Off the Grid and on the Run: A 200-mile Journey Across Tajikistan

“Don’t bother Googling it.” That’s what the info pack says about Siponj, the tiny village where Maurice and I will spend our first night on our latest madcap adventure. In exactly 4 weeks, we’ll be joining a small “tribe” of like-minded lunatics to run approximately 200 miles across Tajikistan on what’s dubbed “The Great Silk Run.” A marathon a day, for about a week, through some of the most remote and breathtaking landscapes on Earth. Places where Google Maps shrugs its digital shoulders and says, “Sorry mate, your guess is as good as mine”.

Why Tajikistan? Why Not? When people ask why we are doing this, I’m tempted to quote George Mallory’s famous line about climbing Everest: “Because it’s there.” But the truth is both simpler and more complex. Tajikistan isn’t exactly on most people’s bucket list. It’s a country that 99% of people I mention it to respond with, “Taji-who?? Sounds dangerous!! Where is it??” It’s that obscurity that pulls us like a magnet. The promise of trails untouched by tourist feet, villages where life continues much as it has for centuries and high-altitude mountain passes where the only sounds are the wind and your own laboured wheezing. Our journey begins at the Afghanistan border. From there, we’ll be following the Bartang River, passing through villages with names like Siponj, Basid, and Savnob. The terrain is, to put it mildly, varied. We’ll start in the Bartang Valley, which sits nestled in the Pamir Mountains—often called “the roof of the world” by people who’ve evidently never had to fix actual roofs. The valleys here are deep, carved by glacial rivers that flow with a milky blue-green tint from all the minerals they pick up along the way. Unlike the polite, well-mannered hills of the English countryside, these mountains are the kind that don’t mess around—jagged, imposing, and with altitude profiles that look like the ECG of someone having a panic attack. The trail (I use this term loosely – it’s more of a “suggested direction”) will take us over scree slopes where the rocks have been sharpening themselves for millennia specifically to assault the soles of our trail shoes and across high mountain passes where the wind has nothing better to do than creep up behind you and fuck off with your hat. We’ll climb steadily through the Tanimas valley, past something called Kok Jar (the info pack specifically instructs “no sniggering,” which naturally means Maurice and I have been making Kok jokes for weeks). The ascent here takes us from around 2,300 meters above sea level to well over 4,000 meters—an altitude where oxygen molecules play very hard to get!

The weather in Tajikistan in May is what meteorologists technically refer to as unpredictable. Daytime temperatures can hit a scorchio 28°C (82°F) in the valleys, but plummet to below freezing at night, especially at higher elevations. Morning frost will be our alarm clock most days. The sun at this altitude is particularly sadistic – burning exposed skin in minutes while simultaneously allowing you to freeze to death in the shade. Rain in the Pamirs doesn’t just fall – it conducts surprise tactical assaults. Apocalyptic thunderstorms materialise out of nowhere with impressive speed and echo through the mountains like celestial bowling tournaments. And then there’s the bleak, otherworldly landscapes – barren, rocky plateaus where nothing grows and the horizon seems to extend into infinity. The final stretch takes us to Karakul near the borders of Kyrgyzstan and China, where we’ll join the legendary M41 Pamir Highway. It’s one of the highest international highways in the world—a fact that sounds impressive until you realise that, for the most part, it’s basically a glorified goat path. The highway was built by Soviet military engineers who apparently considered guardrails an unnecessary luxury and switchbacks a sign of weakness. Karakul itself sits beside a meteor-created lake of the same name at 3,900 meters elevation. The lake’s name literally means “black lake” in Kyrgyz, though “hypothermia waiting to happen” would be equally accurate!

According to our itinerary, accommodations will be a mixture of homestays with local families and wild camping. The homestays will introduce us to the local Pamiri people and their cultural traditions that date back thousands of years. There’s something deeply appealing about stepping so far outside the comfortable bubble of modern life. No reliable internet. No TripAdvisor reviews. No carefully curated Instagram spots. Instead, we will be sharing our evenings with families who rarely see outsiders, and tucking into whatever the locals eat.

I’m under no illusions about the physical challenge. Twenty-five miles a day at high altitude through mountainous terrain will test every fiber of our being. There’s something about shared suffering that bonds people in ways few other experiences can. Maurice and I have already undertaken some notable challenges together, but this will take our relationship to an entirely different level. One of us will inevitably hit a wall before the other and “words” will no doubt be exchanged. By the end, I suspect we’ll have seen each other at our absolute worst – sweaty, exhausted, cranky and possibly sobbing midway up a mountain pass! If our relationship survives this, I’m pretty sure it can survive anything.

So, as the countdown begins and we look at our calendar and see “TAJIKISTAN” blocked out in bold letters from mid-May, we feel that familiar mixture of excitement and terror. The “what have we gotten ourselves into” moment that precedes all great adventures. But we also feel something else – a sense of excitement and anticipation for the chance to say we ran across a country … we are badasses!