh, but not without trying to get some cash.
The first bank I stopped at would not convert dollars. They told me the exchange window was closed even though others were getting money exchanged. So I tried their ATM. It wouldn't take any of my cards. So I went to the only other bank in town, which was closed, but had two cash machines. Neither of them worked either. Now it was 5:30, and I needed to get moving if I didn't want to get caught out late again.
As I was headed out of town, I saw a sign on a shop where maybe I could get a SIM card if they would take dollars, so I stopped. That place couldn't, but someone sent for a clerk from the building next door, which was the phone company. An hour and a half later, I had a SIM card and 520 com in my pocket for gas or food.
I left Batken really feeling the time pressure, pretty sure I was not going to make it to Osh that day. The first 17 km confirmed that, as it was washboard road under construction. But then the road became a brand new strip if asphalt as nice as any I've seen. Soon I was doing 55-60 mph and enjoying the evening. I was on the new Osh-Isfara road. Too make sure I had enough fuel, I stopped filled the tank for 460 com. Now I had 60 com for food, about $1.20.
The map I have for Central Asia is a large scale map, and does not show enough detail to allow precise navigation. The maps on Mr. Garmin for this part of the world are from OSM, or Open Steet Maps, a cooperative project to map the world. On a computer they provide somewhat better detail, but on the GPS device, the maps can be difficult to orient. They were difficult on this day. With the SIM card I could get maps off the internet, and they gave me the best information, but I had to stop to use them.
The Osh-Isfara road is designed to allow traveller's to get from one city to the other without traveling into Uzbekistan. The road has been built just south of the Uzbekistan border, although from time to time it still nips into Uzbekistan territory for a bit. By agreement there are no border crossing points at those locations.
Dark finally caught up with me, and I knew I needed to get off the road. I still harbored an inane hope I could make it to Osh on a few hours. Ha! I made it to Khadamzhai, and Mr. G said the O-I road went to the left. I went left, and came to a border crossing. The soldier guarding the gate said that it was a crossing to Uzbekistan, and I didn't want to go there. I said "Osh?", and he indicated I had to go back the way from whence I came, then swing way around.
I tried to follow his directions, but the road headed into the mountains. I tried to figure out where I was and discovered the road I was on dead-ended in the mountains at some "beautiful mountain lakes." I could not get the GPS map oriented in a way I could understand, without doubt because I was tired and hungry and it was dark. I headed back into Khadamzhai because I had seen a park there.
I was sitting on the curb next to the park, looking at my map and iPhone, wIting for the town to settle down so I could sneak into the park and camp. I had checked for a place to stay, and nothing was showing up. So I was sitting there, praying for a solution, watching the area, trying to get a sense of the place. A cab pulled up, and a young man got out. By now it is very dark, but he had seen me sitting there.
He asked in broken English if I was waiting for my friend. I said I had no friends in this town, and I didn't have a place to stay. He pointed at a building about 50 feet from me and said, "Hotel." I was around the corner from the entrance, which he showed me, and it was an old Soviet style hotel. Prayer answered.
I was a source of great amusement to the two Russian speaking women running the place. I was shown to a room with a bed, a sink, a table and chair, and a wardrobe. I took it. As I was outside unloading the bike, the locals were asking their usual questions, and I was joking with them, and in response to a question about where I was going I said I had no idea because I had been lost most of the day. From above me I heard "Did I just hear an American voice say they have been lost most of the day?"
Marydean Purves, originally from Wuoming, has been working with NGOs in Africa and Central Asia for 25 years. She was a tremendous assist to me in getting the room, and the next morning getting me on the correct road. I was so fortunate that she overheard me and offered to help, and them did help.
So with a place to sleep, I took immediate advantage, after making sure I took my boots off.
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