Following my passion for epic road trips on the world’s greatest mountain roads, I searched for Shangri La on Karakoram Highway in Pakistan, survived the hairraising trip from Manali to Leh in Indian Ladakh, got a surprise visa to enter Tibet by road from Kathmandu, did parts of the Ring Road in Iceland and cruised the entre length of Icefields Parkway from Lake Louise to Jasper National Park in the Canadian Rockies. I withstood travel warning and rode on legendary Henderson Road from the Kurdish metropolis of Erbil via the gorges of Rawanduz to the Iraqi-Iranian border, spent two weeks on Chilean Ruta 7 and Argentinian Ruta 40 (gauchos’ “Mother Road”) through Patagonia from Puerto Montt to El Calafate, and finally I dived from the Bolivian Altiplano in El Alto into the jungles of the Yungas.  I’ve done them all, but one: Pamir Highway, from Tajik Khorog through remote high-altitude terrain past jaw-dropping lakes to Osh in Kyrgyzstan is still on my bucket list. 

On a business trip to Dushanbe in 2007, a resident photographer friend was so kind offering me a worthy appetiser: In her 4WD we headed northwards on a dirt road towards 3400m Anzob Pass. First we followed the raging Warob river. At almost every corner, the alluring smell from deliciously barbecued Shashlik was a tempting obstacle to have a break. Three ladies, one with an massive gold tooth, were carrying piles of heavy dried wood, asking us for good reason for a lift. We gladly made space and soon the car was full of wood and laughter. When they told us to stop, in my effort of always trying to be a gentleman, I offered the my humble porter services and carried part of their heavy freight on my own, up to their little village which was high up from the dirt road and only accessible by foot. Carrying the wood somehow above my head, I was stumbling upwards through loose rocks, and upon arrival, I felt I had done something special. At all means, I was suddenly grateful for having an office job. Later the dirt road left the valley to climb high into the Pamir-Altay mountains, and turned into a series of narrow zigzags, with some impressive drops to the valley below. Not just once we came close to the edge, and I was glad to be in the safe experienced driver’s hands of my friend. As it was a super clear day, we were offered stupendous views of the Zarafshan mountain range, The green crests of the hills down below were folded like bellows of an accordion, towered by cragged peaks sugared by snow.  On Anzob Pass, my collection of the world’s most beautiful toilets got a new member: A wooden shack, standing in the middle of a beautiful alpine panorama, offering just the right dose of privacy, was waiting for my urgent need. 

Back in Dushanbe with its sidewalk cafés on treelined avenues, neoclassical buildings and half Central-Asian-half Russian markets, I was suddenly realising that it was quite simply the most pleasant capital in Central Asia. For farewell dinner we took the Soviet-made cable car to Victory park, a little mountain within the city. My palate was crying „victory“. too, as we were drinking draught beer, gazing down to the city’s lights while waiting for our lamb shashliks, marinated simply, with lemon and vinegar, then skewered and grilled until meltingly tender, to be ready. Food in Tajikistan was great. Tough times for veggies though.