Tajikistan Unveiled: Court Closure, Crossing Borders, and Alaudin Lake
Crossing the Border into Tajikistan
As the morning sun rose, I finally crossed into a new country. The Samarkand/Panjakent border crossing into Tajikistan had only reopened in 2018. The border police stamped my passport with a warm, “Welcome to Tajikistan.” This was a stark contrast to my entry into Kyrgyzstan at the Kyzyl-Art border crossing where I was stuck for three days with Linda, my Pamir Highway travel buddy, an off-road biker Maurizio from Italy, and a couple of Russian guys who had been cycling around the world for an incredible five years. Yes, five years. On a bicycle.
I had been eager to leave Uzbekistan not only because of the Drone Drama but also due to the delay in my travel plans, which left me feeling restless. My departure from Bukhara in Uzbekistan had been carefully planned the day before. That day, I had spent hours at the local police station, sitting with an investigation officer, his superior, and an 19-year old translator. Ten days had passed since the transport police discovered a drone in my luggage at the train station. The officer had called me the day before, telling me to come to court for what he assured me was merely an administrative formality. As it turned out, it was an entirely inefficient day, yet one I couldn’t help but appreciate, knowing it was a unique experience I would likely never repeat. They even took me to lunch at a restaurant where they ate about a kilo of shashlik and washed it down with Pepsi — a ritual they apparently followed every workday.
Drone unpacked by the transport police at the Bukhara Train Station (Buxoro Vokzal)
A Long Day at the Police Station
The police station was a short walk from the train station, and I had to hand over my phone to a guard before waiting for the officer to arrive. As I stood there, observing workers painting a fence in the growing heat, I couldn't help but feel the contrast between the sweltering outdoor air at around 38°C and the chilly room I entered when the officer finally led me in. His office had an odd sense of calm, and he fiddled with a TV remote for what felt like an eternity before asking me what I wanted to listen to on YouTube. I wasn’t in the mood for music; all I wanted was to get this over with. Hours passed as he typed up his report and chatted with me, reassuring me that admitting my mistake and showing humility would help my case. In hindsight, I realized it was all a game. I was never getting the drone back, and his senior officer confirmed that in court. Instead of entering the courtroom with us, he returned with the news that my drone would not be returned, the fine was $300, and I could leave the country if I paid immediately. All of this, with anti-corruption posters plastered on the walls in front of the courtrooms.
✶
An Unsettling Decision and an Early Exit
At that point, I was in communication with the Slovak embassy, who advised me not to pay anything without a receipt. They hinted that if they allowed me to leave without a final verdict, it would likely mean the fine was a bribe, not a formally recorded clearance. Feeling frustrated and let down by the entire experience, I began mentally processing all the ways things could have gone differently. What if I had just left the drone with the police from the start and avoided this whole ordeal? But then, I wouldn’t have met Danny Long Legs 0.5, I wouldn’t have had the time to slow down, and I wouldn't have gotten to relax and catch up on some work in this charming 16th century Caravanserai hotel. I knew I needed to act fast and leave Uzbekistan, but finding a way out on short notice proved tricky. With no buses or trains in the evening, I booked the earliest train to Samarkand, hoping to get out before any police offices opened for the day.
I spent 10 days relaxing and catching up on work in this charming 16th-century caravanserai, all while perfecting my legendary Google Sheets planning—something other travelers find both impressive and wildly over-the-top
Each morning, my breakfast was the same: fresh fruit, overcooked (but still delicious) eggs, Uzbek bread, and pancakes. And my go-to dish at the Old Bukhara restaurant: the amazing baked eggplant with cream cheese and tomato sauce—comfort food at its finest.
A Nerve-Wracking Train Ride
At the train station that morning, as I placed my bags on the scanner, the transport police lady recognized me. Smiling, she asked if everything was sorted out. For a moment, my heart raced at the thought of being sent back again, but I forced a reassuring smile and told her everything was resolved. She apologized, explaining that it was her job to check everything. Unlike the other officers who had repeatedly overlooked the drone during scans at various stations, she was the only one who truly did her duty. When entering Uzbekistan, at the Gisht Kuprik/Zhibek Zholy border, the officers were more interested in my wallet than in the drone they were supposed to confiscate. How ironic. After a tense 20 minutes, the train finally departed, and I could finally breathe a little easier.
I left Bukhara on an early train to Samarkand, then caught a taxi to the Tajikistan border. In Panjakent, on my way to Dushanbe, I enjoyed both the newfound freedom and the local plov.
Exiting Uzbekistan and Entering Tajikistan
At the border, I couldn’t shake the nagging worry of being blacklisted, but my exit from Uzbekistan was surprisingly smooth. As expected, taxi drivers crowded the border, eager to charge inflated prices. Refusing to overpay, I stood my ground until I lucked out by meeting a Russian couple with heavy backpacks who agreed to share a taxi to Panjakent. Splitting the fare made the ride much more reasonable, allowing me to continue my journey toward Dushanbe’s northern bus station.
While waiting for the shared taxi to fill up, I wandered over to a small food stand nestled under the shade of a large tree, its branches swaying gently in the breeze. There, I had the most delicious and affordable plov I’d had so far—a perfect moment of simple joy amidst the travel chaos. Maybe the taste and joy were amplified by the context, a welcome relief from the stress of the journey. I felt a wave of calm wash over me.
✶
Unforeseen Connections and Moments of Sychronicity
Looking back, I realized that everything — even the challenges — had worked out in its own way. I met Linda, who became the best travel buddy on our trip through Pamir Highway, and Trojan, a fascinating Dushanbe local who hosted me. I also reconnected with Elias from Belgium, a fellow traveler I had met earlier who worked for an NGO in Afghanistan, and met Tim, a New Zealander who has traveled 100+ countries, before returning to Dushanbe where I crossed paths with Daan again. The synchronicities of travel continued to surprise me, proving that sometimes the detours and delays are part of the journey.
The three of us—me, the local boy, and the donkey—set off from Artuch toward Kulikalon Lakes, where we’d camp for the night before continuing to Alaudin the next day.
Artuch: A Rest Stop Before the Adventure
Arriving in Artuch, I checked into the Arpelager mountain lodge for the night. The next morning, I rented my gear—tent, sleeping pad, sleeping bag, mini stove with gas—and grabbed some bread and eggs, all at a reasonable price. I only discovered the eggs were already hard-boiled when I tried to cook them in the mountains. Well, so much for "cooking in the wild!".
Cooking in the wild at Kulikalon Lake, I chatted with a couple of local 15-year-old boys who spend their summer holidays handling donkeys to earn some extra money.
To help carry my gear on this three day trek, I hired a donkey and a 15-year-old local for 35USD/day. He couldn't speak a word of English but my basic Russian allowed me to get to know fragments about his life. He told me it is a summer break from school and an opportunity for him to make money. Along the journey, we kept passing by other boys who were his friends from the village and from the school. They seemed happy and had the usual teenage interactions filled with joy and laughter. The first night, I camped beside Kulikalon Lakes, a three-and-a-half-hour trek uphill from Artuch, under a sky filled with stars—a breathtaking experience of solitude and beauty.
Savouring fresh cherries in the tent overlooking Kulikalon Lake
In the morning, the local man from the summer tea-hut nearby brought me fresh cherries and collected the camping fee 5USD/night. While packing my tent, I noticed another tent nearby. It was Anya and her boyfriend—the Russian couple I had shared the taxi with from the border to Panjakent—returning from their trek. After a brief reunion, I continued my journey toward Alaudin Lake, a moderately challenging five-and-a-half-hour hike over the Alaudin Pass at 4,000 meters, with an elevation gain of 900m. Snow still lingered at high altitudes. Meanwhile, a couple of guides accompanying a group of French tourists were in high spirits, breaking into local songs and dance.
Snow at high altitudes; Local guides dancing and singing traditional Tajik songs; The view of Alaudin Lake from Alaudin Pass at 4000m altitude.
The descent was steep, with loose gravel making each step difficult. As I cautiously navigated the path, a guide from a passing group struck up a conversation and asked if I wanted a hand (meaning holding hands, literally). “Why not?” I replied, and before I knew it, we were running down the mountain. It turned out to be easier—and much more exhilarating—than walking. We sped past other trekkers, who looked on in bewilderment, likely wondering what on earth we were doing. It was an unforgettable experience and an incredible workout.
✶
Alaudin: Turquoise Blue Beauty
At Alaudin, I set up camp beside a breathtaking turquoise-blue lake. Ali, the camp manager who had been welcoming travelers here every summer for the past 20 years, greeted me warmly with tea and food. Using my limited Russian, I chatted briefly with a large family from Khujand who had driven to the campsite for a reunion. While the conversation was pleasant, I couldn’t help but feel weary from constantly answering the same questions I had encountered throughout Central Asia: How old are you? Why aren’t you married? Why don’t you have kids? Why are you traveling alone? Life has a wonderful way of balancing itself—everything is a give and take. Explaining this would be difficult, not only because of the language barrier but also because it seemed like an entirely foreign concept to them.
The stunning Alaudin Lake with its turquoise shimmer
Exhausted from the altitude, sunburn, a long day of hiking, and the emotional toll of navigating cultural norms, I retreated to my tent. The rhythmic patter of rain on the canvas became a soothing lullaby, easing me into a much-needed sleep.
A few hours later, feeling refreshed, I ventured out for an evening stroll around the lakes. The scenery was nothing short of magical—the turquoise waters shimmering in the soft evening light. By the shore, I struck up conversations with other guides, all of us captivated by the beauty surrounding us.
Passing a local shepherd, who, like the guides, eagerly showcased his singing of traditional Tajik songs; The view from Laudan Pass, with menacing clouds gathering above.
For the return journey, I chose a longer but gentler route, descending through the Laudan Pass. Rain began to fall just as we reached the spot where I had camped on the first night. From there, it was another three-hour trek back to Artuch Arpelager. We arrived exhausted but deeply fulfilled by the adventure and the unforgettable beauty of Alaudin.
Colourful flora on the hillsides of Laudan Pass; Kulikalon Lake just before the rain.
Unexpected Transportation and a Warm Farewell
After a well-deserved rest, Jenya, a cool girl who worked at Artuch Arpelager and happened to know Trojan, helped me find some guests heading to Dushanbe. I got lucky and managed to catch a ride with three locals who spoke very good English. They offered to give me a lift directly to my accommodation in Dushanbe in their 4x4. One of them, Shariz, had worked in multiple countries and shared fascinating stories about his work with NGOs. It felt like pure serendipity to have such smooth, door-to-door transport with such great company.
In Dushanbe, I bumped into Paul, a guy from Holland who had cycled all the way from his hometown in the Netherlands to Asia right after his retirement. We had stayed in the same hotel in Bukhara while I was waiting for the police verdict on my drone. Over dinner one evening at the Old Bukhara restaurant with a view of the city, we exchanged amazing stories. Paul had retired just before this trip, and we both laughed about how surreal these off-the-beaten-path adventures can seem to others. His friends, for example, had thought it was an April Fool’s joke when he told them he was leaving for Asia on a bicycle—just a day after they were sharing pints at a pub. By the time they called him the following week, he was already cycling through Europe and to their surprise, asked them to tune in to a radio station where he was sharing his first update.
Meeting people like Paul is priceless, and it’s one of the many reasons I’ve always loved, and will always love, traveling. People who have courage to be vulnerable are a well of inspiration and learning.
✶
The beauty of Alaudin Lake and Fann mountains was worth every step. Keep exploring, keep discovering, and keep wandering!
Always in Wonder Loop,
Mirka