Wednesday, 7 October 2026

 

Start: Dushanbe Hotel (TJ) 12:00

Arrival: Dushanbe Hotel (TJ) 15:00

 

Total: 73 km

 

 

Hisor Fortress lies only thirty kilometers outside Dushanbe, on the road towards the Uzbek town of Termez. We had originally planned on visiting the Buddhist ruins near Termez, but since we had changed our route in Kokand (north towards Samarkand and Bukhara, instead of first south to Dushanbe), I had no desire to spend another three or four days on Uzbek roads. So the Buddhist statues would have to do without us, which I am sure they are perfectly capable of. This of course meant that today we would reach another memorable milestone on our journey: I give you: the southernmost point on our trip. Amazingly, to compare it with European capitals, Dushanbe is only slightly further south than Lisbon. So our whole trip, while bringing us very far east, had not even taken us further south than Athens!

 

 

Unfortunately, it was a very hot day again. But needs must, we were only in Dushanbe until tomorrow morning. Mental note: any country south of Luxembourg, visit only in winter.

 

The fortress walls sported a similar rounded style as the Ark in Bukhara. Judging by the remaining structures, this was rather a fort than what I'd call a bona-fide fortress.

 

 

Right behind the entrance gate, we found the lane that one usually sees on internet pictures taken in Hisor. To the left and right, newly erected cells "in the old style" that really only served as souvenir and clothes stalls. As we were the only female tourists around, the walk up the lane turned into a gauntlet run. Women calling out to us "Miss, look the scarves", "Where are you from", "Come in". We hurried past.

 

 

At the end of the lane, a newly erected gate, and beyond that, ruins that actually looked like they might be older than me. A small amphitheatre that was in a sad state and visibly got abused as a garbage dump. After more than a month in Central Asia, the omnipresence of trash in nature as well as in their cities was getting to me. Again and again, we'd seen people on the highway simply throw cans and plastic bottles out the window while driving. The "cab drivers open their doors during our rides" mystery had also resolved itself: they were spitting thick gobs onto the road. Different strokes for different folks, I guess. The trash thing was not funny though.

 

 

A boy galopped past on his horse. "He's sitting behind his saddle instead of on it", Sonia said. Hm, indeed he did. There were several horses waiting for customers. A woman had opted for a ride. One of the boys led the horse gently along the path, while she was holding on for dear life. I eyed the steep ascent to the building overlooking the fortress. It would be much easier on a horse. "You want to rent one?" Sonia asked. I imagined myself on horseback, going up a 40° slope. The camel ride in the desert had at least been on flat ground. I shook my head. Shanks's pony would have to do. If only it were a wee bit overcast. A cloud, a cloud, my kingdom for a cloud. Much better than a horse.

 

 

"Ready?" Sonia asked. No, but let's do it anyway. The way went up in three zigzags. After the middle of the first, I was done for. Back down was not an option, too steep. The sun burned through my clothes. Why was I doing this again? We're almost half way up", Sonia lied encouragingly. Lopsided grin, and on we trudged.

 

 

At the first bend, I sat down to enjoy the view. We were already high up. If only there were some shade. The thought of a bench in a cool corner motivated me to get going again.

 

 

Second bend, second pause. "We're almost there", Sonia cried, "the last part is really short." I dragged myself up, faster than I would have thought possible, fuelled by the desire to find shade. Yes, up, there was the building, there my bench in the shade, as yet unclaimed, as barely anyone had been harebrained enough to get up here in the midday heat. I flopped down on it.

 

 

An information panel declared that the fortress was "more than 3000 years old". Well, I'm not saying there's not some foundation buried below this hill that is that old. Anything visible was clearly much younger though. Meanwhile, Sonia had checked out the building. It seemed to be a museum. A closed museum, to be precise. Meaning we had got up all this way just to enjoy the view. Might as well, then. We walked around the battlements. The view over the hills toward the town of Hisor and the distant mountains of the northern Pamir was beautiful.

 

 

Now for the descent. The stairs leading down to the entrance were much steeper and narrower than expected. Towards the end, there was no railing at all anymore. Slowly and awkwardly, I made my way down. A young man in his early twenties practically flew past me. That made me feel even slower. Tomorrow, I would be feeling this in my upper legs. Better than any step class.

 

On the way back to the hotel we found a gas station that sold 95 petrol, so we filled up for tomorrow's long drive to Khujand. Sonia went in to pay, while I greeted the gas pump employee with my usual "Salam. Dyevyanostapyat, pozhaluysta." He pointed at the 95 nozzle and said "Navad o panj?" I nodded mechanically. After about ten seconds, it hit me: I had understood what he had just said! Navad o panj was 95 in Persian! Yay, I understood the locals! I grinned at him like a crazy woman. He smiled back, we both put our hands over our hearts, nodded and he wished us a good trip. Tajiks are just the nicest people ever.