The big sofas of Central Asia: Khorog

Tadjikistan, Khorog, rivière Gunt, Haut-Badakhshan, © L. Gigout, 2012

Ville de Khorog, capitale du Haut-Badakhshan.

Tadjikistan, Haut-Badakhshan, Khorog, © L. Gigout, 2012

Panonceau de l'époque soviétique à l'entrée de Khorog. Il arbore désormais le drapeau du Tadjikistan indépendant sur lequel figure une couronne entourée de sept étoiles. La couleur rouge représente l'unité de la nation, le blanc le coton et le vert la nature.

The town stretches the length an icy torrent and under a clear open sky. With its 28000 inhabitants and at an altitude of 2200 m., the capital of the autonomous province is an enclave in its enclave of high mountains. Very little traffic in the Lenin Street and few passersby. A market where barter is the rule. On the pediment of a factory closed following the departure of the Russians, one can still read a slogan about work and pride. At the entrance of the urban area, the Lenin's statue is still there to welcome us while, on the mountainside which faces the town, there is an inscription in gigantic letters painting in white on the rock which proclaims in English : "Welcome our Hazir Iman". Hazir Imam is Aga Khan, the spiritual and protective leader of Nizari Ismaili people. At the Soviet time, he was banished. When he came to Khorog after Independence and the end of hostilities to install his foundation, he was received as a living God.

I have gone from the uncomfortable Pamir Lodge for settled in the Dehli Darbar, more central, in the building of Aga Khan Foundation and right next the park, an ideal place at a riverside where thrive high poplars. To compass the city is quick. Although there is nothing really exceptional, I find it pleasant. The women wear the traditional dress and sometimes a simple scarf on the head. I am surprised to hear schoolchildren speaking a very correct English. When I meet them in the street, the most fearless are often the girls. They wave at me by smiling. Some of them do not hesitate to speak with me.

A few kilometres from the center is the second largest botanical garden in the world. A weathered vegetation survives on the 200-hectare site that nobody comes to visit. When I arrived at the end of the afternoon, the gate was closed. A few somonis for the guard allowed me to enter. Alpine flora and apple trees, it feels like autumn and melancholy. At the other end of the park is a great and beautiful building with a colonnade and a garden house. While I approach, I am stopped by an armed guard. This building is the dacha of the President who is to come in a few days. He makes me understand friendly that it is better to buzz off. I walk out a service door and reach a promontory dominating the city before getting back to the road by following arduously the course of an uncrossable torrent.