8/9–17
After two rough days in Khorough and five more in Dushanbe, I still don’t feel recovered, and the medicine I brought isn’t enough. On top of that, the healthcare here in Tajikistan is nothing like what you’d expect in Sweden. I even went to a so-called health center in Khorough that others had recommended, hoping they might have some kind of miracle cure.

I showed them my inhaler tubes, but they hardly knew what they were for. After a brief examination, I lay on a wooden couch while a nurse connected a tube to my right arm. I assumed it was some kind of antibiotic, but later found out it was an electrolyte solution.
That was it—I left the health center only a little heavier than when I arrived, the liquid adding maybe a kilo or two. Two days ago, I finally decided that my health comes before my pride and I’m not risking further complications.

The last time I went through something similar was six years ago, that time caused by a cold. Back then, I couldn’t do any physical activity for almost three months, and it took another three before I could train fully again. These days in Dushanbe, Philipp, Beate, and I don’t do much. I mostly rest and plan for the trip home.

The flight from Dushanbe to Frankfurt leaves only once a week, so we have to wait. We’ve also been checking the cost of bringing bikes on the plane, getting different answers depending on who we ask.

Philipp and Beate at airport office

Philipp and Beate completely dismantle their bike after being told  that if it weights less than 7–8 kg,, it’s free, and the extra weight for the rest of the luggage costs less—making it a good deal for them. I pack my bike in a regular bicycle box someone left at the hostel.

Until the flight, there will be plenty of reading, TV, and rest, with some time for relaxing in Dushanbe.

Monument Istiklol Independence Monument, Dushanbe

Today, september 8th. The flight leaves Dushanbe at 22:20 and is scheduled to arrive in Frankfurt seven hours later. With the time difference, we land at eight the next morning.

Check-in is smooth. As soon as we lift off, I put on my eye patches, start the audiobook, and let go. Sleep comes quickly. We touch down in Frankfurt right on time. This is where my journey with Philipp and Beate ends. Philipp’s father is waiting to drive them home to Aachen.

I head in the opposite direction, alone, to find a train north—toward Malmö.

After some hassle and waiting, I finally get a ticket back to Sweden and reached Malmö in the afternoon. I check into the same hotel as after last year’s Turkey trip—Scandic Kramer, just steps from Central Station.

Philipp and Beate at airport office

Malmoe ans Scandic Kramer hotel

First thing, a long shower. Let the road wash off. Clean clothes. Then I head out for a ”walk about”slow walk nearby and a late dinner.

The next day, I take the train to Stockholm, and from there an SJ connection home to Örnsköldsvik.

I don’t think anyone really understands my frustration. I’ve poured so much time, money, planning, and energy into this dream journey—and it breaks apart because I didn’t realize dust could hit me the same way the cold does. That’s a hard thing to swallow.

Now I have to see my doctors, figure out what can be done, rebuild my strength. And then—when I’m ready—I’ll start again. From Khorog, via Osh and  through China.

Despite everything, I’ve been places and experienced things that most people never get close to. Those moments are mine forever. They stay. I was there. I saw it. I lived it.

See Yea Later
P–G The
// The Global Cyclist now disillusioned Cyclist