During last year’s Spring Break, our friend Charlie came out for a week-long visit that stretched into the first part of the holiday. We kept things close to Dushanbe while he was here—nothing too ambitious, just good food, familiar trails, and plenty of time to catch up. Charlie and I have been meeting up in different corners of the world for over 20 years now, and when it happens, it’s a guaranteed good time.
But this post isn’t about that visit—it’s about what came next.
The day after Charlie left, I reached out to my buddy Denis to see if anything was happening during the week. As it turned out, he had a couple visiting on their R&R from Afghanistan and was planning a run through the Fann Mountains, eventually heading up to the Seven Lakes—somewhere we still hadn’t made it. There were two open seats in the car.
That was all I needed to hear.
The next morning, they swung by and picked up my daughter and me, and just like that, we were rolling out of the city and back into the mountains.
By lunchtime, we were descending toward Iskanderkul, that deep blue expanse tucked into the Fann Mountains. But instead of stopping at the usual viewpoints, we kept going. We passed the main area where most visitors gather and followed the rough track along the western side of the lake. From there, the road wrapped around the southern edge, cutting back east, winding past the President’s lakeside residence before climbing up and over a ridge.
It quickly became clear that this wasn’t a road that saw much traffic.
At one point, we had to hop out and move fallen rocks just to keep going. The further we pushed, the quieter it got—no cars, no people, just the sound of wind and water somewhere below.
Eventually, the track ended near a partially built house perched above the lake. We parked there and dropped down a steep ridge, picking our way through loose rock until the slope softened into a stretch of forest. From there, we angled back toward the water, weaving through the trees until we finally broke out onto a small, hidden beach.
And just like that—we had the entire place to ourselves.
I didn’t waste much time. Shorts on, straight into the water.
The cold hits instantly. No easing into it. No gradual adjustment. Just shock, sharp and immediate. I lasted maybe a couple of minutes before scrambling back out, but it was enough.
We spent the next few hours drifting between stretches of shoreline, snacks, and quick dips into that icy blue water. It was one of those rare places that feels completely untouched—like you’ve somehow slipped into a version of the lake that most people never see.
But as the sun dipped behind the western ridgelines, the temperature dropped just as quickly as it always does in the mountains. The shadows stretched out across the lake, and we knew it was time to move.
We climbed back up to the Land Cruiser and retraced our way to the main road along the western shore. Instead of heading back toward the lake, we turned away from it, climbing steadily into the valley beyond.
About five kilometers later, we rolled into the quiet village of Sarytag.
From there, we made our way to Dillovar’s guesthouse—one of two he runs in the area. The one we stayed in sits right in the heart of the village, while the other lies closer to the mouth of the Archamedon Valley. Warm, welcoming, and perfectly situated, it would become our base for the next couple of nights—and, as it turns out, for several trips to come.
We didn’t know it yet, but this quiet arrival into Sarytag was just the beginning.
Wise Clan in Stanland 
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