Monday, 5 October 2026

 

Start: Panjakent (TJ) 9:00

Arrival: Dushanbe (TJ) 14:20

 

Total: 229 km

 

 

 

We were in Tajikistan, but had neither a simcard nor car insurance. Usually both were available right at the border, but not here. The border guard had assured me that car insurance was not mandatory in this country. Hm. I'd still prefer to be covered. Shit always happens when you least need or expect it. After some research online, I found a nationwide insurance company and wrote them an email. Now for the sim card. We drove into Panjakent, but traffic was so crazy that it was impossible to find a free parking spot in the centre. Let's just get out of here and look for a sim card in a less stress-inducing place.

 

 

So we drove on to Dushanbe. The road was still very good, a run-of-the-mill country road, but without potholes and definitely no waves and bumps. The fields soon made way for more mountainous terrain. Even at a higher elevation, there were still trees and simple meadows, herds grazing on the slopes.

 

 

All the way to Dushanbe, we would be driving along a fast-flowing mountain river, the Zarafshon, of a distinct muddy-brown colour. It seemed to carry a lot of silt. "Zarafshon" means "spreader of gold" in Persian. Am I very unkind if I say it reminded me of something a bit more organic than gold? Anyway, the river was grandiose to behold and the mountains surrounding us were awe-inspiring too. I loved the scenery, the steep naked rocks, the water gurgling deep below us. It was still raining intermittently. Here's to hoping that the rain won't induce a mudslide.

 

 

We passed village after village. In one town, I spotted a signpost "Megafon". A Tajik phone company. I stopped the car right in front of it, Sonia stayed inside in case someone needed to access the back alley I was blocking and I stepped into the booth, determined not to leave without a working sim card. Two girls ran the shop. They scanned my passport, then filled in their online form. A discussion in Tajik ensued between them. "Germania?" one of them asked me in the end. Oh ye citizens of big countries, you have no idea what hassles you are spared! "Luxembourg. Next to Germany", I repeated my mantra in Russian. Of course they knew this. They just couldn't find my home country in their drop-down menu. And the system wouldn't let them put it in manually. More discussions in Tajik. "Germania", the older one finally said with a decisive nod. I heaved a sigh of relief. Two minutes later, I left the stuffy booth, and before I had even reached the car, I'd checked my emails. No reply from the car insurance. Damn. Well, couldn't be helped, we'd solve that problem in Dushanbe. Piece of cake, not even 200 kilometres, just a couple of mountains between us and the capital of Tajikistan.

 

 

"Wow, there's a snow-capped mountain in the distance", said Sonia and took a pic. Sadly, it's hiding behind a cloud here. But we moved ever higher into the mountains, and soon our brave little Honda had trouble passing the trucks that were trundling up at 20 km/h. Some mountains seem to virtually pull you up their slopes. The mountains in Kyrgyzstan were like that. Not these, though. We had to fight every inch of the way, often at a meagre 40 km/h.

 

 

 

 

The Anzob pass goes up to a height of over three thousand metres, roughly the same as the Kyrgyz Too-Ashoo pass. At its top sits the infamous Independence Tunnel, also known among overlanders as the Tunnel of Death. Though more than five kilometres long, it has minimal ventilation, dense exhaust fumes, potholes and little lighting. According to AI, these problems are largely a thing of the past, though. Well, let's find out. And get it on tape, Sonia!

 

 

The moment we entered the tunnel, the car's windows instantly fogged up. Completely. "AC! AC on! Full throttle!" I screamed, put the windshield wipers on top speed and desperately tried to see where I was going. Was there a car in front of me? No. But as always a nice big canal to my right. God knows why the Central Asians think it's a good idea to put those along their roads. A diffuse light announced an oncoming truck. This tunnel was so narrow! With windows defogged, I relaxed a bit. After a minute or two, Sonia and I both experienced a feeling of unreality. Murky light, narrow tunnel, no other cars around. ... At that moment, they entered the twilight zone ....

 

 

"Ok, you can film now", I told Sonia, just to get a sense of normalcy back. We drove on. For minutes. It was really pretty dark in here, even with the high beams on. Some cars crossed us. Now, I could even see less where I was going. A bump, a loud bang. A mother of a pothole, and I'd driven right into it! But there was the blissful light at the end of the tunnel, we had made it! I parked at the side, got out, inspected the car (no damage done) and then Sonia and I took in the view. Southern Tajikistan was waiting for us. From now on, it was downhill all the way to Dushanbe. Bye-bye, Tunnel of Death, see you in a few days on our way back.

 

 

 

In the early afternoon, we rolled into beautiful Dushanbe. Large boulevards, trees and rose gardens, stately buildings in the New Classical style that I so love. We had booked a room in the Crowne Plaza. The hotel was easy to find, with its 20 high-ceilinged floors, it towered over everything else. "A room on a rather low floor, please", I asked the receptionist at check-in. "Eighth floor ok for you?" We nodded. But we would definitely not check out the Steak and Grill on the twentieth floor.

 

 

But the hotel was divine! Smiling, motivated staff, waiters happy to chat in English, delicious food, and we were even offered a complimentary drink.

 

"There's still the question of the car insurance", my sister reminded me. Ah yes. That. The information desk had said that if we needed anything, we could ask them. So let's put that to the test. The employee was more than happy to help. He took note of everything and promised to get back to us tomorrow at noon. We had planned to see Hisob Fortress tomorrow, but on second thoughts, we decided to visit the capital first. The fortress was 30 kilometres outside. Let's not tempt Fate. The lady might get it into her head to make our lives more interesting than they need to be.

 

 

Late at night, we enjoyed the view from our window. The eighth floor is a bit like seventh heaven: you're higher up than most. Dushanbe by night was a symphony of colours. The stadium, the highrises, the park, everything was illuminated in ever changing hues.

 

 

My eyes glided over the panorama outside. Suddenly, I squinted. "Is that Rahmon?" I asked my sister. "Who?" "The president." Sonia shrugged. "How would I know? I've never seen the bloke." That was technically not correct. One cannot drive by car from Samarkand to Dushanbe and not see Emomali Rahmon. "The guy on the billboards", I reminded her, "and there was a picture of him in the museum in Sarazm yesterday." The picture in the sky had changed. Still Rahmon, but holding a different pose.

 

I looked at him, his likeness projected onto the ferris wheel in the fun park. The cycle of ups and downs. Sonia turned on the lights in the bathroom. Interesting. Now I could see myself projected onto the nightsky. Right next to the ruler of this country. I love artsy pics.