Iskanderkul (Tajik for Alexander's Lake) is three hours west of Dushanbe off the road to Uzbekistan. It is a clear, turquoise gem nestled in the heart of the Fan Mountains.
Though a few determined Lada drivers do chance the road, a 4x4 would definitely be my recommended means of transport. The track to the lake is steep, the gravel is loose amd several sections of road have already plunged to obliteration in the fast-flowing river below. A glance over the edge is best taken with caution and a quick prayer to the Almighty.
Unless you are fortunate enough to be a guest of the President at his dacha (country home), your accommodation options are limited to a slightly tatty Soviet holiday camp comprised of up-market garden sheds, or camping. We opted for the latter and located a serene spot on the far side of the lake where a few mosquitos and the occasional wading bird were to be our only companions. A thicket of trees provided brush wood for a glorious bonfire,and a previous camper had thoughtfully left a pile of kindling.
We spent two nights and a day by the lakeside - there was no rush to return to Dushanbe as the Afghan embassy was closed on an interminable holiday. I wrote, dozed and learned a new card game (which I promptly forgot as usual), Bill sketched in watercolours, and Katherine and Tom braved the chilly lake water for a very brief swim.
As well as an accomplished painter, Bill also knows a thing or two about birds. He drew our attention to a rather elegant black winged stilt,who cooled his long orange legs in the shallow waters by our camp and ducked down to retrieve an occasional tasty morsel.
Though a few determined Lada drivers do chance the road, a 4x4 would definitely be my recommended means of transport. The track to the lake is steep, the gravel is loose amd several sections of road have already plunged to obliteration in the fast-flowing river below. A glance over the edge is best taken with caution and a quick prayer to the Almighty.
Unless you are fortunate enough to be a guest of the President at his dacha (country home), your accommodation options are limited to a slightly tatty Soviet holiday camp comprised of up-market garden sheds, or camping. We opted for the latter and located a serene spot on the far side of the lake where a few mosquitos and the occasional wading bird were to be our only companions. A thicket of trees provided brush wood for a glorious bonfire,and a previous camper had thoughtfully left a pile of kindling.
We spent two nights and a day by the lakeside - there was no rush to return to Dushanbe as the Afghan embassy was closed on an interminable holiday. I wrote, dozed and learned a new card game (which I promptly forgot as usual), Bill sketched in watercolours, and Katherine and Tom braved the chilly lake water for a very brief swim.
As well as an accomplished painter, Bill also knows a thing or two about birds. He drew our attention to a rather elegant black winged stilt,who cooled his long orange legs in the shallow waters by our camp and ducked down to retrieve an occasional tasty morsel.
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