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constructed with whatever materials were available , a general store nothing more than a shipping container , a place to refuel , a few old tanks and plenty of plastic buckets .
Our final accommodation in Tajikistan surprisingly good , a comfortable room , shower and western toilet , a paradise amongst the baron moonscape of depression . Our dining hall provides delicious foods , manty , borsch , and plentiful salads . Looking at it all I wonder where such fresh produce comes from , certainly not the lands around Murghab .
Tajikistan ’ s final morning brings us a chill that is only slightly warmed by the high-altitude plains sun , not much but it is welcoming . We ride north knowing that the border post is not too far away , one or two more high passes and we ’ ll be in Kyrgyzstan and on the final leg . Signs of civilisation , now abandoned , scatter the landscape , the reality that this land is unforgiving evident in every ruined construction . A vast blue lake , Karakul , seems an oasis , it ’ s salty shoreline suggest otherwise .
Ramshackle huts mark the exit point of Tajikistan , a fitting tribute to this country , reflecting the resilience of a wonder people living amongst the harshest of environments and the hardiest of histories . Two cigarettes handed over and the guards are happy , a knowing smile , a handshake , and we leave the country .
Tajikistan , a country so wonderous , so filled with astonishing landscapes that seem to morph into something different with the turn of a head , a people who are genuinely interested in you and what you think of their land , a people that challenge stereotypes and lead the traveller to believe that what we are often told by our leaders is so far from the
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