Pamirs 7

 

In Khorov at a hostel, which feels like five stars.

Today we drive to Geisev Valley and cross the Bhartan river on a rickety footbridge, fast-flowing water feet beneath us. From here we trek to Bhagoo village, about 8km, to an upper series of clear lakes in a valley of towering mountains.  We stay the night in Geisev, a small village of simple houses, gnarled trees and fruit groves - it is the season and appleas and pears fall from the branches; blankets of orange apricots sun-dry on the stones.  Eitan and I count seconds on each on in the 4C river which we swim.

I learn that a Pamir house is built as a family effort instead of, say, buying off a neighbour. It takes about one year to collect all the materials needed for construction. As wood is rare here and the centrepriece of the house is wooden pillars, family planning demands long-term tree-planting.

Furniture is simple and the home protected with warm carpets and wools on the floor and walls.

Our room has a hole in the ceiling for a make-shift chimney.

Geisev Valley

Taliban 6

Friendly man on the Pamir HW

The Taliban, whose roots are in Pakistan (Quetta city), is not so big a subject in Tajikistan, despite being a river crossing away.  The Pamirs and Hindu Kush ranges make the Afghani border impassable for vehicles and people while a single dirt lane parallels our road on the opposite side of the Panj river providing a connection to the Taliban villages we occasionally pass along the highway.  I see the infrequent motorcycle but never a car and imagine a truck could not cross raising a question : how do these outposts exist ?

Aziz grunts as he points out a Taliban check point.

The Taliban ruled most of Afghanistan from 1996-2001 until the Americans knocked them out.  It began as a student led revolution (Taliban means "students") from the 1994 Afghanistan civil war and spread in the Islamic schools - it was Mullah Omar who shifted the movement away from the Mujahideen warlords into a form of government espousing an extreme interpretation of Islamic law ("Sharia") which resulted in massacres against Afghan civilians, harsh discrimination against minority religions and people, denial of UN food supplies to starving people, banning women from school, and the destruction of cultural monuments.

In 1997, our trip to Pakistan leading us into the mountainous Northern Territories was nearly killed as the Taliban destroyed the ancient Budha statues of Afghanistan and their nomadic armed camps, and refugees, spilled into the region alongside the KKH, triggering fear that all of Pakistan could be next. 

The Taliban did not disappear during the American occupation, retaking Kabul following the US departure in 2021. The Taliban is not recognised by any country and likely supported by China, Russia and Iran and others.

Panj river, Pamirs

Tajikistan 5

Afghanistan, next right

Nate in Dushambe is from Houston, age 46, and on the world tour for 15 months with another three to go.  Before, he was a criminal defense lawyer which comes up frequently when asserting his domain.  His itinerary is set by cheap airfare and friends to visit - he departs for Munich at Midnight (400 bucks) then Vienna (Indian girl, met on the road). He knows his travels and is detailed on the history.  Prior, in Islamabad, Nate stayed with the family of a Pakistani client in Houston - "we won that one with the grace of God", he says - who treat Nate like a son in their wealthy complex - he has been on the KKH and we have a natural discussion point.

Nate does not trust the government generally and his eventual terminus may be Mexico or Panama - he reasons their leadership is so incompetent it cannot be dangerous. My impolite suspicion is that Nate is running for something quite possibly more than growing up.

Tajikistan 4

Kalai Khomb friends

We spend the night in Kalai Khomb where I photograph these two friends in front of the mosque. They have lived only here.

The small village is next to towering mountains and the sometimes raging c 970km Panj River which drains the Sarez Lake, itself filled by glacier melt, in the Bartang Valley. The river is the natural border separating Tajikistan and Afghanistan.  Remarkably, it dissolves into the desert. Before it goes, though, water is siphoned to the cotton fields, Tajikistan's major export, since the Aral Sea went dry (watering cotton) during Soviet times.

But the Pamir Highway : it is a c 1,800km two-lane (sometimes) road that begins in Termez, Uzbekistan, and ends in Osh, Kyrgyzstan.  Pre highway, the route was an important part of the Silk Road connecting East and West.

The present hw began in 1931-35 under Stalin to transport troops and provisions and maintain his control here. Over many years, sections were upgraded to concrete or tarmac but, from around Kalai Kumb, it is mostly a dirt and rock road making for brutal driving.  Along with holes and ditches, we are 1-3 feet from the road's edge dropping downwards to the battleship grey river below.  Impassable without a 4WD.

My original plan was to cycle the hw, which I now see would have been dangerous and foolhardy. Firstly I cannot service a bike which is certainly an essential requirement. Then there are the passes over 3,000m.

As we drive I note the Chinese are in the midst of bouldering and eventually, I learn, will pave the full hw, expected to finish by 2025. Payback is the minerals and precious metals that can be delivered more rapidly to Kashgar than Eastern China where the people are. Chinese orange trucks, driven by Tajiks, create impasses and Aziz honks, curses and races around them without changing a facial expression, which is normally glowering (though he is extremely friendly)

As trucks approach there is a game of chicken between drivers (Aziz) dictated by the smoothest passage on the road - is a broken axel from a pothole less inconvenient than a collision ?

Road block

Tajikistan 3

We have a momentary scare when Eitan's visa cannot be found at a crossing control nearby Afghanistan. Happily, after a thorough search, it drops from his passport where it is naturally tucked away and found before I flash a wad of dollars before the police.

Two boys presumably on their way to school, no parents in sight.

Tajikistan 2

Masget Mosque, Dushambe

Tajikistan, as all C Asia, is a Muslim country, a religion imported from the Middle East in the 9th century. It is mostly Sunni (Sunni is approximately 95% of Islam) though the Pamir region is Shia - it does not seem to create any tension. Our guide Macfadir (female) is from the Pamirs and is Shia while, she informs, her friends are a mix. She is modern, does not pray, and believes that being Muslim means kindness of the heart.

During Soviet times from 1922-91, the USSR tried to prevent Tajiks from following their religious beliefs, demanding instead militant atheism, causing serious tension. Yet despite this, in 1943, Muslim religious boards took administrative control of the Soviet Muslims and some mosques were re-opened to ease friction; under Kruschev everything closed down again until the collapse of the Soviet empire. 

Today all religions in Tajikistan are allowed with 98% being Muslim. 

On this thread, Dushambe built the largest mosque in Central Asia in 2019 called Masget. The mullah who shows us the inside informs that the mosque is one hectare and the dome's peak is over 100 feet. Unlike the Hagia Sofia in Istanbul which was designed on four pillars ("elephant's feet") enabling a pure dome and extraordinary acoustics, Masget has 100 pillars, something I consider as the mullah chants in waling prayer to show us.  

Eitan and I are travelling with backpacks and cameras, little else. Some clothes, two kindles and The Lonely Planet (1995).

Our driver Aziz is pulled over by the police in the middle of nowhere and told he must pay a cash fine of 800 somone (about $25), a fortune, for speeding. He knows the officer and they yell at each other for 20 minutes, enjoying themselves thoroughly.

Tajikistan 1

Arrival, Dushambe Airport

Eitan and I arrive in Dushamnbe (meaning “Monday” , when the city was so inconsequential it was named for the market day; now, 1.2m people and the capital city) on Sunday greeted at the very crowded airport by our guide and driver for the next three weeks. This is a first time in Tajikistan though I have been to Central Asia in 1997 to tour the Karakoram Highway with Sonnet and my sister Katie. In effect, we will soon be on the less developed - and trafficked - Pamir Highway winding into the Pamir Mountains, much of which is along the Afghanistan and Chinese borders. It is the second highest highway in the world after the KKH and reaches a top pass of over 4,200m. 

Today we are in Iskander Kul, a substantial mineral lake at c 3000m in the Fan mountains, Northwest province, where we spend the night in a guesthouse surrounded by yak and goats in a partially developed complex. Getting here, we pass by the location where Alexander The Great rested during his seige of the Sogdians in the 7th c expanding his empire into C Asia. 

Also near us is gold, mined by the Chinese (of which, 60% goes back to China), other precious metals and coal - orange trucks ferry their black payloads on a highway, the M34, paralleling the Varzov river often from extreme heights of thousands of feet and no railing. We see a number of these vehicles broken down beside the highway and the loss of breaks is not worth considering. 

M34 outside Dushambe

There is tunnelling along the route and some of it is incomplete like the 5km stretch with no light reflectors nor road markings. It is pitch black and the diesel fumes render our 4WD's lights ineffective ; our driver Aziz double flashes trucks as they pass within inches. I anxiously anticipate Aziz overtaking slower moving cars but for the most part he curbs his urgency. 

At the Iskander lake we meet a young German boxer from Neurenberg, his trainer and the coach, certainly unusual as these are some of the only people we see in the Sogd district. Mattieu is training to be the Bavarian regional champion then on to the German nationals. The altitude and mountains go with his training and I learn that the number one sport here is boxing. I share a swim in the lake with Mattieu’s Dad - 7-8C by my guess. 

Young boxer from Neurenberg

Roger Waters

Pigs on the wing

We (Sonnet, Eitan, Madeleine and I) spend a perfect evening in Hyde Park watching Roger Waters perform the best songs from Pink Floyd. True, no David Gilmore, but still fantastic.

Madeleine grabs her ticket and bolts into the crowd to meet friends, never to be seen again. Eitan arrives late but, touchingly, wants to spend the concert with me and Sonnet and so he and I fight our way somewhere into the middle to take in the theatrics.

I bought the concert tickets immediately when on sale, having been mesmerised by the Pink Floyd exhibition at the V&A last year.

Summer At Last

Wimbledon

Madeleine spends a week interning with Susan Boster's The Boster Group, which creates sponsorship from luxury brands to cultural institutions. She puts on her professional outfits, purchased from the mall or thrift shops - very cool interpretation of office style - and out the door she goes at the (un)reasonable hour of 7:00AM.

Otherwise our gal is free - Free! - to do whatever she wants. 16 years-old and summertime.

Susan Boster: "So, Madeleine, are you ready for your Devil Wears Prada Moment?"
Madeleine:
Susan: "I want you to get me a strawberry and cream frappachinio with skim milk but with extra cream, crushed ice chips, extra strawberry swirl. And java chips.
Madeleine: "Can I write that down?"
Colleague: "We are only beginning."

Hamilton Lame

Busy week in London with England winning and all.

We see Hamilton at the Victoria Palace. I think I am the only person I know who hated it. I didn't care for the rap music and the production made me think of a bunch of tenth graders running around the stage. The black performers are wonderful, but what does one make of the 100% white audience ? Katie says I have to see it in New York so maybe I will.

A more interesting story is that at Brown, and again at Columbia, I connected with Jill Furman who produced the play - her first one, I believe - and boy what a winner. Jill never struck me as someone who was into theatre nor American history but stranger things have happened.

Jill and I had one memorable night on the Narragansett Docks in Providence around 3AM where we were flashed by the police and ordered to vacate immediately in the midst of a bust.

State Of Mind

Self portrait XXXXV

51 and not dead yet. I spend my birthday in Tel Aviv and play my personal occasion low key. 

Madeleine finishes the GCSE exams and, just like that, no more GCSEs.  Ever.  It's like a marathon : once the first step taken, it is no longer 26 miles. Our gal learns her marks, alongside the rest of nation's 16 year-olds, on August 23. And, my dear friends, the inevitable question must be asked : Who is more terrified - we parents, or the kid ?

Eitan for his part receives his AS grades which are exemplary.

Of Remembrance

Sonnet leaves on a jet plane for Denver where she will meet her family and mark the passing of her  uncles Shelton and Bill and father Stanfill "Stan" Stanfill, who passed August 14, 2017.

It is celebration of three remarkable lives that were formed from poverty during the Great Depression and delivered the American experience: Bill became a wealthy venture capitalist founding Silver Creek Ventures; Shelton created the title "arts administrator" overseeing the Los Angeles Centre of Performing Arts then President and CEO of Atlanta's Woodruff Arts Center, which he put on the map with the $200 million he singularly raised to build the complex.

Stan sought his own opportunity and adventure in Anchorage, Alaska, where he took his young bride, Silver, following a two week courtship. Their arrival well time for the Anchorage earthquake of '64 that flattened the city. 

In Alaska, Stan built his law practise while Silver taught at the University of Anchorage. They collected interesting friends like the Manhattan debutant who could skin a deer and did so for the family's winter meat. 

Eventually retirement returned Stan to Colorado's Western Slope, a place he knew and loved, where his days began - and ended - with views of the Grand Mesa.

Sweet 16

Concert chicks

Lola arrives from LA and the girls turn it around for the Beyonce concert at London Stadium in the Olympic Park (I am informed that Jay Z is not pronounced JayZED but JayZEE). Lola's dad is Beyonce's agent so the girls are front and center at the show. They return buzzing and I blast a popular Beyonce song which elicits a few discreet dance steps from Madeleine. A father's joy to see it.

Madeleine will spend a week of the summer with Lola and Bella in LA whilst taking a film writing class founded by Katie's friend.

Manhattan From Below

Times Square at 44th St

Times Square has been pedestrianised with several city blocks set aside for strolling and taking a coffee. I find a used book stall and buy Joan Didion's "A Year Of Magical Thinking" and Machiavelli's "The Prince". 

I recall Times Square's seediness when I first arrived in New York, post college and shoes shined.  The neon glitz failed to brighten the grungy affair with its rough trades and hard-core cinema. Still it was pretty damn interesting. Less so today with Disney, Morgan Stanley and communal yoga having replaced the peep shows.

Manhattan from Above

I have been making my travels meeting with investors and enjoying the trips. Here is an arial shot of Manhattan from a small jet to up-state Albany and a meeting with New York State Teachers Retirement System (TRS).

On the morning of TRS I am picked up in a taxi with two other passengers which is mildly annoying given the importance of the meeting and how far I have travelled to get to it. I strike up a conversation with the dude next to me who is returning home from his job as a school bus driver. We connect on the importance of his work - he is the first person the kids see in the morning, and the last before going home. This gets a nice smile from him. I use the story to open the Teachers meeting and the rest goes like a charm.

Over 50 Years And Counting

Gracie is going strong

Eitan: "Is Tesco's open tomorrow?" [Dad's note: Tesco's is a grocery store. Tomorrow is a Bank holiday Monday].
Me: "You afraid we are going to run out of food?"
Eitan:
Me: "Admit it, you were."
Eitan, laughing: "Yeah, I guess so."
Me: "The kid's a furnace."
Sonnet: "Stop teasing him."
Me: "At this rate of food consumption I am going to have to work another five years."
Eitan: "Really?"
Me: "We might have to borrow money from your Grandfather. And buy a farm to ensure your meat supply."
Eitan:
Me: "Want to move to Iowa ?"
Eitan: "Ok Dad you can stop now."

Almost 50 Years And Counting

72nd and Broadway

Madeleine intently watches a movie at the kitchen table on her iPad with ear plugs. Unable to get her attention, I space-walk back and forth in front of her.
Madeleine: "Oh my God."

In Pink

Eitan at 17

Eitan has his own look, which is expressed through limited options given the school uniform.

The boy looks good in a suit and here he demonstrates that pink is a solid option in the shirt rotation. I give him pointers on where the shoulder cut should fall, and the value of belt vs. buckle (English prefer latter) or the number of pleats (seven or none) and whether a serious man would ever wear roll-ups (cuffs) in Europe (Never). He takes it in like the wise man he is then ignores it all immediately.

Eitan selected Prefect, a position of leadership within the school. He wears a special tie.

Money Trail

Tokyo (from hotel room)

More than at any time before, I have travelled the world meeting friends and investors, anticipating our next fundraising for Astorg VII. The cities start to look the same, I must admit, and I have little time for museums or cultural activities still I get the buzz of a new place in my body and the privilege an insider's look through the people I am fortunate to know.

Recitals

Sheehan and Eitan at Hampton recital, complete with full orchestra ensemble

So.. some time since my last blog. I am getting a few snippets of encouragement to continue ("Dad are you ever going to do that blog of yours again or what?" from the Shakespeares). So, since it is a bank holiday weekend (and thunderstorms too boot), I will try to catch up on some of the last half-year.

2018 means college applications, that thing over the long horizon and across the bounding fields and in the never arriving future. It's here. Eitan has taken the SATs and the ACTs and the British school AS exam in early modern history. The results are coming in and they are satisfactory.

Without football this season due to the torn left ACL, Eitan has thrown himself into choir, piano and theatre, where he will perform at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in August. Otherwise, he busies himself with homework, college essays and his group of friends which provide him with great pleasure.

Sonnet and I crack wise about Eitan's social life for this blog entry.
Sonnet: "You know he can hear everything your saying through his open window."
Me: "Really?"
Sonnet:
Me: "Eitan !"
Eitan: "Yeah ?!"
Me:
Sonnet: "You are so clueless sometimes."

Me, later in the kitchen: "Say something for updating the blog."
Eitan: "For the blog?"
Me: "Yeah, say something."
Eitan:  "Um, it feels like a good stage in life right now. Quite a lot of ahead of me. Cruising along at a fairly constant pace."
Me: "Say something not for your grandparents."
Eitan: "The knee is a bit of a setback. Uh.. I don't know." [Dad's note: Eitan blew out out his second ACL, this time the right knee.]
Me: "Anything else kid?'
Eitan: "Not really."
Me: "Thumbs up, middle or down?"
Eitan: "Middle I guess."
Me: "A carefree life."
Eitan: "Yeah. A bit."