Good Morning Tajikistan!

Image credits: leehughes1

Scorning the traditional Gap Year, and declining to chunder anywhere at all, Robin Butler ventured to the little known beauty of Tajikistan with a friend to hike along the stunning scenery of central Asia, enjoy the local hospitality,  and sample the local narcotics. He brought his tales of this far-away corner back to Exeter and to Exeposé…

Watch out, it’s another one of those gap year tales. Yes, I went to Asia. But not the corner frequented by so many. No, my Asia was an entirely different experience, well and truly off the beaten track.

Just north of Afghanistan and west of China, Tajikistan is not somewhere many of you will have heard of, let alone ever considered going to. Landlocked, it is the smallest of the Central Asian states and over 90 per cent of its territory is mountainous. It also holds the very dubious honour of having the third highest heroin and raw opium confiscations on the planet (followed closely by the Cellar Door).

However, this is not why you should go there. Tajikistan is home to some of the most stunning hiking opportunities anywhere in the world. The Pamir Mountains in the east of the country peak at 7,495m and are known as the ‘Roof of the World’.

For those of you who have heard of the Mongol Rally, many choose to make the considerable detour through Tajikistan just to experience the Pamir Highway. It is the second-highest altitude international highway in the world (4,655m), and enough to give you altitude sickness just driving along it.

Hiking opportunities abound throughout this area, but for those who don’t have the time or money then turn your eyes west towards the Fann Mountains, something of a younger sibling to the colossal Pamir’s. This is where a school friend and I spent nine days hiking through some of the most exceptionally beautiful scenery we had ever seen.

The background to our trip was one of mild chaos and confusion. My friend, Freddie, had just finished his first year at Bristol. Being on the other side of the world for the six months before, our ‘plan’, if you can call it that, was essentially to get out there and see how we got on. Both of us had some experience of mountaineering, and we certainly had all the gear. Laden with 25kg of kit and ration packs we flew, via a few days in Istanbul, to Dushanbe, the capital of Tajikistan.

There isn’t much to Dushanbe. In just over 12 hours there we got ripped off by a taxi driver, saw what Tajikistanis claim is the highest free-standing flagpole in the world, before cramming into a taxi headed towards Iskanderkul Lake.

Before the hiking could begin though, we had to survive another of Tajikistan’s dubious claims to fame. Officially known as the Anzob Tunnel, it is more affectionately known as the ‘Tunnel of Death’. Only one lane was completed before the Tajikistanis got excited and started to use it. We’re talking running water, huge broken fans that loom out of the gloom as evidence of the failed attempt at ventilation, metal bars sticking out from the ground threatening to puncture the unwary, and a large number of lightless vehicles.

It’s certainly not somewhere you go for a quiet Sunday drive! Our taxi driver was clearly experienced at the whole thing and quite happily overtook lorries with others coming straight towards us as we both said a quiet prayer in the back and hoped for it to end. There was even at one point an abandoned tractor in the middle of the road that we avoided with inches to spare. Coming out into the clear light of day day on the other side of it was one of most relieving moments of both our lives!

Alive and well, we reached the lake. To give you an idea of its beauty, the President has a house on its shores. Named after Alexander the Great, and rumoured to be the place where his horse threw itself following his death, its piercing blue waters are breathtaking to behold.

 

Hiking along its shores, we began to realise quite how amazing the next week or so was going to be, and quite how unlike it was to anywhere else we had ever seen.

What we certainly hadn’t expected was to find a Tajik family tucked away in a pagoda beside the President’s palace. What you will find if you ever visit Central Asia is that the guest is king, and you will be thoroughly embarrassed by the generosity of the locals. Here was the first of the many times we experienced this kindness, as the shouting and beckoning drew us towards the pagoda.

Beneath its canopy, sheltered from the 30 degree heat at over 2000m, was spread a feast of delicious bread, watermelon and a copious amount of vodka. Their sense of hospitality dictated that we must join them in a toast, or five, to England, Tajikistan and life in general. I should point out that this was not a small shot of vodka, but a bowl filled near to the brim and seen off in one! Within an hour of this we were both snoring happily on the rugs as the little children played on our phones.

We might have only shared 20 words with our hosts, but they led to hours of laughing and drinking beside the lake until the mosquitoes descended, the sun began to set and we had to continue further up the valley to find our campsite. It was with a drowsy head and heavy heart we bid them farewell, groaned into our packs and plodded on. The vodka really began to take its toll here, and one steep hill was nearly the end for us.

Somehow we safely made it to the top of that little challenge, pitched our (rather small) tent and collapsed in a still slightly drunken state, both snoring loudly through the night.

The next morning we woke to appreciate quite how beautiful our campsite was. Looking up the valley, framed by the mountains on either side, the blue sky lifted us onwards towards higher things.

Discounting the previous day’s drunken ramblings, this was our first day putting in a real shift. And yet, although we walked for a good eight or so hours, failing to find a river at one point and getting very confused at others, the sheer beauty of the surroundings kept the aches from our legs and the blisters from our feet.

As disorganised as we were, we had managed to buy a map from a couple of lovely Israeli girls during our few hours in Dushanbe. However, it was rubbish. Yes, it gave a general idea of where the path was. Yes, it did have the names of all the passes, villages and rivers we would come across. But Ordinance Survey map it was not. We spent a good three hours following what we thought was the path, only to find ourselves confronted with an un-fordable river and no bridge in sight.

Annoyed we may have been, but again the kindness of the locals came to our rescue. Retracing our steps, we came across a campsite. Slightly confused, we wandered through and were accosted by some children who wanted to play football. Now, football is a universal language, so while Freddie got to grips with the beautiful game, I tried to have a conversation with the adults who had appeared. Language was again a slight barrier, but it turned out they were geologists based there for the summer. Or at least that’s what I think they said, could have been anything really.

Before we had any chance to stress that we needed to get a move on, a rice dish emerged from one of the tents and was thrust in front of us. Hungry, and keen not to offend, we devoured it all and finally managed to extricate ourselves after much apologising that we couldn’t stay for dinner.

Our aim for the day had been to reach the foot of the Dukdon Pass, the first and highest of the passes between our final destination and us. Waylaid by raging rivers and generous locals, we set ourselves on a campsite at the bottom of a ravine which led on to the base of the Dukdon Pass.

Again, the view down the valley was stupendously beautiful, and we felt as far away from civilisation as we ever had. But we were not alone. As the sun began to arc towards the mountains behind us, a pair of shepherds rounded the corner with 50 assorted goats and fat-tailed sheep. These sheep have absurdly large tails that are, as the name suggests, full of fat – in Tajikistan the fat is worth more than the meat for the flavour it brings.

As we had begun to realise, there’s something people find intriguing about maps of the area that they know. By the lake the family were keen to point out where their villages were, and again the shepherds took great pleasure in recognising all the passes and mountains that surrounded us. Taking some of our Kenco instant coffee they happily built a fire and brewed up a steaming pot that we all shared.

This wasn’t the only thing they shared. As we watched, one of them removed a small plastic bag, tapped some of its green contents into his hand and then proceeded to chuck it back into his mouth. We were intrigued. Furtively we indicated we wanted to try some and he tapped a little into our outstretched hands. Doing what we thought he had done we opened wide and chucked it straight in.

Turns out we had missed one crucial detail; he put the green powder UNDER his tongue. We put it ON our tongue. Cue frantic coughing and spluttering as it burned away at our taste buds. After spitting it all out, the two shepherds smirked wonderfully as we started to sway. At this point I should point out that it is in fact the local tobacco known as nus, and not anything more…ahem, exotic. Still, it was too much for us and we took a good few minutes to get our brains back in order.

Image credits: Free Grunge Textures

As if to thank us for entertaining them so much, they then unfurled a satchel that had been strapped to one of their donkeys and produced a mound of cooked goat. Freddie turned his nose up at this, clearly not trusting them anymore, but I got stuck in. Anything would have been an improvement on our cold ration packs, but it actually turned out to be deliciously tender.

Dusk began to settle and the shepherds set off up the ravine towards the base of the Dukdon Pass, clearly in more of a rush than us! We settled down, shoulder to shoulder in our tent, and enjoyed everything that had already happened and wondered about what else possibly could.

The morning of day three was colder than the others, and as we shook out some of the stiffness we decided to take it easy and just get to the bottom of the pass before tackling it the next day. ‘Acclimatising’ was the euphemism we gave it, and we wanted to enjoy our time as much as possible.

The ravine up to the base of the pass was a little trickier than we had expected, so it was only after a few hours that we finally reached a grassy valley dotted with car-sized boulders, relics of the once great glacier which now only clung on near the top of the pass itself. Guarded by precipitous mountains on either side with a glacial stream running through the middle, it was one of the most beautiful sites we camped at.

With the midday sun raging above us, we set up a little shelter and snoozed away. Agreeing that after three days hiking we probably smelt quite bad to say the least we decided to go for a bath in the stream. Bear in mind that we were all of 500 metres below the base of a glacier, and you can understand why we didn’t hang around as we dipped in and out.

That night for the first time we built a fire and enjoyed some of our ration packs warm rather than cold. With the extra 400 or so meters alttitude really dragging down the temperature, we curled up in our sleeping bags, a mug of tea to warm our insides, with little idea how tough the next day really was going to be…

Robin Butler

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The Aid Epidemic

Image credits: frontierofficial

With his sister recently returned from Kenya, Liam Taylor asks if our good intentions actually do more harm to fragile nations around the world.

Where is Bongo Bongo Land? I hadn’t come across the phrase until I saw it plastered across the headlines after the controversial MEP Godfrey Bloom used it in his speech/rant (delete as appropriate) on foreign aid. The use of the phrase sparked controversy apparently everywhere bar his constituency, and led to a situation, then exacerbated by his stubborn defence of his remarks on the BBC, which culminated in an offer to personally apologise to the ambassador of Bongo Bongo Land himself (who unfortunately could not be reached for comment).

I guess he was unable to use the excuse that he was merely referring to the late President Bongo of Gabon, as a former Tory MP claimed when he used the phrase the last time it caused controversy, and figured that was next best option. I leave it up to you dear reader to decide whether the comments were racist or not. This article is concerned with the heart of the issue, not the semantics.

Not long after the media flurry surrounding the controversy died down my sister returned home after a summer of charity work in Kenya, a country I suspect some would consider a province of Bongo Bongo Land. The problems that the media back home deems worthy of making a fuss about, the occasional daft utterance from a politician seemed rather trivial to her, at least compared to the real problems faced in the less fortunate parts of the world. It is no secret that Kenya is by no means a rich country, to put it mildly. It receives over two billion dollars each year in foreign aid and is the second largest recipient of US aid to Africa, behind only Egypt. Like many countries in the region it has also been plagued with corruption.

Kenya can seem like two completely different lands. The westernised boarding school in Nairobi that my sister stayed at on her first night could be indistinguishable from anywhere in England save for the rather nicer weather. Yet other parts conform more to the stereotype of popular culture. A land of mud huts and endless savannah, where basic necessities like running water are luxuries and old plastic bottles are considered a sturdy construction material. In Nairobi itself this difference is perhaps even more glaring, where modern skyscrapers and office blocks stand side by side with hastily built shacks made from salvaged scrap. Indeed that kind of contrast is far from uncommon in the region. When I was in South Africa a few years ago (for the much less noble reason of a holiday) there was a stark difference between the westernised tourist areas and the slums on the outskirts of the city.

 

In a way it helps to put things in perspective. It’s easy to forget how good we have it in the grand scheme of things, how protestors in New York or outside St. Paul’s are part of the wealthiest one per cent in the world and how even the poorest in this country are comfortably in the top ten per cent. Many of the villages rely on subsistence farming, lacking the convenience of modern technology they rely on their own back breaking labour. In one village that my sister spent time helping in, a single mother of five had to single-handedly toil on a maize field all day just to grow enough food to survive. Yet even donations of modern equipment do little help; a tractor is of little use without the parts or know-how to fix it when it breaks, or even how to use it in the first place. Indeed the most advanced piece of technology my sister came across out there was an old toaster. Growth away from subsistence is not done any favours by the western world’s insistent protection of its own farmers from foreign goods.

Image credits: eGuide Travel

When my sister first told me she was going off to do charity work in Kenya a couple of thoughts crossed my mind. The first was the most obvious, that this was a really good thing to do. But I have to admit there was also a cynical part of my brain that thought “how much help can you really be? After all, what do you know about digging wells or building schools? The closest you’ve come to hard labour is helping our parents with the gardening. Surely it would be better to send them the money you’re going to spend on flying out and living there?” While it sounds bad there was some logic behind this thought. After all it is a common problem after natural disasters that lots of well-intentioned volunteers show up unprepared and without any training. The result being that actual charity workers have to waste time babysitting them, instead of helping the victims, and waste precious resources feeding them and patching them up when they hurt themselves.  There was also an element of concern that she might get eaten by a lion when she tries to pet one. Although I’m glad to say that the cynical side of me was wrong.

Empathy, the desire to help others less fortunate than ourselves, is of course very commendable and it is one that nearly every person has no matter their beliefs or where they lie on the political spectrum, if anywhere at all. Of course not everyone can go out to Africa and physically help, so this empathy manifests itself in other ways such as charitable giving. But sometimes that cynical part of us raises its head, “what good can my tenner a month do?” So that same feeling of empathy makes us demand that more be done, that government fixes it. We rely on the ‘wisdom’ of the bureaucrat in Whitehall rather than the experience of the volunteer on the ground. It feels good to be absolved of responsibility, we did our part and if it’s not working it’s not our fault, it’s the government’s fault. It’s the government that isn’t doing enough, isn’t giving enough and can never give enough.

Remember earlier when I talked about the vast divergence between the richest and poorest parts of Kenya? Just why is there the gap? Is it an inevitable part of development? Is it because there still is not enough aid? If so, how is it that Asia has managed to lift millions out of poverty without a penny of aid? $2 billion can a build a lot of schools and hospitals, yet they are conspicuously absent. Perhaps you also remember the rampant corruption I mentioned. Well put the two together and perhaps you start to realise how it’s possible that after decades of receiving billions in aid the average Kenyan hasn’t become any better off. Kenyan corruption may be bad, but it is small comfort that it is not as bad as other parts of Africa. Indeed one prominent Zambian economist argues strongly that the corruption is so bad that the corruption (amongst other things) actually makes aid harmful to African countries. It may be possible that handing over large sums of money no questions asked can create the conditions that fuel corruption, sort of like the way vast natural resources can become a curse for poor countries.

All the arguments for greater aid have at their heart the best of intentions, just like the well intentioned clothing drive that has a minor side effect of putting the indigenous clothing and textile industry out of business and inadvertently costing lots of jobs. There is an old saying that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. So perhaps it’s time to rethink our approach to help those that need it most. To stop focusing on intentions and start looking at results.

Liam Taylor

 

North Korea: Where do we currently stand?

Image credits to giladr

As events in the Korean Peninsula continue, Features Editor Imogen Watson takes account of the stability of the region’s future.

To many of us born in a certain generation, in a certain part of the world, the events leading us to the situation of today on the Korean Peninsula are lessons learnt in history books, and often only partially remembered. Isolated, inverted North Korea has always to us been a quirky country in Asia with a funny regime, bizarre fascination with its leaders, and an immense talent in putting on a well-choreographed mass display. Also in indoctrination. Good luck to you if you were interested enough to want to visit, as you will just as likely get in as North Koreans will get out.

Apart from a few citizens, what has got out of North Korea? Well, as is quite evident in recent weeks, international threats. Thus far we have avoided serious, large-scale conflict. But North Korea has been speaking out again lately, and just how worried ought the rest of the world to be?

Of course, the US is acting. As the world’s only remaining superpower, with big allies in South Korea and Japan, and relations to maintain with China, as well as being the main fear and supposed target of North Korea, it is not half surprising. Seoul has moved two warships to its coasts as a reaction to Pyongyang’s moving missiles around.

The whole situation sounds precarious, and it is. Wrongly-chosen words or the seemingly smallest of slip-ups could legitimately tip a balance that rests on that knife-edge which so often comes into play with the Korean Peninsula. But in that is a point worth making: threats, words and videos have often been broadcast in the past by the North Korean state. Residents of Seoul going about their daily business are yet to be particularly concerned, with one telling the BBC, “This tension has existed for more than fifty years, so I don’t see the difference this time.” Is there in fact something which makes this a bigger worry than normal?

A section of the De-Militarised Zone between North and South Korea.
Image credits to Justin Ornellas

The US has been flying planes over the peninsula, panicking Pyongyang. Pyongyang is moving weaponry, and Seoul is reacting. North Korea, despite never having ended the previous one from the 1950s, has openly declared an official state of war with South Korea. Whilst this all may yet come to nothing, and could well be action to give the new leader of North Korea Kim Jong-Un some standing both abroad and at home, the escalation is enough to set teeth on edge. With such a volatile state, proceedings must be cautious and thought-through. Having previously attacked the South, there is nothing to necessarily stop the North from doing so again.

How far is this all likely to go? Clearly the argument has been presented that there is sufficient to be concerned about, but there is faith also that this will be resolved. Whilst it is always possible, I have an inability to see a world where North Korea succeeds in its plans to reunite with the South under its mindset, and where the USA has been beaten into its submission. When another short-term solution to the current struggle will happen is clearly unknown, but once found we must work towards another solution, a long-term one, if only for the safety of its people; the reoccurring famines of a nation desiring to be self-sufficient are insupportable, and the indoctrination needs to end.

That is where more problems are to be found, of course, for North Korea is, if nothing else, stubborn.

Imogen Watson, Online Features Editor